V.

"Once more do I behold thee, O Cordova, beautiful to my eyes as the

new Jerusalem coming down from Heaven to those who have witnessed the

resurrection! Here, where my life began, may I now be allowed to lie

down in peace, like a tired child that falls asleep on its mother's

breast."

Thus did I apostrophize my natal city, when, looking from the height

above, I at last saw it before me, girdled with purple hills and bright

with the sunshine, the white towers of the many churches springing out

of the green mist of groves and gardens.

Nevertheless Providence ordained that in Cordova I was to find life and

not death. Surrounded by old beloved friends, worshipping in the old

church I knew so well, health returned to me, and I was like one who

rises after a night of evil dreams and goes forth to feel the sunshine

and fresh wind on his face. I told the strange story of Marta to one

person only; this was Father Irala, a learned and discreet man of

great piety, and one high in authority in the church at Cordova. I was

astonished that he was able to listen calmly to the things I related;

he spoke some consoling words, but made no attempt then or afterwards

to throw any light on the mystery. In Cordova a great cloud seemed to

be lifted from my mind which left my faith unimpaired; I was once more

cheerful and happy--happier than I had ever been since leaving it.

Three months went by; then Irala told me one day that it was time for

me to return to Yala, for my health being restored there was nothing to

keep me longer from my flock.

O that flock, that flock, in which for me there had been only one

precious lamb!

I was greatly disquieted; all those nameless doubts and fears which

had left me now seemed returning; I begged him to spare me, to send

some younger man, ignorant of the matters I had imparted to him,

to take my place. He replied that for the very reason that I was

acquainted with those matters I was the only fit person to go to Yala.

Then in my agitation I unburdened my heart to him. I spoke of that

heathenish apathy of the people I had struggled in vain to overcome,

of the temptations I had encountered--the passion of anger and earthly

love, the impulse to commit some terrible crime. Then had come the

tragedy of Marta Riquelme, and the spiritual world had seemed to

resolve itself into a chaos where Christ was powerless to save; in my

misery and despair my reason had almost forsaken me and I had fled

from the country. In Cordova hope had revived, my prayers had brought

an immediate response, and the Author of salvation seemed to be near

to me. Here in Cordova, I said in conclusion, was life, but in the

soul-destroying atmosphere of Yala death eternal.

"Brother Sepulvida," he answered, "we know all your sufferings and

suffer with you; nevertheless you must return to Yala. Though there in

the enemy's country, in the midst of the fight, when hard pressed and

wounded, you have perhaps doubted God's omnipotence, He calls you to

the front again, where He will be with you and fight at your side. It

is for you, not for us, to find the solution of those mysteries which

have troubled you; and that you have already come near to the solution

your own words seem to show. Remember that we are here not for our own

pleasure, but to do our Master's work; that the highest reward will

not be for those who sit in the cool shade, book in hand, but for the

toilers in the field who are suffering the burden and heat of the day.

Return to Yala and be of good heart, and in due time all things will be

made clear to your understanding."

These words gave me some comfort, and meditating much on them I took my

departure from Cordova, and in due time arrived at my destination.

I had, on quitting Yala, forbidden Montero and his wife to speak of the

manner of Marta's disappearance, believing that it would be better for

my people to remain in ignorance of such a matter; but now, when going

about in the village on my return I found that it was known to every

one. That "Marta had become a Kakué," was mentioned on all sides; yet

it did not affect them with astonishment and dismay that this should

be so, it was merely an event for idle women to chatter about, like

Quiteria's elopement or Maxima's quarrel with her mother-in-law.

It was now the hottest season of the year, when it was impossible to

be very active, or much out of doors. During those days the feeling of

despondence began again to weigh heavily on my heart. I pondered on

Irala's words, and prayed continually, but the illumination he had

prophesied came not. When I preached, my voice was like the buzzing

of summer flies to the people: they came or sat or knelt on the floor

of the church, and heard me with stolid unmoved countenances, then

went forth again unchanged in heart. After the morning Mass I would

return to my house, and, sitting alone in my room, pass the sultry

hours, immersed in melancholy thoughts, having no inclination to work.

At such times the image of Marta, in all the beauty of her girlhood,

crowned with her shining golden hair, would rise before me, until the

tears gathering in my eyes would trickle through my fingers. Then too

I often recalled that terrible scene in the wood--the crouching figure

in its sordid rags, the glaring furious eyes,--again those piercing

shrieks seemed to ring through me, and fill the dark mountain's forest

with echoes, and I would start up half maddened with the sensations of

horror renewed within me.

And one day, while sitting in my room, with these memories for only

company, all at once a voice in my soul told me that the end was

approaching, that the crisis was come, and that to whichever side I

fell, there I should remain through all eternity. I rose up from my

seat staring straight before me, like one who sees an assassin enter

his apartment dagger in hand and who nerves himself for the coming

struggle. Instantly all my doubts, my fears, my unshapen thoughts found

expression, and with a million tongues shrieked out in my soul against

my Redeemer. I called aloud on Him to save me, but He came not; and

the spirits of darkness, enraged at my long resistance, had violently

seized on my soul, and were dragging it down perdition. I reached forth

my hands and took hold of the crucifix standing near me, and clung to

it as a drowning mariner does to a floating spar. "Cast it down!" cried

out a hundred devils in my ear. "Trample under foot this symbol of a

slavery which has darkened your life and made earth a hell! He that

died on the cross is powerless now; miserably do they perish who put

their trust in Him! Remember Marta Riquelme, and save yourself from her

fate while there is time."

My hands relaxed their hold on the cross, and falling on the stones,

I cried aloud to the Lord to slay me and take my soul, for by death

only could I escape from that great crime my enemies were urging me to

commit.

Scarcely had I pronounced these words before I felt that the fiends had

left me, like ravening wolves scared from their quarry. I rose up and

washed the blood from my bruised forehead, and praised God; for now

there was a great calm in my heart, and I knew that He who died to save

the world was with me, and that His grace had enabled me to conquer and

deliver my own soul from perdition.

From that time I began to see the meaning of Irala's words, that it was

for me and not for him to find the solution of the mysteries which had

troubled me, and that I had already come near to finding it. I also saw

the reason of that sullen resistance to religion in the minds of the

people of Yala; of the temptations which had assailed me--the strange

tempests of anger and the carnal passions, never experienced elsewhere,

and which had blown upon my heart like hot blighting winds; and even

of all the events of Marta Riquelme's tragic life; for all these

things had been ordered with devilish cunning to drive my soul into

rebellion. I no longer dwelt persistently on that isolated event of

her transformation, for now the whole action of that tremendous warfare

in which the powers of darkness are arrayed against the messengers of

the Gospel began to unfold itself before me.

In thought I went back to the time, centuries ago, when as yet not one

ray of heavenly light had fallen upon this continent; when men bowed

down in worship to gods, which they called in their several languages

Pachacamac, Viracocho, and many others; names which being translated

mean, The All-powerful, Ruler of Men, The Strong Comer, Lord of the

Dead, The Avenger. These were not mythical beings; they were mighty

spiritual entities, differing from each other in character, some

taking delight in wars and destruction, while others regarded their

human worshippers with tolerant and even kindly feelings. And because

of this belief in powerful benevolent beings some learned Christian

writers have held that the aborigines possessed a knowledge of the

true God, albeit obscured by many false notions. This is a manifest

error; for if in the material world light and darkness cannot mingle,

much less can the Supreme Ruler stoop to share His sovereignty with

Belial and Moloch, or in this continent, with Tupa and Viracocho:

but all these demons, great and small, and known by various names,

were angels of darkness who had divided amongst themselves this new

world and the nations dwelling in it. Nor need we be astonished at

finding here resemblance to the true religion--majestic and graceful

touches suggesting the Divine Artist; for Satan himself is clothed

as an angel of light, and scruples not to borrow the things invented

by the Divine Intelligence. These spirits possessed unlimited power

and authority; their service was the one great business of all men's

lives; individual character and natural feelings were crushed out by

an implacable despotism, and no person dreamed of disobedience to

their decrees, interpreted by their high priests; but all men were

engaged in raising colossal temples, enriched with gold and precious

stones, to their honour, and priests and virgins in tens of thousands

conducted their worship with a pomp and magnificence surpassing those

of ancient Egypt or Babylon. Nor can we doubt that these beings often

made use of their power to suspend the order of nature, transforming

men into birds and beasts, causing the trembling of the earth which

ruins whole cities, and performing many other stupendous miracles to

demonstrate their authority or satisfy their malignant natures. The

time came when it pleased the Ruler of the world to overthrow this evil

empire, using for that end the ancient, feeble instruments despised of

men, the missionary priests, and chiefly those of the often persecuted

Brotherhood founded by Loyola, whose zeal and holiness have always been

an offence to the proud and carnal-minded. Country after country, tribe

after tribe, the old gods were deprived of their kingdom, fighting

always with all their weapons to keep back the tide of conquest.

And at length, defeated at all points, and like an army fighting in

defence of its territory, and gradually retiring before the invader to

concentrate itself in some apparently inaccessible region and there

stubbornly resist to the end; so have all the old gods and demons

retired into this secluded country, where, if they cannot keep out the

seeds of truth they have at least succeeded in rendering the soil it

falls upon barren as stone. Nor does it seem altogether strange that

these once potent beings should be satisfied to remain in comparative

obscurity and inaction when the entire globe is open to them, offering

fields worthy of their evil ambition. For great as their power and

intelligence must be they are, nevertheless, finite beings, possessing

like man, individual characteristics, capabilities and limitations;

and after reigning where they have lost a continent, they may possibly

be unfit or unwilling to serve elsewhere. For we know that even in the

strong places of Christianity there are spirits enough for the evil

work of leading men astray; whole nations are given up to damnable

heresies, and all religion is trodden under foot by many whose portion

will be where the worm dieth not and the fire is not quenched.

From the moment of my last struggle, when this revelation began to

dawn upon my mind, I have been safe from their persecutions. No angry

passions, no sinful motions, no doubts and despondence disturb the

peace of my soul. I was filled with fresh zeal, and in the pulpit felt

that it was not my voice, but the voice of some mighty spirit speaking

with my lips and preaching to the people with an eloquence of which I

was not capable. So far, however, it has been powerless to win their

souls. The old gods, although no longer worshipped openly, are their

gods still, and could a new Tupac Amaru arise to pluck down the symbols

of Christianity, and proclaim once more the Empire of the Sun, men

would everywhere bow down to worship his rising beams and joyfully

rebuild temples to the Lightning and the Rainbow.

Although the lost spirits cannot harm they are always near me,

watching all my movements, ever striving to frustrate my designs. Nor

am I unmindful of their presence. Even here, sitting in my study and

looking out on the mountains, rising like stupendous stairs towards

heaven and losing their summits in the gathering clouds, I seem to

discern the awful shadowy form of Pachacamac, supreme among the old

gods. Though his temples are in ruins, where the Pharaohs of the Andes

and their millions of slaves worshipped him for a thousand years, he

is awful still in his majesty and wrath that plays like lightning on

his furrowed brows, kindling his stern countenance, and the beard

which rolls downward like an immense white cloud to his knees. Around

him gather other tremendous forms in their cloudy vestments--the

Strongcomer, the Lord of the Dead, the Avenger, the Ruler of men, and

many others whose names were once mighty throughout the continent.

They have met to take counsel together; I hear their voices in the

thunder hoarsely rolling from the hills, and in the wind stirring the

forest before the coming tempest. Their faces are towards me, they are

pointing to me with their cloudy hands, they are speaking of me--even

of me, an old, feeble, worn-out man! But I do not quail before them; my

soul is firm though my flesh is weak; though my knees tremble while I

gaze, I dare look forward even to win another victory over them before

I depart.

Day and night I pray for that soul still wandering lost in the great

wilderness; and no voice rebukes my hope or tells me that my prayer is

unlawful. I strain my eyes gazing out towards the forest; but I know

not whether Marta Riquelme will return to me with the tidings of her

salvation in a dream of the night, or clothed in the garments of the

flesh, in the full light of day. For her salvation I wait, and when I

have seen it I shall be ready to depart; for as the traveller, whose

lips are baked with hot winds, and who thirsts for a cooling draught

and swallows sand, strains his eyeballs to see the end of his journey

in some great desert, so do I look forward to the goal of this life,

when I shall go to Thee, O my Master, and be at rest!