THE TEOCALI.
Sotavento was completely exhausted by the efforts he had been compelled
to make in reaching the islet on which he had so luckily found a
refuge. For nearly an hour he lay with his eyes closed and in a half
fainting state. When his strength had gradually returned, when his
blood began to circulate more freely and his ideas regained their
equilibrium, he thought of the horse, which, in his present situation,
became the more precious to him, as the animal alone could save him.
The poor brute had halted a few paces from its master with hanging
head and piteous look. The Indian rose, picked up a pebble, went to
the horse coaxingly, and began vigorously rubbing all parts of its
body, after which operation he dried it with a wisp of grass. The
horse perceiving the comfort this produced, whinnied with pleasure
as it rubbed its intelligent head against the Indian's shoulder, and
then began eagerly browsing the grass which grew profusely in this
sequestered spot.
"Come," Sotavento muttered with visible satisfaction, "this poor brute
has had a luckier escape than I expected; it has bottom, and will be
all right after a few hours' rest."
Certain of finding his steed again when he wanted it, he let it browse
in peace, and went off to examine the islet and find out the exact
nature of his position, whether good or bad. He could not think of
eating, for he was utterly without provisions, but that troubled him
very slightly. The Indians, like all nomadic races, are accustomed to
endure without complaint, and almost without noticing them, privations
which would render a European desperate and incapable of getting out of
the scrape. The only weapon the Stag possessed was the knife he took
from the soldier whom he had scalped; and hence he must display the
greatest prudence, and carefully avoid a meeting with either men or
wild beasts.
The islet on which he found himself was rather large and completely
covered with wood. The Indian walked its entire length; but on reaching
the end he uttered a cry of disappointment, for he noticed a _portage_,
that is to say, a line of rocks crossed the whole width of the river,
and formed an impassable crest of breakers; hence he could not dream
of gaining the mainland on that side. Had he been alone he would
have probably tried, and by his skill and strength have succeeded in
reaching land by leaping from one rock to another; but he would not
abandon his horse.
On the American savannahs a man unarmed and without a horse is
hopelessly lost. Sotavento was aware of this, hence the thought did
not occur to him of going away alone. He had crossed the whole length
of the isle, and now resolved to go round it. It was a rough job to
be undertaken by a man who had not taken any food for twenty-four
hours, and whose strength was exhausted by long moral and physical
fatigue; still his salvation depended on his resolution, and he did not
hesitate. His search was protracted, and for a lengthy period sterile;
he walked slowly along the sand with his eyes fixed on the opposite
bank, seeking, without desponding, a spot where his horse could stand
and climb the scarp with no excessive difficulty. At last he noticed
at about the centre of the isle a place where the water was much
clearer than elsewhere; it was a shallow ford, for the sand forming the
riverbed was visible. He boldly entered the water and walked forward;
he was not mistaken; he had really found a wide ford whose depth did
not exceed two feet.
This discovery was most lucky; but this was not enough; he must assure
himself whether the slope of the opposite bank was not too steep for
his horse's hoofs. The Indian continued his march and crossed the
river. Then he saw what he had been unable to discover from the isle--a
mass of rock projected some distance into the stream and formed an
elbow, behind which opened a species of haven, ascending to the top of
the cliff by an almost insensible incline. The deeply formed marks in
the sand indicated that this was a watering place to which wild beasts
proceeded to drink at night. People say that a slice of luck never
comes alone; Sotavento had a proof of this on the present occasion,
for the ford and road were on the side of the stream to which he would
have to cross in order to join his tribe. Henceforth at his ease, and
certain of rejoining his friends, the Stag returned to the isle.
The sun had risen a long time, and the heat was beginning to grow
intolerable. The Indian, who was in no hurry, resolved to let the great
heat pass and not start till toward evening; moreover, the violent
exercise he had taken in seeking a passage had greatly fatigued him,
and he needed rest. When he rubbed down his horse, he had unbuckled
the girths and removed the saddle, which he threw on the grass without
looking at it. On his return, at the moment when he sought a convenient
spot for sleeping, his eyes fell accidentally on this saddle, and he
noticed an _alforja_, or a species of double canvas pocket, which every
Mexican carries with him when travelling, which he had not observed,
for the simple reason that these bags, fastened behind the saddle, were
concealed by a blanket and sheepskin, which almost entirely covered
them.
The poor soldier whom the Indian had killed carried in these alforjas
all his wretched property, flint and steel, and tobacco, precious
things for the fugitive; but what caused him greater pleasure still,
there was nearly a yard of _tasajo_, meat dried in the sun, as well as
a dozen biscuits, and a large lump of goat's cheese. All this was wet
though, it is true; but what did the Indian care for this, when he was
half dead of hunger.
Instead of sleeping, as he had originally intended, Sotavento spread
out all the provisions on the ground to let them dry in the sun, which
was effected in less than ten minutes, collected dry leaves, lit a
fire, roasted his tasajo, and began eating as Indians eat when they
have long gone without food, that is to say, with no thought of the
morrow. He devoured all his provisions at one meal; then, his hunger
appeased, he filled his pipe, and began smoking with the beatitude and
satisfaction of a man whose life has hung by a thread, and who has only
been saved by a miracle.
Sotavento thus spent the greater part of the day in a gentle _far
niente_, smoking, sleeping, and ruminating plans of vengeance, for he
constantly thought of the two hapless prisoners he had left at the
teocali, whom he was most anxious to rejoin now that he had escaped
such imminent danger. When the sun began to elongate enormously the
shadows of the trees, and its oblique beams had lost nearly all their
heat, the Indian considered it time to start; horse and rider, well
fed and rested, were in a condition to ride a long distance. Sotavento
got up, saddled his horse, and leading it by the bridle to save it
unnecessary fatigue, waded through the ford; when he reached the other
bank, he took a parting glance of gratitude at this isle, which had
offered him such pleasant shelter. Then he mounted, and whispering to
his horse the word "Santiago," he set out, as if borne on the wings of
the wind, in the direction of the desert.
It was not till nine o'clock of the next evening that he reached the
ford of the Río del Norte. He crossed, let his horse breathe for a
while, and henceforth certain that the enemy could not catch him up,
he continued his desperate ride across the savannah. Still, in spite
of his diligence, the Indian did not reach the teocali until the third
evening after his flight. During his absence the number of his comrades
had greatly increased. The messenger he had sent to the village after
the capture of Doña Emilia had returned, bringing with him all the male
and female members of the tribe whom pressing business did not detain
at the atepetl. The Indians were curious to witness the punishment of
the prisoners. With them it was an act of justice they were about to
perform, for the vengeance they had pursued for so many years was on
the point of being consummated.
Sotavento's first care, on reaching the teocali, was to inquire after
his prisoners; they were still calm and resigned. The chief, in his
heart, was vexed at seeing so many warriors assembled; he, however,
concealed his dissatisfaction, and, on the contrary, feigned great joy,
intending, if circumstances demanded it, to act vigorously; but wishing
temporarily to remain neutral, lest he should arouse the suspicious
susceptibility of his comrades, and make them distrustful about the
plans he was meditating. The Stag knew that, in case of necessity, he
could claim the support and assistance of the young warriors of the
tribe, and that he would only have to contend with the old sachems, in
whose hearts no feeling but that of revenge any longer existed.
The council of the chiefs was assembled at the moment when he arrived,
and he at once proceeded to it. The sachems received him with great
marks of distinction, and congratulated him on the fortunate result
of his expedition; then they informed him of the measures decided on
with respect to the prisoners. These were simple and terrible; the
two ladies would be fastened to the stake on the next day, tortured
for four hours, and then flayed alive and burnt. The Stag did not
wince, he listened to these fearful details without manifesting the
slightest emotion; but when the president of the council, who was no
other than his father, had imparted to him these resolutions, he asked
leave to speak, which was granted him. Then, in an artful harangue,
perfectly suited to the intellect of the men who surrounded him, the
chief adroitly went over, all the services he had rendered the tribe;
the long exile to which he had been condemned in order to insure the
success of his plans; the countless difficulties he had had to overcome
not to arouse the suspicion of those whom he was betraying; what
trouble and care he had been obliged to take in at length securing
the captives. He insinuated that no reward had been offered him,
although he had a right to claim one; that, according to the Indian
fashion, women become the property of those who carry them off; that,
consequently, the prisoners belonged to him, and that he alone had
the right to decide their fate; but that, if he claimed this right at
the moment, it was not for the sake of thwarting the decision of the
council, but, on the contrary, to ensure the general vengeance, and
render it more exemplary.
The chiefs, who at first listened to this address with marked
dissatisfaction, applauded the unexpected finale, and urged the Stag
to explain himself. The latter, inwardly satisfied with the effect his
remarks produced, only allowed himself to be pressed just long enough
to excite the general curiosity more.
"What good is it torturing these two squaws in such a way? Is that the
manner in which you would take your revenge? It would be ridiculous,
and last but a few hours; and I propose something better. These women
are white, rich, and accustomed to all the refinements of luxury which
civilization procures; deprive them of all this, not by killing them,
but by letting them live in a condition a thousandfold worse than
death. However cruel the palefaces may be, they love their children as
we love ours. This woman, whom the people of her own colour call Doña
Emilia, whom we call the Queen of the Savannah, on account of all the
wrongs she has dealt to us, adores her daughter. Order this girl to
marry a chief of the tribe, and force her mother to consent to this
union. Once the wife of a chief, this haughty Spaniard will suffer
tortures a hundred times more terrible than those she would endure if
fastened to the stake. The mother, witness of her daughter's suffering
and unable to calm or mitigate it, will suffer unusual and incessant
grief, which will be the more cruel as she can have no hope. Do you not
think that such vengeance is preferable to what you proposed?"
The chiefs applauded enthusiastically; Running Water alone shook his
head dubiously.
"That race is intractable," he said, "and nothing can tame it; these
women will not consent, they will not accept a proposition which must
appear to them dishonouring; they will prefer death."
"In that case they shall die!" the Stag shouted, with a ferocious
accent.
Running Water rose.
"Yes," he said, "my son the Stag has spoken well; these palefaces,
these Spaniards, whom the genius of evil sent in his wrath upon our
land, hunt us like wild beasts; I myself, a few days ago, only escaped
from their clutches through the protection of the Wacondah! Let the
mother die, while the daughter becomes the squaw of the man who
captured her; in that way our vengeance will be complete."
"Let it be so," White Crow remarked. "The Stag will communicate to the
prisoners the decision of the council."
"I will do so," the chief said. "Give orders to prepare everything for
the torture, for, I repeat, they shall die tomorrow if they meet me
with a refusal."
The council broke up; the chiefs retired to the tents erected for
them by their squaws, and soon fell asleep. The majordomo alone did
not think of rest; he proceeded at a rapid pace to the spot where the
prisoners were. On reaching the wickerwork which formed the door, the
Indian hesitated for a moment, but, surmounting the emotion which
contracted his brow, he violently opened the door, and walked in. The
two ladies were sadly seated by a smouldering fire, with their heads
bowed on their chests; at the noise produced by the chief's entrance,
they quickly raised their heads, stifling a cry of surprise and terror.
The Indian looked at them for a moment with an undefinable expression.
"I frighten you," he said, in a low guttural voice, as he smiled.
"No," Doña Emilia answered, "your presence does not terrify us, it
merely excites disgust."
The chief frowned angrily, but checked himself.
"It is dangerous," he said, "to rouse the lion when you are in his
power."
"The lion?" she continued, disdainfully; "You mean the coyote. The lion
is brave, his character is noble, and he only attacks enemies worthy of
his fury."
"Very good, I am a coyote," he continued with perfect calmness,
"insult is permissible to persons who are about to die."
"Die?" Doña Diana exclaimed, with an outburst of joy that confounded
the Indian. "Oh, thanks, señor; this is the first time you have brought
me good news. When are we to die?"
"Tomorrow," he replied, in a hollow voice. There was a mournful
silence, and then the majordomo continued--
"You seem very weary of life?"
"Yes, of such a life as you have made it; I prefer death to remaining
longer exposed to the sufferings of every description to which I have
been subjected during my captivity."
"You can both live if you like," he said significantly. They shook
their heads in denial, but said nothing.
"At liberty," he continued.
"At liberty?" the young lady repeated, her eyes suddenly lighting up
with a flash of hope.
Doña Emilia gently laid her hand on her shoulder, and addressed the
chief--
"Come," she said, "explain yourself frankly; your words must conceal
some terrible trap; on what condition are we to live and be free? We
must be told these conditions in order to know whether we are able to
accept them."
"Can life be bargained for in this way?"
"Yes, where life is to be purchased with dishonour."
"Tomorrow you will be fastened to the stake, and tortured for four
hours without respite or mercy."
"What next?" Doña Emilia asked haughtily.
"After that," he continued with an ill-omened smile, "you will be
flayed alive, and burnt while still quivering."
While uttering these cruel words, the chief fixed a viper glance on his
captives. Doña Emilia shrugged her shoulders contemptuously.
"I am waiting for you to tell us the conditions on which you will
allow us to live," she went on with a bitter smile. "They must be very
horrible, since you, whom nothing checks, hesitate in revealing them to
us."
"You know the condition already," he said slowly.
"Repeat it, I have forgotten it," Doña Emilia remarked.
The chief made an effort over himself, and said in a choking voice--
"That your daughter consents to become my wife."
Doña Emilia broke into a loud harsh laugh, and looked at her daughter.
The latter drew herself up proudly, walked toward the chief, who was
apparently calm, although a terrible tempest raged in his breast and
fixed on him a glance of sovereign contempt.
"Invent the most atrocious tortures," she said to him, "I prefer death
to such fearful degradation."
"Well said, my child!" Doña Emilia exclaimed, as she passionately
pressed her to her heart.
The chief stamped his foot passionately; he gave the two ladies a
glance of implacable hatred and went away, after saying one word of
frightful meaning, "Tomorrow." So soon as the ladies were alone, they
joined hands, knelt and prayed fervently to Him who alone had the power
to save them.