But when Rawlins saw this division of his friends, before they could set

out for the other ship, he found means to tell them plainly that he

would complete his enterprise either that night or the next, and that

whatever came of it they must acquaint the four English left on the

captured ship with his resolution, and steer for England while the Turks

slept and suspected nothing. For, by God's grace, in his first watch he

would show them a light, to let them know that the enterprise was begun,

or about to be begun.

So the boat reached the ship from Dartmouth; and next Rawlins told the

captain and his men whom the Turks had sent down among the other

prisoners of his design, and found them willing to throw in their lot

with him.

The next morning, being February 7, the prize from Dartmouth was not to

be seen--the men indeed having followed Rawlins' counsel and steered for

England. But the Turkish captain began to storm and swear, telling

Rawlins to search the seas up and down for her--which he did all day

without success. Then Rawlins, finding a good deal of water in the hold,

persuaded the captain, by telling him that the ship was not rightly

balanced, to have four of the guns brought aft, that the water might run

to the pump. This being done, and the guns placed where the English

could use them for their own purpose, the final arrangement was made.

The ship having three decks, those that belonged to the gunner-room were

all to be there, and break up the lower deck. The English slaves, who

belonged to the middle deck, were to do the same with that, and watch

the scuttles. Rawlins himself prevailed with the gunner to give him as

much powder as would prime the guns, and told them all there was no

better watchword than, when the signal gun was heard, to cry:

'For God, and King James, and Saint George for England.'

Then, all being prepared, and every man resolute, knowing what he had to

do, Rawlins advised the gunner to speak to the captain, that he might

send the soldiers to the poop, to bring the ship aft, and, weighing it

down, send the water to the pumps. This the captain was very willing to

do; and so, at two o'clock in the afternoon the signal was given, by the

firing of the gun, whose report tore and broke down all the binnacle and

compasses.

But when the Turks heard this, and the shouts of the conspirators, and

saw that part of ship was torn away, and felt it shake under them, and

knew that all threatened their destruction--no bear robbed of her whelps

was ever so mad as they, for they not only called us dogs, and cried in

their tongue, 'The fortune of war! the fortune of war!' but they tried

to tear up the planking, setting to work hammers, hatchets, knives, the

oars of the boat, the boat hook, and whatever else came to hand, besides

the stones and bricks of the cook-room, still trying to break the

hatches, and never ceasing their horrible cries and curses.

Then Rawlins, seeing them so violent, and understanding that the slaves

had cleared the decks of all the Turks and Moors underneath, began to

shoot at them through different scoutholes, with their own muskets, and

so lessened their number. At this they cried for the pilot, and so

Rawlins, with some to guard him, went to them, and understood by their

kneeling that they cried for mercy and begged to come down. This they

were bidden to do, but coming down one by one, they were taken and slain

with their own curtleaxes. And the rest, perceiving this, some of them

leapt into the water, still crying: 'The fortune of war!' and calling

their foes English dogs, and some were slain with the curtleaxes, till

the decks were well cleared, and the victory assured.

[Illustration]

At the first report of the gun, and the hurly-burly on deck, the captain

was writing in his cabin, and he came out with his curtleaxe in hand,

thinking by his authority to quell the mischief. But when he saw that

the ship was surprised, he threw down his curtleaxe, and begged Rawlins

to save his life, telling him how he had redeemed him from Villa Rise,

and put him in command in the ship, besides treating him well through

the voyage. This Rawlins confessed, and at last consented to be

merciful, and brought the captain and five more renegades into England.

When all was done, and the ship cleared of the dead bodies, John Rawlins

assembled his men, and with one consent gave the praise to God, using

the accustomed services on shipboard. And for want of books they lifted

up their voices to God, as He put it into their hearts or renewed their

memories. Then did they sing a psalm, and last of all, embraced one

another for playing the men in such a deliverance, whereby their fear

was turned into joy. That same night they steered for England, and

arrived at Plymouth on February 13, and were welcomed with all gladness.

As for the ship from Dartmouth, that had arrived in Penzance on February

11, for the English had made the Turks believe that they were sailing to

Argier, till they came in sight of England. Then one of the Turks said

plainly _that the land was not like Cape Vincent_; but the Englishmen

told them to go down into the hold, and trim more to windward, and they

should see and know more to-morrow. Thereupon five of them went down

very orderly, while the English feigned themselves asleep; but presently

they started up, and nailed down the hatches, and so overpowered the

Turks. And this is the story of this enterprise, and the end of John

Rawlins' voyage.

_THE CHEVALIER JOHNSTONE'S ESCAPE FROM CULLODEN_

THE Chevalier Johnstone (or _de_ Johnstone, as he preferred to call

himself) was closely connected with the Highland army, hastily collected

in 1745 for the purpose of restoring Charles Edward to his grandfather's

throne. He was aide-de-camp to Lord George Murray, Generalissimo to the

little force, and seems to have known enough of warfare to be capable of

appreciating his commander's skill. He was also a captain in the

regiment of the Duke of Perth, and later, when the petals of the White

Rose were trampled under foot, he became an officer in the French

service.

From his position, therefore, he was peculiarly fitted to tell the tale

of those two eventful years, 1745 and 1746. Though only the son of a

merchant, Johnstone was well connected, and, like many Scottish

gentlemen of that day, had been bred in loyalty to the Jacobite cause.

He was one of the first to join the Prince when he had reached Perth,

and it was from the Prince himself that he received his company, after

the fight at Prestonpans. His life was all romance, but the part on

which it is our present purpose to dwell is the account he has left in

his memoirs of his escape from the field of Culloden, and the terrible

sufferings he went through for some months, till he finally made his way

safely to Holland.

'The battle of Culloden,' he says,[14] 'was lost rather by a series of

mistakes on our part than by any skilful manoeuvre of the Duke of

Cumberland,' and every Scot in arms knew too well the doom that awaited

him at the 'Butcher's' hands. The half-starved Highlanders were no match

for the well-fed English troops, and when the day was lost, and the rout

became general, each man sought to conceal himself in the fastnesses of

the nearest mountains, and, as long as he put himself well out of reach,

was not particular as to the means he took to purchase safety.

[Illustration]

Panics disclose strange and unexpected depths in men's minds, and

Johnstone was in no respect superior to his fellows. 'Being no longer

able to keep myself on my legs,' he relates,[15] 'and the enemy always

advancing very slowly, but redoubling their fire, my mind was agitated

and undecided whether I should throw away my life, or surrender a

prisoner, which was a thousand times worse than death on the field of

battle. All at once I perceived a horse, about thirty paces before me,

without a rider. The idea of being yet able to escape gave me fresh

strength and served as a spur to me. I ran and laid hold of the bridle,

which was fast in the hand of a man lying on the ground, whom I supposed

dead; but, what was my surprise when the cowardly poltroon, who was

suffering from nothing but fear, dared to remain in the most horrible

fire to dispute the horse with me, at twenty paces from the enemy. All

my menaces could not induce him to quit the bridle. Whilst we were

disputing, a discharge from a cannon loaded with grape-shot fell at our

feet, without however producing any effect upon this singular

individual, who obstinately persisted in retaining the horse.

Fortunately for me, Finlay Cameron, an officer in Lochiel's regiment, a

youth of twenty years of age, six feet high, and very strong and

vigorous, happened to pass near us. I called on him to assist me. "Ah

Finlay," said I, "this fellow will not give me up the horse." Finlay

flew to me like lightning, immediately presented his pistol to the head

of this man, and threatened to blow out his brains if he hesitated a

moment to let go the bridle. The fellow, who had the appearance of a

servant, at length yielded and took to his heels. Having obtained the

horse, I attempted to mount him several times, but all my efforts were

ineffectual, as I was without strength and completely exhausted. I

called again on poor Finlay, though he was already some paces from me,

to assist me to mount. He returned, took me in his arms, with as much

ease as if I had been a child, and threw me on the horse like a loaded

sack, giving the horse at the same time a heavy blow to make him set off

with me. Then wishing that I might have the good fortune to make my

escape, he bounded off like a roe, and was in a moment out of sight. We

were hardly more than fifteen or twenty paces from the enemy when he

quitted me. As soon as I found myself at the distance of thirty or forty

paces, I endeavoured to set myself right on the horse, put my feet in

the stirrups, and rode off as fast as the wretched animal could carry

me.'

[Illustration]

There is something peculiarly funny in the simplicity of this account of

horse-stealing with violence! Why a man should be more of a coward who

clings to his own property and only means of safety, than the person who

deliberately deprives him of both, is not easy to see. But Johnstone

never doubts for one moment that what he does is always right, and what

anyone else does is always wrong, and he goes on complacently to remark

that he probably 'saved the life of the poltroon who held the horse, in

rousing him out of his panic fear, for in less than two minutes the

English army would have passed over him.'[16]

The shelter which Johnstone made up his mind to seek was the castle of

Rothiemurchus, the property of the Grant family, situated in the heart

of the mountains, and on the banks of the 'rapid Spey.' But his troubles

were not so easily over. The English army barred the way, and Johnstone

was forced to take the road to Inverness. Again he was turned from his

path by the dreaded sight of the British uniform, and, accompanied by a

Highlander whom he had met by chance, he took refuge in a small cottage

in Fort Augustus. In spite of his peculiar views about courage,

Johnstone was a man who generally managed to do whatever he had set his

heart on. He had resolved to go to Rothiemurchus, and to Rothiemurchus

he would go. At last he arrived there, but found, to his great

disappointment, that the laird, his old friend, was away from home. In

his place was his eldest son, who was urgent that Johnstone should

surrender himself a prisoner, as Lord Balmerino had just done, by his

advice, and under his escort. Johnstone replied that he would keep his

liberty as long as he could, and when it was no longer possible, he

would meet his fate with resignation. We all know the end to which poor

Balmerino came, but Johnstone was more fortunate.

[Illustration]

His brother-in-law, the son of Lord Rollo, had been made inspector of

merchant ships in the town of Banff, and Johnstone fondly hoped that by

his help he might obtain a passage to some foreign country. So he set

off with three gentlemen of the name of Gordon, who had also been

staying at Rothiemurchus, and rested the first night at the house of a

shepherd near the mountain of Cairngorm. Here he saw for the first time

the stones which bear this name, and though he is flying for his life,

he dwells with the delight of a collector on the beauty of the colours,

and even persuades his friends to put off their departure for a day, in

order that he may search for some specimens himself. He contrived, he

tells us,[17] to find several beautiful topazes, two of which he had

cut as seals, and presented to the Duke of York, brother of Prince

Charles Edward.

Four days after leaving Rothiemurchus Banff was reached, and the

fugitives were sheltered by a Presbyterian minister, who was a secret

adherent of the Stuarts. Johnstone at once took the precaution of

exchanging his laced Highland dress for that of an old labourer, 'quite

ragged, and exhaling a pestilential odour,' due apparently to its having

been used for many years 'when he cleaned the stables of his master.' In

this unpleasant disguise, he entered the town of Banff, then garrisoned

with four hundred English soldiers, and went straight to the house of a

former acquaintance, Mr. Duff. After gaining admittance from the servant

with some difficulty, he found with dismay that his brother-in-law was

away from home, and he could not therefore carry out his plan of

embarking, with his permission, on board one of the merchant ships.

There seemed nothing for it, therefore, but for Johnstone to return at

daybreak to the house of Mr. Gordon, where he had spent the previous

night. At daybreak, however, he was roused by a fearful disturbance in

the courtyard below, occasioned by the quarrels of some stray soldiers.

For a moment he thought death was certain, but the soldiers had no

suspicion of his presence in the house, and as soon as they had settled

their affairs took themselves off elsewhere.

Mr. Rollo proved a broken reed, and the Chevalier found, after a few

minutes' talk with his brother-in-law, that if he wished to reach the

Continent he must not count on a passage in the merchant ships to help

him. He therefore, after consultation with his friends, came to the

conclusion that his best plan was to make for the Lowlands, and to this

end he set out for Edinburgh as soon as possible. Of course this scheme

was beset with difficulties and dangers of every kind. The counties

through which he would be forced to pass were filled with Calvinists,

inspired with deadly hatred of the Jacobite party. To escape their hands

was almost certainly to fall into those of the soldiery, and over and

above this, government passports were necessary for those who desired to

cross the Firths of Forth and Tay.

But, nothing daunted, Johnstone went his way. He was passed in disguise

from one house to another, well-fed at the lowest possible prices (he

tells us of the landlady of a small inn who charged him threepence for

'an excellent young fowl' and his bed), till at last he found himself in

the region of Cortachy, the country of the Ogilvies, who one and all

were on the side of the Prince. At Cortachy he was quite secure, as long

as no English soldiery came by, and even if they did, the mountains were

full of hiding places, and there was no risk of treachery at home. Two

officers who had served in the French army, Brown and Gordon by name,

had sought refuge here before him, and lay concealed in the house of a

peasant known as Samuel. They implored him not to run the risk of

proceeding south till affairs had quieted down a little, and he agreed

to remain at Samuel's cottage till it seemed less dangerous to travel

south.

It would be interesting to know what was 'the gratification beyond his

hopes' which Johnstone gave Samuel when they parted company some time

after. It ought to have been something very handsome considering the

risks which the peasant had run in his behalf, and also the fact that

for several weeks Johnstone and his two friends had shared the scanty

fare of Samuel and his family. They had 'no other food than oatmeal, and

no other drink than the water of the stream which ran through the glen.

We breakfasted every morning on a piece of oatmeal bread which we were

enabled to swallow by draughts of water; for dinner we boiled oatmeal

with water, till it acquired a consistency, and we ate it with horn

spoons; in the evening, we poured boiling water on this meal in a dish,

for our supper.'[18] Even this frugal diet could not be swallowed long

in peace, for shortly after their arrival, Samuel's daughter, who lived

at the mouth of the glen, came to inform her father that some English

troops had been seen in the neighbourhood, and whenever there was any

chance of their appearing in the glen Johnstone and his friends had to

take refuge in the mountains.

One day this woman arrived with the news that the soldiery were hovering

dangerously near, and had taken several notable prisoners. Upon this the

fugitives decided to leave their shelter at daybreak the following

morning and to make the best of their way to the Highlands, where they

would be sure of finding some rocks and caverns to hide them from their

foes.

This resolution once taken, they all went early to bed, and there

Johnstone had a dream which he relates with many apologies for his

superstition. He fancied himself in Edinburgh safe from the snares of

his enemies, and with no fears for the future, and describing his

adventures and escapes since the battle of Culloden to his old friend

Lady Jane Douglas. The impression of peace and happiness and relief from

anxiety was so strong that it remained with him after he woke, and

after lying turning the matter over in his mind for another hour,

informed Samuel (who had come to rouse him with the intelligence that

his companions had already set off for the mountains) that he had

altered his plans and intended to go straight to Edinburgh. In vain the

old man argued and entreated. Johnstone was determined, and that same

evening he set forth on horseback with Samuel for his guide, and made

straight for the nearest arm of the sea, which he describes, though

quite wrongly, as being only eight miles from Cortachy.

To reach this, they were obliged to pass through Forfar, a town which,

being a Calvinistic stronghold, the Chevalier can never mention without

an abusive epithet. But here poor Samuel, whose nerves had doubtless

been strained by the perpetual watching and waiting of the last few

weeks, was frightened out of his senses by the barking of a dog, and

tried to throw himself from his horse. At this juncture, Johnstone, who

knew that to be left without a guide in this strange place meant certain

death, interfered promptly. 'He was continually struggling to get down,'

he says,[19] 'but I prevented him by the firm hold I had of his coat. I

exhorted him to be quiet; I reproached him; I alternately entreated and

menaced him; but all in vain. He no longer knew what he was about, and

it was to no purpose I assured him that it was only the barking of a

dog. He perspired at every pore, and trembled like a person in an ague.

Fortunately I had an excellent horse, and galloped through Forfar at

full speed, retaining always fast hold of his coat. As soon as we were

fairly out of the town, as no persons had come out of their houses, poor

Samuel began to breathe again, and made a thousand apologies for his

fears.'

As the day broke and they drew near Broughty Ferry, where Johnstone

intended to cross the Firth of Tay, the Chevalier dismounted, and being

obliged to part from his horse, offered it as a present to Samuel, who

declined the animal from motives of prudence. It was then turned loose

in a field (the saddle and bridle being first thrown down a well), and

the wayfarers proceeded on their way. Only a few minutes later, they

were joined by an acquaintance of Samuel's, who seems to have been of a

curious turn of mind, and cross-questioned him as to where he was going

and why. Samuel, with more readiness than could have been expected from

his recent behaviour, invented a story that sounded plausible enough,

explaining Johnstone to be a young man whom he had picked up on the

road, and had taken into his service at low wages, owing to his want of

a character. The stranger was satisfied, and after a prolonged drink

they separated, when Samuel informed Johnstone that the man was one of

the 'greatest knaves and cheats in the country,' and that they would

assuredly have been betrayed if he had discovered who they were.

[Illustration]

They arrived at the Ferry about nine in the morning, and by Samuel's

advice, the Chevalier immediately sought the help of Mr. Graham, a

gentleman of Jacobite family, then living at Duntroon. After a warm

welcome from Mr. Graham, who gave him all the entertainment he could

without the knowledge of his servants, a boat was engaged to convey him

across the Firth about nine that night. Mr. Graham did not, however,

dare to be his guide down to the sea-shore, but gave him careful

directions as to his following an old woman who had been provided for

this purpose. But all Mr. Graham's precautions would have been useless,

had not chance once more favoured the Chevalier. His protectress decided

that it would be dangerous to allow him to loiter about the shore while

the boat was getting ready for sea, so she told her charge to wait for

her on the road on top of the hill, and she would return and fetch him

when all was ready. Half an hour passed very slowly: the sun was

sinking, and the Chevalier grew impatient. He left the road by which he

had been sitting, and lay down in a furrow a few yards off, nearer the

brow of the hill, so that he might perceive his guide at the earliest

moment. Scarcely had he changed his quarters, than he heard the sound of

horses, and peeping cautiously out, 'saw eight or ten horsemen pass in

the very place he had just quitted.' No sooner were they out of sight,

than the old woman arrived, trembling with fright. 'Ah!' she exclaimed

in a transport of joy, 'I did not expect to find you here.' She then

explained that the horsemen were English dragoons, and that they had so

threatened the boatmen engaged by Mr. Graham that they absolutely

refused to fulfil their compact. This was a terrible blow to the

Chevalier, but he declined to listen to the old woman's advice and

return for shelter to Mr. Graham, and after much persuasion, induced his

guide to show him the way to the public-house by the sea-shore. Here he

was welcomed by the landlady, whose son had been likewise 'out' with the

Prince, but neither her entreaties nor those of the Chevalier could move

the boatmen from their resolution. They even resisted the prayers of the

landlady's two beautiful daughters, till the girls, disgusted and

indignant with such cowardice, offered to row him across themselves.

'We left Broughty Ferry,' he writes in his memoirs, 'at ten o'clock in

the evening, and reached the opposite shore about midnight.' He then

took an affectionate leave of his preservers, and proceeded, footsore as

he was, to walk to St. Andrews. At this time Johnstone seems to have

felt more physically exhausted than at almost any other moment of his

travels; and it was only by dint of perpetually washing his sore and

bleeding feet in the streams he passed, that he managed to reach St.

Andrews towards eight o'clock. He at once made his way to the house of

his cousin, Mrs. Spence, who, herself a suspected person, was much taken

aback by the sight of him, and hastily sent a letter to a tenant farmer

living near the town, to provide the fugitive with a horse which would

carry him to Wemyss, a seaport town on the way to Edinburgh. The old

University city does not appear to have made a favourable impression on

the Chevalier. He declares that no town 'ever deserved so much the fate

of Sodom and Gomorrah,'[20] and this, not from any particular wickedness

on the part of the inhabitants, but because they were supposed to be

Calvinists. However, his sentiments must have been confirmed when the

farmer declined to take his horses out on a Sunday, and, lame as he was,

Johnstone had no choice but to set out on foot for Wemyss. Halfway, he

suddenly remembered that close by lived an old servant of his family,

married to the gardener of Mr. Beaton, of Balfour. Here he was housed

and fed for twenty hours, and then conducted by his host, a rigid

Presbyterian, to a tavern at Wemyss, kept by the mother-in-law of the

gardener. By her advice they applied to a man named Salmon, who, though

a rabid Hanoverian, could be trusted not to betray those who had faith

in him. It was hard work to gain over Salmon, who was proof against

bribery, but at last it was done. By his recommendation Johnstone was to

lie till dawn in a cave near Wemyss (a place whose name means 'caves'),

and with the first ray of light was to beg a passage to Leith from some

men who were with Salmon part owners of a boat. In this cave, which,

notwithstanding its narrow entrance, was deep and spacious, the

Chevalier was glad to repose his weary bones. But, after dozing about an

hour, he was 'awakened by the most horrible and alarming cries that ever

were heard.'[21] His first thought was that Salmon had betrayed him, and

he retreated to the interior of the cavern, cocked his pistol, and

prepared to sell his life dearly. Soon, however, the swift movements

accompanying the noise convinced him that it did not proceed from men,

for 'sometimes the object was about my ears, and nearly stunned me, and,

in an instant, at a considerable distance. At length I ceased to examine

any more this horrible and incomprehensible phenomenon, which made a

noise in confusion like that of a number of trumpets and drums, with a

mixture of different sounds, altogether unknown to me.'

Effectually aroused by the whining of the owls and bats (for these, of

course, were the authors of all this disturbance), Johnstone fixed his

eyes on the sea to note the first entrance of the fishing boats into the

harbour. He then went down to the shore and began to make the bargain as

directed by Salmon, and the fishermen agreed to land him at Leith for

half-a-crown. But alas! once more his hopes were blighted. He was in the

act of stepping into the boat, when Salmon's wife appeared on the scene,

and forbade her husband to go to Leith that day, still less to take a

stranger there. Neither Salmon nor Johnstone dared insist, for fear of

rousing the woman's suspicions, and after a short retreat in the cave in

order to collect his thoughts, he returned to the tavern at Wemyss, to

consult with the friendly landlady. Thanks to her, and with the help of

one or two people to whom she introduced him, Johnstone at last arrived

at the house of one Mr. Seton, whose son had formerly served with

Johnstone in the army of the Prince. Here he remained eight days, vainly

seeking to find a second man who could aid the fisherman who had already

promised to put him across, though it does not appear why Johnstone,

who had already observed[22] that he was able to row, did not take an

oar when his own head was at stake.

[Illustration]

At last affairs were brought to a crisis, by rumours having got abroad

of the presence of a fugitive on the coast. Things seemed in a desperate

condition, when young Seton threw himself into the breach, and agreed to

help Cousselain, the fisherman, to take the Chevalier to Leith. They

were actually launching the boat when the inhabitants of the village,

alarmed by the noise they made, raised a cry that a rebel was escaping,

and the two oarsmen had barely time to conceal themselves without being

discovered. However, in flat defiance of everyone's advice, and, as it

turned out, in spite of the drunken state of Cousselain, Johnstone

resolved to repeat the attempt in an hour's time, taking in the end, as

he might have done at the beginning, his place at the oar. For a few

moments they breathed freely; then the wind got up, and the waves, and,

what was perhaps more dangerous, the drunken Cousselain, who had been

placed in the bottom of the boat. 'We were obliged to kick him most

unmercifully in order to keep him quiet,' observes Johnstone, 'and to

threaten to throw him overboard if he made the least movement. Seton and

myself rowed like galley slaves. We succeeded in landing, about six in

the morning, on a part of the coast a league and a half to the east of

Edinburgh,[23] near the battlefield of Gladsmuir.' Here he parted with

his deliverers, tenderly embracing young Seton, and presenting to the

'somewhat sober' Cousselain a gratification beyond his hopes.

After taking a little of the food with which Mr. Seton had provided him,

he determined to seek refuge for a few days with an old governess, Mrs.

Blythe, wife of a small shipowner at Leith. Blythe himself was another

of the many 'rigid Calvinists and sworn enemies of the house of Stuart'

to whom Johnstone entrusted his safety during his wanderings, and never

once had occasion to repent it. Mr. Blythe, indeed, combined the

profession of Calvinist with that of smuggler, and had numerous hiding

places in his house for the concealment of contraband goods, which would

prove equally serviceable, as Johnstone told him, for 'the most

contraband and dangerous commodity that he had ever had in his

possession.'

Though Johnstone had reached the goal of his desires, his perils were by

no means at an end. English soldiers visited the house, and could with

difficulty be persuaded to admit the exemption pleaded by Mr. Blythe. In

consequence of this event, Johnstone accepted the offer of an asylum

made him by Lady Jane Douglas, in her place at Drumsheugh, half a

league away. So his dream came true, and after all his wanderings he was

safe with Lady Jane, telling the story of his adventures. He remained

with her for two months, unknown to anyone but his hostess and the

gardener, reading all day, and only taking a walk at night, when the

household was in bed. At the end of that time, when Lady Jane and his

father were of opinion that he might safely go to London, and thence

abroad, fresh rumours as to his whereabouts began to arise, and fearing

the immediate visit of a detachment of English soldiers, he was

concealed for a whole day under a huge haycock, so overcome by the heat

that he could hardly breathe, in spite of a bottle of water and another

of wine, with which he was provided.

This measure, which after all was needless, for no soldiers came, was

the last trial he had to undergo before leaving Scotland, and here we

must part from him. In France, which he made his home, he became the

friend of many eminent men, and was aide-de-camp in Canada to the

Marquis de Montcalm. But the end of his life was sad, and he died in

poverty.[24]

FOOTNOTES:

[14] P. 211.

[15] P. 215.

[16] P. 217.

[17] P. 229.

[18] P. 249.

[19] P. 257.

[20] P. 274.

[21] P. 295.

[22] P. 271.

[23] P. 308.

[24] From _Memoirs of the Chevalier de Johnstone_. Longmans. London,

1822. The Memoirs were written in French, and deposited in the Scots

College at Paris. They were communicated to Messrs. Longman by Robert

Watson, the adventurer, who, under Napoleon, was Principal of the Scots

College. The Chevalier left a granddaughter, who corresponded on the

subject of the Memoirs with Sir Walter Scott.

_THE ADVENTURES OF LORD PITSLIGO_

WHEN Prince Charles came to Scotland in 1745, to seek his grandfather's

crown, no braver and no better man rode with him than Lord Pitsligo. He

was now sixty-seven years of age, for he was born in 1678, ten years

before James II. was driven out of England. As a young man he had lived

much in France, where he became the friend of the famous Fenelon, author

of 'Telemaque.' Though much interested in the doctrines of Fenelon, Lord

Pitsligo did not change his faith, but remained a member of the

persecuted Episcopal Church of Scotland. In France he met the members of

the exiled Royal family, whom he never ceased to regard as his lawful

monarchs, though Queen Anne, and later the First and Second Georges,

occupied the throne of England. When the clans rose for King James, the

son of James II., in 1715, Lord Pitsligo, then a man of twenty-seven,

joined the forces under his kinsman, Lord Marr. His party was defeated,

and he went abroad. He did not stay long with James in Rome, but was

allowed to return to his estates in Scotland. Here he lived very

quietly, beloved by rich and poor. But, in 1745, Prince Charles landed,

and the old Lord believed it to be his duty to join him. He had, as he

says, no keen enthusiasm for the Stuarts, but to his mind they were his

lawful rulers. So aged was he, and so infirm, that, when he left a

neighbour's house before setting out, a little boy brought a stool to

help him to mount his horse. 'My little fellow,' he said, 'this is the

severest reproof I have yet met with, for presuming to go on such an

expedition.' Lady Pitsligo in vain reminded him of the failure of 1715.

'There never was a bridal,' he replied, 'but the second day was the

best.' The gentlemen of his county thought that they could not do wrong

in following so learned and excellent a man, so they all mounted the

white cockade and rode with him. He arrived just too late for the

victory of Preston Pans. 'It seemed,' said an eye-witness, 'as if

religion, virtue, and justice were entering the camp under the

appearance of this venerable old man.' When he wrote home, he said, 'I

had occasion to discover the Prince's humanity, I ought to say

tenderness: this is giving myself no great airs, for he showed the same

dispositions to everybody.' In the fatigues of the campaign, the Prince,

who was young and strong, insisted on Lord Pitsligo's using his

carriage, while he himself marched on foot at the head of his army.

[Illustration]

After the defeat of Culloden, Lord Pitsligo hid among the mountains,

living on oatmeal, moistened with hot water. They had not even salt to

their brose; for, as one of the Highlanders said, 'Salt is touchy,'

meaning expensive. Yet these men, who could not even buy salt, never

betrayed their Prince for the great reward of thirty thousand pounds,

nor any of the other gentlemen in hiding. Possibly they did not believe

that there was so much money in the world. Lord Pitsligo had made up his

mind not to go abroad again, but to live or die among his own people. At

one time he lay for days hidden in a damp hole under a little bridge,

and at other times concealed himself in the mosses and moors. Here the

lapwings, flitting and crying above him, were like to have drawn the

English soldiers to his retreat. His wife gave him two great bags, like

those which beggars carried; in these he would place the alms which were

given to him, and in this disguise he had many narrow escapes. Once he

saw some dragoons on the road behind him, but he was too old and too ill

to run. He was obliged to sit down and cough, and one of the dragoons

who were in search of him actually gave him some money as they passed

by, and condoled with him on the severity of his cough.

[Illustration]

Lord Pitsligo often hid in a cave on the coast of Buchan. Here was a

spring of water welling through the rock, and he carved a little cistern

for it, to pass the time. He was fed by a little girl, too young to be

suspected, who carried his meals from a neighbouring farm. One day he

was sitting in the kitchen of the farm, when some soldiers came in, and

asked the goodwife to guide them to Lord Pitsligo's cave. She said,

'That travelling body will go with you,' and Lord Pitsligo conducted the

soldiers to his hiding place, left them there, and walked back to the

farm. But the following adventure was perhaps his narrowest escape.

In March 1756, and of course long after all apprehension of a search had

ceased, information having been given to the then commanding officer at

Fraserburgh, that Lord Pitsligo was at that moment in the house of

Auchiries, it was acted upon with so much promptness and secrecy, that

the search must have proved successful but for a very singular

occurrence. Mrs. Sophia Donaldson, a lady who lived much with the

family, repeatedly dreamt on that particular night that the house was

surrounded by soldiers. Her mind became so haunted with the idea, that

she got out of bed, and was walking through the room in hopes of giving

a different current to her thoughts before she lay down again, when, day

beginning to dawn, she accidentally looked out at the window as she

passed it in traversing the room, and was astonished at actually

observing the figures of soldiers among some trees near the house. So

completely had all idea of a search been by that time laid asleep, that

she supposed they had come to steal poultry; Jacobite poultry-yards

affording a safe object of pillage for the English soldiers in those

days. Under this impression Mrs. Sophia was proceeding to rouse the

servants, when her sister having awaked, and inquiring what was the

matter, and being told of soldiers near the house, exclaimed, in great

alarm, that she feared they wanted something more than hens. She begged

Mrs. Sophia to look out at a window on the other side of the house, when

not only soldiers were seen in that direction, but also an officer

giving instructions by signals, and frequently putting his fingers on

his lips, as if enjoining silence. There was now no time to be lost in

rousing the family, and all the haste that could be made was scarcely

sufficient to hurry the venerable man from his bed, into a small recess

behind the wainscot of an adjoining room, which was concealed by a bed,

in which a lady, Miss Gordon of Towie, who was there on a visit, lay,

before the soldiers obtained admission. A most minute search took place.

The room in which Lord Pitsligo was concealed did not escape: Miss

Gordon's bed was carefully examined, and she was obliged to suffer the

rude scrutiny of one of the party, by feeling her chin, to ascertain

that it was not a man in a lady's night-dress. Before the soldiers had

finished their examination in this room, the confinement and anxiety

increased Lord Pitsligo's asthma so much, and his breathing became so

loud, that it obliged Miss Gordon, lying in bed, to counterfeit and

continue a violent coughing, in order to prevent the high breathing

behind the wainscot from being heard. It may easily be conceived what

agony she would suffer, lest, by overdoing her part, she should increase

suspicion, and in fact lead to a discovery. The _ruse_ was fortunately

successful. On the search through the house being given over, Lord

Pitsligo was hastily taken from his confined situation, and again

replaced in bed; and as soon as he was able to speak, his accustomed

kindness of heart made him say to his servant, 'James, go and see that

these poor fellows get some breakfast, and a drink of warm ale, for this

is a cold morning; they are only doing their duty, and cannot bear me

any ill-will.' When the family were felicitating each other on his

escape, he pleasantly observed, 'A poor prize had they obtained it--an

old dying man!' That the friends who lived in the house,--the hourly

witnesses of his virtues, and the objects of his regard, who saw him

escape all the dangers that surrounded him, should reckon him the

peculiar care of Providence, is not to be wondered at; and that the

dream which was so opportune, as the means of preventing his

apprehension, and probably of saving his life, was supposed by some of

them at last to be a special interposition of Heaven's protecting shield

against his enemies, need not excite surprise. This was accordingly the

belief of more than one to their dying hour.

[Illustration]

After some fifteen years, the English Government ceased to think Lord

Pitsligo dangerous. He was allowed to live unmolested at the house of

his son, where he died in 1762, in his eighty-fifth year. 'He was never

heard to speak an ill word of any man living,' says one who knew him

well, and who himself spoke many ill words of others.[25] Lord Pitsligo

left a little book of 'Thoughts on Sacred Things,' which reminds those

who read it of the meditations of General Gordon. His character, as far

as its virtues went, is copied in the Baron Bradwardine, in Sir Walter

Scott's novel of 'Waverley.'[26]

FOOTNOTES:

[25] Dr. King, of St. Mary's Hall, Oxford.

[26] _From Thoughts Concerning Man's Condition and Duties in this Life_.

By Alexander, Lord Pitsligo. Edinburgh: Blackwood. 1854.

_THE ESCAPE OF CAESAR BORGIA FROM THE CASTLE OF MEDINA DEL CAMPO_

[CAESAR BORGIA forms, with his father Pope

Alexander VI., and his sister Lucrezia, one of a

trio who have become a proverb for infamy of every

kind. His father, Roderigo, was by birth a

Spaniard, and by education a lawyer, in which

profession he gained much distinction, till

suddenly, with an impetuosity strange in a man who

did everything by calculation, he threw up his

legal career for that of a soldier. But the rough

life was repugnant to one of his temperament,

which demanded ease and luxury, so after a little

active service, when his courage, during some

sharp engagements, was proved beyond a doubt, he

abandoned the army also, and retired to live in

comfort on the large fortune lately bequeathed to

him by his father.

It required some pressing on the part of his

uncle, Calixtus III., recently made Pope, to

induce him to leave his native land and his

secular existence, for Italy and a Cardinalate.

But no sooner did he occupy his new position, than

a set of base qualities, which had hitherto lain

dormant, suddenly developed themselves, and from

this moment he became one of the cleverest and

most successful hypocrites of his age.

It was in 1492, the year that saw the landing of

Columbus in America, and the death of Lorenzo the

Magnificent at Florence, that the Cardinal Borgia

obtained, by means of huge bribes, his election to

the Papal Throne, and took the name of Alexander

VI. His first care was to establish (for his own

credit's sake) order and security in Rome, and

this done, he turned his thoughts to the

aggrandisement of his family. For when Roderigo

sailed for Italy he was shortly followed by his

four children, Francis, Caesar, Lucrezia and

Geoffrey, and their mother Rosa Vanozza. All four,

but more particularly Caesar and Lucrezia,

inherited in the highest degree their father's

beauty, talents and wickedness. Honours of every

kind were showered upon them, marriages made and

unmade to suit the requirements of the moment,

murders committed to ensure them wealth and

possessions. For eleven years the roll of crime

grew heavier day by day, till at last the

chastisement came, and the Borgias, who had

invited several of the Cardinals to supper for the

purpose of poisoning them and seizing on their

revenues, were themselves served with the draught

they had intended for their guests. The Pope died

after eight days, in mortal agony, but, owing to

his having drunk less of the wine, Caesar slowly

recovered, and resumed his old trade of arms. The

talents which had made him one of the first

captains in Italy caused him to be the dread of

all his enemies, and finally led to his capture

(by violation of a safe-conduct), at the hands of

Gonsalvo de Cordova, Captain of the Forces of

Ferdinand of Spain.]

It was in June 1504 that Caesar Borgia, General of the Church and Duke of

Romagna and Valentinois, was conducted to the Castle of Medina del Campo

in Spain. For two years Caesar waited in prison, hoping that his old

ally, Louis XII., whose cousin Mlle. d'Albret he had married, would come

to his assistance. But he waited in vain and his courage began to give

way, when one day something happened which proved to him that he had

still one friend left, his faithful Michelotto, a soldier of fortune who

had followed him to Spain, and was now hidden in the neighbourhood of

the prison. It was breakfast time, and Caesar was in the act of cutting

his bread when he suddenly touched a hard substance, and found a file,

and a small bottle containing a narcotic, and a note concealed in the

loaf. The note was from Michelotto, and informed Caesar that he and the

Count of Benevento would hide themselves every night on the road between

the castle and the village, in company with three good horses, and that

he must make the best use he could of the file and the sleeping

draught.[27]

Two years' imprisonment had weighed too heavily on Caesar for him to

waste a single moment in trying to regain his freedom. He, therefore,

lost no time in beginning to work on one of the bars of his window,

which opened on an inside court, and soon contrived to cut through so

far, that a violent shake would enable him to remove it altogether. But

the window was nearly seventy feet above the ground, while the only way

of leaving the court was by a door reserved for the governor alone, the

key of which was always carried about his person. By day it was

suspended from his belt, by night it was under his bolster. To gain

possession of this key was the most difficult part of the matter.

Now in spite of the fact that he was a prisoner, Caesar had invariably

been treated with all the respect due to his name and rank. Every day at

the dinner hour, he was conducted from the room in which he was

confined to the governor's apartments and was received by him as an

honoured guest. Don Manuel himself was an old soldier who had served

with distinction under Ferdinand, and, while carrying out punctually his

orders for Caesar's safe custody, he admired his military talents, and

listened with pleasure to the story of his fights. He had often desired

that Caesar should breakfast as well as dine with him, but, luckily for

himself, the prisoner, perhaps aided by some presentiment, had always

refused this favour. It was owing to his solitude that he was able to

conceal the instruments for his escape sent by Michelotto.

Now it happened that the very same day that he had received them, Caesar

contrived to stumble, and twist his foot as he was returning to his

room. When the hour of dinner came he tried to go down, but declared

that walking hurt him so much, that he should be obliged to give it up,

so the governor paid him a visit instead, and found him stretched on his

bed.

The next day Caesar was no better; his dinner was ordered to be served

upstairs, and the governor paid him a visit as before. He found his

prisoner so dull and bored with his own company, that he offered to come

and share his supper. Caesar accepted the offer with gratitude and joy.

This time it was the prisoner who did the honours of the table, and

Caesar was particularly charming and courteous in manner. The governor

seized the opportunity of putting some questions as to his capture, and

inquired, with the pride of a Castilian noble, who set honour above all,

what was the exact truth as to the way in which Gonsalvo de Cordova and

Ferdinand had broken their faith with him. Caesar showed every

disposition to give him satisfaction on this point, but indicated by a

sign that he could not speak freely before the valets. This precaution

was so natural, that the governor could not seem offended at it, and

dismissed his attendants, so that he and his companion remained alone.

When the door was shut, Caesar filled his glass and that of the governor,

and proposed the king's health. The governor emptied his glass at once,

and Caesar began his story, but he had hardly told a third of it, when in

spite of its exciting adventures, the eyes of his guest closed as if by

magic, and his head fell on the table in a deep sleep.

At the end of half-an-hour, the servants, not hearing any noise, entered

the room, and found the two boon companions, one on the table and the

other under it. There was nothing very unusual about such an event to

excite their suspicions, so they contented themselves with carrying Don

Manuel to his chamber and laying Caesar on his bed; they then locked the

door with great care, leaving the prisoner alone.

[Illustration]

For a minute or two longer Caesar lay still, apparently plunged in a

profound slumber, but when the sound of footsteps had completely died

away, he softly raised his head, opened his eyes, and moved towards the

door, rather slowly it is true, but without seeming to feel any

ill-effects from his accident on the previous day. He stood still for a

few seconds with his ear at the keyhole, then, raising himself, with a

strange expression of triumph on his face, he passed his hand over his

forehead, and, for the first time since the guards had left the room,

breathed freely.

But there was no time to be lost, and without a moment's delay he

fastened the door from the inside as securely as it was fastened

without. He next extinguished his lamp, threw open his window, and

finished cutting through the bar. This done, he took off the bandages

tied round his leg, tore down the curtains, both of his window and his

bed, and made them into strips, adding to them sheets, table cloths,

napkins, and whatever else he could lay hands on. At last he had a rope

between fifty and sixty feet long, which he secured firmly at one end to

the bar next to the one that he had sawn away, and mounting on the

window-ledge, he began the most dangerous part of his expedition in

trusting himself to this frail support. Happily, Caesar was as strong as

he was agile, and slid down the whole length of the cord without

accident; but when he had reached the very end, in vain he tried to

touch the earth with his feet. The rope was too short.

Caesar's position was terrible. The darkness of the night preventing his

knowing how far he might be above the ground, and his exertions had so

fatigued him that he could not have gone back even had he wished. There

was no help for it, and, after muttering a short prayer, he let go the

rope, and fell, a distance of twelve or fifteen feet.

The danger he had escaped was too great for the fugitive to mind some

slight bruises caused by his fall, so he jumped up, and taking his

bearings, made straight for the little door which stood between him and

freedom. When he reached it he felt in his pocket for the key, and a

cold sweat broke out on his face as he found it was not there. Had he

forgotten it in his room, or had he lost it in his descent?

Collecting his thoughts as well as he could, he soon came to the

conclusion that it must have fallen out of his pocket as he climbed down

the rope. So he made his way a second time cautiously across the court,

trying to discover the exact spot where it might be, by the aid of the

wall of a cistern, which he had caught hold of to raise himself from the

ground. But the lost key was so small and so insignificant, that there

was little chance that he would ever see it. However, it was his last

resource, and Caesar was searching for it with all his might, when

suddenly a door opened and the night patrol came out, preceded by two

torches. At first Caesar gave himself up for lost, then, remembering the

water-butt that was behind him, he at once plunged into it up to his

neck, watching with intense anxiety the movements of the soldiers who

were advancing towards his hiding place. They passed him within a few

feet, crossed the court, and vanished through the door opposite; but,

though all this had taken such a very short time, the light of the

torches had enabled Caesar to distinguish the key lying on the ground,

and hardly had the gate closed on the soldiers when he was once more

master of his liberty.

Half-way between the castle and the village the Count of Benevento and

Michelotto awaited him with a led horse. Caesar flung himself on its back

and all three set out for Navarre, where, after three days' hard riding,

they found an asylum with the king, Jean d'Albret, brother of Caesar's

wife.

FOOTNOTE:

[27] What follows is translated from Dumas.

_THE KIDNAPPING OF THE PRINCES_

(_The following story is adapted from Carlyle's Essay, 'The

Prinzenraub'_)

ABOUT the year 1455, one of the Electors of Saxony, Friedrich der

Sanftmuetige (Frederick the Mild), quarrelled with a certain knight named

Konrad von Kaufungen. Friedrich had hired Konrad, or Kunz as he was

called, to fight for him in a war against another Elector. In one of the

battles, Kunz was taken prisoner. To ransom himself he was obliged to

pay 4,000 gold gulden, for which he thought Friedrich ought to repay

him. Friedrich refused to do so, as Kunz was not his vassal whom he was

bound to protect, but only a hired soldier who had to take all risks on

himself. Kunz was very angry, and threatened to revenge himself on the

Elector, who took all his threats very calmly, saying to him, 'Keep

cool, Kunz; don't burn the fish in the ponds.' But Kunz was in bitter

earnest. He went away to an old castle called Isenburg in Bohemia, on

the Saxon frontier, where he lived for some time with his two squires,

Mosen and Schoenberg, plotting against the Elector and his family. He

had, moreover, bribed one of the Elector's servants, Hans Schwalbe, to

tell him all that was being done in his castle of Altenburg. In July,

Schwalbe sent word to him that, on the seventh day of the month, the

Elector and most of his followers were going away to Leipzig, and would

leave the Electress and his two boys, Ernst and Albrecht, guarded only

by a few servants, and these, he added, would probably spend the evening

drinking in the town. Now the castle of Altenburg was built on a steep

hill, and one side of it overhung a precipice. As this side was little

guarded, Hans agreed to let down a rope-ladder from one of the windows,

and thus enable Kunz to get an entrance into the castle. His plan then

was to make his way to the sleeping room of the two little princes,

carry them off to his castle at Isenburg, and keep them till their

father should grant his demands. Isenburg Castle was about a day's

journey from the little town of Altenburg; so Kunz and his two squires,

Mosen and Schoenberg, and a few other men, started early on the 7th to

ride to Altenburg, and when they reached it they hid themselves till

nightfall. About midnight Kunz and his men went as quietly as possible

to the foot of the cliff. Everyone seemed asleep in the castle, and

outside no sound was to be heard but the stealthy tramp of the armed

men. When they reached the rendezvous under the castle, Kunz gave his

men their orders. Mosen, Schoenberg, and three or four more were to come

with him into the castle, and, when inside, to lock the doors of the

Electress's and the servants' room, while the rest were to guard the

gates in order that no one should escape to give the alarm. Each was to

be ready when once the princes were secured to ride away for Isenburg as

hard as possible.

Then Kunz whistled softly. He listened for a moment; another whistle

answered his own, and a rope-ladder was slowly lowered from one of the

windows. Kunz mounted it, and made his way to the room where the two

little princes were sleeping under the charge of an old governess. He

seized the eldest, a boy of fourteen, and carried him down the ladder,

and Mosen followed with a second child in his arms. This boy kept

calling out, 'I am not one of the princes; I am their playfellow, Count

von Bardi. Let me go! Let me go!' Thereupon, telling the others to ride

on with Prince Ernst in order to secure him, Kunz dashed up the ladder

again, and ran to the princes' room, where he found little Prince

Albrecht hiding under the bed. He caught him up and descended again with

him. As he went, the Electress, roused by the boys' cries and finding

her door bolted, rushed to the window and begged and implored him not to

take her children.

'My husband shall grant all your demands, I swear to you,' she cried,

'only leave me my children!'

'Tell the Elector, Madam,' laughed Kunz, looking up, 'that I _can_ burn

the fish in the ponds!'

Then he mounted his horse, which his servant was holding, and away they

rode as fast as the horses would carry them. They had not ridden many

miles before the clang of bells broke on their ears. The alarm peal of

the castle had awakened that of the town, and in a few hours every bell

in every belfry in Saxony was ringing an alarm. The sun rose, and Kunz

and his followers plunged deeper into the forest, riding through

morasses and swamps, over rough and stony ground--anywhere to escape

from the din of those alarm bells. At last the ride for dear life was

nearly over; the band was within an hour's journey of the castle of

Isenburg, when Prince Albrecht declared that he was dying of thirst.

'For the love of Heaven, give me something to drink, Sir Knight,' he

implored.

Kunz bade the others ride on, and giving his squire his horse to hold he

dismounted, lifted Albrecht down, and began looking for bilberries for

him.

Whilst he was doing so, a charcoal-burner with his dog came up. He was

much surprised to see such grand people in the forest, and asked,

'What are you doing with the young lord?'

'He has run away from his parents,' answered Kunz, impatiently. 'Can you

tell me where bilberries are to be found here?'

'I do not know,' replied the charcoal-burner, still staring at the

strangers.

Anxious to make him leave them, Kunz turned angrily round on him, and in

doing so caught his spurs in the bushes, and fell flat on his face.

Albrecht caught hold of the charcoal-burner's arm.

'Save me!' he whispered eagerly. 'I am the Elector's son; this man has

stolen me!'

The squire struck at the Prince with his sword, but the charcoal-burner

warded aside the blow with his long pole, and felled the man to the

ground. Kunz fought fiercely with him, but in answer to his summons for

help, and attracted by the barking of the dog, a number of other

charcoal-burners appeared on the scene to help their comrade, and Kunz

was disarmed and taken prisoner. They marched him in triumph to the

monastery of Gruenheim, where he was secured in one of the cells, and in

a few days was sent to Freiburg. On the 14th he was tried and condemned

to death. It is said that a pardon was sent by the Elector, but if it

were so it arrived too late, and Kunz was beheaded.

The rest of the robber-band with Prince Ernst did not fare much better.

The alarm bells had aroused the whole country; six of the men were

captured, and Mosen and the others with Prince Ernst took refuge in a

cave near Zwickau. Not daring to venture out, and half starving for want

of food, they lay there for three days in wretched plight. Then they

learned accidentally from some woodmen, whose conversation they

overheard, that Kunz had been taken prisoner, had been tried, and by

this time was in all probability beheaded. As soon as they received this

piece of intelligence, they held a consultation and finally decided to

send a message to the Amtmann of Zwickau, offering to restore Prince

Ernst if a free pardon were granted to them, but threatening, if this

was refused, they would at once kill him. Had they known that Kunz was

still alive, they might have stipulated for his pardon as well, but

believing him dead, they made no terms as regards his fate. The Amtmann

had no choice but to accede to their demands when their proposal reached

him. Prince Ernst was given up. Mosen and the rest fled away, nor were

they ever heard of any more.

[Illustration]

When the brave charcoal-burner, Georg Schmidt, was brought before the

Elector and his court, the Electress asked him how he had dared to fight

the robber-knight with no weapon but his pole.

'Madam,' he replied, 'I gave him a sound "drilling" with my pole.'

All the court laughed, and thenceforward he was always called Georg der

Triller (the Driller), and his descendants took this name as their

surname. The only reward he would accept for his brave deed was leave

for himself and his family to cut what wood they needed in the forest in

which he lived.

The Electress and the two princes made a pilgrimage to the shrine at the

monastery of Ebersdorf, and there in the church they hung up the coats

which they and Kunz and the 'Triller' had worn on the memorable night

when they were kidnapped, and there it is said they may be seen at this

day.

_THE CONQUEST OF MONTEZUMA'S EMPIRE_

THE YOUTH OF CORTES

LONG ago, when Henry VIII. was King of England and Charles V. was King

of Spain, there lived a young Spanish cavalier whose name was Hernando

Cortes. His father, Don Martin Cortes, sent him to Salamanca when he was

about fourteen years old, intending to have him educated as a lawyer.

But Hernando cared nothing for books, and after wasting two years at

college returned home, to the great annoyance of his parents, who were

glad enough when, after another year of idleness, he proposed to go and

seek his fortune in the New World so lately discovered by Columbus. An

exploring expedition was just being fitted out, and Hernando Cortes had

quite made up his mind to join it, when he unluckily fell from a high

wall which he was climbing, and before he had recovered from his

injuries the ships had sailed without him. Two more years did he remain

at home after this misadventure, but at length, when he was nineteen

years old, he joined a small fleet bound for the Indian Islands. The

vessel in which he sailed was commanded by one Alonso Quintero, who,

when they reached the Canary Islands, and all the other vessels were

detained by taking in supplies, stole out of the harbour under cover of

the night, meaning to reach Hispaniola before his companions, and so

secure a better chance of trading. However, he met with a furious storm,

and was driven back to the port with his ship dismasted and battered.

The rest of the fleet generously consented to wait while his ship was

being refitted, and after a short delay they set out again, but so soon

as they neared the islands, the faithless Quintero again gave his

companions the slip, but with no better success, for he met with such

heavy gales that he entirely lost his reckoning, and for many days they

tossed about helplessly, until one morning they were cheered by the

sight of a white dove, which settled upon the rigging. Taking the

direction of the bird's flight, they soon reached Hispaniola, where the

captain had the satisfaction of finding all the other ships had arrived

before him, and had sold all their cargoes. Cortes, as soon as he

landed, went to see Ovando, the governor of the island, whom he had

known in Spain, and presently was persuaded by him to accept a grant of

land and settle down to cultivate it, though at first he said, 'I came

to get gold, not to till the ground like a peasant.' So six years

passed, during which the monotony of Cortes's life was only broken by

occasional expeditions against the natives, in which he learned to

endure toil and danger, and became familiar with the tactics of Indian

warfare. At length, in 1511, when Diego Velasquez, the governor's

lieutenant, undertook the conquest of Cuba, Cortes gladly accompanied

him, and throughout the expedition made himself a favourite both with

the commander and the soldiers. But when later on there arose discontent

over the distribution of lands and offices, the malcontents fixed upon

Cortes as the most suitable person to go back to Hispaniola, and lay

their grievances before the higher authorities. This came to the ears of

Velasquez, however, and he at once seized Cortes, whom he loaded with

fetters and threw into prison. Luckily he soon succeeded in freeing

himself from the irons, and letting himself down from the window took

refuge in the nearest church, where he claimed the right of sanctuary.

Velasquez, who was very angry at his escape, stationed a guard with

orders to seize Cortes if he should leave the sanctuary, and this he was

soon careless enough to do. As he stood outside the church an officer

suddenly sprang upon him from behind, and made him prisoner once more.

This time he was carried on board a ship which was to sail the next

morning for Hispaniola, where he was to be tried, but again he managed

to escape by dragging his feet through the rings which fettered them,

and dropping silently over the ship's side into a little boat under

cover of the darkness. As he neared the shore the water became so rough

that the boat was useless, and he was forced to swim the rest of the

way; but at last he got safely to land, and again took refuge in the

church. After this he married a lady named Catalina Xuarez, and by the

aid of her family managed to make his peace with Velasquez. Cortes now

received a large estate near St. Jago, where he lived prosperously for

some years, and even amassed a considerable sum of money. But at last

news came of an exploring expedition which had set out in 1518 under

Grijalva, the nephew of Velasquez. He had touched at various places on

the Mexican coast, and had held a friendly conference with one cacique,

or chief, who seemed desirous of collecting all the information he could

about the Spaniards, and their motives in visiting Mexico, that he might

transmit it to his master, the Aztec emperor. Presents were exchanged at

this interview, and in return for a few glass beads, pins, and such

paltry trifles, the Spaniards had received such a rich treasure of

jewels and gold ornaments that the general at once sent back one of his

ships under the command of Don Pedro de Alvarado to convey the spoil,

and acquaint the governor of Cuba with the progress of the expedition,

and also with all the information he had been able to glean respecting

the Aztec emperor and his dominions. Now in those days nothing whatever

was known about the interior of the country or of its inhabitants--it

was as strange to the explorers as another planet.

THE WONDERS OF MEXICO

This was what they had to tell the governor. Far away towards the

Pacific Ocean there stood, in a beautiful and most fertile valley, the

capital of a great and powerful empire, called by its inhabitants

'Tenochtitlan,' but known to the Europeans only by its other name of

'Mexico,' derived from 'Mexitli,' the war-god of the Aztecs. These

Aztecs seem to have come originally from the north, and after many

wanderings to have halted at length on the south-western borders of a

great lake, of which there were several in the Mexican valley. This

celebrated valley was situated at a height of about 7,500 feet above the

sea, and was oval in form, about 67 leagues in circumference, and

surrounded by towering rocks, which seemed to be meant to protect it

from invasion. It was in the year 1325 that the Aztecs paused upon the

shore of the lake, and saw, as the sun rose, a splendid eagle perched

upon a prickly pear which shot out of a crevice in the rock. It held a

large serpent in its claws, and its broad wings were opened towards the

rising sun. The Aztecs saw in this a most favourable omen, and there and

then set about building themselves a city, laying its foundations upon

piles in the marshy ground beside the lake, and to this day the eagle

and the cactus form the arms of the Mexican republic.

[Illustration]

The little body of settlers increased rapidly in number and power, and

made their name terrible throughout the valley, in which various other

tribes had long been settled, until at last they united themselves with

the king of the Tezcucans, to aid him against a tribe called the

Tepanecs, who had invaded his territory. The allies were completely

successful, and this led to an agreement between the states of Mexico,

Tezcuco, and Tlacopan, that they should support each other in all their

wars, and divide all the spoils between them. This alliance remained

unbroken for over a hundred years and under a succession of able

princes the Aztec dominion grew, till at the coming of the Spaniards it

reached across the continent, from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean.

The Aztecs had many wise laws and institutions, and were indeed in some

respects a highly civilised community. When their emperor died a new one

was chosen from among his sons or nephews, by four nobles. The one

preferred was obliged to have distinguished himself in war, and his

coronation did not take place until a successful campaign had provided

enough captives to grace his triumphal entry into the capital, and

enough victims for the ghastly sacrifices which formed an important part

of all their religious ceremonies. Communication was held with the

remotest parts of the country by means of couriers, who, trained to it

from childhood, travelled with amazing swiftness. Post-houses were

established on the great roads, and the messenger bearing his despatches

in the form of hieroglyphical paintings, ran to the first station, where

they were taken by the next messenger and carried forward, being sent in

one day a hundred or two hundred miles. Thus fish was served at the

banquets of the emperor Montezuma which twenty-four hours before had

been caught in the Gulf of Mexico, two hundred miles away. Thus too the

news was carried when any war was going on, and as the messengers ran to

acquaint the court with the movements of the royal armies, the people by

the way knew whether the tidings were good or bad by the dress of the

courier. But the training of warriors was the chief end and aim of all

Aztec institutions. Their principal god was the god of war, and one

great object of all their expeditions was the capture of victims to be

sacrificed upon his altars. They believed that the soldier who fell in

battle was transported at once to the blissful regions of the sun, and

they consequently fought with an utter disregard of danger. The dress of

the warriors was magnificent. Their bodies were protected by a vest of

quilted cotton, impervious to light missiles, and over this the chiefs

wore mantles of gorgeous feather-work, and the richer of them a kind of

cuirass of gold or silver plates. Their helmets were of wood, fashioned

like the head of some wild animal, or of silver surmounted by plumes of

variously coloured feathers, sprinkled with precious stones, beside

which they wore many ornaments of gold, and their banners were

embroidered with gold and feather-work.

The Aztecs worshipped thirteen principal gods, and more than two hundred

of less importance, each of whom, however, had his day of festival,

which was duly observed. At the head of all stood the war-god, the

terrible Huitzilopochtli, whose fantastic image was loaded with costly

ornaments, and whose temples, in every city of the empire, were the most

splendid and stately. The Aztecs also had a legend that there had once

dwelt upon the earth the great Quetzalcoatl, god of the air, under whose

sway all things had flourished and all people had lived in peace and

prosperity; but he had in some way incurred the wrath of the principal

gods, and was compelled to leave the country. On his way he stopped at

the city of Cholula, where a temple was dedicated to him, of which the

great ruins remain to this day. When he reached the shores of the

Mexican Gulf he embarked in his magic boat, made of serpents' skins, for

the fabulous land of Tlapallan, but before he bade his followers

farewell he promised that he and his descendants would one day come

again. The Aztecs confidently looked forward to the return of their

benevolent god, who was said to have been tall in stature, with a white

skin, long dark hair, and a flowing beard, and this belief of theirs

prepared the way, as you will presently see, for the success of

Cortes.[28] The Mexican temples, or teocallis as they were called--which

means 'Houses of God'--were very numerous, there being several hundreds

of them in each of the principal cities. They looked rather like the

Egyptian pyramids, and were divided into four or five stories, each one

being smaller than the one below it, and the ascent was by a flight of

steps at an angle of the pyramid. This led to a sort of terrace at the

base of the second story, which passed quite round the building to

another flight of steps immediately over the first, so that it was

necessary to go all round the temple several times before reaching the

summit. The top was a broad space on which stood two towers, forty or

fifty feet high, which contained the images of the gods. Before these

towers stood the dreadful stone of sacrifice, and two lofty altars on

which the sacred fires burned continually. Human sacrifices were adopted

by the Aztecs about two hundred years before the coming of the

Spaniards. Rare at first, they became more and more frequent till at

length nearly every festival closed with this cruel abomination. The

unhappy victim was held by five priests upon the stone of sacrifice,

while the sixth, who was clothed in a scarlet mantle, emblematic of his

horrible office, cut open his breast with a sharp razor of 'itztli,' a

volcanic substance as hard as flint, and tearing out his heart, held it

first up to the sun, which they worshipped, and then cast it at the feet

of the god to whom the temple was devoted; and to crown the horror, the

body of the captive thus sacrificed was afterwards given to the warrior

who had taken him in battle, who thereupon gave a great banquet and

served him up amid choice dishes and delicious beverages for the

entertainment of his friends. When the great teocalli of Huitzilopochtli

was dedicated in the year 1486, no less than 70,000 prisoners were thus

sacrificed, and in the whole kingdom every year the victims were never

fewer than 20,000, or, as some old writers say, 50,000. The Aztec

writing was not with letters and words, but consisted of little coloured

pictures, each of which had some special meaning. Thus a 'tongue'

denoted speaking, a 'footprint' travelling, a 'man sitting on the

ground' an earthquake. As a very slight difference in position or colour

intimated a different meaning, this writing was very difficult to read,

and in the Aztec colleges the priests specially taught it to their

pupils. At the time of the coming of the Spaniards there were numbers of

people employed in this picture-writing, but unfortunately hardly any of

the manuscripts were preserved; for the Spaniards, looking upon them as

magic scrolls, caused them to be burned by thousands. In many mechanical

arts the Aztecs had made considerable progress. Their ground was well

cultivated, they had discovered and used silver, lead, tin, and copper.

Gold, which was found in the river-beds, they cast into bars, or used as

money by filling transparent quills with gold dust. They also made many

fantastic ornaments of gold and silver, and cast gold and silver

vessels, which they carved delicately with chisels. Some of the silver

vases were so large that a man could not encircle them with his arms.

But the art in which they most delighted was the wonderful feather-work.

With the gorgeous plumage of the tropical birds they could produce all

the effect of a beautiful mosaic. The feathers, pasted upon a fine

cotton web, were wrought into dresses for the wealthy, hangings for

their palaces, and ornaments for their temples.

These then were the people of whom Grijalva sent back to Cuba a few

vague reports, and these, and the accounts of the splendour of the

treasure, spread like wildfire through the island. The governor having

resolved to send out more ships to follow up these discoveries, looked

about him for a suitable person to command the expedition and share the

expenses of it, and being recommended by several of his friends to

choose Hernando Cortes, he presently did so. Cortes had now attained

his heart's desire, and at once began with the utmost energy to purchase

and fit out the ships. He used all the money he had saved, and as much

more as he could persuade his friends to lend him, and very soon he was

in possession of six vessels, and three hundred recruits had enrolled

themselves under his banner. His orders were, first, to find Grijalva

and to proceed in company with him; then to seek out and rescue six

Christians, the survivors of a previous expedition, who were supposed to

be lingering in captivity in the interior; and to bear in mind, before

all things, that it was the great desire of the Spanish monarch that the

Indians should be converted to Christianity. They were to be invited to

give their allegiance to him, and to send him presents of gold and

jewels to secure his favour and protection. The explorers were also to

survey the coast, acquaint themselves with the general features of the

country, and to barter with the natives.

THE BEGINNING OF THE EXPEDITION

But before Cortes was ready to start, a jealousy and distrust of him

took possession of the mind of Velasquez, so that he determined to

entrust the command of the fleet to someone else. This came to the ears

of Cortes, and he with great promptitude assembled his officers

secretly, and that very night set sail with what supplies he was able to

lay hands upon, his ships being neither ready for sea nor properly

provisioned. When morning broke news was carried to Velasquez that the

fleet was under weigh, and he rose hastily and galloped down to the

quay. Cortes rowed back to within speaking distance.

'This is a courteous way of taking leave of me, truly,' cried the

governor.

'Pardon me,' answered Cortes, 'time presses, and there are some things

that should be done before they are even thought of.' And with that he

returned to his vessel, and the little fleet sailed away to Macaca,

where Cortes laid in more stores. This was on November 18, 1518. Shortly

afterwards he proceeded to Trinidad, a town on the south coast of Cuba,

where he landed, and setting up his standard, invited all who would to

join the expedition, holding out to them great hopes of wealth to be

gained. Volunteers flocked in daily, including many young men of noble

family, who were attracted by the fame of Cortes. Among them were Pedro

de Alvarado, Cristoval de Olid, Alonso de Avila, Juan Velasquez de Leon,

Alonso Hernandez de Puertocarrero, and Gonzalo de Sandoval, of all of

whom you will hear again before the story is finished. Finally, in

February 1519, when all the reinforcements were assembled, Cortes found

he had eleven vessels, one hundred and ten mariners, five hundred and

fifty-three soldiers, and two hundred Indians. He also had sixteen

horses, ten large guns, and four lighter, which were called falconets.

Cortes, before embarking, addressed his little army, saying that he held

out to them a glorious prize, and that if any among them coveted riches,

he would make them masters of such as their countrymen had never dreamed

of; and so they sailed away for the coast of Yucatan.

The first thing that happened was that they were overtaken by a furious

tempest, and Cortes was delayed by looking after a disabled vessel, and

so was the last to reach the island of Cozumel. Here he found that

Alvarado, one of his captains, had landed, plundered a temple, and by

his violence caused the natives to fly and hide themselves inland.

Cortes, much displeased, severely reprimanded his officer, and, by the

aid of an interpreter, explained his peaceful intentions to two Indians

who had been captured. Then he loaded them with presents, and sent them

to persuade their countrymen to return, which they presently did, and

the Spaniards had the satisfaction of bartering the trifles they had

brought for the gold ornaments of the natives. Next Cortes sent two

ships to the opposite coast of Yucatan, where they were to despatch some

Indians inland, to seek for and ransom the Christian captives, of whom

he had gained some tidings from a trader, and while they were gone he

explored the island, and induced the natives to declare themselves

Christians by the very summary method of rolling their venerated idols

out of their temple, and setting up in their stead an image of the

Virgin and Child. When the Indians saw that no terrible consequences

followed, they listened to the teaching of the good priest, Father

Olmedo, who accompanied the expedition, though it is probable that they

did not, after all, understand much of his instruction. After eight days

the two ships came back, but with no news of the captives, and Cortes

sorrowfully decided that he could wait no longer. He accordingly took in

provisions and water, and set sail again, but before they had gone far

one of the ships sprang a leak, which obliged them to put back into the

same port. It was lucky that they did, for soon after they landed a

canoe was seen coming from the shore of Yucatan, which proved to contain

one of the long-lost Spaniards, who was called Aguilas. He had been for

eight years a slave among the natives in the interior, but his master,

tempted by the ransom of glass-beads, hawk-bells, and such treasures,

had consented to release him. When he reached the coast the ships were

gone, but owing to the fortunate accident of their return, he found

himself once more among his countrymen. Cortes at once saw the

importance of having him as an interpreter, but in the end he proved to

be of more use to the explorers than could have been at first imagined.

[Illustration]

Again the fleet set out, and coasted along the Gulf of Mexico till they

reached the mouth of the Rio de Tabasco. Here Cortes landed, but found

that the Indians were hostile, and were drawn up in great force against

him. However, after some hard fighting the Spaniards were victorious,

and having taken possession of the town of Tabasco, Cortes sent

messengers to the chiefs saying that if they did not at once submit

themselves he would ravage the country with fire and sword. As they had

no mind for any more fighting they came humbly, bringing presents, and

among them thirty slaves, one of whom, a beautiful Mexican girl named

Malinche, was afterwards of the utmost importance to the expedition. She

had come into the possession of the cacique of Tabasco through some

traders from the interior of the country, to whom she had been secretly

sold by her mother, who coveted her inheritance. Cortes now reembarked

his soldiers and sailed away to the island of San Juan de Uloa, under

the lee of which they anchored, and soon saw the light pirogues of the

Indians coming off to them from the mainland. They brought presents of

fruit and flowers, and little ornaments of gold which they gladly

exchanged for the usual trifles. Cortes was most anxious to converse

with them, but found to his disappointment that Aguilar could not

understand their dialect. In this dilemma he was informed that one of

the slaves was a Mexican, and could of course speak the language. This

was Malinche, or as the Spaniards always called her, 'Marina.' Cortes

was so charmed with her beauty and cleverness that he made her his

secretary, and kept her always with him; and she very soon learned

enough Spanish to interpret for him without the help of Aguilar. But at

first they were both necessary, and by their aid Cortes learned that his

visitors were subjects of Montezuma, the great Aztec emperor, and were

governed by Tenhtlile, one of his nobles. Cortes having ascertained that

there was abundance of gold in the interior, dismissed them, loaded with

presents, to acquaint their governor with his desire for an interview.

The next morning he landed on the mainland with all his force. It was a

level sandy plain, and the troops employed themselves in cutting down

trees and bushes to provide a shelter from the weather; in this they

were aided by the natives, who built them huts with stakes and earth,

mats and cotton carpets, and flocked from all the country round to see

the wonderful strangers. They brought with them fruits, vegetables,

flowers in abundance, game, and many dishes cooked after the fashion of

the country; and these they gave to, or bartered with, the Spaniards.

The next day came Tenhtlile, the governor, with a numerous train, and

was met by Cortes, and conducted to his tent with great ceremony. All

the principal officers were assembled, and after a ceremonious banquet

at which the governor was regaled with Spanish wines and confections,

the interpreters were sent for and a conversation began. Tenhtlile first

asked about the country of the strangers, and the object of their visit.

Cortes replied that he was the subject of a powerful monarch beyond the

seas, who had heard of the greatness of the Mexican emperor, and had

sent him with a present in token of his goodwill, and with a message

which he must deliver in person. He concluded by asking when he could

be admitted into Montezuma's presence. To this the Aztec noble replied

haughtily,

'How is it that you have been here only two days, and demand to see the

emperor?'

Then he added that he was surprised to hear that there could be another

monarch as powerful as Montezuma, but if it were so his master would be

happy to communicate with him, and that he would forward the royal gift

brought by the Spanish commander, and so soon as he had learned

Montezuma's will would inform him of it. Tenhtlile then ordered his

slaves to bring forward the present for the Spanish general. It

consisted of ten loads of fine cotton, several mantles of gorgeous

feather-work, and a wicker basket of golden ornaments. Cortes received

it with due acknowledgments, and in his turn ordered the presents for

Montezuma to be brought forward. These were an armchair richly carved

and painted, a crimson cloth cap with a gold medal, and a quantity of

collars, bracelets, and other ornaments of cut-glass, which in a country

where glass was unknown were as valuable as real gems. The Aztec

governor observed a soldier in the camp in a shining gilt helmet, and

expressed a wish that Montezuma should see it, as it reminded him of one

worn by the god Quetzalcoatl. Cortes declared his willingness that the

helmet should be sent, and begged that the emperor would return it

filled with the gold dust of the country, that he might compare its

quality with that of his own. He also said that the Spaniards were

troubled with a disease of the heart, for which gold was a sure remedy.

In fact, he made his want of gold very clear to the governor. While

these things were passing Cortes observed one of Tenhtlile's attendants

busy with a pencil, and on looking at his work he found it was a sketch

of the Spaniards, their costumes, weapons, and all objects of interest

being correctly represented both in form and colour. This was the

celebrated picture-writing, and the governor said that this man was

drawing all these things for Montezuma, as he would get a much better

idea of their appearance thus. Cortes thereupon ordered out the cavalry,

and caused them to go through their military exercises upon the firm wet

sands of the beach; and the appearance of the horses--which were

absolutely unknown in Mexico--filled the natives with astonishment,

which turned to alarm when the general ordered the cannon to be fired,

and they saw for the first time the smoke and flame, and beheld the

balls crashing among the trees of the neighbouring forest and reducing

them to splinters. Nothing of this sort was lost upon the painters, who

faithfully recorded every particular, not omitting the ships--the

'water-houses,' as they called them--which swung at anchor in the bay.

Finally, the governor departed as ceremoniously as he had come, leaving

orders with his people to supply the Spanish general with all he might

require till further instructions should come from the emperor.

In the meantime the arrival of the strangers was causing no small stir

in the Mexican capital. A general feeling seems to have prevailed that

the Return of the White God, Quetzalcoatl, was at hand, and many

wonderful signs and occurrences seemed to confirm the belief.

In 1510 the great lake of Tezcuco, without tempest, earthquake, or any

visible cause, became violently agitated, overflowed its banks, and,

pouring into the streets of Mexico, swept away many buildings by the

fury of its waters. In 1511 one of the towers of the great temple took

fire, equally without any apparent cause, and continued to burn in

defiance of all attempts to extinguish it. In the following years three

comets were seen, and not long before the coming of the Spaniards a

strange light broke forth in the east, resembling a great pyramid or

flood of fire thickly powdered with stars: at the same time low voices

were heard in the air, and doleful wailings, as if to announce some

strange, mysterious calamity. A lady of the Royal house died, was

buried, and rose again, prophesying ruin to come. After the conquest she

became a Christian.

Montezuma, terrified at these apparitions, took counsel of

Nezahualpilli, King of Tezcuco, who was a great proficient in astrology;

but far from obtaining any comfort from him, he was still further

depressed by being told that all these things predicted the speedy

downfall of his empire. When, therefore, the picture-writings showing

the Spanish invaders reached Montezuma, they caused him great

apprehension, and he summoned the kings of Tezcuco and Tlacopan to

consult with them as to how the strangers should be received. There was

much division of opinion, but finally Montezuma resolved to send a rich

present which should impress them with a high idea of his wealth and

grandeur, while at the same time he would forbid them to approach the

capital. After eight days at the most, which however seemed a long time

to the Spaniards, who were suffering from the intense heat of the

climate, the embassy, accompanied by the governor Tenhtlile, reached the

camp, and presented to Cortes the magnificent treasure sent by

Montezuma. One of the two nobles had been sent on account of his great

likeness to the picture of Cortes which the Aztec painter had executed

for Montezuma. This resemblance was so striking that the Spanish

soldiers always called this chief 'the Mexican Cortes.' After the usual

ceremonious salutes, the slaves unrolled the delicately wrought mats and

displayed the gifts they had brought. There were shields, helmets, and

cuirasses embossed with plates and ornaments of pure gold, with collars

and bracelets of the same precious metal, sandals, fans, plumes, and

crests of variegated feathers wrought with gold and silver thread and

sprinkled with pearls and precious stones. Also imitations of birds and

animals in wrought or cast gold and silver of exquisite workmanship; and

curtain coverlets and robes of cotton, fine as silk--of rich and varied

hues--interwoven with feather-work that rivalled the most delicate

painting. There were more than thirty loads of cotton cloth, and the

Spanish helmet was returned filled to the brim with grains of gold. But

the things which excited the most admiration were two circular plates of

gold and silver as large as carriage-wheels. One, representing the sun,

was richly carved with plants and animals, and was worth fifty-two

thousand five hundred pounds. The Spaniards could not conceal their

rapture at this exhibition of treasure which exceeded their utmost

dreams; and when they had sufficiently admired it the ambassadors

courteously delivered their message, which was to the effect that

Montezuma had great pleasure in holding communication with so powerful a

monarch as the King of Spain, but he could not grant a personal

interview to the Spaniards; the way to his capital was too long and too

dangerous. Therefore the strangers must return to their own land with

the gifts he had sent them. Cortes, though much vexed, concealed his

annoyance and expressed his sense of the emperor's munificence. It made

him, he said, only the more desirous of a personal interview, so that he

felt it was impossible that he should present himself again before his

sovereign without having accomplished this great object of his journey.

He once more requested them to bear this message to their master, with

another trifling gift. This they seemed unwilling to do, and took their

leave repeating that the general's wish could not be gratified. The

soldiers were by this time suffering greatly from the heat, surrounded

as they were by burning sands and evil-smelling marshes, and swarms of

venomous insects which tormented them night and day. Thirty of their

number died, and the discomfort of the rest was greatly increased by

the indifference of the natives, who no longer brought them such

abundant supplies, and demanded an immense price for what they did

provide. After ten days the Mexican envoys returned, bearing another

rich present of stuffs and gold ornaments, which, though not so valuable

as the first, was yet worth three thousand ounces of gold. Beside this

there were four precious stones, somewhat resembling emeralds, each of

which they assured the Spaniards was worth more than a load of gold, and

was destined as a special mark of respect for the Spanish monarch, since

only the nobles of Mexico were allowed to wear them. Unfortunately,

however, they were of no value at all in Europe. Montezuma's answer was

the same as before. He positively forbade the strangers to approach

nearer to his capital, and requested them to take the treasure he had

bestowed upon them, and return without delay to their own country.

Cortes received this unwelcome message courteously, but coldly, and

turning to his officers exclaimed, 'This is a rich and powerful prince

indeed, yet it shall go hard but we will one day pay him a visit in his

capital.' Father Olmedo then tried to persuade the Aztec chiefs to give

up their idol-worship, and endeavoured by the aid of Marina and Aguilar

to explain to them the mysteries of his own faith, but it is probable

that he was not very successful. The chiefs presently withdrew coldly,

and that same night every hut was deserted by the natives, and the

Spaniards were left without supplies in a desolate wilderness. Cortes

thought this so suspicious that he prepared for an attack, but

everything remained quiet.

The general now decided to remove his camp to a more healthy place a

little farther along the coast, where the ships could anchor and be

sheltered from the north wind. But the soldiers began to grumble and be

discontented, and to say that it was time to return with their spoil,

and not linger upon those barren shores until they had brought the whole

Mexican nation about their ears. Fortunately at this juncture five

Indians made their appearance in the camp, and were taken to the

general's tent. They were quite different from the Mexicans in dress and

appearance, and wore rings of gold and bright blue gems in their ears

and nostrils, while a gold leaf, delicately wrought, was attached to the

under lip. Marina could not understand their language, but luckily she

found that two of them could speak in the Aztec tongue. They explained

that they came from Cempoalla, the chief town of a tribe called the

Totonacs, and that their country had been lately conquered by the

Aztecs, whose oppressions they greatly resented. They also said that the

fame of the Spaniards had reached their master, who had sent to request

them to visit him in his capital. It is easy to imagine how eagerly

Cortes listened to this communication, and how important it was to him.

Hitherto, as he knew absolutely nothing of the state of affairs in the

interior of the country, he had supposed the empire to be strong and

united. Now he saw that the discontent of the provinces conquered by

Montezuma might be turned to his own advantage, and that by their aid he

might hope to succeed in his cherished scheme of subduing the emperor

himself. He therefore dismissed the Totonacs with many presents,

promising soon to visit their city. Then with his usual energy and

diplomacy he turned upon the immediate difficulties which beset him--the

discontent of the soldiers, the jealousy of some of his officers, and

the fact that he had no warrant for his ambitious plans in the

commission that he had received from Velasquez. By tact and cunning he

managed to settle everything as he wished, and set to work to establish

a colony in the name of the Spanish sovereign, and appointed his chief

friend Puertocarrero to be one of its magistrates, and Montejo, who was

a friend of Velasquez, to be the other. The new town was called Villa

Rica de Vera Cruz, 'The rich town of the True Cross,' and, as you see,

its governors and officials were appointed before a single house was

built. To them Cortes then resigned the commission which he had received

from Velasquez, and the council, which consisted chiefly of his own

friends, immediately reappointed him to be captain-general and chief

justice of the colony, with power to do practically just as he liked. Of

course this caused a great commotion in the opposing party, but Cortes

put the leaders into irons and sent them on board one of the ships,

while he sent the soldiers on a foraging expedition into the surrounding

country. By the time these returned with supplies they had altered their

minds, and joined their companions in arms, pledging themselves to a

common cause, while even the cavaliers on board the ship came to the

same conclusion, and were reconciled to the new government, and were

from that time staunch adherents to Cortes.

[Illustration]