Marta was not dead; but what happened to her after her departure from
Yala was this. When the convoy with which she journeyed was attacked
the men only were slain, while the women and children were carried away
into captivity. When the victors divided the spoil among themselves,
the child, which even in that long painful journey into the desert,
with the prospect of a life of cruel slavery before her, had been a
comfort to Marta, was taken forcibly from her arms to be conveyed
to some distant place, and from that moment she utterly lost sight
of it. She herself was bought by an Indian able to pay for a pretty
white captive, and who presently made her his wife. She, a Christian,
the wife of a man loved only too well, could not endure this horrible
fate which had overtaken her. She was also mad with grief at the loss
of her child, and stealing out one dark stormy night she fled from
the Indian settlement. For several days and nights she wandered about
the desert, suffering every hardship and in constant fear of jaguars,
and was at length found by the savages in a half-starved condition
and unable longer to fly from them. Her owner, when she was restored
to him, had no mercy on her: he bound her to a tree growing beside
his hovel, and there every day he cruelly scourged her naked flesh to
satisfy his barbarous resentment, until she was ready to perish with
excessive suffering. He also cut off her hair, and braiding it into a
belt wore it always round his waist,--a golden trophy which doubtless
won him great honour and distinction amongst his fellow savages. When
he had by these means utterly broken her spirit and reduced her to the
last condition of weakness, he released her from the tree, but at the
same time fastened a log of wood to her ankle, so that only with great
labour, and drawing herself along with the aid of her hands, could
she perform the daily tasks her master imposed on her. Only after a
whole year of captivity, and when she had given birth to a child, was
the punishment over and her foot released from the log. The natural
affection which she felt for this child of a father so cruel was now
poor Marta's only comfort. In this hard servitude five years of her
miserable existence were consumed; and only those who know the stern,
sullen, pitiless character of the Indian can imagine what this period
was for Marta, without sympathy from her fellow-creatures, with no hope
and no pleasure beyond the pleasure of loving and caressing her own
infant savages. Of these she was now the mother of three.
When her youngest was not many months old Marta had one day wandered
some distance in search of sticks for firewood, when a woman, one of
her fellow-captives from Jujuy, came running to her, for she had been
watching for an opportunity of speaking with Marta. It happened that
this woman had succeeded in persuading her Indian husband to take her
back to her home in the Christian country, and she had at the same
time won his consent to take Marta with them, having conceived a great
affection for her. The prospect of escape filled poor Marta's heart
with joy, but when she was told that her children could on no account
be taken, then a cruel struggle commenced in her breast. Bitterly she
pleaded for permission to take her babes, and at last overcome by her
importunity her fellow-captive consented to her taking the youngest of
the three; though this concession was made very reluctantly.
In a short time the day appointed for the flight arrived, and Marta
carrying her infant met her friends in the wood. They were quickly
mounted, and the journey began which was to last for many days, and
during which they were to suffer much from hunger, thirst and fatigue.
One dark night as they journeyed through a hilly and wooded country,
Marta being overcome with fatigue so that she could scarcely keep her
seat, the Indian with affected kindness relieved her of the child she
always carried in her arms. An hour passed, and then pressing forward
to his side and asking for her child she was told that it had been
dropped into a deep, swift stream over which they had swam their horses
some time before. Of what happened after that she was unable to give
any very clear account. She only dimly remembered that through many
days of scorching heat and many nights of weary travel she was always
piteously pleading for her lost child--always seeming to hear it crying
to her to save it from destruction. The long journey ended at last.
She was left by the others at the first Christian settlement they
reached, after which travelling slowly from village to village she made
her way to Yala. Her old neighbours and friends did not know her at
first, but when they were at length convinced that it was indeed Marta
Riquelme that stood before them she was welcomed like one returned from
the grave. I heard of her arrival, and hastening forth to greet her
found her seated before a neighbour's house already surrounded by half
the people of the village.
Was this woman indeed Marta, once the pride of Yala! It was hard to
believe it, so darkened with the burning suns and winds of years was
her face, once so fair; so wasted and furrowed with grief and the many
hardships she had undergone! Her figure, worn almost to a skeleton, was
clothed with ragged garments, while her head, bowed down with sorrow
and despair, was divested of that golden crown which had been her chief
ornament. Seeing me arrive she cast herself on her knees before me and
taking my hand in hers covered it with tears and kisses. The grief I
felt at the sight of her forlorn condition mingled with joy for her
deliverance from death and captivity overcame me; I was shaken like a
reed in the wind, and covering my face with my robe I sobbed aloud in
the presence of all the people.