MY CONSCIENCE GETS THE BETTER OF DESIRE, AND A BIRD BRINGS GREAT JOY TO
MY DEAR LADY.
"Master," says Matthew, "let us try and snatch a wink of sleep, for 'tis
late, and the Ingas are early risers. Moreover, we shall do well to see
how this design appears in the daylight, for I have known many a scheme
that wore an excellent complexion overnight--like certain females--not
worth two straws in the morning. Indeed," adds he, "we might with
advantage keep this business to ourselves and say not a word of it to
any one until we know these Ingas better, and judge whether they are
ripe enough or too far gone for preservation."
I could but agree with him in this prudent suggestion, and so we bade
each other good-night, and laid ourselves down in a pleasant spot.
But I could not close an eye all the night for considering of this
mighty project, and the more I thought about it the more I liked it. Yet
was I not so blind but that I perceived the difficulties which lay in
the way of one man raising a downtrodden and helpless people into a body
of such force as to overthrow the Portugals and hold their own
hereafter. I knew I was only an ordinary man, with no special aptitude
for governing men; nevertheless I thought that, with Lady Biddy at hand
to temper my judgment with her practical good sense, I might yet manage
to come out pretty well in the end.
And so all through the night I lay revolving my plans for the future
without perceiving the folly of them any more than if I had been
reasonably sleeping and these thoughts had taken the form of a dream.
As soon as the Ingas began to stir I roused up Matthew, who was so heavy
with sleep that I believe he would have willingly abandoned his scheme
of regenerating the Indians on the moment for the sake of another five
minutes' doze, and bade him let our friends know at once that we could
have nothing to do with their plan of attacking the Portugals.
"Nay," says he, "I'll hold my tongue on that matter until we have
decided upon t'other; they will more readily believe in your wisdom if
they see you are not in a hurry."
If I had taken these words to heart I might have seen what a fool I was;
for here had I settled to take upon myself the most serious
responsibility with rather less hesitation than I should have given to
swallowing a toadstool.
We journeyed all that day and the next through the mountains, coming a
little before nightfall within sight of the river Cauca; but we were
still at a prodigious height, so that we were forced to rest there
again.
An Inga pointed down to a part of the valley where their village lay,
but we could see nothing of it for the woods that lay everywhere about
like a thick mat. The sight of these vast unbroken woods took me aback
somewhat, for my imagination had figured some gentle grassy slope that
would serve as pasturage for our cattle; and Matthew seemed likewise to
have fostered a pleasing hope of open country, for turning to me, with a
rueful look in his honest face and round eyes, he says--
"Master, I perceive we shall have to go a-felling trees."
"We shall see," says I, putting on an air of indifference; "from this
point to be sure, the land looks somewhat encumbered" (he nodded
assent), "but we may find elsewhere a space where there are not so many
trees."
"I hope to God we may, master," says he, "for, besides that, these trees
are mighty big, and most of 'em like any iron and brass for toughness; I
doubt if the Ingas have ever a saw or a hatchet to lay our hands to."
We turned away in silence, and I think Matthew was nothing loth to set
the subject aside and go to sleep in quiet and peace, for I had kept him
awake all the night before laying out my schemes, consulting him as to
the building of houses, the digging of water-courses, the setting up of
smithies, workshops, and the like--indeed my enthusiasm bore me along to
such lengths that towards daybreak I got naught but grunts in reply to
my questions, for the fellow, though he continued to keep his body in a
sitting posture, could no longer manage to resist sleep. Nor had I grown
cool upon this business during the day, but whenever occasion offered to
talk with Matthew privily, I pursued the same theme, so that I do truly
believe there was nothing left unsaid. Wherefore, as I say, he was in
nowise put out by my present silence, but hied him to a remote place
where he might lie at full length and sleep with his ears shut.
Going back with the Ingas to where the tents had been set up, we were
met by Lady Biddy and Wangapona, who held her hand. The girl ran to her
husband's side, and I, taking my lady, led her to the point that
overlooked the valley. On the way she laughed merrily as she told me of
her endeavor to learn a few Indian words from Wangapona; but being come
there she became of a sudden silent, and looked over that immense sweep
of wilderness that stretched from our feet right down to the river, and
then up to the mighty mountains beyond, in wondrous admiration. And when
she spoke, her voice was awed to a low tone.
"How magnificently grand it is, Benet," says she, "and yet how
melancholy! These mountains and forests--so old, so grand, so
silent--seem to reproach us for spending our little life so lightly."
"Is the reproach merited?" says I; "are we right to spend our lives
lightly?"
"Nay," says she; "I can not think it wrong to employ the faculties that
are given us for our enjoyment. You would not tear the wings from a
butterfly because it is less laborious than the worm that creeps!" Then,
turning her wondering eyes over that vast wilderness, she adds sadly,
"Sure, these wilds are not for men to live in."
"The Ingas live in the midst of it," says I, pointing down into the
valley.
"Then shame on those who have forced them to such an existence," says
she, for I had told her how the Portugals had driven them from their
cities. Then, with a tender sigh, "Poor souls!" says she, "_no wonder
they never laugh_. The stillness of these mountains and the sadness of
the woods have filled their hearts."
These words went home to my conscience; and just as a soap-bubble at the
slightest touch will burst--its perfect shape and bright colors, that
were a delight to the eye, disappearing in an instant, leaving naught
behind but the drop of murky water from which it sprang--so did all
those fine colorable hopes in which I had joyed for two whole days and
nights vanish quite away at this prick, giving me to contemplate the
selfish, paltry motive that gave 'em birth.
I took my lady in silence back to the tent, and, having bidden her
good-night, I hied me again in great dejection to the rock, whence the
valley looked now more gloomy and awesome than before, for the creeping
darkness; and there sitting down I took myself plainly to task. For I
did now plainly discern that I had been cheating and deceiving myself
with false pretences, with a view to cheating and deceiving my dear Lady
Biddy after. Why had I leapt so readily at Matthew's scheme? Not for the
sake of the unhappy Ingas, but for my own delight; not because a
generous emotion moved me to rescue them from the Portugals, but because
of a base and selfish desire to keep Lady Biddy in the wilderness,
sundered from her friends and companions by necessity; not to advance
the welfare of others, but to stave off the inevitable moment when my
lady and I must part forever. Nor could I excuse myself by pleading
ignorance of any harmful intention, for surely I must have felt in my
heart that this design was not to my lady's advantage, since I had not
dared to mention one word of it to her. That in myself was enough to
convict me of wickedness.
Looking down into the valley, which had now became a black, unfathomable
gulf, I repeated Lady Biddy's words--"These wilds are not for men to
live in"; and then again, "Would you tear the wings from a butterfly?"
and after that, "Poor souls! no wonder they never laugh." And each
phrase was a reproach that did stab my heart like an avenging knife; for
I had in my wishes doomed her whom I loved to dwell in this gloom. I had
meditated robbing her of all the cheerful delights of youth and liberty.
I had planned to silence her merry laughter, and overcast that bright
young face with the wan cast of grief and despair.
"Nay," says I, springing up, "I will stay not a day longer in these
wilds than I can help. We will go hence. What matter how perilous and
wearisome the way if she have hope to strengthen her heart? With God's
help I will comfort her pillow every night with some prospect of better
fortune on the morrow."
Just at that moment I heard in the woods below the cry of a bird that
had often filled Sir Harry and me with amazement and delight (which bird
I have since heard called by the Ingas _Arara_), and this put me in mind
how I might dispel from my lady's mind those gloomy thoughts inspired by
the sight of the valley; so coming to her tent I scratched gently on one
of the mats to know if she were asleep, as I did use to do when we were
imprisoned on the pirate ship.
"Is that you, Benet?" says she from within.
"Ay," says I! "if it be not too great trouble, do come hither and
listen."
So presently she came out, and no sooner had she stood listening a
minute, but she cries in a trembling voice:
"Oh, Benet, 'tis the bell of Falmouth church--hark!"
We stood quite silent again, and there came faintly to our ears, "Dong,
dong--dong, dong--dong, dong!" to which we listened till it ceased and
came no more.
"What is it, Benet?" says she, not louder than a whisper.
"'Tis but a bird," says I; "but I take it Providence has winged it
hither for a promise and sign that ere long you shall hear Falmouth
bells again."
"Oh! Benet, Benet," says she, choking with tears of joy, "how good you
are!" and with that she pressed my hand and went back to her tent.
"God grant that I be worthier of such esteem," says I to myself in
passion.