It is ten o'clock at night, and a starry heaven is extended over a large
expanse of level country--here clothed with virgin forests--there with
broad, almost treeless savannas, now and then partaking of the character
of marshes and covered with tall reeds. In the midst of this landscape
a large lake opens to the view. Its aspect is sombre and sad--its dark,
turbid waters scarce reflecting the stars that shine so brilliantly over
it; while the waves beating against its sedge-encircled shores, utter
only the most lugubrious sounds.
Near the centre of this lake rises a mountain of dark, greenish colour,
resembling an immense cairn constructed by the hands of Titans. Upon
its summit rests a cloud of white fog collected by evaporation from the
surrounding water, which has been condensed by the freshness of the
night. The numerous dark fissures distinguishable along the sides of
this gigantic hill give it the appearance of being a mass of lava--the
debris vomited forth by some extinct volcano--and at night, when the
moon's rays fall obliquely upon its flanks, it presents a vague
resemblance to the scales of an alligator. At the same time that this
fancy is suggested, the huge saurian itself may be heard, plunging among
the reeds at its foot, and causing their culms to rattle against the
rhomboid protuberances of his hideous carapace.
The mournful and desolate aspect of this lake, as well as of the shores
that surround it--the eternal silence that reigns over it--the bleak,
lonely appearance of its island mountain--all combine to produce upon
the spectator an irresistible impression of melancholy; and a spirit of
superstitious inclinings cannot help giving way to thoughts of the
supernatural. No wonder that in such a place the ancient Aztec priests
should have erected an altar for their sanguinary sacrifices; and so
strong is tradition, that even in modern times the lake of Ostuta and
the mountain of Monopostiac, are invested with supernatural attributes,
and regarded by the vulgar with feelings of awe.
It was to the shores of this lake that the domestic of Don Mariano de
Silva had conducted his master, certain of finding there a secure
resting-place for the night. He knew that the country surrounding the
lake was entirely uninhabited; and the brigands of Arroyo would scarce
extend their excursions to such an unprofitable foraging ground. The
southern end of the lake was bordered by a strip of forest; and it was
in this forest that Don Mariano had determined to make halt for the
night.
A small glade surrounded by trees of many species was chosen by the
travellers as a place of their bivouac. The ground was covered with a
carpet of soft grass, and many flowering shrubs and blossoming llianas,
supported by the trees that grew around, yielded to the night an odorous
incense that was wafted over the glade. It was, in fact, a bower made
by the hand of nature, over which was extended the dark blue canopy of
the sky, studded with its millions of scintillating stars.
Don Mariano had selected this lovely spot with a design--that of
distracting his daughter's spirit from the sad reflections which the
more gloomy portions of the forest might otherwise have called up.
Shortly after halting, Dona Gertrudis had fallen asleep in her
_litera_--through the curtains of which, only half closed, might be seen
her soft cheek, white almost as the pillow upon which it lay.
Nature had almost repaired the outrage she had voluntarily committed on
her long dark tresses; but the life within her seemed fast hastening to
an end, and her breathing told how feeble was the spirit that now
animated her bosom. She appeared like one of the white passion-flowers
growing near, but more like one that had been plucked from the stem
which had been the source of its life and sweetness.
Don Mariano stood near the _litera_--gazing upon the pale face of his
child with feelings of sad tenderness. He could not help calling up
this very comparison--although it was torture to his soul; for he knew
that the flower once plucked must irrevocably wither and die.
At some distance from the _litera_, and nearer the edge of the lake,
three of the attendants were seated together upon the grass. They were
conversing, in low tones, for the purpose of passing the time. The
fourth, who was the guide already mentioned, had gone forward through
the woods--partly to search for the crossing, but also to reconnoitre
the path, and find out whether the road to San Carlos was clear of the
guerilleros.
Through a break in the forest that surrounded the glade, the enchanted
mountain was visible--its sombre silhouette outlined against the blue
background of the sky.
In all countries, every object that appears to vary from the ordinary
laws of nature, possesses, for the vulgar imagination, a powerful
interest; and the servants of Don Mariano were no exception to the rule.
"I have heard it said," whispered one of them, "that the waters of this
lake now so muddy, were once as clear as crystal; and that it was only
after they were consecrated to the devil, that they became as they are
now."
"Bah!" rejoined another, "I don't believe what they say about the devil
living up there upon the _Cerro encantado_. He would choose a more
pleasant place for his residence, I should fancy."
"Well," said the first speaker, who was named Zefirino, and who was
better acquainted with the locality than either of his companions,
"whether the devil dwells there or not, some terrible things have taken
place on that mountain; and it is said, still happen there. I have
heard that the fog which you see upon its summit, and which always rests
there at night, is extended over it by the god of the Indians--who is
only the devil himself. He does that to hide what goes on up there.
There's one strange story the Indians themselves tell."
"What is it? Let us hear it, Zefirino."
"Well, you've heard how in old times the Indian priests had an altar up
yonder--upon which they used to sacrifice scores of human beings--so
that the blood ran down the fissures of the rock like water after a
shower of rain. Their plan was to cut open the breast of the victim,
and tear out his heart while still alive. But why need I frighten you
with a story that, by my faith, is fearful enough?"
"No--no--never mind! Go on, Zefirino."
"Stay!" cried the other domestic. "Did you not hear a noise--just down
there by the edge of the lake?"
"Bah! it's only an alligator snapping his jaws together. Go on,
Zefirino!"
"Well, comrades--the story is, that about five hundred years ago, one of
the unfortunate victims was about to be sacrificed in this manner as
usual. The cruel priest had opened his breast and taken out the heart;
when, to the astonishment of all around, the Indian seized hold of his
own heart, and endeavoured to put it back in its place. His hand,
however, trembled, and the heart slipping from his grasp, rolled down
the mountain side and into the lake. The Indian, uttering a terrible
howl, plunged in after for the purpose of recovering his heart from the
water, and was never seen again. Of course, a man like that could not
possibly die; and for five hundred years the Indian has been wandering
round the shores of the lake searching for his heart, and with his
breast cut open, just as the priest had left it. It's not more than a
year ago that some one saw this Indian, and just about here, too, on the
southern shore of the lake."
As Zefirino finished his narration, his two companions involuntarily
cast glances of terror towards the gloomy waters of the lake, as if in
dread that the legendary Indian might suddenly show himself. Just at
that moment, a rustling among the leaves caused all three of them to
start to their feet, and stand trembling with fear.
Their alarm did not last long; for almost immediately after they
perceived that the noise had been caused by Castrillo, the guide--who,
in the next moment, stepped forward into the glade.
"Well, Castrillo! what have you seen?" demanded his fellow-servants.
"Enough to make it necessary that I should at once communicate with our
master," and Castrillo passed on towards the _litera_, leaving his
companions to form their conjectures about what he had seen as best they
might.