“Obedient to the light
That shone within his soul, he went, pursuing
The windings of the dell. The rivulet,
Wanton and wild, through many a green ravine
Beneath the forest flowed.”
SHELLEY.
Within the tropics the sun lights up the earth or leaves it, with
scarcely any of the mysterious greeting or farewell, with which in more
northern climates he loiters on his way, dyeing the landscape with subtle
gradations of colors, from the fullest display of his mingled glories
in a yellow and purple blaze, to the faintest hues of every shade,
delicate and aerial, like the gossamer robes of spirit land. His coming
is punctual and his welcome hearty. Objects take their hue and shape from
out of the night almost instantaneously, changing from black to golden
brightness, as by the touch of magic. There is loss of beauty to the eye
in this, though the earth may gain in fertility from not having to wait
so long for the fruitful warmth.
It was well nigh morning when the caravel broke up in the reef. The air
was warm, and although the surf roared as loudly as ever, the wind had
gone down. Soon the sun began to appear above the horizon. Beatriz,
availing herself of its earliest light, began to search for her brother
and his company. Tolta was active also. Bits of the wreck strewed the
beach, with here and there articles that might still be of service, but
she paid no attention to them. Hurriedly looking about her, hoping yet
fearful, she espied a body half-buried in the sand. In an instant she was
beside it, but it was one of the crew, stiff and cold. There was no time
to spare for a corpse, so she continued her search for the living. An
object half hidden amid low shrubbery caught her eye. Hastening thither,
she saw the well known white robe of Olmedo. With a cry of joy she
rushed to it, and then breathlessly knelt at his side, placing her hand
upon Olmedo’s heart and her mouth close to his, to detect any signs of
life. He was warm and breathing. His eyes slowly opened, and recognizing
Beatriz, for a moment he seemed to have forgotten the wreck, and to
imagine himself still at sea. As he stretched out his hand with a smile,
to give her his wonted welcome, she seized it passionately, kissed it and
burst into tears.
The good father, surprised at this feeling in one usually so calm, yet
carried away by it without knowing why, pressed her hand warmly in
return, while a tear found its way also to his eye. Instantly recovering
her usual manner, Beatriz asked if he could give her tidings of Juan.
The question recalled to Olmedo the disaster of the night. He had himself
been thrown ashore, on top of a plank to which he had clung at the
breaking up of the caravel, and had scrambled up the beach, until he
reached the bushes, where he had been found half gone in faintness and
sleep.
At the name of Juan he started to his feet and said, “Let us lose no time
in looking for him. The wreck was so sudden that human efforts could not
have availed to save any one. God may have brought him safely to shore as
he has us.”
They had not gone far before a well known voice was heard calling loudly
upon Beatriz. In an instant, she was clasped in the embrace of her
brother. He had rushed from a neighboring grove, as he caught sight of
his sister, and now the two in their sudden joy clung to each other with
mingled sobs and laughter; for being twins their active affections had
been formed together in one maternal mould.
Juan led the party to the spot from which he had emerged, where they
found three of the seamen. It seems that Juan had reached the land,
somewhat bruised, in company with them, and the four had spent their
time in searching for Beatriz and others of the crew, but owing to the
darkness of the night and the loudness of the surf, they were neither
seen nor heard. Farther search assured them that they were the sole
survivors of the wreck. Accordingly having secured the few objects of
utility that had been thrown ashore from it, they began to explore their
new home in reference to their future wants.
The land was much broken and thickly covered with vegetation, some of
which was familiar to them from being common to the “tierra caliente”
of Mexico. As they wandered inland they came to cultivated patches
of yam and the sweet potato. Many of the fields were enclosed in well
constructed stone walls. They were therefore in an inhabited land, and,
as they thought, must soon meet the tillers of the soil. Bananas and
other fruit hung within their reach. Numerous paths intersected grounds,
which were divided into square or oblong lots, surrounded by dykes,
planted with the broad leafed, nutritious taro, and irrigated by so
admirable a network of water-courses as to extort from all exclamations
of surprise. Following up the most trodden of these paths, they came to
a retired valley embosomed amid forest-clad hills, with a quiet stream
flowing through its centre, and cultivated as far up as the eye could
see, in the same manner as the fields through which they had passed. Soon
houses came into view. They were in clusters, low, of thatch, raised
on embankments, with stone pavements around them, or fenced in by rude
palisades.
Expecting each minute to meet the owners, they proceeded cautiously
towards them. They were disappointed, however, for not a human being
appeared; not even a dog or domestic animal of any kind; the air was
still and the sun hot; there was no hum of insects or song of birds;
the sole life that met their view was now and then a stray lizard, that
glided so quickly and silently away as but to make the surrounding
stillness still more sensible.
They began to distrust their senses. Were they in an enchanted land? Was
their shipwreck real, or were they dreaming? Their very voices seemed to
die out in the universal silence. They gathered fruit and eat, and this
reassured them of the reality of their appetites at least, but their own
shadows as they lengthened before them seemed unreal, while those of tree
and rock cast spectral forms about their path.
Terrible and oppressive grew upon them the ambiguity of their position.
Were they watched and being led by enchantment into the power of savage
foes, or were they tantalized by illusions, like the dreams of starving
men who rave of dainties ever within their reach? What meant this life
without life, harvest without reapers, houses without owners, this
atmosphere without insect-hum or bird-song? The very waters enclosed in
rocky basins, or overshadowed by motionless foliage, were unrippled by
current or wave, and repeating the landscape in their still depths, made
it even more unreal. The gracefully shaped canoes which floated upon them
without moving, looked as if painted upon the surface of the stream.
Juan’s impatient spirit chafed for want of action. “By the Holy Mass,
father Olmedo,” he cried, “this silence beats that which made us hold
our breaths on the night when we marched out of Mexico, thinking we
were stealing away unseen from those red devils, when tens of thousands
of their impish eyes were glaring upon us, awaiting the signal to drag
us to their damnable temples. Well must you remember it, and how sad a
night they made of it to us, after the silence was once broken by their
infernal yells, as they dragged away so many of our companions to have
their hearts torn from their living bodies, as offerings to their hideous
war-god. Jesu Maria! I like not this awful stillness. Give me rather a
hundred foes and my own trusty horse, that I might dash among them with
our old battle-cry;”—and in the excitement of the moment, he sprang
forward, waved his sword and shouted at the top of his voice, “At them,
cavaliers; Santiago for Spain.”
“Ah! I have started you at last,” he exultingly exclaimed. “Hark! By the
Holy Virgin, they reply in our blessed language. A dozen wax candles
for our Lady’s shrine for this, as soon as I can get them,—we are among
friends, Beatriz.”
“You mistake, Juan,” replied Beatriz. “The words you hear are only your
own sent back from the hills.”
Juan, distrusting her more acute senses, again shouted, and convinced
himself that it was only the rocks that mockingly echoed the shout. It
was the first time since their creation, that they had given back a sound
foreign to their own shores, and it seemed to linger long among them as
if they relished its notes. Then the silence brooded over the scene more
ominously than before, as no foes appeared, and no human voice sent back
the defiance. Tolta’s eyes, however, glared furiously on Juan at his
ill-timed allusion to “La Noche Triste,” but it was only for a moment.
Beatriz had observed the look, and in a low whisper said to Juan, “Nay,
brother, forbear, that night was a sad one to many besides ourselves.
Why provoke Tolta to revengeful thoughts? He has done us both faithful
service. For my sake respect his feelings.”
Chafed as he was at the mysterious silence, which only angered him,
while it awed, not through fear, but from the depths of its repose, the
hearts of Olmedo and Beatriz, who found something in it kindred to their
own position, Juan’s hasty impulse would have been to have vented his
irritation upon the Mexican, but a second look from his sister restored
his better nature, and he frankly held out his hand to him, exclaiming,
“Pardon my hastiness, Tolta, I meant not to vex you.”
The Mexican’s features resumed their usual apathy, and no one would have
supposed from them, that an emotion had ever touched his heart. Yet among
them all, no eye or ear was keener than his, no nature more sensitive,
none so quick in its perceptions when touched in its own interests or
passions, and none more patient, outwardly forbearing, and inwardly
revengeful, for he was faithful to self-immolation in his friendship, and
equally so in his enmity.
In him love to the individual and hate to the Spanish race were so
interwoven, that it would have been impossible for himself to foresee
how he should act on any occasion which might afford scope for either
passion. He was an Aztec by birth, of the race of the priesthood, young,
accustomed to arms, and learned in the lore of his race; at heart a
worshipper of their idols, though a forced baptism, and the necessities
of a captive, made him nominally a Christian. Manuel was the name
bestowed in baptism, but I prefer to retain that of his birth. In him
lay dormant all those qualities which marked the downfall of his nation.
He was both subtle and open, gentle and fierce; in his domestic relations
inclined to love and peace, refined and courteous; in his faith believing
in one God of “perfection and purity,” yet delighting in smearing the
altars of terrible deities with human gore; a tiger in rage, and a lamb
in sentiment; in short, combining in his own breast the instincts of
brute and man, with no harmonizing principle to keep him in permanent
peaceful relations with himself or his kind. He believed in peace and
purity, and delighted in war and cruelty, displaying to his enemies
either open and irreconcilable hatred, or concealing revenge under the
mask of courtesy and kindness, nay, almost servility, at the same time
recognizing no principles of humanity or religion which interfered with
his desires. As a conqueror, he was imperious; as a captive, abject.
But the native pride and fierceness of his race, so long dominant among
servile tribes, ill adapted him to his present anomalous state, in which,
while feeling himself partly treated as a friend, he could not forget the
events so recent in the history of his race which had made him in reality
a slave. Although he brooded much over his own altered destinies and his
country’s fall, yet, while with Beatriz, the gentle principle in his
nature became active, and he felt soothed and grateful.
Concord being restored, the little party footed their way towards a
cluster of houses of more pretension than the others, built upon a
slight eminence, terraced on all sides with stone work, and having a
flight of steps to the summit. This was walled in, and gave sufficient
area to enclose quite a hamlet. Indeed it might be considered a
fortification of no slight strength, where fire-arms were unknown.
They proceeded cautiously up the steps, stimulated by curiosity, and
thinking it better to brave openly and promptly any danger that might
threaten, as from experience they knew that no demeanor imposes more
powerfully upon barbarians than courage. To this course Tolta advised
them. He was the least affected by the singularity of their position,
and seemed in many things to recognize a similarity in the degree of
civilization and manner of cultivation, as well as in the articles
themselves, to the habits and productions of tribes on the southern
frontiers of his own country, though the entire absence of precious
metals, and any altars or edifices which indicated the worship of
sanguinary deities, puzzled him not a little.
Immediately within the wall, and bordering the main avenue, leading to a
large and commodious house, were many rudely carved wooden images, with
round staring eyes and grinning mouths. Before them were the remains of
fruit, and about them were hung wreaths of flowers, indicating that they
were held in reverence. Passing between them, Juan felt disposed to try
the temper of his sword upon their awkwardly shaped legs and arms for
practice, and to express his abhorrence of what he termed blasphemy,
quite forgetful that in his own land images of the Virgin and saints,
some scarcely better executed, were common to every street and by
every roadside, and that before them were lamps constantly burning and
offerings of flowers placed.
Olmedo’s better judgment checked him. “This indeed may be, my son, as
you say, a device of Satan to turn their hearts from the true worship;
but let us learn more before we act. These very offerings and idols
prove the necessity of worship to the darkened minds of their makers,
and from these false symbols we may by persuasion turn them to the holy
ones of our religion. Remember the Master’s charge to Peter, when he
would have taken the sword. We have had too much of that, and too many
of your brothers in arms have already perished by the sword. We have
been led hither for some wise purpose. Be peaceful and patient. God will
disclose his design in due season. In the meantime, let us respect all
that we see, and if the people of this silent valley show themselves,
meet them with the cross aloft and open hands. We are too few to contend
against a multitude, though not to persuade them by courtesy and our very
helplessness to peace and kindness. If none appear, let us use these good
gifts, as provided by Him who has led us thither.”
Juan replied: “By my troth, father, I would clip off the heads of a few
of these ugly monsters, if for no other motive than to call up a host
of the evil spirits that possess them, that I might do them battle. You
speak truth, however, and I will be patient. Hurry on, my men, let us
explore this sanctuary, and see if we can start out any one to give us
the hospitality we so sorely need.”
Beatriz, who feared his hasty mood, stopped him as he was about to enter
the large house. “No, Juan, let me go in first. The inmates, if any
there be, may slumber; the presence of a maiden,” said she, “will create
neither alarm nor fear. I will enter first.”
So saying, she drew aside the heavy cloth which hung at the door and went
in. Olmedo not heeding her request to Juan, entered immediately after,
but not soon enough to anticipate Tolta, who glided in before him as
noiselessly as a shadow. Juan and the others without further question
followed after.
They found themselves in a spacious room formed by white posts driven
into the ground, with rafters springing from them, making a lofty roof,
covered throughout with thatch, fastened on in the neatest manner with
neatly braided cord. The floor was spread with white mats. Every part
was scrupulously clean. There were raised divans of fine mats variously
colored, and as pliable as the coarser cloths of Europe. These invited
repose, though the pillows being of wood covered with matting, indicated
no effeminacy in the slumbers of their owners. Several of these divans
were curtained by gaily painted cloths, differing in texture from
anything they had seen before. It was something between paper and the
cotton fabrics of Mexico. Garments of the same material, but of softer
and finer quality hung about the walls. There were also wooden bowls
of beautiful grain, highly polished and indicating no slight degree of
mechanical skill; also vessels for water, formed from the gourd plant
and prettily ornamented; fans, graceful plumes of crimson and golden
feathers, protective armor of net or basket work, war clubs, spears and
other weapons. In fine, they found themselves within a house, which
afforded all that was necessary to their wants in that climate, and much
that showed no inconsiderable degree of refinement and taste, but no one
to challenge their intrusion.
The other houses presented a similar sight. They ransacked everywhere
to find some one to explain the unaccountable desertion. There had been
no haste. The inhabitants had not fled in fear. Everything was in its
natural place and condition, just as were the household effects of the
Pompeiians, when Vesuvius buried them in lava and ashes. But here the
mystery was inexplicable. Evidently the desertion had not been very
recent. Some weeks must have passed. Their own appearance, therefore,
could not be connected with it. There was not an article that could
properly belong to such domestic circles that was wanting, and all in the
best condition and ready for use. Everything, however, that had life had
been carefully removed. Even the usual tenants of deserted habitations,
rats, were missing. The awe that almost mastered them in the silence of
the open valley, no longer clung to them in the confined walls of human
make. Curiosity was now uppermost. They talked freely and loudly, and
busied themselves with conjectures to solve the wonder, but with no other
result than to weary their minds without any satisfactory answer.
“At all events,” said Juan, “all but drowned in the morning, with our
brave caravel ground to pieces on the rocks, and most of our poor seamen
a prey to the fishes, here we are at night well housed, with food at
hand, and no greedy innkeeper’s face to suggest a long bill. For my part
let’s to sleep. This is much more comfortable than campaigning amid the
rocks of Tlascalla, with the prospect of a copper-headed lance finding
its way between the ribs before one could sleep out his first nap.”
“You counsel rightly,” replied the priest, “but first let us unite in the
Ave Maria.” So saying, he motioned to them to come into the open air,
and holding up his crucifix he led the chant, while the others knelt
and joined in. Then in the silence of the setting sun, there arose, for
the first time in that unknown land, the hymn of praise to the mother
of Jesus, woman deified and restored to her true nature as the hope and
purifier of man, the type of God’s love to his own image. Softly and
gently as Beatriz breathed the words “Ave purissima,” they seemed to fill
all space, and borne on the air of the fast coming night, stole through
the valley, along the waters, up the hill-sides and amid the trees, with
a melody which made all Nature listen and repeat in notes still more
penetrating, that thrilling symphony of peace and purity. The evening
stars looked down gladly upon the little band, and shedding a harmonious
radiance around the singers, their hearts grew quiet and strong. Even
Tolta felt its influence. As the seamen looked at the hideous idols
about them, they fancied they saw them move in the night air as if they
too bowed in worship to a spirit mightier than their own. It was indeed
mightier; for it was the spirit of Love.