THE
SUN VIRGIN
BOOKS BY THOMAS DIXON
THE SUN VIRGIN
THE LOVE COMPLEX
THE BLACK HOOD
THE MAN IN GRAY
A MAN OF THE PEOPLE
(A Play)
THE WAY OF A MAN
THE FALL OF A NATION
THE FOOLISH VIRGIN
THE VICTIM
THE SOUTHERNER
THE SINS OF THE FATHER
THE LEOPARD’S SPOTS
THE CLANSMAN
(The Birth of a Nation)
THE TRAITOR
THE ONE WOMAN
COMRADES
THE ROOT OF EVIL
THE LIFE WORTH LIVING
THE
SUN VIRGIN
BY THOMAS DIXON
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
HORACE LIVERIGHT: 1929
_Copyright_ : 1929 : _by_
THOMAS DIXON
_Printed in the United States_
_Dedicated to_
AUGUSTO B. LEGUÍA
PRESIDENT OF PERU
WITH ADMIRATION
CONTENTS
CHAPTER I
CHAPTER II
CHAPTER III
CHAPTER IV
CHAPTER V
CHAPTER VI
CHAPTER VII
CHAPTER VIII
CHAPTER IX
CHAPTER X
CHAPTER XI
CHAPTER XII
CHAPTER XIII
CHAPTER XIV
CHAPTER XV
CHAPTER XVI
CHAPTER XVII
CHAPTER XVIII
CHAPTER XIX
CHAPTER XX
CHAPTER XXI
CHAPTER XXII
CHAPTER XXIII
CHAPTER XXIV
CHAPTER XXV
CHAPTER XXVI
CHAPTER XXVII
CHAPTER XXVIII
CHAPTER XXIX
CHAPTER XXX
CHAPTER XXXI
CHAPTER XXXII
CHAPTER XXXIII
THE SUN VIRGIN
CHAPTER I
The brilliant young ruler of Spain, Charles V, had just extended his
empire over the half of Europe, and his _Conquistadores_ were
planting the flag in Mexico and Darien.
A threatening rabble of ragged seamen stood before the governor’s
office in Panama. The news had spread from tavern to tavern that a
sailor, left behind with Pizarro, on the Island of Gallo--where the
bold adventurer had halted temporarily in his quest for gold and
glory--had got a message past Almagro’s keen eye that had reached His
Excellency. The knave had concealed the writing in a ball of cotton
sent as a specimen of South Sea goods to the governor’s wife.
Now that the ugly news of their suffering was out they would snap their
fingers in Almagro’s face and add their voices to the clamor for an end
of folly.
The leader of the mob was haranguing his comrades as the friends of
Pizarro’s unfortunate expedition approached. Molina, the cavalier,
led Father Luque and the Chief Justice, Gaspar Espinosa, into the
governor’s house while Almagro stopped within earshot of the crowd.
At sight of Almagro the orator grinned. Pizarro’s partner was not a
man of impressive appearance. Of small stature, quick and nervous in
movement, wiry, weather-beaten and ill-favored at best, he had lost an
eye in a fight with the Indians on the first voyage to the South. The
deep hollow left below his forehead had given to his face a peculiarly
sinister expression. There was about him a suggestion of the grotesque
until his bronzed features lighted with animation as he talked. At the
end of a speech he had a way of boring a questioner through with his
one eye that was especially disquieting--if he spoke to an enemy. Its
steady light was now focused on the speaker.
“Remember, Comrades,” the orator shouted, “that we were dragged by
Pizarro into the wilderness of the South to die of hunger. The cry of
a Kingdom of Gold was a cheat from the start. The golden country was
always just ahead. We never saw it. The little yellow metal found was
sent back here as molasses to catch more flies. Stand together now and
let the governor know the truth--”
Almagro suddenly appeared, lifted his single eye to the orator’s face
and a dead silence followed.
The little man spoke with deadly deliberation.
“No whine from cowards in the governor’s ears to-day, swine! Hardship?
suffering? danger? _Por Dios!_ Did you go on a pleasure jaunt? You
enlisted as a soldier. A soldier’s business is to die. Open your mouth
at this hearing--if you dare. I will not answer you. No--God’s light!
I’ll spit you with my sword and roast you in hellfire!”
Before the orator could recover from the shock of his threat, Almagro
swung on his heel and followed his friends into the governor’s house.
A hurried council was held before their entrance into the audience
chamber. In spite of rumors of the hostility of the authorities the
managers of the expedition were not without hope. Espinosa, the secret
backer of the enterprise, had sought the aid of his beautiful sister
Teresa. She had won her lover, Alonso de Molina, to the cause. Molina
was not only the most popular young cavalier who had come from Spain
in the suite of the new governor, Don Pedro de los Rios; he was an
intimate friend of His Excellency.
Father Luque seized Almagro’s arm.
“I am going to ask you, Diego, to keep your temper at this hearing and
allow our new advocate to do all the talking.”
A smile played around the one eye.
“Not a word from me, Father Luque. I have already spoken.”
The governor lifted his brows in angry surprise at the appearance of
the new champion of an expedition he had fully resolved to doom.
“You appear before me, Alonso de Molina,” he grumbled, “in behalf of
these madmen who have already exhausted the patience of the king’s
servants?”
“I do, Your Excellency,” was the firm reply. “I hold that they have
given good evidence on which to base their faith in the enterprise.”
“And what, pray? A few yards of cloth and a few gold trinkets. A
hundred raids here in Darien have each yielded more. Scores of men have
been sacrificed on these two crazy voyages to the South, and they are
no nearer this myth of a Kingdom of Gold than three years ago when the
mad scheme was first launched.”
“Yet, Your Excellency will recall the fact,” Molina soothed, “that our
sovereign expressed a command that you should lend every reasonable aid
to the expeditions of the South Sea--”
“Every reasonable aid--yes!” the governor continued. “I have done more
than reason demands. I will no longer permit the senseless sacrifice
of our men to the obstinacy of Pizarro and his associates. The whole
scheme is insanity. I have decided. I will issue orders to my trusted
officer, Tafur, to sail at once with two ships for the Island of Gallo
and bring back every Spaniard whom he shall find still alive.”
Molina attempted to speak and the governor stopped him with an angry
gesture.
“No more. An end now to this nonsense!”
Molina bit his lips and then smiled:
“I was only about to ask of Your Excellency permission to accompany
Tafur on this voyage?”
Molina bowed to the governor. Rios twisted in his chair and finally
answered:
“Provided, Señor, that you agree to return with the ships.”
“I agree,” was the prompt answer.
Almagro seized the young cavalier’s hand and whispered:
“I expect to see you leading an army in the new Kingdom, young man!”
“You may, for all of that,” Molina answered tersely with a snap of
his strong jaw. He did not like the governor’s humor. The man had not
conducted himself as a fair executive; he had acted merely the rôle of
a tyrant executing a predetermined decision.
Father Luque wrote a letter to Pizarro which Almagro signed with his
cross-mark, advising him to hold his ground until a favorable turn of
fortune. They would stay in Panama and with Espinosa work with tireless
energy to reverse the decision.
Molina placed the letter in his doublet and sailed with Tafur for the
Island of Gallo. The more he heard of Francisco Pizarro the greater
became his curiosity to see and talk with the man who had kept Panama
in a state of turmoil for more than three years. And all for a dream.
No fool could work this miracle.
The man towards whom he sailed was never in all his eventful career in
graver need of succor. The island on which he and his men had landed to
await supplies proved a barren waste of misery. They found themselves
prisoners without hope of relief unless it should come from Panama.
Each day was a struggle with starvation. The men sent out on foraging
expeditions had begun to conceal what food they found against the final
day of a living death. The only food now upon which the commander could
depend was found in the scrawny crabs and shellfish picked up on the
shores.
And it was the rainy season. Storm after storm swept the island and
deluged them with rain for days. Their clothes were in tatters and
there was nothing out of which they could make more. There was not an
animal on the island large enough to furnish a skin to cover their
nakedness; the rude huts which they had built had been torn down and
scattered to the winds, and the rain beat on their half naked bodies
with fury. The spirit of adventure had died long since. They waited
in sullen terror, and they watched the sea with feverish eyes for the
sight of sails.
Finally they were rewarded.
Tafur’s ships at last crept across the horizon from the North, and a
shout of delirium swept the huddled groups on the beach. They ate like
ravenous beasts the food set before them.
Molina delivered the letter to Pizarro and studied the man while Ruiz,
his faithful pilot, read its message aloud. Tall, lean, straight, sun
and wind-tanned, the adventurer stood with taut muscles as he listened
to the fated words. By the deep gravity of his countenance the younger
man could see that he was facing the supreme hour of life. As the
purport of the message dawned on his mind, Molina saw his nostrils
dilate, the grim mouth relax into a smile and his deep-set eyes flash
with joy. His decision was instantaneous. He would not beg a single
coward to stay. But there were a few choice spirits to whom he could
appeal. He would hold them with ties of loyal steel and let Tafur
take the rest of his mottled crew to hell if he liked. He called his
followers in a final conference before allowing them to embark. Most of
them stared with hostile eyes for they already had begun to curse him
for their sufferings.
He drew his sword and faced the crowd with an exultant look. Stooping,
he traced a line in the sand from east to west, and in clear tones
called:
“Soldiers of Spain! On the south side of this line are hunger,
nakedness, storms, suffering, and death; on the north side lie ease and
pleasure, drink and idleness in Panama. Choose! Choose each man what
best becomes a brave Castilian! For my part, _I_ go to the south!”
Pizarro stepped across the line to be immediately followed by Ruiz,
Pedro de Candia and eleven others of his men. Molina roused from the
spell under which the man’s simple eloquence had held him to find
himself among the volunteers. Pizarro grasped his hand and pressed it
fiercely:
“I am honored, Señor Alonso de Molina, by this act of approval from a
brave spirit. But I cannot allow you to remain on this grim watch. You
have influence in Panama. Hence I ask you to return with my good pilot
and bring back a ship for our enterprise.”
The young cavalier bowed.
“I have taken service under your banner, Francisco Pizarro, and go
where you command.”
Again the two men clasped hands. Turning to the group who had pledged
anew their lives to his cause, he called aloud each name:
“Bartholome Ruiz, Cristoval de Peralta, Pedro de Candia, Domingo de
Sonia Luce, Nicolas de Ribera, Francisco de Cuellor, Alonso de Molina,
Pedro Alear, Garcia de Jerez, Anton de Carrion, Alonso Briceno, Martin
de Paz, and Juan de la Torre, you have this day written your names on
the scroll of fame. I salute you my friends, my comrades!”
He grasped each hand in turn and felt repaid for every hour of pain and
hunger, in their loyalty.
Tafur angrily faced the group and demanded that they embark in
obedience to the commands of their governor. They laughed at his rage.
“Your act,” he snarled, “is sheer madness involving death of every man
among you.”
“Perhaps,” Pizarro answered. “We understand. We have chosen death
before desertion. Say this to the governor. We demand only that you
leave us one of your ships in which to pursue our voyage.”
“God’s light!” shouted Tafur, “I like your impudence. Leave you a ship?
Not a shred of a single sail. Stay here and rot in your damned folly if
you will. I’ll have no part in it.”
The only concession Pizarro could wring from him was to land a limited
supply of the food which he had brought to their rescue.
And then the adventurer with eleven of his followers stood on the
shore and watched the ships spread their wings and disappear beyond
the northern horizon. A dozen men, with scant food, without clothing,
almost unarmed, with no knowledge of the land to which they were bound,
without tools, without shelter, without a vessel for transport, took
their place on a lonely island in the ocean--resolved to find and
conquer a mighty empire. They might fail; but their failure would be
attended by no governor’s rebuke: they would win, or die.
To Pizarro it was the supreme crisis. And he exulted. Had he faltered,
compromised, or returned, it would have been the end of his dreams.
These dreams had now ceased to be dreams--they had become the living
realities of life. There could be no turning back from to-day; every
bridge was burnt behind--before lay glory or death.
He immediately decided to abandon the Island of Gallo. Twenty-five
leagues to the north lay the little island of Gorgona, but five leagues
from the mainland and uninhabited. But it was an advantageous spot.
It was high and heavily timbered. The woods abounded in pheasants and
the plains with rabbits. With their crossbows the men could get a fair
supply of game without loss of powder, and cool streams supplied good
water.
By Pizarro’s orders the men constructed a raft on which they managed on
a fair day to float with favorable currents to this island. They built
rude huts and began the long siege of waiting for Molina’s return.
The one horror from which they suffered most was the bite of swarming
mosquitoes. So desperate was the pests’ attack that at times it was
necessary for the sufferers to bury their bodies completely in the sand
until a breeze brought relief.
Through months of desolate waiting, Pizarro’s stout spirit was the
inspiration of every follower. Freebooters and adventurers though they
were, in this time of trial they watched the stars, tried once more to
find the face of God, and in the night winds to hear His voice. Pizarro
encouraged them in religious devotions. Without fail they said their
morning prayers, and as the twilight deepened, chanted their hymns to
the Virgin. And they celebrated punctually each festival of the Church.
Pizarro was using every means at his command and every ounce of his
indomitable character to make his enterprise a holy crusade under the
banners of Castile.