If the Fathers of the Church had ever been on the other side of the
world, they would have made new rules for it.
So thought Jerónimo Aguilar, on board a caravel plying between Darien
and Hispaniola. It was a thought he would hardly have dared think in
Spain.
He was a dark thin young friar from the mountains near Seville. In 1488
his mother, waiting, as women must, for news from the wars, vowed that
if God and the Most Catholic Sovereigns drove out the Moors and sent her
husband home to her, she would give her infant son to the Church. That
was twenty-four years ago, and never had the power of the Church been so
great as it now was. When the young Fray Jerónimo had been moved by
fiery missionary preaching to give himself to the work among the
Indians, his mother wept with astonishment and pride.
But the Indies he found were not the Indies he had heard of. Men who
sailed from Cadiz valiant if rough and hard-bitted soldiers of the
Cross, turned into cruel adventurers greedy for gold, hard masters
abusing their power. The innocent wild people of Colón's island Eden
were charged by the planters with treachery, theft, murderous
conspiracy, and utter laziness. With a little bitter smile Aguilar
remembered how the hidalgo, who would not dig to save his life, railed
at the Indian who died of the work he had never learned to do. It was
not for a priest to oppose the policy of the Church and the Crown, and
very few priests attempted it, whatever cruelty they might see. Aguilar
half imagined that the demon gods of the heathen were battling against
the invading apostles of the Cross, poisoning their hearts and defeating
their aims. It was all like an evil enchantment.
These meditations were ended by a mighty buffet of wind that smote the
caravel and sent it flying northwest. Ourakan was abroad, the Carib god
of the hurricane, and no one could think of anything thereafter but the
heaving, tumbling wilderness of black waves and howling tempest and
hissing spray. Valdivia, regidor of Darien, had been sent to Hispaniola
by Balboa, the governor, with important letters and a rich tribute of
gold, to get supplies and reinforcements for the colony. Shipwreck would
be disastrous to Balboa and his people as well as to the voyagers.
Headlong the staggering ship was driven upon Los Viboros, (The Vipers)
that infamous group of hidden rocks off Jamaica. She was pounded to
pieces almost before Valdivia could get his one boat into the water,
with its crew of twenty men. Without food or drink, sails or proper
oars, the survivors tossed for thirteen dreadful days on the uncharted
cross-currents of unknown seas. Seven died of hunger, thirst and
exposure before the tide that drifted northwest along the coast of the
mainland caught them and swept them ashore.
None of them had ever seen this coast. Valdivia cherished a faint hope
that it might be a part of the kingdom of walled cities and golden
temples, of which they had all heard. There were traces of human
presence, and they could see a cone-shaped low hill with a stone temple
or building of some kind on the top. Natives presently appeared, but
they broke the boat in pieces and dragged the castaways inland through
the forest to the house of their cacique.
That chief, a villainous looking savage in a thatched hut, looked at
them as if they had been cattle--or slaves--or condemned heretics. What
they thought, felt or hoped was nothing to him. He ordered them taken to
a kind of pen, where they were fed. So great is the power of the body
over the mind that for a few days they hardly thought of anything but
the unspeakable joy of having enough to eat and drink, and nothing to do
but sleep. The cacique visited the enclosure now and then, and looked
them over with a calculating eye. Aguilar was haunted by the idea that
this inspection meant something unpleasant.
All too soon the meaning was made known to them. Valdivia and four other
men who were now less gaunt and famine-stricken than when captured, were
seized and taken away, to be sacrificed to the gods.
It was the custom of the Mayas of Yucatan to sacrifice human beings,
captives or slaves for choice, to the gods in whose honor the stone
pyramids were raised. When the victim had been led up the winding
stairway to the top, the central figure in a procession of priests and
attendants, he was laid upon a stone altar and his heart was cut out and
offered to the idol, after which the body was eaten at a ceremonial
feast. The eight captives who remained now understood that the food they
had had was meant merely to fatten them for future sacrifice. Half mad
with horror, they crouched in the hot moist darkness, and listened to
the uproar of the savages.
A strong young sailor by the name of Gonzalo Guerrero, who had done
good service during the hurricane, pulled Jerónimo by the sleeve, "What
in the name of all the saints can we do, Padre?" he muttered. "José and
the rest will be raving maniacs."
Aguilar straightened himself and rose to his feet where the rays of the
moon, white and calm, shone into the enclosure. Lifting his hands to
heaven he began to pray.
All he had learned from books and from the disputations and sermons of
the Fathers fell away from him and left only the bare scaffolding, the
faith of his childhood. At the familiar syllables of the Ave Maria the
shuddering sailors hushed their cries and oaths and listened, on their
knees.
This was a handful of castaways in the clutch of a race of man-eaters
who worshiped demons. But above them bent the tender and pitiful Mother
of Christ who had seen her Son crucified, and Christ Himself stood
surrounded by innumerable witnesses. Among the saints were some who had
died at the hands of the heathen, many who had died by torture. The poor
and ignorant men who listened were caught up for the moment into the
vision of Fray Jerónimo and regained their self-control. When the prayer
was ended Gonzalo Guerrero sprang up, and rallied them to furious labor.
Under his direction and Aguilar's they dug and wrenched at their cage
like desperate rats, until they broke away enough of it just to let a
man's body through. Aguilar was the last to go. He closed the hole and
heaped rubbish outside it, as rubbish and branches had been piled where
they were used to sleep, to delay as long as possible the discovery of
their escape. They got clear away into the depths of the forest.
But for men without provisions or weapons the wilderness of that unknown
land was only less dreadful than death. Trees and vines barren of fruit,
streams where a huge horny lizard ate all the fish--El Lagarto he was
called by the discoverers,--no grain or cattle which might be taken by
stealth--this was the realm into which they had been exiled. When they
ventured out of the forest, driven by famine, they were captured by Acan
Xooc, the cacique of another province, Jamacana. Here they were made
slaves, to cut wood, carry water and bear burdens. Water was scarce in
that region. There had been reservoirs, built in an earlier day, but
these were ruined, and water had to be carried in earthern jars. The
cacique died, and another named Taxmar succeeded him. Year after year
passed. The soul of one worn-out white man slipped away, followed by
another, and another, until only Aguilar and Guerrero were left alive.
Taxmar sent the sailor as a present to a friend, cacique of Chatemal,
but kept Aguilar for himself, watching his ways.
The cacique was a sagacious heathen of considerable experience, but he
had never seen a man like this one. Jerónimo was now almost as dark as
an Indian and had not a scrap of civilized clothing, yet he was unlike
the other white men, unlike any other slave. He had a string of dried
berries with a cross made of reeds hung from it, which he sometimes
appeared to be counting, talking to himself in his own language. Taxmar
had once seen a slave from the north who had been a priest in his own
country and knew how to remember things by string-talk, knotting a
string in a peculiar fashion; but he was not like this man. When the
white slave saw the crosses carved on their old walls he had eagerly
asked how they came there, and Taxmar gathered that the cross had some
meaning in the captive's own religion. He never lied, never stole, never
got angry, never tattled of the other slaves, never disobeyed orders,
never lost his temper. Taxmar could not remember when he himself had
ever been restrained by anything but policy from taking whatever he
wanted. Here was a man who could deny himself even food at times, when
he was not compelled to. Taxmar could not understand.
What he did not know was, that when he had escaped from the cannibals
Aguilar had made a fresh vow to keep with all strictness every vow of
his priesthood, and to bear his lot with patience and meekness until it
should be the will of God to free him from the savages. He had begun to
think that this freedom would never be his in his lifetime, but a vow
was a vow. He no more suspected that Taxmar was taking note of his
behavior, than a man standing in front of the lion's cage at the
menagerie can translate the thoughts behind the great cat's intent eyes.
Taxmar began to try experiments. He invented temptations to put in the
way of his slave, but Aguilar generally did not seem to see them. One
day the Indians were shooting at a mark. One came up to Aguilar and
seized him by the arm.
"How would you like to be shot at?" he said. "These bowmen hit whatever
they aim at--if they aim at a nose they hit a nose. They can shoot so
near you that they miss only by the breadth of a grain of corn--or do
not miss at all."
Aguilar never flinched, although from what he knew of the savages he
thought nothing more likely than his being set up for a San Sebastian.
He answered quietly,
"I am your slave, and you can do with me what you please. I think you
are too wise to destroy one who is both useful and obedient."
The suggestion had been made by the order of Taxmar, and the answer was
duly reported to him.
It took a long time to satisfy the chief that this man who seemed so
extraordinary was really what he seemed. He came at last to trust him
wholly, even making him the steward of his household and leaving him to
protect his women in his absence. Finding the chief thus disposed,
Aguilar ventured a suggestion. Guerrera had won great favor with his
master by his valor in war. Aguilar was shrewd enough to know that
though it was very pleasant to have his master's confidence, if anything
happened to Taxmar he might be all the worse off. The only sure way to
win the respect of these barbarians was by efficiency as a soldier.
Taxmar upon request gave his steward the military outfit of the
Mayas--bow and arrows, wicker-work shield, and war-club, with a dagger
of obsidian, a volcanic stone very hard and capable of being made very
keen of edge, but brittle. Jerónimo when a boy had been an expert
archer, and his old skill soon returned. He also remembered warlike
devices and stratagems he had seen and heard of. Old soldiers chatting
with his father in the purple twilight had often fought their battles
over again, and nearly every form of military tactics then known to
civilized armies had been used in the war in Granada. Naturally the
young friar had heard more or less discussion of military campaigns in
Darien. His suggestions were so much to the point that Taxmar had an
increased respect for the gods of that unknown land of his. If they
could do so much for this slave, without even demanding any offerings,
they must be very different from the gods of the Mayas.
In reply to Taxmar's questions, Aguilar, who now spoke the language
quite well, endeavored to explain the nature of his religion. Not many
of the Spaniards who expected to convert the Indians went so far as
this. If they could by any means whatever make their subjects call
themselves Christians and observe the customs of the Church, it was all
they attempted. Taxmar was not the sort of person to be converted in
that informal way. He demanded reasons. If Aguilar advised him against
having unhappy people murdered to bribe the gods for their help in the
coming campaign, he wished to know what the objection was, and what the
white chiefs did in such a case. The idea of sacrificing to one's god,
not the lives of men, but one's own will and selfish desires, was
entirely new to him.
While Jerónimo was still wrestling with the problem of making the
Christian faith clear to one single Indian out of the multitudes of the
heathen, a neighboring cacique appeared on the scene,--jealous, angry
and suspicious. He had heard, he said, that Taxmar sought the aid of a
stranger, who worshiped strange gods, in a campaign directed against his
neighbors. He wished to know if Taxmar considered this right. In his own
opinion this stranger ought to be sacrificed to the gods of the Mayas
after the usual custom, or the gods would be angry,--and then no one
knew what would happen.
Aguilar thought it possible that Taxmar might reply that the conduct of
an army was no one's business but the chief's. That would be in line
with the cacique's character as he knew it. He did not expect that any
chief in that ancient land would dare to defy its gods openly.
Taxmar did not meet the challenge at once. His deep set opaque black
eyes and mastiff-like mouth looked as immovable as the carving on the
basalt stool upon which he sat. The cacique thought he was impressed,
and concluded triumphantly,
"Who can resist the gods? Let the altar drink the blood of the stranger;
it is sweet to them and they will sleep, and not wake."
"I shall do nothing of the kind," said Taxmar, the clicking, bubbling
Maya talk dropping like water on hot stones. "When a man serves me well,
I do not reward him with death. My slave's wisdom is greater than the
craft of Coyotl, and if his gods help me it is because they know enough
to do right."
The other chief went home in rage and disappointment and offended
dignity.
No one, who has not tried it, can imagine the sensation of living in a
hostile land, removed from all that is familiar. Until his captivity
began Aguilar had never been obliged to act for himself. He had always
been under the authority of a superior. He had questioned and wondered,
seen the injustice of this thing and that, but only in his own mind.
When everything in his past life had been swept away at one stroke, his
faith alone was left him in the wrecked and distorted world. He had
never dreamed that Taxmar was learning to respect that faith.
The neighboring cacique now joined Taxmar's enemies with all his army,
and the councilors took alarm and repeated the suggestion that Aguilar
should be sacrificed to make sure of the help of the gods. Taxmar again
spoke plainly.
"Our gods," he said, "have helped us when we were strong and powerful
and sacrificed many captives in their honor. This man's gods help him
when he is a slave, alone, far from his people, with nothing to offer in
sacrifice. We will see now what they will do for my army."
In the battle which followed, the cacique adopted a plan which Aguilar
suggested. That loyal follower was placed in command of a force hidden
in the woods near the route by which the enemy would arrive. The hostile
forces marched past it, and charged upon the front of Taxmar's army. It
gave way, and they rushed in with triumphant yells. When they were well
past, Aguilar's division came out of the bushes and took them in the
rear. At the same instant Taxmar and his warriors faced about and sprang
at them like a host of panthers. There was a great slaughter, many
prisoners were taken, among them the cacique himself and many men of
importance; and Taxmar made a little speech to them upon the wisdom of
the white man's gods.
In the years that passed the captive's hope of escape faded. Once he had
thought he might slip away and reach the coast, but he was too carefully
watched. Even if he could get to the sea from so far inland, without the
help of the natives, he could not reach any Spanish colony without a
boat. There were rumors of strange ships filled with bearded men, whose
weapons were the thunder and the lightning. Old people wagged their
heads and recalled a prophecy of the priest Chilam Cambal many years
ago, that a white people, bearded, would come from the east, to overturn
the images of the gods, and conquer the land.
Hernando de Córdova's squadron came and went; Grijalva's came and went;
Aguilar heard of them but never saw them. At last, seven long years
after he came to Jamacana, three coast Indians from the island of
Cozumel came timidly to the cacique with gifts and a letter. The gifts
were for Taxmar, to buy his Christian slaves, if he had any, and the
letter was for them.
Hernando Cortes, coming from Cuba with a squadron to discover and
conquer the land ruled by the Lord of the Golden House, had stopped at
Cozumel and there heard of white men held as captives somewhere inland.
He had persuaded the Indians to send messengers for them, saying that if
the captives were sent to the sea-coast, at the cape of Cotoche, he
would leave two caravels there eight days, to wait for them.
While Aguilar read this letter the Indians were telling of the
water-houses of the strangers, their sharp weapons, their command of
thunder and lightning, and the wonderful presents they gave in exchange
for what they wanted. Aguilar's account of the squadron was even more
complete. He described the dress of the Spaniards, their weapons and
their manner of life without having seen them at all, and the Indians,
when asked, said it was so.
Taxmar's acute mind was adjusting itself to this event, which was not
altogether unexpected. He had heard more than Aguilar had about the
previous visits of the Spaniards to that coast. He asked Aguilar if he
thought that the strange warriors would accept him, their countryman, as
ambassador, and deal mildly with Taxmar and his people, if they let him
go. Aguilar answered that he thought they would.
Now freedom was within his grasp, and only one thing delayed him. He
could not leave his comrade Guerrero behind. The sailor had married the
daughter of a chief and become a great man in his adopted country.
Aguilar sent Indian messengers with the letter and a verbal message, and
waited.
Guerrero had never known much about reading, and he had forgotten nearly
all he knew. He understood, however, that he could now return to Spain.
Before his eyes rose a picture of the lofty austere sierras, the sunny
vineyards, the wine, so unlike pulque, the bread, so unlike flat cakes
of maize, the maidens of Barcelona and Malaga, so very different from
tattooed Indian girls. And then he surveyed his own brawny arms and
legs, and felt of his own grotesquely ornamented countenance.
To please the taste of his adopted people he had let himself be
decorated as they were, for life,--with tattooed pictures, with
nose-ring, with ear-rings of gold set with rudely cut gems and heavy
enough to drag down the lobe of the ear. He would cut a figure in the
streets of Seville. The little boys would run after him as if he were a
show. He grinned, sighed mightily, and sent word to Aguilar that he
thought it wiser to stay where he was. Aguilar set out for the coast
with the Cozumel Indians, but this delay had consumed all of the eight
days appointed, and when they reached Point Cotoche the caravels had
gone.
But a broken canoe and a stave from a water-barrel lay on the beach, and
with the help of the messengers Aguilar patched up the canoe, and with
the board for a paddle, made the canoe serve his need. Following the
coast they came to the narrowest part of the channel between the
mainland and Cozumel, and in spite of a very strong current got across
to the island. No sooner had they landed when some Spaniards rushed out
of the bushes, with drawn swords. The Indians were about to fly in
terror, but Aguilar called to them in their own language to have no
fear. Then he spoke to the Spaniards in broken Castilian, saying that he
was a Christian, fell on his knees and thanked God that he had lived to
hear his own language again.
The Spaniards looked at this strange figure in absolute bewilderment. He
was to all appearance an Indian. His long hair was braided and wound
about his head, he had a bow in his hand, a quiver of arrows on his
back, a bag of woven grass-work hung about his neck by a long cord. The
pattern of the weaving was a series of interwoven crosses. Cortes,
giving up hope of rescuing any Christian captives, had left the island,
but one of his ships had sprung a leak and he had put back. When he saw
an Indian canoe coming he had sent scouts to see what it might be. They
now led Jerónimo Aguilar and his Indian companions into the presence of
the captain-general and his staff. Aguilar saluted Cortes in the Indian
fashion, by carrying his hand from the ground to his forehead as he
knelt crouching before him. But Cortes, when he understood who this man
was, raised him to his feet, embraced him and flung about his shoulders
his own cloak. Aguilar became his interpreter, and thus was the prophecy
fulfilled concerning the gods of Taxmar.
[Illustration: "CORTES FLUNG ABOUT HIS SHOULDERS HIS OWN
CLOAK."--_Page_ 146]