THE LEGEND OF THE HEART
When I had gone a few paces down the hole, it widened suddenly, so
that we were able to stand upright and light our candles. Now there
was no doubt that we were in the tunnel of an old mine, a rudely-dug
shaft that turned this way and that as it followed the windings of the
ore body.
Along this tunnel we went for thirty or forty paces, creeping over the
fallen boulders, and twisting ourselves between the brown stalactites
that in the course of ages had formed upon the roof and floor, till
presently we reached an obstacle that barred our further progress; a
huge mass of rock which at some time or other had fallen from the roof
of the tunnel and blocked it. I looked at it, and said:
“Now, señor, I think that we shall have to go back. You remember the
writing tells us that this mine, although so rich, was unsafe because
of the rottenness of the rock. Doubtless they propped it in the old
days, but the timbers have decayed long ago.”
“Yes,” he answered, “we can do nothing here without help, and,
Ignatio, I don’t like the look of the roof, it is full of cracks.”
As these last words left his lips a piece of stone, the size of a
child’s head, fell from above almost at his feet.
“Speak softly,” I whispered, “the ring of your voice is bringing down
the roof.”
Then I stooped to pick up the fallen stone, thinking that it might
show ore, and, as I did so, my hand touched something sharp, which I
lifted and held to the candle. It was the jawbone of a man, yellow
with age, and corroded by damp. I showed it to the señor, and,
kneeling down, we examined the bed of the tunnel together, and not
uselessly, for there we found the remainder of the skull and some
fragments of an arm-bone, but the rest of the skeleton lay under the
great boulder in front of us.
“He was coming out of the mine when the rock fell upon him, poor
fellow,” whispered the señor. “Look here,” and he pointed to a little
heap of something that gleamed in the candle-light.
It was free gold, six or seven ounces of it, almost pure, and for the
most part in small nuggets, that once were contained in a bag which
had long since rotted away.
Doubtless, after the mine was closed, some Aztec, who knew its secret,
had made a practice of working there for his own benefit, till one
day, as he was coming out, the rock fell upon him and crushed him,
leaving his spirit to haunt the place for ever.
“There is no doubt about this mine being rich,” whispered the señor;
“but all the same I think that we had better get out of it. I hear odd
noises and rumblings which frighten me. Come, Ignatio,” and he turned
to lead the way towards the opening.
Two paces farther I saw him strike his ankle against a piece of rock
that stood up some six or eight inches from the floor-bed of the
tunnel, and the pain of the blow was so sharp that, forgetting where
he was, he called out loudly. The next instant there was a curious
sound above me as of something being torn, and, lo! I lay upon my face
on the rock, and upon me rested a huge mass of stone.
I say that it rested upon me, but this is not altogether true, for,
had it been so, that stone would have killed me at once, as a beetle
is killed beneath the foot of a man, instead of taking more than
two-and-twenty years to do it. The greater part of its weight was
borne by the piece of rock against which the señor had struck his
leg, a point of the fallen boulder only pressing into my back and
grinding me against the ground. Now we were in darkness, for the
señor had been knocked down also, and his candle extinguished, and,
in the midst of my tortures, it came into my mind that he must be
dead.
Presently, however, I heard his voice, saying, “Ignatio; do you live,
Ignatio?”
Now I thought for a moment. Even in my pain I remembered that more of
the roof would surely give ere long, and that if my friend stayed here
he must die with me. Nothing could save me, I was doomed to a slow
death beneath the stone; and yet if I told him this I knew that he
would not go. Therefore I answered as strongly as I could:
“Fly, señor, I am safe, and do but stay to light a candle. I will
follow you.”
“You are lying to me,” he answered; “your voice comes from the level
of the floor.” And as he spoke I heard the scratching sound of a
match.
So soon as he had found his candle and lit it, he knelt down and
looked at me. Then he examined the roof above, and, following his
glance with difficulty, I saw that next to the hole whence the boulder
had fallen, hung a huge block of stone, that, surrounded by great
cracks from which water dropped, trembled like a leaf whenever he
moved or spoke.
“For the love of God, fly,” I whispered. “In a few hours it will be
over with me, and you cannot help me. I am a dead man, do not stop
here to share my fate.”
For a moment he seemed to hesitate, then his courage came back to him,
and he answered hoarsely:
“We entered this place together, friend, and we will go out together,
or not at all. You must be fixed by the rock and not crushed, or you
would not speak of living for hours. Let me look,” and he lay upon his
breast and examined the fallen rock by the light of the candle. “Thank
God! there is hope,” he said at last, “the boulder rests on the ground
and upon the stone against which I struck my leg, for only one point
of it is fixed in your back. Do you think that anything is broken,
Ignatio?”
“I cannot say, señor, my pain is great, and I am being slowly crushed
to death; but I believe that as yet my bones are whole. Fly, I beg of
you.”
“I will not,” he answered sullenly, “I am going to roll this rock off
you.”
Then, lifting with all his great strength, he strove to move the
stone, but without avail, for it was beyond the power of mortal man to
stir it, and all the while the black mass trembled above his head.
“I must go for help,” he said, presently.
“Yes, yes, señor,” I answered, “go for help;” for I knew well that
before he could return with any, more of the roof would have fallen,
shutting me in to perish by inches, or perhaps crushing the life out
of me in mercy. Then I remembered, and added:
“Stay a moment before you go; you are noble, I will give you
something. Feel here round my neck, there is a little chain--now, draw
it over my head--so. You see a token hangs to it; if ever you are in
trouble with the Indians, take their chief man apart and show him
this, and he will die for you if need be.
“Englishman, by this gift I have made you heir to the empire of the
Aztecs in the heart of every Indian, and the master of the great
brotherhood of Mexico. Molas, the messenger, will tell you all and
bring you to those who can initiate you. Bid him lead you whither he
would have led me. Farewell, and God go with you. Tell the Indians how
I died, that they may not think that you have murdered me.”
To these words of mine the señor made no answer, but thrust the token
into his pocket without looking at it, like one who dreams. Then,
taking the candle with him, he crept forward down the tunnel and
vanished, and my heart sank as I saw him go, leaving me to my dreadful
fate without a word of farewell.
“Doubtless he is too frightened to speak,” I thought, “and it is right
that he should fly as quickly as possible to save his life.”
Now, as I was soon to learn, I was doing the señor a bitter wrong in
my mind, seeing that he never dreamed of deserting me, but went to
find a means of rescue. As he told me afterwards, when he reached the
mouth of the tunnel, he could think of no way by which I might be
saved, since these mountains were uninhabited, and it would take
several hours to bring men from Cumarvo.
Outside the mine he sat himself down to consider what could be done,
but no thought came, for it was impossible to use the strength of the
horses in that narrow place. Then he sprang up and looked round him in
despair. Close to him was a little ravine hollowed by water, and on
its very edge grew a small mimosa thorn of which the long roots had
been washed almost bare by a flood. He saw it, and an inspiration
entered into him. With the help of a lever he might be able to do a
feat to which his unaided strength was not equal.
Springing at the little tree, that being of so tough a wood was the
best possible for his purpose, he tore it from such root-hold as
remained to it. A few strokes with his heavy hunting-knife trimmed off
the branches and fibres, and soon he was creeping carefully up the
tunnel, dragging the trunk after him. When he had gone some twenty
paces he heard another fragment of the roof fall, and, so he said in
his story, was minded to fly.
He had but just escaped from a horrible end, the end that generations
ago overtook the poor Aztec, and it was awful to brave it again. He
knew that his chances of being able to rescue me were few indeed,
whereas those that he would perish miserably in the attempt were many.
Then he remembered what my sufferings must be if I still lived, and
how his own conscience would reproach him in the after years, should
he leave me to my fate, and he went on.
Now he could see that the half-detached mass of the roof still hung;
it was a smaller fragment which had fallen, one nearer to the
entrance. He could see also that I lay in the same position beneath
the rock, and he thought that I was dead, because I neither moved nor
spoke, though, in fact, I had but swooned under the agony of my
suffering.
“Are you dead?” he whispered, and I heard his voice through my sleep,
and, lifting my head, looked up at him astonished, for I had never
thought to see him again.
“Do I behold a spirit,” I said, “or is it you come back?”
“It is I, Ignatio, and I have brought a lever. Now when I lift,
struggle forward if you can.”
Then he placed the trunk of the thorn-tree in what seemed to him the
best position, and put all his strength upon it. It was in vain; even
so he could not stir the rock.
“Try a little more to the right,” I said, faintly; “there is a better
hold.”
He shifted the lever and dragged at it till his muscles cracked, and I
felt the stone tremble as its bulk began to rise.
“If you can help ever so little, it will come!” he gasped.
Then in my despair, though the anguish of it nearly killed me, I set
my palms upon the ground, and, contracting myself like a snake that is
held with a forked stick, thrust upwards with my back, till the point
of the stone was raised to the height of eight or ten inches from the
ground.
For a moment, and one only, it hung there; next instant the lever
slipped, and down it came again. But I had taken my chance, for,
clinging to the floor with my fingers, so soon as my back was free,
with a quick movement I dragged myself a foot or more forward. Then
the point of rock that had been lifted from my spine fell again, but
this time it struck the ground between my thighs.
Now he seized me by the arms and tore me free, though I left one of my
long boots beneath the stone. I strove to rise, but could not because
of the hurt to my back.
“You must carry me, señor,” I said.
He glanced at the mass that trembled above us; then, giving me the
candle, he lifted me from the ground like an infant and staggered
forward down the tunnel. Perhaps we had gone some seven or eight
paces, not more, when there was a dreadful crash behind us. The roof
had fallen in, and the spot which we occupied some thirty seconds
before was now piled high with rocks.
“On!” I said; “cracks are showing in the stone above us!” and he
rushed forward till we found ourselves outside the mine.
Now I bowed my head and returned thanks for my escape; then, lifting
it, I looked my preserver in the face and said:
“I swear by the name of God, señor, that He never made a man nobler
than yourself!”
The next instant I fell forward and fainted there among the ferns.
* * * * * * *
Ten days had passed since I was carried from the mouth of that
accursed mine back to Cumarvo in a litter, and during all this time I
had suffered much pain in my back, and been very ill--so ill, indeed,
that I was scarcely allowed to speak with anyone. Now, however, I was
much better, and one afternoon the Señor Strickland, assisted by my
foster-brother Molas, lifted me from my bed into a hammock.
“By the way, Ignatio,” said the señor when Molas had gone, “I never
gave you back this charm of yours. What a strange trinket it is!” he
added, taking it from his neck; “and what did you mean by your talk in
the tunnel about its making me heir to the empire of the Aztecs in the
heart of every Indian, and the rest of it? I suppose that you were
delirious with pain, and did not know what you were saying.”
“Is the door shut, señor?” I asked; “and are you sure that there is
no one on the verandah? Good! Then draw your chair nearer and I will
tell you something. I am not certain that I should take this talisman
back again, still I will do so for reasons which you shall learn
presently.
“Know, señor, that this broken gem is at once the foundation-stone
and the secret symbol of a great order, of which, although you have
not been initiated into it, you are now one of the lords, seeing that
the crowning and vital ceremony of the creation of a Lord of the Heart
consists in the hanging of the symbol about his neck for the space of
a minute only by myself, who am the chief lord and Keeper of the Heart
for life, and you have worn it for ten whole days.
“Before we part I will call a chapter of the order--for even among
these mountains we have brethren--and you shall be initiated into its
ritual and raised to the rank of a chief lord, as is your right.
Meanwhile I will instruct you briefly in its mysteries, as it is my
bounden duty to do.
“Understand, señor, that the first duty of the servant of the Heart
is silence, and that silence I demand of you. Men have died ere now,
señor; yes, they have died on the rack in the dungeons of the
Inquisition, and shrivelled as wizards in the fires of the stake,
sooner than reveal those things that have been told them upon the
faith of the Heart, against which the confessional itself cannot
prevail--no, not with the best of Catholics.”
“But suppose that a man should not keep silence, Ignatio, what then?”
he asked.
“There is a land, señor,” I answered, “where the most talkative grow
dumb, and its borders can be crossed by all, even by the Lords of the
Heart, for fearful is the doom of a false brother!”
“You mean that if I repeat anything I may hear, I shall be murdered.”
“Indeed, no, señor; but you may happen to die. I speak on the Heart;
do you hear with the Ears?”
“I hear with the Ears,” he answered, catching my meaning.
“Very well, señor, since you have now sworn secrecy to me by the most
solemn oath that can pass the lips of man, I will speak to you openly.
This is the tale of the Broken Heart, so far as I know it, though how
much of it is truth and how much is legend I cannot say:
“You have heard the story of that white man, or god, sometimes called
Quetzal by the Indians, and sometimes Cucumatz, who came to these
lands in the far past and civilised their peoples? Afterwards he
vanished away in a ship, promising that when many generations had
passed he would return again.
“When he had gone, the empire which he created fell into the hands of
two brothers, whose chief city was either at Palenque or in its
neighbourhood, and the citizens of this empire, like we Christians,
worshipped one good god, the true God, under the name of the Heart of
Heaven, and to Him they offered few sacrifices save those of fruit and
flowers. Now one of these brothers married a wife from another
country--a daughter of devils, very beautiful and a great witch.
“Soon this woman, as in the story of the wives of Solomon and their
lord, drew away the king, her husband, from the true faith to the
worship of the gods of her own land, and brought it about that he
offered human sacrifice to them. Then there arose a great confusion in
that country, and the end of it was that the people divided themselves
into two parties, the worshippers of the Heart of Heaven and the
worshippers of devils.
“They made war upon each other, till many of their chief men were
killed; then they came to an agreement whereby the nation was
sundered. Half of it, under that king who had married the woman,
marched northwards, and became the fathers of the Aztecs and other
tribes; and half, the faithful worshippers of the Heart, remained in
the Tobasco country.
“Now from that day forward evil overtook both these peoples, for
though the Aztecs flourished for a while, in the end Spaniards
despoiled them. The worshippers of the Heart also were driven from
their cities by hordes of barbarians who rolled down upon them, and
their faith perished, or seemed to perish.”
“But what has this history to do with the charm about your neck,
Ignatio?” he asked.
“I will tell you. When Quetzal sailed away from his people, so says
the legend, he left the stone, that once he had worn upon his brow, of
which this is the half, to be a treasure to the kings who came after
him. Also he set this fate upon it: that while the Heart remained
unbroken, for so long should the people be one and whole; but if it
came about that it was cut or shattered, they should be divided with
it, to be no more one people until again the fragments were one stone.
“Now when these king-brethren quarrelled and parted, they sawed the
token asunder, as you see, each of them keeping a half, this half
being that of him who married the woman. For generations it was worn
by his descendants, and upon their death-beds passed on by them to
another, or at times taken from their bodies after they were dead.
“There are many stories told about the stone in the old days, and it
is certain that he who had it was the real king of the country for the
time being. At length it came into the hands of the great Guatemoc,
last of the Aztec emperors, who, before the Spaniards hung him, found
means to send it to his son, from whom it has come down to me.”
“To you? What have you to do with Guatemoc?”
“I am his lineal descendant, señor, the eleventh in the male line.”
“Then you ought to be Emperor of the Indians if every man had his
rights, Ignatio.”
“That is so, señor, but of my own story I will tell you presently.
Now of this stone. Through all the ages it has never been lost, and it
is known in the land from end to end; he who wears it for his life
being called ‘Keeper of the Heart,’ and also ‘Hope of those who wait,’
since it may happen in his day that the two halves will come together
again.”
“And what if they do?”
“Then, so says the legend, the Indians will once more be a mighty
nation, and drive those who oppress them into the sea, as the wind
drives dust.”
Now the señor rose from his chair and walked up and down the room.
“Do you believe all this?” he asked, suddenly.
“Yes,” I answered, “or the greater part of it. Indeed, if what I hear
is true, the lost half of the talisman that has been missing for so
many generations is in Mexico at this moment, and, so soon as I am
well enough, I go to seek him who bears it, and who has come from far
to find me. That is why we must part, señor.”
“Where has this man come from?” he asked, eagerly.
“I do not know for certain,” I answered, “but I think that he has come
from the sacred city of the Indians, the hidden Golden City which the
Spaniards sought for but could not find, though it still exists among
the mountains and deserts of the far interior, whither I hope to
journey with him.”
“That still exists! Ignatio, you must be mad. It never has existed
except in the imagination.”
“You say so, señor, but I think differently. At least, I knew a man
whose grandfather had seen it. He, the grandfather, was a native of
San Juan Batista, in Tobasco, and when he was young he committed some
crime and fled inland to save his life.
“All that befell him I do not know, but at length he found himself
wandering by the shores of a great lake, somewhere in or beyond the
country that is now known as Guatemala, and, being exhausted, he laid
himself down to die there and fell asleep.
“When he awoke, people were standing round him, like the Indians to
look at, but very light in colour, and beautifully dressed in white
robes, with necklaces of emeralds and feather capes. These people put
him on board a great canoe, and took him to a glorious city with a
high pyramid in the centre of it, which was named Heart of the World.
“Of this city he saw little, however, for its inhabitants kept him a
prisoner, only from time to time he was brought before their king and
elders, who sat in a hall filled with images of dead men fashioned in
gold, and there was questioned as to the country whence he came, the
tribes that dwelt in it, and more especially of the white men who
ruled the land.
“In that hall alone, so he said, there were more gold and precious
stones than are to be found in all Mexico. When he had nothing more to
tell them, the people wished to kill him, fearing lest he should
escape and bring upon them the white men who loved gold. The end of it
was that he did escape by the help of a woman, who guided him back
towards the sea, though she never came there, for she died upon the
road.
“Afterwards this man went to live in a little village near Palenque,
where he also died, having revealed nothing of what he had seen, since
he feared lest the vengeance of the People of the Heart should follow
him. When he was dying, he told his son, who told his son, who told
the tale to me. Señor, it has been the dream of my life to visit that
city, and now at last I think that I have found the clue which will
lead me to it.”
“Why do you want to visit it, Ignatio?”
“To understand that, señor, you must know my history.” And I told him
of the failure of the great plot and the part that I had played in it,
all of which I have already set out, also of the secret hopes and
ambitions of my life.
“Señor,” I added, “though I am beaten I am not yet crushed, and I
still desire to build up a great Indian empire. I see by your face
that you think me foolish. You may be right or I may be right. I may
be pursuing truths or dreams, I may be sane and a redeemer, or insane
and a fool. What does it matter? I follow the light that runs before
me; will-o’-the-wisp or star, it leads to one end, and for me it is
the light that I am born to follow. If you believe nothing else, at
least believe this, señor, that I do not seek my own good or
advancement, but rather that of my people. At the worst, I am not a
knave, I am only a fool.”
“But how will you help your cause by visiting this city, supposing it
to exist, Ignatio?”
“Thus, señor: these people--among whom without doubt the old man of
whom I have spoken, who is named Zibalbay, is a chief or king--are the
true stock and head of all the Indian races, and when they learn my
plans and whom I am, they will be glad to furnish me with means
whereby I can bring them to their former empire.”
“And if they take another view of the matter, Ignatio?”
“Then I fail, that is all, and among so many failures one more will
scarcely matter. I am like a swimmer who sees, or thinks that he sees,
a single plank that may bear him to safety. Maybe he cannot reach that
plank, or, if he reach it, maybe it will sink beneath his weight. At
least, he has no other hope.
“Señor, I have no other hope. There in the Golden City is untold
wealth, for the man saw it, and without money, great sums of money, I
am helpless, therefore I go thither to win the money. The ship has
foundered under me, and with it the cargo of my ambitions and the work
of my life; so, being desperate, I fall back upon a desperate
expedient.
“First, I will seek this man, that the two halves of the Heart may
come together, and the prophecy be fulfilled; then, if it may be, I
will travel with him to the City, Heart of the World, careless whether
I live or die, but determined, if there is need, to die fighting for
the fulfilment of the dream of an Indian empire--Christian,
regenerated, and stretching from sea to sea--that I have followed all
my days.”
“The dream, Ignatio? Perhaps you name it well, yet few have such noble
dreams. And now, who goes with you on this journey?”
“Who goes with me? Molas, so far as the temple where the Indian is.
After that, if I proceed, no one. Who would accompany a man grown old
in failure, whom even those that love him deem a visionary, on such a
desperate quest? Why, if I should dare to tell my projects even, men
would mock me as children mock an idiot in the street. I go alone,
señor, perhaps to die.”
“As regards the dying, Ignatio, of course I can say nothing, since all
men must die sooner or later, and the moment and manner of their end
is in the hand of Providence. But for the rest you shall not make this
journey alone, that is, if you care to have me for a companion, for I
will accompany you.”
“You, señor, _you_. Think what it means: the certainty of every sort
of danger, the risk of every kind of death, and at the end, the
probability of failure. It is folly, señor.”
“Ignatio,” he answered, “I will be frank with you. Notwithstanding all
the prophecies about the wonders that are to follow the reuniting of
the Heart, and the messages from the old man in the temple, I think
your scheme of building up an Indian empire greater than that which
Cortez destroyed, as impracticable as it is grand, since the time has
gone by when it could have been done, or perhaps it has not yet
returned.
“Before the Indians can rule again, they must forget the bitter
lessons and the degradation of ages; in short, they must be educated,
Ignatio. Still, if you think otherwise, that is your affair; you can
only fail, and there are failures more glorious than most successes.
Do you understand me?”
“Perfectly, señor.”
“Very well. And now as regards the search for this Golden City. To me
the matter seems very vague, since your hopes of finding it are based
upon a traveller’s tale, told by a man who died seventy or eighty
years ago, and the chance that a certain person, whom you have not yet
seen, has come from there, and is willing to guide you back to it.
“Still, the prospect of hunting for that city pleases me, for I am an
adventurer in my heart. If ever we get further than the forest country
in Tabasco, where your friend with the token is waiting for you, our
search will probably end in the leaving of our bones to decorate some
wilderness or mountain top in the unknown regions of Guatemala.
“But what of that? I have no chick or child; my death would matter
nothing to any living soul; for years I have worked hard with small
results; why should I not follow my natural bent and become an
adventurer? I can scarcely do worse than I have done, and I think that
the way of life would suit me.
“That mine you showed me is rich enough no doubt, but I have no
capital to deal with it, and if I had, my experience of the place was
such that I never wish to set foot in it again. In short, I am ready
to start for Tabasco, and the Sacred City, and wherever else you like,
so soon as you are fit to travel.”
“Do you swear that on the Heart, señor?” I asked.
“By all means; but I should prefer to give you my hand upon it.” And
he stretched out his hand, which I took.
“Good. You swear on the Heart, and give me your hand--the oath is
perfect. We are comrades henceforth, señor; for my part I ask no
better one. I have nothing more to say. I cannot promise that you will
find this City, or that, if you find it, it will advantage you. I am
an unlucky man, and it is more likely that, by yoking yourself with
me, you will bring my misfortunes upon your head. This I swear,
however, that I will be a true comrade to you, as you were to me
yonder in the mine, and for the rest, the adventure must be its own
reward.”