SOME CUNNING MANŒUVRES.
Having unloaded the junk, our travellers chartered a sampan and sailed
to Quilon. Now Varthema was very silent about the Portuguese at
Cochin and Cannanore when he was on his outward voyage, and indeed he
discreetly avoided them, lest discovery of his nationality should wreck
his purpose. They must have been at Quilon, too, when he was there
before; for the Râja of the district had welcomed Pedro Alvarez Cabal
in 1503, and permitted the building of a Portuguese factory. There
were now 22 Portuguese settlers in this factory, which was fortified,
of course; and a wave of home-sickness swept over the traveller: “I
greatly desired to escape,” he says; “but I held on, because they were
few in number, and I was afraid of the Moors; for there were merchants
with us who knew that I had been to Mecca and to the tomb of the
Prophet; and I feared lest they should take it into their heads that I
would uncover their deceits; so I held me back from running away.” The
gist of this statement is that Varthema feared the Portuguese garrison
was too feeble to undertake the protection of a false hadji from the
fierce resentment which Cazazionor and the Arab traders would evince.
The excuse as to the uncovering of Mohammedan frauds is but a poor sop
to whatever Christian prejudice might remain in Italy. His work done,
he was on the look out for a really favourable opportunity of returning
to Europe. He had small dread of failure. He had not lost his nerve in
the least, this son of the Renaissance of so infinite resource, of such
invincible self-confidence and of ability to match; unshakably resolute
when confronted with any peril that was unavoidable, and deterred by
no feeble scruple when by any means it was possible to evade it; one
wholly sincere in gaining his end—a man of “_virtu_,” a manful man, as
the Italians of his day termed it.
After a stay of twelve days at Quilon, the pair voyaged along the
Backwater of Cochin to Calicut, and arrived there in ten days. There he
found two Milanese refugees who had deserted from the Portuguese ships
in which they had arrived at Cochin. It at once occurred to his quick
brain that he might use these fellow countrymen of his. “Never had I
more joy than in beholding these two Christians. They and I were going
about naked” (i.e. girt with a loin-cloth only) “after the manner of
the country. I asked them if they were Christians. Joan Maria answered:
‘Yea, verily.’ Then Piero Antonio asked me if I were a Christian. I
answered: ‘Yea, praise be to God.’ Then he took me by the hand and led
me to his house. And when we had come thither, we began to embrace and
to kiss each other and to shed tears. In sooth, I could not speak like
a Christian; my tongue seemed to be unwieldy and hampered; for I had
been four years without speaking to (European) Christians. I spent the
night following with them; and neither they nor I could eat or sleep,
because of our great joy. You may think how we wished the night were a
whole year, that we might talk together of diverse matters.” Varthema
ascertained that these Milanese were skilled in the making of ordnance,
and had instructed the natives in their art, which had brought them
the favour of the Zamorin. Hence they feared to return to a Portuguese
settlement and, indeed to attempt to escape by land. Experience had
sharpened Varthema’s inborn ability at stratagem; and when he returned
to Cazazionor in the morning and was asked where he had spent the
night, he replied: “at the mosque, rendering thanks to Allah and to
Mohammed for the blessing of a safe return; whereat he (Cazazionor)
was much pleased. And, so that I might learn what was going on in
the land, I told him I meant to keep on sleeping at the mosque, and
that I did not hanker after riches, and that I wished to remain poor.
And, wishing to make my escape, I saw no way but by deceit; for the
Mohammedans being the most stupid of all folk, he was satisfied. And
this I did to be able to talk often with the Christians; for they had
daily word of everything from the court of the King. I began to act
out my deceit, and put on the Moorish saint, and never would partake
of flesh, excepting at the house of Joan Maria; but there we eat two
brace of fowls together every night. And I would no longer mix with the
merchants; nor did any man see me to smile; and I kept in the mosque
all day, save when he (Cazazionor) sent for me that I should go eat
with him; and he rebuked me for not eating flesh. Quoth I: ‘Eating
overmuch leads man to sin greatly.’ And so I began to be a Moorish
saint; and the man was happy who might kiss my hand, and some my knees.”
Luck was, as usual, on Varthema’s side. A merchant, a great friend
of the Persian, falls sick, and our new _Santon_ (holy man) is asked
to visit him. He and Cazazionor go to the sick man’s house together;
and Varthema assumes the air of a skilled physician, and puts various
medical questions in the most approved manner. “Then my companion
turned to me and asked: ‘O Jonah, knowest thou of any medicine for this
my friend?’ I answered: ‘My father was a physician in my land, and what
I know is by that practice which he taught me.’” Then the Persian asked
“Jonah” to do his utmost. “‘Then’ quoth I: ‘In the name of Allah, the
Pitiful, the Compassionate One!’ and felt his pulse, and found him to
be very feverish.’” Questioning the patient in true professional style
“Jonah” found that he was suffering from some intestinal obstruction.
So our physician administered a series of clysters “which did more harm
than good”; for by a singular blunder he had used astringent herbs in
their preparation, and forgot to warm the last clyster, which put the
patient into agony. Then a scene ensued which is told with Rabelaisan
directness and is as coarsely comical as that pursuit of Monsieur
de Porceaunac by the apothecaries, which delighted the court of the
_Grande Monarque_. Jonah is a man of resource and unconquerable force
of will; he has his man hoisted by the heels, and keeps him suspended,
hands and head only touching the ground. The unhappy patient roars
for mercy: “Stop, stop; I am killed, I am killed”; and Cazazionor
exclaims: “O Jonah, is it your practice to do thus in your land?”
Varthema preserves the assurance of the orthodox physician who cannot
err; he asserts that it is no error, and goes on when the sick man
is at the point of death. This last remedy is efficacious, however,
though it leaves the patient in a painful condition; and Jonah, who
was by no means without some grains of human compassion, ordered him
some excellent remedies and gave him still better advice. The story
which is told with a strong sense of humour, ends with a prescription
worthy of the famous Abernethy. The patient is restricted to two meals
a day; and is to take a mile of exercise before each of them; “for
these folk eat eight or ten times a day. This order seemed to him to
be without ruth. However, in the end he was wholly cured ; and thus my
hypocrisy gat me great reputation. They said that I was the friend of
Allah. This merchant would have me to take ten ducats; but I would take
nothing. I even gave three ducats which I had to the poor; and this I
did openly, so that they might know that I had no desire for gold or
gear. Henceforward, happy was the man who might give me to eat at his
house; happy he who kissed my hands and feet; and, when anyone kissed
my hands, I played my part, letting him know that, being a saint, he
gave me my desert. But my companion gat me most credit; for he also had
faith in me, and said that I eat no flesh, and that he had seen me at
Mecca and before the body of Mohammed, that I had always journeyed with
him, that he knew my ways, that I was in verity a saint, and that,
knowing me to be holy and devout, he had given me one of his nieces to
wife. Thus, all men were my well wishers; and every night I went in
secret to the Christians.”
At last, the Milanese told Varthema that there was word of twelve
Portuguese vessels having arrived at Cannanore, and advised him to try
to get there by land. He confesses that his courage failed him for an
enterprise so hazardous; “for I might be killed by the Moors, I being
white and they black.” The news was confirmed by two Persian traders
who arrived from Cannanore, and who were immediately invited by the
hospitable Cazazionor to sit down and eat with him and Varthema, who
was with him at the time. The traders said that the Portuguese were
building a strong fort at Cannanore: “What kind of people may these
Portuguese be?” asked Cazazionor of Jonah. “I answered: ‘Do not speak
of such a people; for they are robbers and sea-thieves one and all.
Would I could see them all of our Mohammedan faith!’ Whereat he became
very filled with malice; and, privily, I rejoiced.”
Next day, the Mohammedan traders, fully alive to the fact that the firm
establishment of the Portuguese in India meant the ruin of their trade,
flocked to prayers at the Mosque, and took Varthema with them. None but
so holy a man should be _imam_ and lead the prayers on such a grave
occasion. So we find him solemnly reciting the Koran.
During the next few days, he pretended to be very ill, and, in answer
to Cazazionor’s anxious enquiries, said he thought that the air of
Calicut did not agree with him. The attachment of the Persian to
Varthema was sincere and deep, and he was not in the least suspicious.
He urged the new-found saint to go to Cannanore until they should be
able to return to Persia together; he had a friend there who would
give him hospitality. Varthema affected to hesitate “because of those
Christians.” Cazazionor replied that there was no need to fear; he
should remain within the city. “In the end, having paid good heed to
the fleet which was being made ready at Calicut, and the army which had
been mustered against the Christians, I set out to give them word of
it, and to save me from the hands of dogs.”
But first he came to a final understanding with the Milanese. Then
there were two dozen Persian, Syrian, and Turkish merchants with
whom he was friendly at Calicut. Which would be the better course:
to take leave of them, and so, possibly, to set them talking, and
arouse suspicion; or to slip away, and so, if some ill-chance should
stop him, to condemn himself by having observed secrecy? He decided
to be off without speaking about it to any one except Cazazionor and
his two friends who were about to return to Cannanore. So, early one
morning, he set out in a boat with these two Persian merchants who
kept silence about their journey because they were trying to evade the
export-duties levied by the Zamorin. But their little bark had only
got a bow-shot from the shore, when Nairs shouted to the skipper to
return at once. They demanded by what right he was carrying Varthema
off without sanction. “The Persians answered: ‘this man is a Moorish
saint; and we are going to Cannanore.’ ‘We know full well that he is
a Moorish saint,’ replied the Nairs; ‘but he understands the tongue
of the Portuguese, and will tell them of all that we are doing; for a
great fleet is being made ready;’ and they laid strict command on the
captain of the ship that he should not give me passage; and he went
by it. We stayed on the beach; and the Nairs went back to the King’s
house. One of the Persians said: ‘Let us go to our lodging,’ that is,
to Calicut. I said ‘Do not go back; for you will lose these fine pieces
of cloth, seeing that you have not paid dues to the King.’ The other
Persian said, ‘O sir, what shall we do?’ I answered ‘Let us go along
the shore until we shall find a _prau_,’ which is to say, a small bark;
and they fell in with this; and we went twelve miles of march, laden
with the goods aforesaid. You can figure to yourself how my heart beat
at finding me in so great danger. At last, we found a _prau_, which
bore us to Cannanore.”
He immediately went to Cazazionor’s friend with his letter of
introduction, wherein was a request that “Jonah,” who was a saint, and
about to become a relation, should be entertained as if he were the
writer, until such time as he should arrive. The merchant laid the
letter on his head, and vowed that he would answer for his guest with
that organ. A feast was prepared; but, alas! the ascetic saint, however
resourceful and however hungry after the journey and its perils, must
keep to his rôle, and could only look on—a Tantalus of the Sixteenth
Century. The repast finished, the company took a little walk by the
sea, and Varthema marked where the fortress of the Portuguese was a
building, and resolved to try for liberty the very next day.
He was up early in the morning, and expressed a desire to stroll
about. The Persians said: “Go where you please”; but they went with
him. He contrived to lead them in the direction of the fort and to
get a little ahead of them. Happening to come across two Portuguese,
he declared himself to be an escaped Christian; and one of them
immediately hastened back to the fort, taking Varthema with him.
Lorenzo de Almeyda, son of the Viceroy and Commandant of the fort
was at breakfast. Varthema cast himself on his knees before him and
besought protection. Just at this instant, the hubbub at Cannanore,
which arose on the discovery of Varthema’s escape, dinned in their
ears. The artillerymen made ready; but everything quieted down; and
Varthema revealed the preparations for war which were being made at
Calicut. Lorenzo de Almeyda sent him to his father Don Francisco,
the Viceroy, who was at Cochin, where the Portuguese had supported a
revolting tributary, and made themselves masters of a little State.
The Viceroy, delighted at getting accurate word of the designs in
progress at Calicut, gave a very favourable audience to the refugee.
Varthema was quite sensible of the generous hospitality and sincere
affection which Cazazionor had bestowed on him. He not merely mentions,
but reiterates the fact. Yet he exhibits not the smallest compunction
at having tricked and deserted him. All moral obligation was as a
feather, when weighed against the achievement of personal freedom and
that self-fulfilment which was the goal of the Italian of his period.
One wonders what were the sentiments of that deluded and forsaken
friend. As for Varthema, once more among Europeans, and those Europeans
of a cognate race, he absorbs their prejudice against Orientals and
“Moslem dogs”; and one realizes how deeper even than to-day, and how
impassable, was the gulf which separated East from West. It is to his
credit that he faithfully fulfilled his promise to Joan Maria and
Piero Antonio; he obtained a pardon and safe-conduct for them from the
Viceroy, and a promise as to their safety from all officials who might
put an obstacle in the way. To induce the Viceroy to grant a pardon
was easy; for that dignitary was aware that he was likely to deprive
the foe of two artillerymen and add them to his own forces; moreover
he would learn much from the intermediary messengers who were to be
sent to them. On Varthema’s return to Cannanore, he found a serviceable
Hindu, whom he sent five times to the two Milanese, holding his wife
and children as a pledge of faithful service. The Milanese were
instructed to say not one single word to their wives, who were natives,
or to their slaves; but to leave these behind them, and steal off, at
dead of night, with what money and valuable jewels they could bring
with them. All was arranged; but a slave had been stealthily watching
his master’s doings; he went to the Zamorin, and told his tale. The
Zamorin refused to credit it; but put a guard over the Milanese. The
slave, who probably was filled with a spirit of revenge, for which he
may have had good cause, next went to the Moorish Cadi. The enraged
traders, when the secret doings of the Milanese were made known to
them, collected a hundred ducats and sent this to the “King of the
Yogis,” or ascetic Fakirs. Presently, the homes of the Christians were
surrounded by a mob of Hindu devotees, sounding horns, and yelling for
alms. “They want more than alms,” said the unhappy men. The fanatics
rushed the houses; and, although the two Europeans fought desperately
for their lives, they were slaughtered; yet not before six Yogis lay
dead at their feet, and forty were wounded. It was reported that the
infuriated Hindus cut their throats when they had overwhelmed them and
drank their blood.
Somehow, the native wife of Joan Maria contrived to escape from
Calicut, and made her way to Cannanore, bringing her little son with
her. Varthema, although he had left his Persian benefactor without
a sigh, was touched at the condition of the little half-caste. He
remembered the aid which the Milanese had given him and the pleasant
nights they had spent together; and the tragedy which had ensued on
their intercourse pierced his feelings. He became the guardian of his
friend’s son, purchasing him for eight ducats in gold, and getting him
duly baptized. But the little fellow was fatally infected with the new
scourge, which it would seem the Portuguese had brought with them to
the East, and he died exactly a year after baptism. “I have seen this
scath three thousand miles beyond Calicut,” says Varthema; “and it is
said that it began about seventeen years aforetime; and that it is far
worse than ours.”