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Historic Tales: The Romance of Reality. Vol. 03 (of 15), Spanish American

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Title: Historic Tales: The Romance of Reality. Vol. 03 (of 15), Spanish American

Author: Charles Morris


        
Release date: October 9, 2006 [eBook #19503]
                Most recently updated: June 26, 2020

Language: English

Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/19503


*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HISTORIC TALES: THE ROMANCE OF REALITY. VOL. 03 (OF 15), SPANISH AMERICAN ***





Historical Tales - The Romance of Reality - Volume III


by Charles Morris




Edition 1, (October 9, 2006)





                         Philadelphia and London
                         J. B. Lippincott Company





Copyright, 1904, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.
Copyright, 1908, by J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY.





                  [Illustration: DEPARTURE OF COLUMBUS.]

                          DEPARTURE OF COLUMBUS.





ILLUSTRATIONS


DEPARTURE OF COLUMBUS.
A TROPICAL RIVER SCENE.
CATHEDRAL OF SAN DOMINGO.
LANDING-PLACE OF CORTEZ, VERA CRUZ.
FLOATING GARDENS ON THE CHENAMPAS.
AZTEC IDOLS CARVED IN STONE.
DEATH OF ATAHUALPA, FROM A PAINTING IN THE CATHEDRAL AT CALLAO.
COFFEE PLANT IN BLOSSOM.
THE HARBOR OF VALPARAISO.
A TROPICAL BUNGALOW AND PALMS.
THE CITY OF PANAMA.
INDIANS OF THE PLATEAU.
SOUTH AMERICAN NATIVE HUT.
BRIDGE ENTERING QUITO.
RIO JANEIRO AND HARBOR.
INDIAN SPINNING AND WEAVING.
THE GOVERNOR-GENERAL'S PALACE, HAVANA.
OLDEST HOUSE IN THE UNITED STATES, SANTA FE.
ON THE BORDER OF LAKE CHALCO.
HOUSE OF MAXIMILIAN AT QUERETARO.





CONTENTS


THE ISLES OF BEAUTY BEYOND THE SEAS.
ALONSO DE OJEDA AND THE CARIB CACIQUE.
THE EARLY DAYS OF A FAMOUS CAVALIER.
BALBOA AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC.
THE ROMANTIC STORY OF THE PRINCE OF TEZCUCO.
THE FAMOUS RETREAT OF CORTEZ AND THE SPANIARDS.
PIZARRO AND THE INCA'S GOLDEN RANSOM.
GONZALO PIZARRO AND THE LAND OF CINNAMON.
CORONADO AND THE SEVEN CITIES OF CIBOLA.
THE FAITHFUL MIRANDA AND THE LOVERS OF ARGENTINA.
LANTARO, THE BOY HERO OF THE ARAUCANIANS.
DRAKE, THE SEA-KING, AND THE SPANISH TREASURE-SHIPS.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND THE QUEST FOR EL DORADO.
MORGAN, THE FREEBOOTER, AND THE RAID ON PANAMA.
A DRAMA OF PLUNDER, MURDER, AND REVENGE
THE WONDERFUL MARCH OF THE FREEBOOTERS
THE CRUELTY OF THE SPANIARDS TO THE INDIANS.
CUDJOE, THE NEGRO CHIEF, AND THE MAROONS OF JAMAICA.
TOUSSAINT L'OUVERTURE AND THE REVOLUTION IN HAYTI.
BOLIVAR THE LIBERATOR, AND THE CONQUEST OF NEW GRANADA.
HIDALGO THE PATRIOT, AND THE GRITO DE DOLORES.
PAEZ, THE LLANERO CHIEF, AND THE WAR FOR FREEDOM.
THE HANNIBAL OF THE ANDES AND THE FREEDOM OF CHILI.
COLONY, EMPIRE, AND REPUBLIC; REVOLUTION IN BRAZIL.
FRANCIA THE DICTATOR, THE LOUIS XI. OF PARAGUAY.
TACON THE GOVERNOR AND MARTI THE SMUGGLER.
KEARNEY'S DARING EXPEDITION AND THE CONQUEST OF NEW MEXICO.
THE SECOND CONQUEST OF THE CAPITAL OF MEXICO.
WALKER THE FILIBUSTER, AND THE INVASION OF NICARAGUA.
MAXIMILIAN OF AUSTRIA AND HIS EMPIRE IN MEXICO.
MACEO AND THE STRUGGLE FOR CUBAN INDEPENDENCE.
LIEUTENANT HOBSON AND THE SINKING OF THE "MERRIMAC."






THE ISLES OF BEAUTY BEYOND THE SEAS.


The 12th of October, 1492, ranks very high among the important dates in
the history of the world. For on that day men from Europe, then the centre
of civilization, first gazed on a rich new land beyond the seas, a great
virgin continent, destined to become the seat of flourishing civilizations
and to play a leading part in the later history of the world. Little did
Columbus and his companions, when they saw before them on that famous
morning a beautiful island, rising like a pearl of promise from the
sparkling tropical sea, dream of what time held in store for that
new-found land, foreordained to become the "New World" of the nations, the
hope of the oppressed, and the pioneer dwelling-place of liberty and
equality.

But we are here concerned with only what they saw, and this was a green
and populous island, so covered with fresh verdure that it seemed to their
eyes like a continual orchard. An orchard it was, for many of the trees
were laden with new and strange fruits, of rare color and attractive form.
Never had they breathed air more pure and fresh, and never had they beheld
seas of such crystal clearness or verdure of more emerald hue; and it is
not surprising that their eyes sparkled with joy and their souls were
filled with wonder and delight as they gazed on this entrancing scene
after their long and dreaded journey over a vast and unknown ocean.

Not less strange to the new-comers were the people who flocked in numbers
from the woods and ran to the shore, where they stood gazing in simple
wonder on the ships, winged marvels which had never met their eyes before.
No clothing hid their dusky, copper-colored skins, of a hue unknown to
their visitors, and they looked like the unclad tenants of some new
paradise. Their astonishment turned into fright when they saw boats leave
these strange monsters of the deep, in them men clad in shining steel or
raiment of varied color. Their white faces, their curling beards, their
splendid clothing, as it appeared to these simple denizens of the forest,
and especially the air of dignity of their leader, with his ample cloak of
scarlet, added to their amazement, and they viewed the strangers as divine
visitors, come to them from the skies.

Not less was their surprise when they saw the wonderful strangers kneel
and kiss the soil, and then uplift a great and gleaming banner, of rich
colors and designs that seemed magical to their untaught eyes. And deep
was their delight when these strange beings distributed among them
wonderful gifts,--glass beads, hawk's bells, and other trifles,--which
seemed precious gems to their untutored souls. They had nothing to offer
in return, except tame parrots, of which they had many, and balls of
cotton-yarn; but the eyes of the Spaniards sparkled with hope when they
saw small ornaments of gold, which some of them wore. Happy had it been
for all the natives of the New World if this yellow metal had not existed
among them, for it was to bring them untold suffering and despair.

Such was the island of San Salvador, as Columbus named this first-seen
land; but, leaving it, let us go with him in his voyage through that
island-sprinkled sea, and use his eyes in taking in the marvels with which
it was sown. Familiar as these islands have become to many of us, to him
they were all new, beautiful, and strange, a string of tropic pearls or
rare emeralds spread out along those shining waters of the South.

On leaving San Salvador, the Spaniards, their hearts elate with joy and
pride in their discovery, hardly knew whither to go. They seemed drawn to
the right and the left alike. They found themselves in an archipelago of
beautiful islands, green and level, rising on all sides and seemingly
numberless. To us they are the great green cluster of the Bahamas, but to
Columbus, who fancied that he had reached the shores of Asia, they were
that wonderful archipelago spoken of by Marco Polo, in which were seven
thousand four hundred and fifty-eight islands, abounding with spices and
rich in odoriferous trees and shrubs.

On went the Spanish caravels, sailing over bright and placid waters scarce
ruffled by the gentle breeze, and touching at isle after isle, each of
which seemed to the voyagers more beautiful than the last. Besting under
the shade of warm and verdant groves, while his men sought to fill their
water-casks from the purest and coolest springs, the admiral found the
scene around him entrancing to his vision, "the country as fresh and green
as the month of May in Andalusia; the trees, the fruits, the herbs, the
flowers, the very stones, for the most part, as different from those of
Spain as night from day."

                 [Illustration: A TROPICAL RIVER SCENE.]

                         A TROPICAL RIVER SCENE.


One isle, which he honored with the name of Isabella, after his patron,
the Spanish queen, surpassed in charm all he had yet seen. Like them all,
it was covered with rich vegetation, its climate delightful, its air soft
and balmy, its scenery so lovely that it seemed to him "as if one would
never desire to depart. I know not where first to go, nor are my eyes ever
weary of gazing on the beautiful verdure."

Fresh water was abundant, and he ordered all the casks of the ships to be
filled. He could not say enough in praise of what he saw. "Here are large
lakes, and the groves about them are marvellous, and in all the island
everything is green, and the herbage as in April in Andalusia. The singing
of the birds is such that it seems as if one would never wish to leave
this land. There are flocks of parrots which hide the sun, and other
birds, large and small, of so many kinds, and so different from ours, that
it is wonderful; and besides, there are trees of a thousand species, each
having its particular fruit, and all of marvellous flavor, so that I am in
the greatest trouble in the world not to know them, for I am very certain
that they are each of great value."

As he approached this island, he fancied that the winds bore to his senses
the spicy odors said to be wafted from the islands of the East Indian
seas. "As I arrived at this cape," he said, "there came off a fragrance so
good and soft of the flowers or trees of the land that it was the sweetest
thing in the world."

Not only were the islands the homes of birds of brilliant plumage and
flowers of gorgeous hue, but the very seas seemed to their new visitors
like tropical gardens, for the fish with which they abounded rivalled the
birds and flowers in brilliancy of color. The scales of some of them
glittered like precious stones, and gleams of gold and silver seemed to
come from them as they swam around the ships, while the dolphins taken
from the water changed color like the chameleon.

The natives who had been taken on board the ships made signs which seemed
to indicate that more wonderful islands were yet to be seen, with cities
and kings and queens, and abundance of gold and gems; or, at least, the
Spaniards understood this from their signs, as they pointed to the south
when gold was shown them and they were asked where it could be found. Far
to the south was a great island which they named Cuba, and another which
they called Bohio. Cuba, as their signs appeared to show, was of vast
extent and abounded with gold, pearls, and spices, and Columbus determined
to sail for it, hoping there to find the wealth which he and his
companions so ardently craved. It cannot be said that the natives wished
to deceive them, but no doubt they willingly agreed to all they were
asked, with the innocent desire of pleasing their wonderful new friends.
Columbus, full of the idea that he was near the shores of India, hoped to
reach the city of Quinsai, which Marco Polo had said was one of the most
magnificent in the world, and there deliver the letter of his sovereigns
to the Grand Khan of the Indies and bring back his reply to Spain.
Inspired by this enticing hope, he left the Bahamas and turned the prows
of his small fleet towards the isle of Cuba.

It was on the morning of October 28 that the shores of this noble island
first met the eyes of the eager mariners. As the small fleet swept along
its coast the admiral was struck with its size and grandeur; its high and
airy mountains, like those of Sicily; its long and sweeping plains, and
the fertile valleys of its broad rivers; its far-reaching forests and many
green headlands, which led them on and on into the remote distance. They
anchored at length in a beautiful river, whose waters were transparent and
deeply shaded with overhanging trees. Here Columbus had himself rowed up
the stream, which seemed to grow more enchanting with every mile, forests
of lofty and spreading trees crowding down to its banks, some in fruit,
some in flower, some bearing fruits and flowers at once. These woods
swarmed with birds of brilliant plumage,--the scarlet flamingo, the
rich-hued parrots and woodpeckers, the tiny and sparkling humming-birds,
which flitted on rainbow wings from flower to flower, and which no
European had ever before seen. Even the insects were beautiful, in their
shining coats of mail. Though most of the birds were silent, the charms of
song were not wanting, and the excited fancy of Columbus detected among
them notes like those of the nightingale. Ever open to the charms of
nature, Cuba seemed to him an elysium, "the most beautiful island that
eyes ever beheld."

He was sure there must here be mines of gold, groves of spices, rivers and
seas that bore pearls. The houses, though simple in structure, were well
built and clean, roofed with palm-leaves and shaded by spreading trees.
Led on still by his excited fancy, he hoped soon to find great cities and
rich settlements, but none such greeted his gaze. Assured that the capital
of the Grand Khan could not be far away, he sent two ambassadors, with
presents, to the interior, in a direction pointed out by the people. But
after going many miles they found only a village of fifty houses, like
those seen on the coast. There was no gold or silver, no spices, none of
the things they so ardently sought. The only thing new to their eyes was a
fashion seen among the people, who rolled up certain dried and aromatic
leaves, and, lighting one end, put the other in their mouths, and exhaled
the smoke. This was the first ever seen by white men of that remarkable
American plant, called by the natives by a name like tobacco, which has
since grown to be a favorite throughout the world, in palace and hovel
alike.

Sailing onward along the Cuban coast, the imagination of Columbus was
continually aroused by the magnificence, freshness, and verdant charm of
the scenery, which he could not praise too highly. A warm love of nature
is frequently displayed in the description of the country which he wrote
out for Ferdinand and Isabella, of Spain. Of one place, named by him
Puerto Santo, he said: "The amenity of this river, and the clearness of
the water, through which the sand at the bottom may be seen; the multitude
of palm-trees of various forms, the highest and most beautiful that I have
met with, and an infinity of other great and green trees; the birds in
rich plumage, and the verdure of the fields, render this country, most
Serene Princess, of such marvellous beauty, that it surpasses all others
in graces and charm, as the day doth the night in lustre. For which reason
I often say to my people, that, much as I endeavor to give a complete
account of it to your Majesties, my tongue cannot express the whole truth
or my tongue describe it; and I have been so overwhelmed at the sight of
so much beauty that I have not known how to relate it."

One more island he was yet to see in this marvellous series of
discoveries,--the one called by the natives Bohio or Babeque, now known as
Hayti, one of the most beautiful islands in the world in the splendor of
its tropical vegetation. Columbus and his men could describe it only by
comparison with the most beautiful provinces of the country from which
they came, and in consequence he named the island Hispaniola, or "Little
Spain."

Here he found the people as innocent and simple in their habits as those
of San Salvador, living in huts built of the palm-branches, wearing no
clothing, for the air was always warm and balmy, and passing life in a
holiday of indolence and enjoyment. To the Spaniards their life seemed
like a pleasant dream, their country a veritable Lotus land, where it was
"always afternoon." They had no wants nor cares, and spent life in easy
idleness and innocent sports. They had their fields, but the food plants
grew bountifully with little labor. The rivers and sea yielded abundance
of fish, and luscious tropical fruits grew profusely in their forests.
Thus favored by nature, they spent much of the day in repose, while in the
evenings they danced gayly in their fragrant groves with songs or the rude
music of their drums. After the coming of the Spaniards the clear tinkle
of the hawk's bells as they danced gave them the deepest delight, and for
those musical toys they were ready to barter everything they possessed.

In Hispaniola gold seemed more plentiful than the Spaniards had yet seen,
but they were still lured on to distant places, with the illusive hope
that this precious metal might there be found in quantities. Yet Columbus
felt forced to cease, for a time, the quest of the precious metal, and
sail for home with the story of the new world he had found. One of his
vessels had deserted him; another had been wrecked: if he should lose the
third he would be left without means of return and his great discovery
might remain unknown.

Moved by this fear, on the 4th of January, 1493, he spread the sails of
the one caravel left to him, and turned its prow towards Europe, to carry
thither the news of the greatest maritime discovery the world had ever
known. Thus ended in success and triumph the first voyage of Columbus to
the "New World."





ALONSO DE OJEDA AND THE CARIB CACIQUE.


Of the three ships with which Columbus made his first voyage, the "Pinta"
deserted the others and went off on a voyage of discovery of its own, and
the "Santa Maria," the flag-ship of the admiral, ran ashore on the coast
of Hispaniola and proved a hopeless wreck. Only the little "Nina" (the
"girl," as this word means in English) was left to carry the discoverer
home. The "Santa Maria" was carefully taken to pieces, and from her
timbers was constructed a small but strong fort, with a deep vault beneath
and a ditch surrounding. Friendly Indians aided in this, and not a shred
of the stranded vessel was left to the waves. As the "Nina" was too small
to carry all his crew back to Spain, Columbus decided to leave a garrison
to hold this fort and search for gold until he should return. That the
island held plenty of gold he felt sure. So Captain Ardua was left, with a
garrison of forty men, and the "Nina" spread her sails to the winds to
carry to Spain the wonderful news of the great discovery.

La Navidad, or The Nativity, he named the fort, in remembrance of the day
of the wreck, and when he came back in 1493 he hopefully expected to find
its garrison awaiting him, with a rich treasure in the precious yellow
metal. He reached the spot to find the fort a ruin and the garrison a
remembrance only. They had been attacked by the Indians and massacred
during the absence of the admiral.

In fact, the mild, gentle, and friendly Indians whom Columbus had met with
on his first voyage were not the only people of the islands. There were on
some of the West Indies a warlike race called Caribs,--cannibals, the
Spaniards said they were,--who gave the invaders no small trouble before
they were overcome.

It was a band of these fierce Caribs that had attacked La Navidad and
destroyed the fort and its garrison, impelled to this, likely enough, by
some of the ruthless acts which the Spaniards were much too ready to
commit. The leader of these warriors was a bold cacique named Caonabo,
chief of a warlike mountain tribe. It is with this chieftain that we are
at present concerned, as he was the hero, or victim rather, of the first
romantic story known to us in Indian life.

In addition to the forts built by the Spaniards on the coast of
Hispaniola, there was one built far in the interior, called Fort Santo
Tomas. This stood in the mountainous region of Cibao, the reputed land of
gold of the island. Its site lay within the territory of Caonabo, who
ruled over a great district, his capital town or village being on the
southern slope of the Cibao Mountains.

The first conflict between the Spaniards and the natives, after the
massacre of the garrison of La Navidad, was in the district of the Vega,
where a fierce fight took place in the spring of 1495, the natives
suffering a severe defeat. The next was at Fort Santo Tomas, which was
commanded by Alonso de Ojeda, a young man who had come out with Columbus
in his second voyage. He was a man of great courage and unusual daring,
one of the chief among those dauntless spirits who had to do with the
conquest of the New World.

A man of his spirit was needed to command this isolated fort in the
mountains, for the cacique, Caonabo, was not pleased with this invasion of
his territory, and soon marched upon the fort with a strong force of his
warlike race. Santo Tomas was closely invested and fiercely attacked,
Ojeda being reduced to such an extremity that he owed his escape only to a
rescuing force sent by Columbus from Fort Isabella, on the coast. Driven
off by the superior arms of his foes, Caonabo withdrew sullenly to his
stronghold in the mountains. But he was quickly back again, with a larger
force than before. He had never met his equal among the Indians, but the
fire-spouting tubes of the Spaniards proved too much even for his courage,
and he was a second time forced to withdraw.

It was evident, however, that Ojeda was perilously situated, surrounded as
he was by warlike enemies, led by so bold and persistent a chief. In the
face of this peril he adopted an expedient as daring as any of those shown
by Cortez, Pizarro, or any other of the Spanish caballeros of that age of
conquest, and one whose ingenuity equalled its daring. It is this striking
adventure which it is our purpose to describe.

Choosing from his men a few of the bravest and most trusty, Ojeda set out
on horseback over the mountains, following paths never before traversed by
the Spaniards, until they came to the Carib town of Maguana, where he
found Caonabo surrounded by a throng of armed warriors. The Spaniards had
bearded the lion in his den, and were in a position of extreme peril
should the cacique prove hostile. But Ojeda was a past-master in
craftiness, and by professions of friendship and other arts of duplicity
he persuaded the chief to accompany him alone into the edge of the forest.

He now took from his pocket a pair of handcuffs, bright and shining
manacles of which the untutored Indian had no conception of the use, but
whose brightness attracted him. Ojeda told him they were bracelets, which
the King of Spain had graciously sent him as a present, in recognition of
his fame as a warrior of skill and courage. The poor Indian probably
understood all this very imperfectly, but he was easily brought to view
the manacles as _Turey_ or a gift from Heaven, and willingly held out his
wrists that his guest might adorn them with those strange and splendid
bracelets.

In a moment his hands were secured, and before he could recover from his
surprise Ojeda, whose small frame concealed much strength, reached from
his saddle, seized the astonished chief, and by a great exertion of
muscular force lifted him from the ground and swung him up on the horse.
The warriors, who beheld this act with sudden suspicion, had no time to
use their weapons before the Spaniards had put spur to their horses and
dashed off into the forest. Two of them rode on each side of Ojeda, to
prevent the captive throwing himself from the horse. Threatened by their
swords and with his hands clasped in those fatal bracelets, Caonabo was
forced to submit, and was carried by his captors for many miles through
the heart of his own country to Fort Isabella, a stronghold which Columbus
had built at a site on the sea-coast, fronting a bay in which all his
vessels could ride in safety. Here the bold Ojeda, as the culmination of
his daring enterprise, delivered his captive to Columbus, and he was
locked up in a secure cell.

As the story goes, the brave cacique had a greater admiration for courage
than anything else in the world, and instead of hating Ojeda for the
crafty way in which he had been captured, he seemed to hold him in high
esteem as the bravest of the Spaniards. Whenever Ojeda appeared in his
cell he would rise and courteously salute him, while he treated the visits
of Columbus with haughty disregard. So far as the captive cacique could
make himself understood, the high rank of Columbus was nought to him. He
had no proof that he was a man of courage, while the manner in which Ojeda
had captured him showed him to be a brave man. To the bold Carib courage
was the first of virtues and the only one worthy of respect.

The poor Indian suffered the fate of most of his countrymen who had to do
with the Spanish invaders. Put on board ship and sent as a prize of valor
to Spain, the unfortunate chief died on the voyage, perhaps from a broken
heart, or as a result of the change from his free forest life to the
narrow confines of a fifteenth-century ship.

The life of Ojeda after that date was one full of adventure, in which he
distinguished himself as much by rashness as by valor. In 1499 he was put
in command of an exploring expedition and sent out from Spain, one of his
companions being Amerigo Vespucci, he whose first name gained the
immemorial honor of being given to the great western continent. In this
voyage Ojeda discovered part of the continent of South America, which he
called Venezuela, or Little Venice, a name suggested by an Indian village
built on piles in the water. Eight years later Ojeda sought to plant a
colony in New Andalusia, but the natives there proved too bold and hostile
for him, and he failed to subject them to his authority.

Many were his adventures, all of them characterized by a rash daring like
that he had shown in the capture of Caonabo. When at length he died, he
was buried, in response to his own request, in the doorway of the
Franciscan monastery in the city of Santo Domingo, so that all who entered
that place of worship should walk over his grave.





THE EARLY DAYS OF A FAMOUS CAVALIER.


The island elysium which Columbus had discovered, and of which he wrote
and conversed in the most glowing terms, seemed like a fairy-land of
promise to the people of Spain, and hundreds of adventurers soon crossed
the seas, hopeful of winning gold and ready for deeds of peril and daring
in that wonderful unknown land. Some of them were men of wealth, who were
eager to add to their riches, but the most of them had little beyond their
love of adventure and their thirst for gold to carry them across the seas,
needy but bold soldiers and cavaliers who were ready for any enterprise,
however perilous, that might promise them reward. The stories of many of
these men are full of romantic interest, and this is especially the case
with one of them, the renowned Hernando Cortez.

We propose here to deal with the interesting early history of this most
famous of the New World conquerors. The son of a Spanish captain, of good
family, his buoyant spirit and frolicsome humor led him into many wild
escapades while still a boy. The mystery and romance of the strange land
beyond the sea and the chance to win gold and glory which it offered were
fascinating to a spirit like his, and he was prevented from taking part in
an expedition when but seventeen years of age only by an unlucky accident.
As he was scaling a wall one night, in an adventure like that of Romeo and
Juliet, the stones gave way and he was thrown violently to the ground and
buried under the ruins. Before he got out of bed from his hurts the fleet
had sailed.

Two years longer the ambitious boy remained at home, engaged, perhaps, in
similar pranks, but at length another chance offered, and in 1504 he set
sail for the land of promise, still a youth of only nineteen years of age.
He did not get across the sea without adventure. Quintero, the captain of
his ship, bound for Hispaniola and a market, stole away from the rest of
the squadron, hoping to reach port and sell his cargo before the others
arrived. But fierce gales came to punish him; for many days the vessel was
tossed about, the sailors not knowing where they were, and furious at the
treachery of their captain. At length, one morning, hope returned to them,
in the form of a white dove that lighted on the foremast-top. When the
bird had rested it took to flight again, and by following its course the
weary mariners finally came to the port they sought. But the captain was
paid for his treachery by finding that the other vessels had arrived
before him and sold their cargoes.

The young adventurer was full of ambitious hope. When the governor's
secretary told him that no doubt he would be given a good estate to settle
on, he replied, "But I came to get gold; not to till the soil, like a
peasant."

As no gold offered, however, he was glad enough to accept the land, but
his fondness for active deeds clung to him, and he took part in the
military expeditions sent out to fight with the rebel natives. He had his
quarrels, too, and his duels about the love of fair ladies, and received
wounds whose scars he carried to the grave. A nobler opening for his valor
came in 1511, when an expedition set out for the conquest of Cuba. Cortez
enlisted under the leader, Diego Velasquez, whose favor he won by his
courage and activity, his cordial and lively disposition, and the good
humor and ready wit which made him a favorite with all he met.

After the island had been conquered, Velasquez was made its governor,
Cortez still being his close friend. But for some reason this friendship
did not last, and when at length a party of discontented men formed a plan
to complain of the acts of the governor to the higher authorities in
Hispaniola, Cortez took part in the conspiracy, and was chosen, from his
fearless spirit, to act as their envoy, it being necessary to perform the
perilous exploit of crossing an arm of the sea over fifty miles wide in an
open boat.

In some way the plot got wind, and, before he could leave the island,
Cortez was arrested by order of the governor and thrown into prison, his
limbs being loaded with fetters. Velasquez even intended to hang him, as
we are told, but was persuaded by his friends not to go so far. These
Spanish governors had the power to do almost anything they pleased, their
distance from home enabling them to act the despot at will, and their
influence at court saving them from evil consequences.

                [Illustration: CATHEDRAL OF SAN DOMINGO.]

                        CATHEDRAL OF SAN DOMINGO.


Cortez did not stay long in his prison cell. In some way he managed to
open one of the bolts of his fetters and soon had his limbs free. Then,
turning his irons into tools, he used them to force open the window of his
cell. As he was on the second floor of the building, it was easy for one
so agile as he to reach the ground without injury, and he made his way to
a church near by, where he claimed the right of sanctuary.

When Velasquez heard of the escape of his prisoner he was furious. He did
not dare attempt to take him from the church by force, since the sacred
walls protected all who sought their asylum. But a guard was stationed
close by, with orders to seize the fugitive if he should leave the
sanctuary. With one so careless as Cortez this was sure to be done. A few
days later, as he stood heedlessly sunning himself outside the walls of
the building, one of the guards rushed on him from behind, seized his
arms, and held him till his comrades came to his aid. This man was one of
those who afterwards took part in the conquest of Mexico, during which he
was hung for some offence by Cortez, who perhaps took this opportunity for
revenge.

Once more the reckless young adventurer found himself a fettered captive,
this time being put on board a vessel that was to sail the next morning
for Hispaniola, where Velasquez designed he should be tried for his
offence. But he proved a very hard prisoner to hold. That night, with much
pain and difficulty, he managed to pull his feet out of the irons that
held them, and then stole cautiously to the deck, where he found a boat
floating by the vessel's side. Slipping down into this, under cover of the
darkness, he cut loose and paddled silently away.

When near the shore he met with a rapid current and rough waters, to which
he was afraid to trust the boat. Being an expert swimmer, he thought it
safest to breast the water himself, and boldly plunged overboard. He found
his task a hard, almost a fatal one; the current threatened to sweep him
away, but after a long struggle with the waves he succeeded in reaching
the shore, in a state of almost complete exhaustion. He now sought the
church again, no doubt resolving this time to keep safely within its
sacred shelter.

The story goes on to state that the governor, worked upon by friends of
the culprit, offered him forgiveness, which the incensed young cavalier
was too proud to accept. What followed is amusing. Velasquez was at a
distance from the capital, on a military excursion, when one evening he
was startled in his tent by the appearance of his enemy, completely armed
and threatening in aspect. In dismay, the governor asked him what he
wanted. Cortez replied, angrily, that he was tired of being treated like a
felon, and that he must have an explanation or he would know the reason
why. Velasquez answered as angrily, and a hot altercation followed. But at
length their talk became more friendly, and in the end their old amicable
relations were resumed and they embraced like a pair of lovers. The
amusing part of the story is this: When a messenger arrived to tell the
governor that Cortez had left the sanctuary and disappeared, he found the
governor and the culprit both fast asleep in the same bed.

This story seems doubtful, but at any rate they became friends again, and
Cortez was given a large estate in Cuba, which he stocked with cattle, and
on which he found gold-mines, which were worked by Indian labor. He
married a beautiful Spanish girl, and, fast growing rich, spent several
years in happy content.

This, with some, would have been the end of a career. It was only the
beginning of that of Cortez, before whom still lay a wonderful history and
a record of undying fame. All we can tell here is how this came about. It
began in expeditions of discovery. Cordova, a Cuban settler, seeking
Indians for slaves in the Bahamas, was blown far westward by a storm, and
reached an unknown shore, where the natives lived in stone buildings,
cultivated the soil, and wore delicate cotton garments and ornaments of
gold. In other ways they showed evidence of civilization. The land thus
reached is that now known as Yucatan.

Velasquez, on seeing the gold which Cordova brought back, sent out a small
fleet under his nephew, Juan de Grijalva, to visit and explore this new
land. Grijalva found evidence that a great civilized nation dwelt inland,
rich in gold and far superior in civilization to any Indians whom the
Spaniards had yet met. He named the country New Spain, and sailed back to
Cuba with an account of his important discoveries.

The news filled Velasquez with hope and joy. Here seemed to be the land of
gold which the Spaniards had so long sought. Here he might win vast wealth
and the glory of adding a new and splendid province to Spain. He at once
began to fit out a much larger expedition, and looked around for a man fit
to command it. Several of the hidalgos, or gentlemen of Cuba, offered
themselves, but none pleased the governor, and at length he settled upon
Cortez as the best man for his purpose. By chance, rather than by
intention, he had made a splendid choice. Cortez was the one man in the
New World, and perhaps the one man at that time in all Spain, fitted by
nature for the difficult task which lay before him. Wild and frivolous as
he had shown himself in youth, all he needed was a great occasion to prove
himself a great man. He was to develop into one of the ablest military
leaders in all history, a man who, on a small scale, was to display a
genius and achieve a success worthy of Caesar or Alexander or any of the
famous soldiers of the world.

But, from another point of view, Velasquez had made a bad choice. Cortez
had disdained his fetters and his prisons, and would soon disdain his
control. His hope to win gain and glory by the aid of this young
adventurer was likely to prove a mere Will-o'-the-wisp.

           [Illustration: LANDING-PLACE OF CORTEZ, VERA CRUZ.]

                   LANDING-PLACE OF CORTEZ, VERA CRUZ.


The very appointment seemed to change the whole character of the new
admiral. He became a different man. His high spirits now changed to a
tireless energy. He spent his money freely in fitting out the fleet, and
even mortgaged his estate to raise more, and borrowed all he could. He
worked incessantly, and inspired his companions and followers to active
and enthusiastic toil. He was so popular in the island that several
hundred recruits soon flocked to his banner, and six ships, some of them
of large size, were rapidly got ready and stocked with provisions and
military stores.

Yet at the last moment it seemed as if all the labor and cost of Cortez
would go for naught. Velasquez grew suspicious of him, and decided to rob
him of his command and trust the fleet to safer hands. But he was not
dealing with a man who could be played with in this fast and loose
fashion. The secret was whispered to Cortez, and he decided to sail at
once, though he was still short of men, of vessels, and of supplies. That
night he took on board all the meat in the town, weighed anchor, and got
ready to set sail.

At day-dawn the news came to Velasquez that the fleet was about to depart.
In a panic he sprang from his bed, threw on his clothes, mounted his
horse, and rode in all haste to the beach. Cortez entered a boat and rowed
near enough to the shore to speak with him.

"And is this the way you leave me?" cried the angry governor; "a courteous
leave-taking, truly."

"Pardon me," said Cortez; "time presses, and there are some things that
should be done before they are even thought of. Has your excellency any
commands?"

His excellency would have commanded him to come on shore, if it had been
of any use. As it was he had little to say, and with a polite wave of the
hand Cortez returned to his ships. Soon only their vanishing hulls were to
be seen.

The fleet stopped for supplies at Macaca and at Trinidad. At the last
place many men, and several cavaliers who were to prove his ablest
officers, joined him. While there, letters came from Velasquez to the
governor of Trinidad, ordering him ta arrest Cortez, and hold the fleet
for a new admiral who was to command it. The governor looked at Cortez and
his men and concluded that he had better let them alone. They were too
strong for him to deal with.

So once more the bold adventurers escaped from Velasquez and his schemes
and sailed in triumph away, this time for Havana. Here, also, the governor
of the place had received orders to arrest Cortez, and here, also, he did
not dare attempt it. Velasquez also wrote to Cortez, asking him to wait
till he could see him. Hernando Cortez was hardly the fool to pay any heed
to such a letter as that. The lion was hardly likely to trust himself to
the fox. He sent him a very polite and mild answer, saying that he would
not lose sight of the interests of his excellency, and that he and the
fleet, "God willing, would set sail the next morning."

Finally, on the 18th of February, 1519, the fleet lost sight of Cuba at
Cape San Antonio, on the western end of the island. It consisted in all of
eleven vessels, most of them small, and had on board six hundred and
sixty-three soldiers and sailors. A few of these were armed with
cross-bows and only thirteen with muskets, while the horses numbered only
sixteen. In addition there were ten heavy guns and four lighter ones, with
a good supply of ammunition.

Such was the fleet and such the force with which Hernando Cortez set sail
to conquer a powerful and warlike nation. Fortunately the expedition had
one of the world's great commanders at its head, or the enterprise would
have ended in failure instead of leading, as it did, to a wonderful
success.





BALBOA AND THE DISCOVERY OF THE PACIFIC.


It was a splendid road to fortune which Columbus opened to the adventurers
of Spain, and hundreds of them soon took that promising path. Among these
was one Vasco Nunez de Balboa, a man poor in gold or land, but rich in
courage and ambition, and weary enough of trying to live at home like a
gentleman with the means of a peasant. In the year 1501 he crossed the
seas to Hispaniola, where, like Cortez, he took up land and began to till
the soil for a living. But he had not the skill or good luck of Cortez,
and after years of labor he found himself poorer than when he commenced.
He began to see that nature had not meant him for a farmer, and that if he
wanted a fortune he must seek it in other fields.

Balboa was not alone in this. There were others, with better-filled
pockets than he, who were ripe for adventure and eager for gold. A famous
one of these was Alonso de Ojeda, one of the companions of Columbus and
the hero of the adventure with the Carib chief already described, who in
1509 sailed for South America and founded a settlement named by him San
Sebastian. He left orders with Enciso, a lawyer of the town of San
Domingo, to fit out two more vessels and follow him with provisions for
his new settlement.

Enciso sailed in 1510, his vessels well laden with casks of bread and
other food-stuffs. There was more in them, indeed, than Enciso dreamed of,
for when far from land there crept out of one of these casks a haggard,
woe-begone, half-starved stowaway, who looked as if he had not many ounces
of life left in him. It was Vasco Nunez de Balboa, who had taken this way
to join the expedition and escape from his creditors, since they would not
have permitted him to go openly. The cask in which he snugly lay had been
carried from his farm to the ship among others containing provisions.

Enciso was furious when he saw this unwelcome addition to his crew. He
threatened to throw him overboard, and on second thought vowed to leave
him to starve on a desert island. The poor fellow fell on his knees and
tearfully begged for mercy. Others joined him in entreaties, and Enciso at
length softened and spared him his life. He was to pay bitterly for his
kindness before many days.

The expedition had its adventures on the seas, ending in a wreck, and when
San Sebastian was reached Ojeda was not to be found, and the settlement
was a ruin. Enciso was in a quandary what to do, but Balboa had been on
that coast before, on his first voyage out from Spain, and knew of an
Indian village on the Darien River where they might find food and shelter.
He advised Enciso to go thither, and a journey was made overland, among
hostile Indians and with little food. The adventurers were half-starved
when at length they reached their goal.

Here they founded a new settlement named Santa Maria, no doubt first
disposing of the Indians in the usual Spanish fashion,--killing some and
making slaves of others. But it was not long before there were bitter
quarrels among themselves. Enciso had forbidden them to have any private
trade for gold with the natives, a ukase which they strongly resented. The
result was that a party rose against him, with Balboa at its head. Enciso
was deprived of his authority, but when they tried to elect another in his
place it did not prove easy. Diego de Nicuesa, who had made a settlement
near there, was sent for by some of the settlers, but when he came,
Balboa's party would not receive him, and he, with seventeen companions,
was placed in a crazy old barque and left to find their way back to
Hispaniola as best they could.

Balboa had by this time shown himself the ablest and boldest man in
Darien, and his influence and power grew steadily until the settlers voted
him their governor. Enciso was seized and imprisoned, and finally was sent
to Spain. With him went one of Balboa's chief supporters, in order to gain
for him from the king the royal right to his new office.

Balboa lost no time in showing that he was worthy of the dignity given
him. He made many incursions into the surrounding country, and succeeded
in collecting much gold, the yellow metal being more plentiful there than
in the West India islands. In those expeditions he showed a wise spirit of
conciliation and won the friendship of several of the Indian chiefs. In
one of their excursions a quarrel arose among the Spaniards about the
division of the gold they had obtained. They were almost at sword's-point
when a young Indian chief, surprised to find them so hot about what seemed
to him a useless substance, upset the gold out of the balance, and turned
to Balboa, saying,--

"Why do you quarrel about such stuff as this? If you value it so highly, I
could take you to a country where it is so common that it is used for the
meanest utensils."

These significant words filled the Spaniards with hope and desire, and
they eagerly asked where that rich land lay, and how it might be reached.

"At the distance of six suns [six days' journey] from here," said the
cacique, "lies another ocean as great as the one before you. Near its
shores is the kingdom I spoke of. But it is very powerful, and if you wish
to attack it you will need far more men than you have here."

This was the first the Spaniards had heard of the great southern ocean or
of the rich land of Peru. This must be the ocean, thought Balboa, which
Columbus sought for without success, the waters which border the East
Indies, and the great and rich nation on its shores must be one of the
famous countries of Asia. At once the desire arose in his mind to gaze on
that unknown sea.

Balboa felt it necessary to do something striking and do it quickly. He
had received letters from Zamudio, the agent he had sent to Spain, which
were very discouraging. Enciso had complained to King Ferdinand of the way
in which he had been treated, and the king had not only refused to support
Balboa with a royal warrant for his actions, but had condemned his course
and ordered him to return to Spain. His hopes of fortune and greatness
were at an end unless he could win the favor of the king by some great
enterprise. Such would be the discovery of that great ocean, and this he
determined to attempt.

The Isthmus of Darien, which he would have to cross, is not over sixty
miles wide. But many of these are miles of mountain, on which grow forests
so dense as to be almost impassable. There, too, where it rains for more
than half the year, the valleys are converted into marshes, and are so
often overflowed that in many places the natives have to dwell in the
trees, while from the high grounds rush swollen rivers, fierce and
threatening. To march across an unknown and perilous country like this,
led by treacherous Indian guides, was a bold and desperate enterprise,
surpassing any which the Spaniards had yet attempted. But Balboa was one
of the most daring and intrepid of them all, and to win the favor of his
sovereign there was no danger he was not ready to face.

For the perilous expedition he could muster only one hundred and ninety
men. But these were veterans, hardened to the climate of the isthmus, and
ready to follow him whatever the peril. They had good reason to trust his
courage and readiness in emergencies, for they had found him always brave
and alert. A thousand Indians were taken with them, to carry their
provisions, and they added to their force a number of the fierce
bloodhounds which were dreaded by the natives as much as the fire-arms of
the Spaniards.

Thus equipped, the expedition set out on the 1st of September, 1513,
sailing along the coast to Coyba, where dwelt a friendly chief. Here half
the men were left to guard their vessels and canoes. With the remainder
the terrible journey across the rock-ribbed and forest-covered isthmus was
begun.

No sooner had the Spaniards left the coast than troubles and perils
thickened around them. The country was difficult to traverse, the people
were bold and hostile. With their poisoned arrows they proved no feeble
antagonists. As the adventurers left the plain and toiled up the
mountains, a warlike cacique, with a large body of followers, met them in
a narrow pass and boldly disputed the way. A fierce battle ensued, ending
in favor of the Spaniards, who cut their way through the savages, leaving
hundreds of them dead on the ground.

Thus, fighting nature and fighting men, they toiled onward and upward,
until the six days fixed for their journey had stretched out to
twenty-five. But now hope burned fresh in their hearts, for their guides
assured them that from the top of the next mountain they could see the
ocean they so ardently sought. Up the steep pass they toiled, until near
the lofty summit, when Balboa bade them halt and went on alone, that he
might be the first to gaze on the wonderful spectacle.

Soon he stood on the mountain-top, and there, to his infinite delight,
sparkled and spread before his eyes the mightiest ocean of the earth,
stretching away to the north, south, and west as far as human eye could
see. Overwhelmed by the stupendous vision, he fell prostrate on the
ground, like a worshipper before the object of his adoration. Then, rising
to his knees, he thanked God for the great boon vouchsafed to him.

His men, gazing eagerly upward, saw him rise and beckon them, while with
his other hand he pointed wildly westward. With springing steps they
rushed to his side, and joined in his delight and his thanks to God as the
marvellous spectacle met their eyes. Heaps of stones were piled up to show
that they had taken possession of this spot for his sovereign, and as they
went down the farther slope they carved on many trees the name of King
Ferdinand of Castile, as the lord of this new land.

Let us repeat here the closing lines of Keats's famous sonnet to Homer, in
which a great poet has admirably depicted the scene, though, by a strange
error, giving the credit to Cortez instead of Balboa:

  "Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
    When a new planet swims into his ken;
  Or like stout Cortez, when with eagle eyes
    He stared at the Pacific--and all his men
  Looked at each other with a wild surmise--
    Silent, upon a peak in Darien."

Twelve men were sent on in advance to seek the easiest and shortest path
to the sea, one of them a man destined to become still more famous than
Balboa,--Francisco Pizarro, the future conqueror of Peru. Reaching the
shore, they found on it two stranded canoes, into which stepped two of the
men, Blaze de Atienza and Alousa Martine, calling on their comrades to
witness that they were the first to embark on that sea.

For three days the remaining men waited advices from their pioneers, and
then followed the guides sent them to the shore, Balboa, armed with his
sword and buckler, rushing into the water to his middle, and claiming
possession of that vast sea and all its shores in the name of his king,
for whom he pledged himself to defend it against all comers.

Such was the discovery of the great South Sea, as Balboa named it, the
Pacific Ocean, as Magellan soon after called it. The people of the coast
told the Spaniards of a rich and mighty kingdom that lay to the south, and
whose people had tame animals to carry their burdens. The form of these
they drew on the sand, their long necks convincing Balboa that they were
camels, and that the land indicated must be Asia. They really represented
the llama of Peru, an animal resembling the camel in form.

After remaining for some time on the coast, gathering all the information
he could obtain, Balboa led his travel-worn men back to Darien, resolved
to return with a stronger force next year and seek that distant land of
gold. But this exploit was left for Pizarro, one of the ablest and bravest
of the men who took part in this pioneer expedition.

It was the 18th of January, 1514, when the adventurers reached their
starting-point at Santa Maria, when the people heard of his discovery with
the utmost joy. Messengers were at once sent to Spain, with an account of
the remarkable exploit, which was received with an enthusiasm little less
than had been the news of the discovery of the New World. If Columbus had
discovered a new land, Balboa had matched it with the discovery of a new
ocean, added to which was the story of a land of gold, for whose conquest
Balboa asked for a reinforcement of a thousand men.

Unfortunate as Columbus had been, the new discovery was destined to still
greater ill-fortune, as we shall soon see. Before his messengers reached
Spain a new governor, Pedrarias de Avila, had been appointed and had set
sail, with fifteen vessels and fifteen hundred men. Balboa had nearly five
hundred men under his command, but he at once submitted to the decision of
his king and accepted Pedrarias as his superior. The fifteen hundred new
men landed in that pestilential climate, in the unhealthy season, paid
bitterly for their imprudence. A violent disease attacked them; scarcity
of provisions made it worse; and within a month more than six hundred of
them had died, while others hastened away from that noxious spot.

At length news came that the king fully appreciated the splendid discovery
of Balboa; letters of high praise were received, and he was appointed
_Adelantado_, or admiral of the South Sea, Pedrarias being ordered to
support him in all his operations. The rivals now became reconciled, their
union being made firmer by Pedrarias giving his daughter in marriage to
Balboa.

The adventurer now began active preparations for an exploration of the
South Sea, materials for ship-building being conveyed, with the greatest
labor, across the isthmus, and two brigantines constructed. There was no
lack of volunteers for the expedition, and the vessels were launched and
sailed to the Pearl Islands, the inclement weather alone preventing them
from going on to the coast of Peru.

Thus there seemed a great career opening before Balboa at the very moment
when adverse fate was gathering darkly around him. Pedrarias had grown
jealous of his daring exploits and the fame that seemed his coming meed,
and, cherishing treacherous designs, by a crafty message induced him to
return to Acla, his new capital.

On arriving there, Balboa was at once seized by order of the governor,
thrown into prison, and put on trial on a charge of disloyalty to the king
and an intention to revolt against his superior. The judge was forced to
condemn him to death, and the fatal sentence was at once carried into
effect, the great discoverer being beheaded on the public square of Acla.
Thus, in blood and treachery, ended the career of one of the ablest of the
bold adventurers of Spain.





THE ROMANTIC STORY OF THE PRINCE OF TEZCUCO.


About a hundred years before the Spanish conquest of the Aztecs, there
reigned over the kingdom of Tezcuco, in the valley of Mexico, a monarch
whose history is as interesting and romantic as any that can be found in
the annals of Europe. His story was preserved by his descendants, and its
principal events are as follows:

            [Illustration: FLOATING GARDENS ON THE CHENAMPAS.]

                    FLOATING GARDENS ON THE CHENAMPAS.


The city of Tezcuco, the capital of the Acolhuans, stood on the eastern
borders of the lake on whose opposite side was Mexico, the Aztec capital.
About the year 1418 the Acolhuans were attacked by a kindred race, the
Tepanecs, who, after a desperate struggle, captured their city, killed
their monarch, and subjugated their kingdom. The heir to the crown, the
young Prince Nezahualcoyotl, concealed himself in the foliage of a tree
when the triumphant foe broke into the palace, and from his hiding-place
saw his father killed before his eyes. This was the opening event in a
history as full of deeds of daring and perilous escapes as that of the
"Young Chevalier of English history."

The young prince did not long remain at liberty. Soon after his flight
from the city he fell into the hands of his foes, and was brought back and
thrown into a dungeon.  This led to the first romantic incident in his
career. The governor of the fortress prison was an old servant of the
royal family of Tezcuco, and aided the little captive to escape in
disguise, taking his place in the dungeon. He paid for his loyalty with
his life, but he willingly gave it in exchange for the liberty of the heir
to the throne.

The royal boy had friends in the Mexican capital. He was, in fact, closely
related to the Aztec monarch, and through his good offices he was at
length permitted to reside in that city. Afterwards he was allowed to
return to Tezcuco, where for eight years he dwelt in privacy, studying
under the teachers of his early youth, and unheeded by the party in power.
Thus the boy grew to manhood, cherishing in his soul ardent hopes of
regaining the throne of his ancestors.

A change came when the Tepanec conqueror died and his son, Maxtla,
succeeded to the throne. The new king was of a suspicious disposition, and
when Nezahualcoyotl sought his capital to render him homage on his
accession, Maxtla treated with disdain the little gift of flowers which
the young prince laid at his feet, and turned his back on him in the
presence of his chieftains. Evidently the palace was no place of safety
for the Tezcucan prince, and, warned by a friend among the courtiers, he
hastened to withdraw from the court and seek a refuge in his native city
of Tezcuco. Here the tyrant dared not proceed openly against him. His
popular manners had won him many friends, and the ancient subjects of his
family looked upon him as a coming leader who might win back for them
their lost liberty. The prince had given evidence of the possession of
talent and energy, and Maxtla, fearful of his growing popularity, resolved
to make away with him by stratagem. He accordingly invited him to an
evening's entertainment, where he had assassins ready to murder him.
Fortunately, the tutor of the prince suspected the plot, and contrived to
replace the youth by a person who strongly resembled him, and who became
the victim of the fate intended for him.

Maxtla, baffled in his murderous stratagem, now resolved to kill him
openly, and sent a party of soldiers to the city, who were instructed to
enter the palace, seize the prince, and slay him on the spot. Again the
watchfulness of his old teacher saved him. Warned of his danger, and
advised to flee, the prince refused to do so, but boldly awaited the
assassins.

When they reached the palace in which he resided, they found him playing
at ball in the court-yard. He received them courteously, showing no
suspicion of their errand, and invited them in to take some refreshment
after their journey. While they were thus engaged, he strolled carelessly
into an adjoining saloon; but the doors being open and the soldiers able
to see through both apartments, his movements gave them no concern. It was
the custom, however, when any one entered the presence of a great lord,
for the servants to throw aromatics into a burning censer. This the
prince's attendants did, and such clouds of incense arose as to hide him
from the unsuspecting soldiers. Thus obscured, he entered a secret passage
which led to a large earthen pipe, formerly employed to bring water to the
palace. In this he concealed himself until nightfall, and then made his
way into the suburbs, where he found shelter in the house of one of his
father's former vassals.

Maxtla, enraged to find that his proposed victim had twice escaped him,
grew more determined on his death, and ordered immediate and thorough
pursuit, promising to reward whoever should take him, dead or alive, with
the hand of a noble lady and an ample domain. Troops of armed men scoured
the country in every direction, searching all suspected places, and some
of them entered the cottage in which he had taken refuge. Here there was a
heap of the maguey fibres used in the manufacture of cloth, and hid
beneath this the fugitive escaped capture. But the chase soon grew so hot
that he left this place for the wooded hill country between his state and
the neighboring one of Tlascala, hoping to find safety in its thickets and
caverns.

The royal fugitive now led a wretched life, wandering from place to place,
exposed to all the inclemencies of the weather, remaining concealed by
day, and stealing out at night in search of food. His pursuers, eager to
win the enticing reward, kept up an active search, more than once coming
dangerously near to his retreat.

Very interesting stories are told of his adventures in this period of
peril. The high rewards offered did not suffice to wean from him the
attachment of the people, and more than once he owed his safety to their
loyalty. Some of them submitted to torture, and even to loss of life,
rather than betray his place of retreat to his enemies. Even many of the
soldiers were his friends, and once, when hotly pursued, he took refuge
among a small party of these, who were dancing around a large drum. To
conceal him from his enemies they placed him in the drum and continued
their dance around it.

At another time the pursuers were so close to him that he just succeeded
in turning the crest of a hill when they began to climb it on the other
side. Here he fortunately found a girl who was reaping _chia_, a plant
whose seeds were used in making palatable drinks. Telling her who he was
and of his great danger, he got her to cover him up with a heap of the
plants she had cut, and when the pursuers came up and asked if she had
seen him, the faithful girl coolly replied that she had, and pointed out a
path which she said he had taken.

None of the natives showed any inclination to betray him, despite the
richness of the promised rewards.

"Would you not deliver up the prince if he came in your way?" he asked of
a peasant who did not recognize him.

"Not I," was the reply.

"What! not for a fair lady's hand, and a rich domain as dowry?"

The peasant shook his head decisively and laughed in disdain.

But, in spite of the loyalty of the people, the prince was in constant
danger, and his situation, in the rough fastnesses of the hills and
forests, became very distressing.

"Leave me," he said to the faithful few who kept with him in his
wanderings and shared his sufferings. "Leave me to my fate. Why should you
throw away your lives for one whom fortune steadily persecutes?"

But they clung to his fortunes still, despite their danger and the fact
that most of the great nobles of the land had sought safety and reward by
an adhesion to the usurper.

Meanwhile, events were working in favor of the fugitive. Maxtla had shown
himself an oppressor, and his ambition and military successes had caused
much alarm in the surrounding states, where his tyranny was contrasted
with the mild rule of the former monarchs of Tezcuco. The friends of the
young prince took advantage of this feeling, and succeeded in forming a
coalition against his enemy. A day was fixed for a general rising, and on
the date appointed Nezahualcoyotl found himself at the head of an army
strong enough to face that of Maxtla and the Tepanecs.

The two armies soon met and victory rested on the banner of the young
prince, the forces of Maxtla being badly beaten. No longer a hunted
fugitive, but at the head of a victorious army, he marched in triumph to
the capital which he had left with a price on his head, his joyful
subjects crowding to the route of march to render homage to their rightful
sovereign. The Mexicans, who were angry at the tyrannic conduct of Maxtla,
readily allied themselves with the young victor, and a series of bloody
battles followed, the usurper being at length defeated under the walls of
his own capital. He was dragged from the baths, to which he had fled for
concealment, and sacrificed to the cruel gods of the Aztecs; his royal
city was razed to the ground, and its site was reserved as the great
slave-market of the surrounding nations.

Thus it was that Nezahualcoyotl came to the throne of his ancestors, where
he was to prove himself the greatest monarch of whom we have any record in
the American annals. The story of his reign is far too full of detail for
the space we can give to it, but is of such interest that we may venture
on a concise account of it, as an example of the career of the most
illustrious of the ancient American sovereigns.

The first thing the new monarch did was to proclaim a general amnesty. He
not only pardoned the rebel nobles, but raised some of them to posts of
honor and confidence. This was not only politic but just, since their
offences were mainly due to fear of the usurper. Under the circumstances
he could safely treat them with magnanimity.

He next remodelled the government of the kingdom, and framed a code of
laws which seemed so wise that it was adopted by his allies, the Aztecs
and Tlacopans. Councils of war, of finance, and of justice were
established, and also a council of state, whose members acted as the
immediate advisers of the king, and aided him in the despatch of business.
But the most remarkable of these new departments was the "council of
music," which was devoted to the encouragement of science and art, and
served as a general board of education for the country. Historical
compositions and poems were recited before it, and altogether it indicated
a degree of civilization which we would scarcely look for in any part of
ancient America. Its historians, orators, and poets became celebrated
throughout the country, the allied monarchs presided over its
deliberations, and among its chief bards was the king himself, who entered
into impartial competition with his subjects for the prizes given for the
best poems. Many of his odes were long preserved, and may perhaps still
rest in the dusty archives of Mexico or Spain.

The far-seeing monarch did not content himself with writing poetry, or
encouraging historians,--who wrote subject to the penalty that any one who
wilfully lied should be punished with death,--but he sought to develop all
the arts. Agriculture was greatly encouraged, the population rapidly
increased, new towns and cities sprang up, and the borders of the nation
were extended by successful wars. He made his capital the most stately
city of the land. Special edifices were built for his nobles, whom he
wished to reside at the court. There were more than four hundred of these
palatial mansions, but far exceeding them in magnificence was the grand
palace he built for himself. This covered a space of three thousand seven
hundred feet in length and nearly three thousand feet in width. A wall
surrounded it, enclosing an outer court which formed the great
market-place of the city, and an inner one surrounded by the council
chambers and halls of justice. There were apartments for ambassadors from
other states, and a spacious saloon in which the poets and men of science
met to study and converse. Here also were kept the public archives.

The royal apartments adjoined this inner court, and rivalled in beauty
those of Oriental lands. Alabaster or stucco of rich tints covered some of
the walls, while others were hung with tapestries of the gorgeous Indian
feather-work. Long arcades and winding pathways bordered with verdure led
to gardens where were baths and sparkling fountains shadowed by lofty
trees. Fish of various kinds stocked the basins, and in rich aviaries were
birds of glowing tropical plumage. Many birds and animals were reproduced
in gold and silver with wonderful fidelity to nature. In the inner
apartments dwelt the wives and children of the monarch, who were as
numerous as those of an Eastern sultan. Such was the famous palace, in
which were three hundred apartments, some of them fifty yards square. It
is said that two hundred thousand workmen were employed in building it. In
this splendid residence dwelt a monarch who in his youthful days had been
glad to share with wild animals a shelter in the thickets and caverns of
the mountains.

Nezahualcoyotl did not confine his love for magnificence to this palatial
residence. Beautiful villas were built in various picturesque localities
and adorned with all the requisites of pleasure and comfort. His favorite
retreat from the cares of office was built on a rounded hill about six
miles from the city. Here were terraced gardens reached by a stairway of
five hundred and twenty steps, many of them hewn in the native rock. In
the summit garden was a reservoir kept filled with water by an aqueduct
carried on masonry buttresses for several miles over hill and valley. In
its centre was a large rock, on which were carved in hieroglyphics the
principal events of each year of the king's reign.

Lower down were other reservoirs, adorned with statuary, and yielding
water to channels that ran through the gardens or to cascades that tumbled
riotously over the rocks. Here were marble porticoes and pavilions, and
baths cut in the solid rock, which the natives still show to visitors
under the title of the "Baths of Montezuma." Near the base of the hill,
amid lofty groves of cedar, rose the royal villa, with its light arcades
and airy halls, affording a delightful relief to the monarch from the
duties of the court. Relics of this villa and garden still remain to
attest their former beauty, and indicate that this Indian king lived in a
magnificence resembling that of the far-famed court of the caliph
Haroun-al-Raschid.

He was like the celebrated caliph of the "Arabian Nights" in another way,
for it was his custom to wander about the streets, conversing with the
humblest of his people and learning their condition and needs from their
own words. Many anecdotes are told of this kind, in which it was his
delight to reward merit and relieve distress. Some of these may be read
with interest.

On one occasion he met a boy who was gathering sticks in a field for fuel,
and asked him why he did not go into the neighboring forest, where he
would find plenty of them.

"I dare not do that," said the boy. "It's the king's wood, and he would
punish me with death if I took sticks from there."

"What kind of man is your king?"

"He is a very hard man," answered the boy, "for he takes from his people
what God has given them."

The boy was right; the forest laws in Tezcuco were as severe as those of
Norman England. The king advised the boy not to heed such cruel laws but
to help himself in the forest, for there was no one who would betray him.
But the lad sturdily refused, and told his tempter that he was a traitor
who wished to bring him into trouble.

The next day the boy and his parents were sent for to come to the palace.
They obeyed with wonder and dread, and the boy was filled with terror on
seeing the king and recognizing him as the man with whom he had talked so
freely. But the good-natured monarch bade him not to fear, and thanked him
for the lesson he had given his king, praising his respect for the laws
and commending his parents for bringing up their son so wisely. He
dismissed them with liberal presents, and afterwards gave orders that any
one might gather fallen wood in the forest, if they did not interfere with
the standing timber.

Another adventure was with a poor woodman and his wife. The man, as he
stood in the marketplace with his little store, complained bitterly of his
lot, as compared with that of those who lived idly amid luxuries in the
palace. The wife bade him be careful, as he might be overheard in his
complaints. The king, looking down on the market from a latticed window,
and amusing himself with the chatter of the market people, heard the words
of the couple, and ordered them to be brought into his presence.

He asked the frightened pair what they had said, and was pleased to find
that they answered him truly. Then he bade them reflect that if he had
great wealth, he had great demands upon it; that he who had a nation to
govern could not lead an idle life; and told them "to be more cautious in
future, as walls had ears." He then dismissed them, after giving them a
quantity of cloth and a good supply of cacao,--the coin of the country.
"Go," he said; "with the little you now have, you will be rich; while,
with all my riches, I shall still be poor."

Of all the stories told of this famous monarch, there is only one not to
his credit, and of this we may speak in passing, as it bears a remarkable
resemblance to that told in the Bible of David and Uriah. He fell in love
with a beautiful maiden, who was betrothed to an old lord of his kingdom,
and to obtain her hand he bade the old man take command of a warlike
expedition against the Tlascalans. Two chiefs were bidden to keep near him
and bring him into the thick of the fight, that he might lose his life,
which the king said he had forfeited by a great crime. The old man
suspected what was meant, and said so in a farewell entertainment to his
friends. He was correct in his prophecy; like Uriah, he soon fell in
battle, and the royal lover's path was clear.

The king now secretly offered his hand and heart to the maiden, who was by
no means inconsolable for the loss of her old lover, and willingly
accepted. To prevent any suspicion of what he had done, he had the maiden
brought to his villa to witness some ceremony there. Standing on a balcony
of the palace, the king pretended to be struck with her beauty, and asked,
"Who is the lovely young woman, yonder in the garden?" Some of those
present soon learned her name and rank, which was that of a princess of
the royal house of Mexico. She was asked to enter the palace and receive
the attention due to her station, and the king was not long in publicly
declaring his love. The marriage soon after took place, in the presence of
his brother monarchs of Mexico and Tlacopan, and with great pomp and
ceremony.

Such was the one blot in the history of this famous monarch. Aside from
this act of treachery, it is remarkable to find so great and high-minded a
monarch in the early annals of the nations of Mexico, and one whose
history is so full of romantic adventure.





THE FAMOUS RETREAT OF CORTEZ AND THE SPANIARDS.


There is no chapter in all history more crowded with interesting and
romantic events than the story of the conquest of Mexico by the Spaniards
under Cortez. And of all these records of desperate daring and wonderful
success, the most extraordinary is the tale of the _Noche Triste_, the
terrible night-retreat of the Spaniards from the Aztec capital. No one can
read this story, and that of the remarkable victory of Otumba which
followed it, without feeling that Cortez and his men were warriors worthy
of the most warlike age. This oft-told story we shall here again relate.

In a preceding tale we described how Cortez set out from Cuba on his great
expedition, with a few hundred soldiers and a small number of cannon,
muskets, and horses. It may briefly be stated here that he sought to
conquer a warlike and powerful nation with this insignificant force, less
than a modern regiment. We might relate how he landed in Mexico; won, with
the terror of his horses and guns and the valor of his men, victory in
every battle; gained allies among the foes of the Aztecs; made his way
into their capital; seized and held prisoner their emperor, Montezuma, and
for a time seemed to be full master of the land. We might go on to tell
how at length the Mexicans rose in fury, attacked the Spaniards with the
courage of desperation, mortally wounded their own emperor, and at length
brought the invaders into such terrible straits that they were forced to
fight their way out of the city as their last hope of life.

To understand what followed, it must be stated that the city of Mexico
lay, not in the open country, but on an island in the centre of a large
lake, and that all the roads leading to it passed over narrow causeways of
earth across this lake. Each of these causeways was broken at intervals by
wide ditches, with bridges crossing them. But the Aztecs had removed these
bridges, and thus added immensely to the difficulty of the night-march
which the desperate Spaniards were obliged to make.

It was at midnight on the 1st of July, 1520, that Cortez and his men threw
open the gates of the palace fortress in which they had long defended
themselves against the furious assaults of thousands of daring foes. The
night was dark and cloudy, and a drizzling rain was falling. Not an enemy
was to be seen, and as they made their way with as little noise as
possible along the great street of Tlacopan, all was hushed in silence,
Hope rose in their hearts. The tramp of the horses and the rumble of the
guns and baggage-wagons passed unheard, and they reached the head of the
causeway without waking a sleeping Aztec warrior.

Here was the first break in the causeway, and they had brought with them a
bridge to lay across it. But here also were some Indian sentinels, who
fled in haste on seeing them, rousing the sleeping city with their cries.
The priests on the summit of the great temple pyramid were also on the
watch, and when the shouts of alarm reached their ears from below, they
sounded their shells and beat their huge drum, which was only heard in
times of peril or calamity. Instantly the city broke from its slumber, and
as the leading Spaniards crossed the bridge a distant sound was heard,
which rapidly approached. Soon from every street and lane poured enemies,
flinging stones and arrows into the crowded ranks of the Spaniards as they
came. On the lake was heard a splashing sound, as of many oars, and the
war-cry of a host of combatants broke on the air. A brief interval had
sufficed to change the silence into a frightful uproar of sound and the
restful peace into the fast growing tumult of furious battle.

The Spaniards pushed steadily along the causeway, fighting only to drive
back the assailants who landed from their canoes and rushed in fury upon
the marching ranks. The horsemen spurred over them, riding them down; the
men on foot cut them down with their swords, or hurled them backward with
the butts of their guns; the Indian allies of the Spaniards attacked them
fiercely, and the roar of war spread far through the gloom of the night.

Onward marched the Spaniards, horse and foot; onward creaked and rumbled
the artillery and the wagons; and the second canal in the causeway was
reached while the rear files were not yet across the first. The Spaniards
had made a fatal mistake in bringing with them only one bridge. When the
last of the retreating force was across this, a vigorous effort was made
to raise it and carry it to the canal in front, but in vain. The weight of
men, horses, and cannon had wedged it so firmly in the earth and stones
that it could not be moved. Every nerve was strained to lift the heavy
mass, until, many of the workmen being killed and all wounded by the
torrent of Aztec missiles, they were forced to abandon it.

When the dread tidings that the bridge could not be raised spread through
the crowded host, a cry of despair arose that almost drowned the sounds of
conflict. All means of retreat were cut off. Before them lay a deep and
yawning ditch. Behind them pressed an army of assailants. On each side
hundreds of canoes dashed on the causeway, yielding foes who rushed in
fury upon their crowded ranks. All hope seemed lost. All discipline was at
an end. Every one thought only of saving his own life, without regard to
the weak or wounded. The leading files, gathered on the brink of the gulf,
were pressed forward by the rear. The horsemen in front dashed into the
water and swam across, but some of the horses failed to climb the steep
and slippery bank, and rolled back with their mail-clad riders headlong
into the lake.

After them pell mell came the infantry, some seeking to swim, others
forced into the water to sink to a muddy death; many of them slain by the
arrows and war-clubs of the Aztecs; others, wounded or stunned, dragged
into the canoes and carried away to be sacrificed to the terrible war-god
of the pagan foe. Along the whole length of the causeway, from ditch to
ditch, the contest raged fearfully. The Aztecs, satisfied that they had
now got their detested foes in their power, fought like demons, grappling
with the Christians and rolling with them down the sloping way together;
seeking to take their enemies alive that they might be kept for the bloody
sacrifice.

With the horrid shouts of the combatants, the cries of vengeance and
groans of agony, the prayers to the saints and the blessed Virgin, mingled
the screams of women, of whom there were several, both Spaniard and
Indian, in the Christian ranks. One of these, Maria de Estrada, fought as
valiantly as any of the warriors, battling staunchly with broadsword and
target in the thickest of the fray, and proving herself as valiant a
soldier as the best.

During this terrible contest, Cortez was not at rest. He was everywhere,
ordering, fighting, inspiring, seeking to restore the lost discipline to
his ranks. Conscious that all was lost unless the fatal ditch could be
crossed, and feeling that life must be considered before wealth, he
hurried forward everything, heavy guns, ammunition-wagons, baggage-vans,
and hurled them into the water along with the spoil of the Spaniards,
bales of costly goods, chests of solid ingots, everything that would serve
to fill the fatal gap. With these were mingled bodies of men and horses,
drowned in that deadly ditch, the whole forming a terrible pathway across
which the survivors stumbled and clambered until they reached the other
side.

Cortez, riding forward, found a spot in the ditch that was fordable, and
here, with the water up to his saddle-girths, he tried to bring order out
of confusion, and called his followers to this path to safety. But his
voice was lost in the turmoil, and with a few cavaliers who kept with him,
he pressed forward to the van, doubly saddened by seeing his favorite
page, Juan de Salazar, struck down in death by his side.

Here he found the valiant Gonzalo de Sandoval, who, with about twenty
other cavaliers, had led the van, composed of two hundred Spanish
foot-soldiers. They were halted before the third and final breach in the
causeway, a ditch as wide and deep as those which had been passed.
Fortunately it was not so closely beset by the enemy, who were still
engaged with the centre and rear, and the gallant cavaliers plunged
without hesitation into the water, followed by the foot, some swimming,
some clinging desperately to the manes and tails of the horses, some
carried to the bottom by the weight of the fatal gold with which they were
heavily laden. On leaving the fortress in which they had so long defended
themselves, much of the gold which they had gathered was necessarily
abandoned. Cortez told the soldiers to take what they wished of it, but
warned them not to overload themselves, saying, "He travels safest in the
dark night who travels lightest." Many of those who failed to regard this
wise counsel paid for their cupidity with their death.

Those who safely passed this final ditch were at the end of their
immediate peril. Soon they were off the causeway and on solid ground,
where the roar of the battle came more faintly to their ears. But word
came to them that the rear-guard was in imminent danger and would be
overwhelmed unless relieved. It seemed an act of desperation to return,
but the valiant and warm-hearted cavaliers did not hesitate when this cry
for aid was heard. Turning their horses, they galloped back, pushed
through the pass, swam the canal again, and rode into the thick of the
fight on the opposite section of the causeway.

The night was now passing, and the first gray light of day was visible in
the east. By its dim illumination the frightful combat could be seen in
all its horrid intensity. Everywhere lay dead bodies of Christian or
pagan; the dark masses of the warriors could be seen locked in deadly
struggle crowding the blood-stained causeway; while the lake, far and
near, was crowded with canoes, filled with armed and ardent Aztec
warriors, yelling their triumphant war-cry.

Cortez and his companions found Alvarado, who led the rear, unhorsed and
wounded, yet fighting like a hero. His noble steed, which had borne him
safely through many a hard fight, had fallen under him. With a handful of
followers he was desperately striving to repel the overwhelming tide of
the enemy which was pouring on him along the causeway, a dozen of the
Indians falling for every Spaniard slain. The artillery had done good work
in the early part of the contest, but the fury of the assault had carried
the Aztecs up to and over the guns, and only a hand-to-hand conflict
remained. The charge of the returning cavaliers created a temporary check,
and a feeble rally was made, but the flood of foes soon came on again and
drove them resistlessly back.

Cortez and the cavaliers with him were forced to plunge once more into the
canal, not all of them this time escaping. Alvarado stood on the brink for
a moment, uncertain what to do, death behind him and deadly peril before.
He was a man of great strength and agility, and despair now gave him
courage. Setting his long lance firmly on the wreck that strewed the
bottom, he sprang vigorously forward and cleared the wide gap at a bound,
a feat that filled all who saw it with amazement, the natives exclaiming,
as they beheld the seemingly impossible leap, "This is truly the
_Tonatiuh_,--the child of the Sun!" This name they had given Alvarado from
his fair features and flaxen hair. How great the leap was no one has told
us, though the name of "Alvarado's leap" still clings to the spot.

Thus ended the frightful _noche triste_, or "doleful night." Cortez led
the remnant of his men off the causeway, a feeble, wounded, straggling
few, faltering from weariness and loss of blood. Fortunately, the Aztecs,
attracted by the rich spoil that strewed the ground, did not pursue, or it
is doubtful if a man of the Spaniards, in their worn and wounded state,
would have survived. How many perished in that night of dread no one
knows. A probable estimate is about five hundred Spaniards and four
thousand natives, nearly all the rear-guard having fallen. Of forty-six
horses, half had been slain. The baggage, the guns, the ammunition, the
muskets, and nearly all the treasure were gone. The only arms left the
warriors were their swords and a few damaged cross-bows, while their mail
was broken, their garments were tattered, their proud crests and banners
gone, their bright arms soiled, and only a miserable and shattered
fragment of their proud force was left, these dragging themselves along
with pain and difficulty.

               [Illustration: AZTEC IDOLS CARVED IN STONE.]

                       AZTEC IDOLS CARVED IN STONE.


Day after day passed as the Spaniards and their allies, the
Tlascalans,--inveterate enemies of the Aztecs,--slowly moved away from that
blood-stained avenue of death, now little molested by their foes, and
gradually recovering from their fatigue. On the seventh morning they
reached the mountain height which overlooks the plain of Otumba, a point
less than thirty miles from the capital. This plain they were obliged to
traverse on their way to Tlascala, their chosen place of retreat.

As they looked down on the broad level below them they saw with shrinking
hearts why they had not been as yet molested. A mighty host filled the
whole valley from side to side, their arms and standards glistening in the
sun, their numbers so great that the stoutest heart among the Spaniards
viewed them with dismay, and Cortez, daring and hopeful as he was, felt
that his last hour had now surely come.

But this stout leader was not the man to give way to despair. There was
nothing to do but to cut their way through this vast array or perish in
the attempt. To retreat would have been to invite sure destruction.
Fortunately, they had rested for two nights and a day, and men and horses
had regained much of their old strength. Without hesitation, Cortez
prepared for the onset, giving his force as broad a front as possible, and
guarding its flanks with his little body of horse, now twenty in all.
Then, with a few words of encouragement, in which he told them of the
victories they had won, and with orders to his men to thrust, not strike,
with their swords, and to the horsemen on no account to lose their lances,
and to strike at the faces of the foe, he gave the word to advance.

At first the natives recoiled from the stern and fierce onset, rolling
back till they left a wide lane for the passage of their foes. But they
quickly rallied and poured on the little band in their midst, until it
seemed lost in the overwhelming mass. A terrible fray followed, the
Christians, as one writer says, standing "like an islet against which the
breakers, roaring and surging, spend their fury in vain." The struggle was
one of man to man, the Tlascalans and Spaniards alike fighting with
obstinate courage, while the little band of horsemen charged deep into the
enemy's ranks, riding over them and cutting them down with thrust and
blow, their onset giving fresh spirit to the infantry.

But that so small a force could cut their way through that enormous
multitude of armed and valiant enemies seemed impossible. As the minutes
lengthened into hours many of the Tlascalans and some of the Spaniards
were slain, and not a man among them had escaped wounds. Cortez received a
cut on the head, and his horse was hurt so badly that he was forced to
dismount and exchange it for a strong animal from the baggage-train. The
fight went on thus for several hours, the sun growing hotter as it rose in
the sky, and the Christians, weak from their late wounds, gradually losing
strength and spirit. The enemy pressed on in ever fresh numbers, forcing
the horse back on the foot, and throwing the latter into some disorder.
With every minute now the conflict grew more hopeless, and it seemed as if
nothing were left but to sell their lives as dearly as possible.

At this critical juncture a happy chance changed the whole fortune of the
day. Cortez, gazing with eagle eye around the field in search of some
vision of hope, some promise of safety, saw at no great distance in the
midst of the throng a splendidly dressed chief, who was borne in a rich
litter and surrounded by a gayly attired body of young warriors. A
head-dress of beautiful plumes, set in gold and gems, rose above him, and
over this again was a short staff bearing a golden net, the standard of
the Aztecs.

The instant Cortez beheld this person and his emblem his eye lighted with
triumph. He knew him for the commander of the foe, and the golden net as
its rallying standard. Turning to the cavaliers beside him, he pointed
eagerly to the chief, exclaiming, "There is our mark! Follow me!" Then,
shouting his war-cry, he spurred his steed into the thick of the foe.
Sandoval, Alvarado, and others spurred furiously after him, while the
enemy fell back before this sudden and fierce assault.

On swept the cavaliers, rending through the solid ranks, strewing their
path with the dead and dying, bearing down all who opposed them. A few
minutes of this furious onset carried them to the elevated spot on which
were the Aztec chief and his body-guard. Thrusting and cutting with
tiger-like strength and ferocity, Cortez rent a way through the group of
young nobles and struck a furious blow at the Indian commander, piercing
him with his lance and hurling him to the ground. A young cavalier beside
him, Juan de Salamanca, sprang from his horse and despatched the fallen
chief. Then he tore away the banner and handed it to Cortez.

All this was the work almost of a moment. Its effect was remarkable. The
guard, overwhelmed by the sudden onset, fled in a panic, which was quickly
communicated to their comrades. The tidings spread rapidly. The banner of
the chief had disappeared. He had been slain. The blindness of panic
suddenly infected the whole host, which broke and fled in wild terror and
confusion. The Spaniards and Tlascalans were not slow in taking advantage
of this new aspect of affairs. Forgetting their wounds and fatigue, they
dashed in revengeful fury on the flying foe, cutting them down by hundreds
as they fled. Not until they had amply repaid their losses on the bloody
causeway did they return to gather up the booty which strewed the field.
It was great, for, in accordance with Cortez's instructions, they had
struck especially at the chiefs, and many of these were richly ornamented
with gold and jewels.

Thus ended the famous battle of Otumba, the most remarkable victory, in
view of the great disparity of forces, ever won in the New World. Chance
gave the Spaniards victory, but it was a chance made useful only by the
genius of a great commander. The following day the fugitive army reached
the soil of Tlascala and were safe among their friends. History has not a
more heroic story to tell than that of their escape from the Aztec
capital, nor a more striking one than that of their subsequent return and
conquest.





PIZARRO AND THE INCA'S GOLDEN RANSOM.


The great expedition to the land of gold, which Vasco Nunez de Balboa had
planned to make, was left by his death to be carried out by one of his
companions in the discovery of the South Sea, the renowned Francisco
Pizarro. It was an expedition full of romantic adventure, replete with
peril and suffering, crowded with bold ventures and daring deeds. But we
must pass over all the earlier of these and come at once to the climax of
the whole striking enterprise, the story of the seizure of the Inca of
Peru in the midst of his army and the tale of his incredible ransom.

Many and strange were the adventures of Pizarro, from the time when, with
one small vessel and about one hundred desperate followers, he sailed from
Panama in 1524, and ventured on the great unknown Pacific, to the time
when, in 1531, he sailed again with one hundred and eighty men and about
thirty horses and landed on the coast of Peru, which he designed to
conquer as Cortez had conquered Mexico. A faithless and cruel wretch was
this Francisco Pizarro, but he had the military merits of courage,
enterprise, daring and persistency, and these qualities carried him
through sufferings and adversities that would have discouraged almost any
man and brought him to magical success in the end. It was the beacon of
gold that lured him on through desperate enterprises and deadly perils and
led him to the El Dorado of the Spanish adventurers.

Landing and capturing a point on the coast of Peru, he marched with his
handful of bold followers, his horses and guns, eastward into the empire,
crossed the vast and difficult mountain wall of the Andes, and reached the
city of Caxamalca. Close by this city the Inca, Atahualpa, lay encamped
with an army, for a civil war between him and his brother Huascar had just
ended in the defeat and imprisonment of the latter.

Desperate was the situation of the small body of Spanish soldiers, when,
in the late afternoon of the 15th of November, 1532, they marched into
Caxamalca, which they found empty of inhabitants. About one hundred more
men, with arms and horses, had joined them, but in a military sense they
were but a handful still, and they had every reason to dread the
consequences of their rash enterprise.

All seemed threatening,--the desertion of the city by its people, the
presence of the Inca, with a powerful army, within a league's distance,
the probable hostility of the Indian emperor. All the Spaniards had to
rely on were their arms,--cannon, muskets and swords of steel,--new and
terrible weapons in that land, and their war-horses, whose evolutions had
elsewhere filled the soul of the Indian with dismay. Yet what were these
in the hands of less than three hundred men, in the presence of a strong
and victorious army? Filled with anxiety, Pizarro at once despatched a
body of horsemen, led by his brother Hernando and the famous cavalier
Hernando de Soto, to visit the Inca in his camp.

Great was the astonishment of the Indian soldiers as this strange
cavalcade, with clang of arms and blast of trumpet, swept by, man and
horse seeming like single beings to their unaccustomed eyes. De Soto, the
best mounted of them all, showed his command of his steed in the Inca's
presence, by riding furiously over the plain, wheeling in graceful curves,
and displaying all the vigor and beauty of skilled horsemanship, finally
checking the noble animal in full career when so near the Inca that some
of the foam from its lips was thrown on the royal garments. Yet, while
many of those near drew back in terror, Atahualpa maintained an
unflinching dignity and composure, hiding every show of dread, if any such
inspired him.

To the envoys he said, through an interpreter the Spaniards had brought,
"Tell your captain that I am keeping a fast, which will end to-morrow
morning. I will then visit him with my chieftains. Meanwhile, let him
occupy the public buildings on the square, and no other."

Refreshments were now offered the Spaniards, but these they declined, as
they did not wish to dismount. Yet they did not refuse to quaff the
sparkling drink offered them in golden vases of great size brought by
beautiful maidens. Then they rode slowly back, despondent at what they had
seen,--the haughty dignity of the Inca and the strength and discipline of
his army.

That night there were gloomy forebodings throughout the camp, which were
increased as its occupants saw the watch-fires of the Peruvian army,
glittering on the hill-sides, as one said, "as thick as the stars in
heaven." Scarcely a man among them except Pizarro retained his courage;
but he went round among his men, bidding them to keep up their spirits,
and saying that Providence would not desert them if they trusted to their
strength and their cause, as Christians against pagans. They were in
Heaven's service and God would aid them.

He then called a council of his officers and unfolded to them a desperate
plan he had conceived. This was no less than to lay an ambuscade for the
Inca and seize him in the face of his army, holding him as a hostage for
the safety of the Christians. Nothing less decisive than this would avail
them, he said. It was too late to retreat. At the first sign of such a
movement the army of the Inca would be upon them, and they would all be
destroyed, either there or in the intricacies of the mountain-passes. Nor
could they remain inactive where they were. The Inca was crafty and
hostile, and would soon surround them with a net-work of peril, from which
they could not escape. To fight him in the open field was hazardous, if
not hopeless. The only thing to do was to take him by surprise on his
visit the next day, drive back his followers with death and terror, seize
the monarch, and hold him prisoner. With the Inca in their hands his
followers would not dare attack them, and they would be practically
masters of the empire.

No doubt Pizarro in this plan had in mind that which Cortez had pursued in
Mexico. He would take care that Atahualpa should not be killed by his own
people, as Montezuma had been, and while the monarch remained alive they
would have the strongest guarantee of safety. This bold plan suited the
daring character of Pizarro's officers. They agreed with him that in
boldness lay their only hope of success or even of life, and they left the
council with renewed confidence to prepare for the desperate enterprise.

It was noon the next day before the Inca appeared, his litter borne on the
shoulders of his chief nobles and surrounded by others, so glittering with
ornaments that, to quote from one of the Spaniards, "they blazed like the
sun." A large number of workmen in front swept every particle of rubbish
from the road. Behind, and through the fields that lined the road, marched
a great body of armed men. But when within half a mile of the city the
procession halted, and a messenger was sent to the Spaniards to say that
the Inca would encamp there for that night and enter the city the
following morning.

These tidings filled Pizarro with dismay. His men had been under arms
since daybreak, the cavalry mounted, and the infantry and artillerymen at
their posts. He feared the effect on their spirits of a long and trying
suspense in such a critical situation, and sent word back to the Inca
begging him to come on, as he had everything ready for his entertainment
and expected to sup with him that night. This message turned the monarch
from his purpose, and he resumed his march, though the bulk of his army
was left behind, only a group of unarmed men accompanying him. He
evidently had no fear or suspicion of the Spaniards. Little did he know
them.

It was near the hour of sunset when the procession reached the city,
several thousand Indians marching into the great square, borne high above
whom was the Inca, seated in an open litter on a kind of throne made of
massive gold, while a collar of emeralds of great size and beauty
encircled his neck and his attire was rich and splendid. He looked around
him with surprise, as there was not a Spaniard to be seen, and asked, in
tones of annoyance, "Where are the strangers?"

At this moment Pizarro' s chaplain, a Dominican friar, came forward, with
Bible and crucifix in hand, and began to expound to him the Christian
doctrines, ending by asking him to acknowledge himself a vassal of the
king of Spain. The Inca, when by aid of the interpreter he had gained a
glimpse of the priest's meaning, answered him with high indignation, and
when the friar handed him the Bible as the authority for his words, he
flung it angrily to the earth, exclaiming,--

"Tell your comrades that they shall give me an account of their doings in
my land. I will not go from here till they have made me full satisfaction
for all the wrongs they have committed."

Picking up the sacred volume, the friar hastened to Pizarro, told him what
had been said, and cried out,--

"Do you not see that while we stand here wasting our breath in talking
with this dog, full of pride as he is, the fields are filling with
Indians? Set on, at once; I absolve you."

Pizarro waved a white scarf in the air, the signal agreed upon. A gun was
fired from the fortress. Then, with the Spanish war-cry of "St. Jago and
at them!" Pizarro and his followers sprang out into the square. From every
avenue of the great building they occupied poured armed men, horse and
foot, and rushed in warlike fury upon the Indians. Taken utterly by
surprise, the latter were hurled back in confusion. Their ranks rent by
the balls from cannon and musketry, hundreds of them trampled under foot
by the fierce charges of the cavalry, pierced by lances or cut down by
swords, they were driven resistlessly back, falling in multitudes as they
wildly sought to escape.

The massacre went on with especial intensity around the Inca, his nobles,
none of them armed, struggling with what strength they could in his
defence. "Let no one who values his life strike at the Inca!" shouted
Pizarro, fearing his valued prize might be slain in the wild tumult.
Fiercer still grew the struggle around him. The royal litter swayed back
and forth, and, as some of its bearers were slain, it was overturned, the
monarch being saved from a fall to the ground by Pizarro and some others,
who caught him in their arms. With all haste they bore him into the
fortress and put him under close guard.

With the capture of the Inca all resistance was at an end. The unarmed
Peruvians fled in terror from the fearful massacre. The soldiers in the
fields were seized with panic on hearing the fatal news, and dispersed in
all directions, pursued by the Spanish cavalry, who cut them down without
mercy. Not till night had fallen did Pizarro's men cease the pursuit and
return at the call of the trumpet to the bloody square of Caxamalca. In
that frightful massacre not less than two thousand victims, perhaps many
more, were slain, the most of them unarmed and helpless. That night
Pizarro kept his word, that he would sup with Atahualpa, but it was a
supper at which he might well have drunk blood. The banquet was served in
one of the halls facing the great square, then thickly paved with the
dead, the monarch, stunned by the calamity, sitting beside his captor at
the dread meal.

Let us now go forward to a still more spectacular scene in that strange
drama, one which proved that the Spaniards had truly at length reached the
"land of gold." The Inca was not long a prisoner before he discovered the
besetting passion of the Spaniards, their thirst for gold. A party was
sent to pillage his pleasure-house, and brought back a rich booty in gold
and silver, whose weight and value filled the conquerors with delight.

Thinking that he saw in this a hope of escaping from his captivity, the
Inca one day said to Pizarro that if he would agree to set him free, he
would cover the floor of the room in which they stood with gold. Pizarro
listened with a smile of doubt. As he made no answer, the Inca said,
earnestly, that "he would not merely cover the floor, but would fill the
room with gold as high as he could reach," and he stood on tiptoe as he
put his uplifted hand against the wall. This extraordinary offer filled
Pizarro with intense astonishment. That such a thing could be done seemed
utterly incredible, despite all they had learned of the riches of Peru.
The avaricious conqueror, dazzled by the munificent offer, hastened to
accept it, drawing a red line along the wall at the height the Inca had
touched. How remarkable the ransom was may be judged from the fact that
the room was about seventeen feet wide and twenty-two feet long and the
mark on the wall nine feet high. To add to its value, the Inca offered to
fill an adjoining but smaller room twice full with silver, and to do all
this in the short time of two months. It would seem that he would need
Aladdin's wonderful lamp to accomplish so vast and surprising a task.

As soon as the offer was made and accepted, the Inca sent messengers to
Cuzco, his capital city, and to the other principal places in his kingdom,
with orders to bring all the gold ornaments and utensils from his palaces
and from the temples and other public buildings, and transport them in all
haste to Caxamalca. While awaiting the golden spoil the monarch was
treated with the fullest respect due to his rank, having his own private
apartments and the society of his wives, while his nobles were permitted
to visit him freely. The only thing the Spaniards took good care of was
that he should be kept under close guard.

He took one advantage of his measure of liberty. His brother and rival,
Huascar, though a captive, might escape and seize the control of the
state, and he learned that the prisoner had sent a private message to
Pizarro, offering to pay for his liberty a much larger ransom than that
promised by Atahualpa. The Inca was crafty and cruel enough to remove this
danger from his path, if we may accept the evidence of his captors. At any
rate the royal captive was soon after drowned, declaring with his dying
breath that his rival would not long survive him, but that the white men
would avenge his murder. Atahualpa told Pizarro, with a show of great
sorrow and indignation, of his brother's death, and when the Spaniard
threatened to hold him responsible for it, the Inca protested that it had
been done without his knowledge or consent by Huascar's keepers, who
feared that their captive might escape. However it occurred, Pizarro soon
afterward learned that the news was true. It may be that he was well
satisfied with the fact, as it removed a leading claimant for the throne
from his path.

Meanwhile, the ransom began to come in--slowly, for the distances were
great, and the treasure had to be transported on foot by carriers. Most of
it consisted of massive pieces of gold and silver plate, some of them
weighing from fifty to seventy-five pounds. The Spaniards beheld with
gleaming eyes the shining heaps of treasure, brought in on the shoulders
of Indian porters, and carefully stored away under guard. On some days
articles to the value of half a million dollars are said to have been
brought in.

Yet the vast weight in gold which was thus brought before them did not
satisfy the avaricious impatience of the Spaniards. They made no allowance
for distance and difficulty, and began to suspect the Inca of delaying the
ransom until he could prepare a rising of his subjects against the
strangers. When Atahualpa heard of these suspicions he was filled with
surprise and indignation. "Not a man of my subjects would dare raise a
finger without my orders," he said to Pizarro. "Is not my life at your
disposal? What better security would you have of my good faith?" He ended
by advising him to send some of his own men to Cuzco, where they could see
for themselves how his orders were being obeyed. He would give them a
safe-conduct, and they could superintend the work themselves.

The three envoys sent were carried the whole distance of more than six
hundred miles in litters by relays of carriers, their route laying along
the great military road of Peru and through many populous towns. Cuzco
they found to be a large and splendid city. The great temple of the Sun
was covered with plates of gold, which, by the Inca's orders, were being
torn off. There were seven hundred of these plates in all, and a cornice
of pure gold ran round the building. But this was so deeply set in the
stone that it could not be removed. On their return, these messengers
brought with them full two hundred loads of gold, besides great quantities
of silver.

Gradually the vast ransom offered by the Inca, far surpassing any paid by
any other captive in the world's history, was gathered in. The gold
received came in a great variety of shapes, being wrought into goblets,
ewers, salvers, vases, and other forms for ornament or use, utensils for
temple or palace, tiles and plate used to decorate the public edifices,
and curious imitations of plants and animals. The most beautiful and
artistic of these was the representation of Indian corn, the ear of gold
being sheathed in broad leaves of silver, while the rich tassels were made
of the same precious metal. Equally admired was a fountain which sent up a
sparkling jet of gold, with birds and animals of the same metal playing in
the waters at its base. Some of these objects were so beautifully wrought
as to compare favorably with the work of skilled European artists.

The treasure gathered was measured in the room in its original form, this
being the compact, but even in this loose form the gold amounted to a sum
equal, in modern money, to over fifteen millions of dollars, with a large
value in silver in addition. All this was melted down into ingots and
divided among the conquerors, with the exception of the royal fifth,
reserved for the King of Spain. The latter included many of the most
curious works of art. The share of Pizarro probably amounted to not less
than a million dollars, and even the common soldiers received what was
wealth to them.

The ransom paid, what was the benefit to the Inca? Was he given his
liberty, in accordance with the compact? Yes, the liberty which such men
as Francisco Pizarro give to those whom they have injured and have reason
to fear. The total ransom offered by Atahualpa had not been brought in,
but the impatient Spaniards had divided the spoil without waiting for the
whole, and the Inca demanded his freedom. De Soto, who was his chief
friend among the Spaniards, told Pizarro of his demand, but could get from
him no direct reply. His treacherous mind was brooding deeply over some
dark project.

Soon rumors became current among the soldiers of a design of revolt
entertained by the natives. These spread and grew until an immense army
was conjured up. The Inca was looked upon as the instigator of the
supposed rising, and was charged with it by Pizarro. His denial of it had
little effect, and the fortress was put in a state of defence, while many
of the soldiers began to demand the life of the Inca. To those demands
Pizarro did not turn a deaf ear. Possibly they arose at his own
instigation.

  [Illustration: DEATH OF ATAHUALPA, FROM A PAINTING IN THE CATHEDRAL AT
                                 CALLAO.]

     DEATH OF ATAHUALPA, FROM A PAINTING IN THE CATHEDRAL AT CALLAO.


Hernando Pizarro, who had shown himself a strong friend of the captive,
was absent. De Soto, another of his friends, was sent at the head of an
expedition to Huamachuco, a town a hundred miles away, where it was said
the natives were in arms. Scarcely had he gone when Pizarro, seeming to
yield to the demands of the soldiers, decided to bring Atahualpa to trial
on the charges against him.

A court was held, with Pizarro and his fellow-captain Almagro as the
judges, an attorney-general being appointed for the crown and counsel for
the prisoner. The crimes charged against the Inca were chiefly of a kind
with which the Spaniards had nothing to do, among them the assassination
of Huascar and the guilt of idolatry. These were simply to bolster up the
only real charge, that of exciting an insurrection against the Spaniards.
The whole affair was the merest show of a trial, and was hurried through
without waiting for the return of De Soto, who could have given useful
evidence about the insurrection. The culprit was adjudged guilty, and
sentenced to be burnt alive that very night in the great square of
Caxamalca!

It was a sentence that might well have been expected as the termination of
such a trial by such men. Pizarro, in fact, did not dare to set his
captive at liberty, if he proposed to remain in the country, and the cruel
sentence, which was common enough at that day, was carried out except in
one particular. As the poor Inca stood bound to the stake, with the fagots
of his funeral pile heaped around him, Valverde, the Dominican friar, made
a last appeal to him to accept the cross and be baptized, promising him a
less painful death if he would consent. The Inca, shrinking from the
horror of the flames, consented, and was duly baptized under the name of
Juan de Atahualpa. He was then put to death in the Spanish manner, by the
_garrote_, or strangulation.

Thus died the Inca of Peru, the victim of Pizarro's treachery. Great was
the indignation of De Soto, on his return a day or two later from an
expedition in which he had found no rebels, at what had been done. Pizarro
tried to exculpate himself and blame others for deceiving him, but these
told him to his face that he alone was responsible for the deed. In all
probability they told the truth.





GONZALO PIZARRO AND THE LAND OF CINNAMON.


We have now to relate the most remarkable adventure in the story of the
conquest of Peru, and one of the most remarkable in the history of the New
World,--the expedition of Gonzalo Pizarro to the upper waters of the Amazon
and the pioneer voyage down that mighty river.

Francisco Pizarro was well aided by his brothers in his great work of
conquest, three of them--Hernando, Juan, and Gonzalo--accompanying him to
Peru, and all of them proving brave, enterprising, and able men. In 1540,
eight years after the conquest, Gonzalo was appointed by his brother
governor of the territory of Quito, in the north of the empire, with
instructions to explore the unknown country lying to the east, where the
cinnamon tree was said to grow. Gonzalo lost no time in seeking his
province, and made haste in starting on his journey of exploration to the
fabled land of spices.

It was early in the year that he set out on this famous expedition, with a
force of three hundred and fifty Spaniards and four thousand Indians, one
hundred and fifty of the whites being mounted. They were all thoroughly
equipped and took with them a large supply of provisions and a great drove
of hogs, five thousand in number, as some writers say. Yet with all this
food they were to suffer from the extremes of famine.

We can but briefly tell the incidents of this extraordinary journey. At
first it was easy enough. But when they left the land of the Incas and
began to cross the lofty ranges of the Andes, they found themselves
involved in intricate and difficult passes, swept by chilling winds. In
this cold wilderness many of the natives found an icy grave, and during
their passage a terrible earthquake shook the mountains, the earth in one
place being rent asunder. Choking sulphurous vapors issued from the
cavity, into whose frightful abyss a village of several hundred houses was
precipitated.

After the heights were passed and they descended to the lower levels,
tropical heats succeeded the biting cold, and fierce storms of rain,
accompanied by violent thunder and lightning, descended almost
ceaselessly, drenching the travellers day after day. It was the rainy
season of the tropics, and for more than six weeks the deluge continued,
while the forlorn wanderers, wet and weary, could scarce drag themselves
over the yielding and saturated soil.

For several months this toilsome journey continued, many a mountain stream
and dismal morass needing to be crossed. At length they reached the Land
of Cinnamon, the _Canelas_ of the Spaniards, where were forests of the
trees supposed by them to bear the precious bark. Yet had it been the
actual cinnamon of the East Indies, it would have been useless to them in
that remote and mountain-walled wilderness. Here their journey, as
originally laid out, should have ended, but they were lured on by the
statements of the wild tribes they met, they being told of a rich and
populous land at ten days' journey in advance, in which gold could be
found in abundance.

Gold was a magic word to the Spaniards, and they went eagerly onward, over
a country of broad savannahs which led to seemingly endless forests, where
grew trees of stupendous bulk, some so large that the extended arms of
sixteen men could barely reach around them. A thick net-work of vines and
creepers hung in bright-colored festoons from tree to tree, beautiful to
look at but very difficult to pass. The axe was necessary at every step of
the way, while their garments, rotted with the incessant rains, were torn
into rags by the bushes and brambles of the woodland. Their provisions had
been long since spoiled by the weather, and their drove of swine had
vanished, such of the animals as were not consumed having strayed into the
woods and hills. They had brought with them nearly a thousand dogs, many
of them of the ferocious bloodhound breed, and these they were now glad
enough to kill and eat. When these were gone no food was to be had but
such herbs and edible roots and small animals as the forest afforded.

At length the disconsolate wanderers emerged on the banks of a broad
river, the Napo, one of the great tributaries of the Amazon, issuing from
the northern Andes to seek a home in the bosom of that mighty stream.
Gladdened by the sight, they followed its banks downward, hoping in this
way to find an easier route. Thickets still beset their way, through which
it needed all their strength to open a passage, and after going a
considerable distance a loud and increasing noise met their ears. For
miles they followed it as it gradually rose into a roar, and at length
they reached a place where the stream rushed furiously down steep rapids,
and at the end poured in a vast volume of foam down a magnificent
cataract, twelve hundred feet in depth.

This was the height of the fall as measured by the eyes of the wanderers,
a guide not much to be relied on. The stream itself had narrowed until it
was at this point not more than twenty feet wide, and the hungry wanderers
determined to cross it, with the hope of finding beyond it a country
yielding more food. A bridge was constructed by felling great trees across
the chasm, the water here running through vertical walls several hundred
feet in depth. Over this rude bridge men and horses made their way, only
one Spaniard being lost by tumbling down the giddy depth.

The country beyond the stream proved no better than that they had left,
and the only signs of inhabitants they met were savage and hostile tribes
of Indians, with whom they kept up a steady skirmish. Some of the more
friendly told them that the fruitful land they sought was but a few days'
journey down the river, and they went wearily on, day by day, as the
promised land still fled before their feet. Doubtless they were led by
their own desires to misinterpret the words of the Indians.

In the end Gonzalo Pizarro decided on building a vessel large enough to
carry the baggage and the men too weak to walk. Timber was superabundant.
The shoes of horses that had died or had been killed for food were wrought
into nails. Pitch was obtained from gum-yielding trees. In place of oakum
the tattered garments of the soldiers were used. It took two months to
complete the difficult task, at the end of which time a rude but strong
brigantine was ready, the first vessel larger than an Indian canoe that
ever floated on the mighty waters of Brazil. It was large enough to carry
half the Spaniards that remained alive after their months of terrible
travel.

Pizarro gave the command of the vessel to Francisco de Orellana, a man in
whose courage and fidelity he put full trust. The company now resumed its
march more hopefully, following the course of the Napo for weeks that
lengthened into months, the brigantine keeping beside them and
transporting the weaker whenever a difficult piece of country was reached.
In this journey the last scraps of provisions were consumed, including
their few remaining horses, and they were so pressed by hunger as to eat
the leather of their saddles and belts. Little food was yielded by the
forest, and such toads, serpents, and other reptiles as they found were
greedily devoured.

Still the story of a rich country, inhabited by a populous nation, was
told by the wandering Indians, but it was always several days ahead.
Pizarro at length decided to stop where he was and feed on the scanty
forest spoil, while Orellana went down the stream in his brigantine to
where, as the Indians said, the Napo flowed into a greater river. Here the
nation they sought was to be found, and Orellana was bidden to get a
supply of provisions and bring them back to the half-starved company.
Taking fifty of the adventurers in the vessel, he pushed off into the
swift channel of the river and shot onward in a speedy voyage which
quickly took him and his comrades out of sight.

Days and weeks passed, and no sign of the return of the voyagers appeared.
In vain the waiting men strained their eyes down the stream and sent out
detachments to look for the vessel farther down. Finally, deeming it
useless to wait longer, they resumed their journey down the river,
spending two months in advancing five or six hundred miles--those of them
who did not die by the way. At length they reached the point they sought,
where the Napo plunged into a much larger stream, that mighty river since
known as the Amazon, which rolls for thousands of miles eastward through
the vast Brazilian forest.

Here they looked in vain for the brigantine and the rich and populous
country promised them. They were still in a dense forest region, as
unpromising as that they had left. As for Orellana and his companions, it
was naturally supposed that they had perished by famine or by the hands of
the ferocious natives. But they learned differently at length, when a
half-starved and half-naked white man emerged from the forest, whom they
recognized as Sanches de Vargas, one of Orellana's companions.

The tale he told them was the following: The brigantine had shot so
swiftly down the Napo as to reach in three days the point it had taken
them two months to attain. Here, instead of finding supplies with which to
return, Orellana could obtain barely enough food for himself and his men.
To attempt to ascend against the swift current of the river was
impossible. To go back by land was a formidable task, and one that would
add nothing to the comfort of those left behind. In this dilemma Orellana
came to the daring decision to go on down the Amazon, visiting the
populous nations which he was told dwelt on its banks, descending to its
mouth, and sailing back to Spain with the tidings and the glory of a
famous adventure and noble discovery.

He found his reckless companions quite ready to accept his perilous
scheme, with little heed of the fate of the comrades left behind them in
the wilderness. De Vargas was the only one who earnestly opposed the
desertion as inhuman and dishonorable, and Orellana punished him by
abandoning him in the wilderness and sailing away without him.

The story of Orellana's adventure is not the least interesting part of the
expedition we have set out to describe; but, as it is a side issue, we
must deal with it very briefly. Launched on the mighty and unknown river,
in a rudely built barque, it is a marvel that the voyagers escaped
shipwreck in the descent of that vast stream, the navigation being too
difficult and perilous, as we are told by Condamine, who descended it in
1743, to be undertaken without the aid of a skilful pilot. Yet the daring
Spaniards accomplished it safely. Many times their vessel narrowly escaped
being dashed to pieces on the rocks or in the rapids of the stream. Still
greater was the danger of the voyagers from the warlike forest tribes, who
followed them for miles in canoes and fiercely attacked them whenever they
landed in search of food.

At length the extraordinary voyage was safely completed, and the
brigantine, built on the Napo, several thousand miles in the interior,
emerged on the Atlantic. Here Orellana proceeded to the island of Cubagna,
from which he made his way, with his companions, to Spain. He had a
wonderful story to tell, of nations of Amazons dwelling on the banks of
the great river, of an El Dorado said to exist in its vicinity, and other
romances, gathered from the uncertain stories of the savages.

He found no difficulty, in that age of marvels and credulity, in gaining
belief, and was sent out at the head of five hundred followers to conquer
and colonize the realms he had seen. But he died on the outward voyage,
and Spain got no profit from his discovery, the lands of the Amazon
falling within the territory assigned by the Pope to Portugal.

Orellana had accomplished one of the greatest feats in the annals of
travel and discovery, though his glory was won at the cost of the crime of
deserting his companions in the depths of the untrodden wilderness. It was
with horror and indignation that the deserted soldiers listened to the
story of Vargas, and found themselves deprived of their only apparent
means of escape from that terrible situation. An effort was made to
continue their journey along the banks of the Amazon, but after some days
of wearying toil, this was given up as a hopeless task, and despair
settled down upon their souls.

Gonzalo Pizarro now showed himself an able leader. He told his despairing
followers that it was useless to advance farther, and that they could not
stay where they were, their only hope lying in a return to Quito. This was
more than a thousand miles away, and over a year had passed since they
left it. To return was perilous, but in it lay their only hope.

Gonzalo did all he could to reanimate their spirits, speaking of the
constancy they had shown, and bidding them to show themselves worthy of
the name of Castilians. Glory would be theirs when they should reach their
native land. He would lead them back by another route, and somewhere on it
they would surely reach that fruitful land of which so much had been told
them. At any rate, every step would take them nearer home, and nothing
else was left them to do.

The soldiers listened to him with renewed hope. He had proved himself so
far a true companion, sharing all their perils and privations, taking his
lot with the humblest among them, aiding the sick and cheering up the
despondent. In this way he had won their fullest confidence and devotion,
and in this trying moment he reaped the benefit of his unselfish conduct.

The journey back was more direct and less difficult than that they had
already taken. Yet though this route proved an easier one, their distress
was greater than ever, from their lack of food beyond such scanty fare as
they could pick up in the forest or obtain by force or otherwise from the
Indians. Such as sickened and fell by the way were obliged to be left
behind, and many a poor wretch was deserted to die alone in the
wilderness, if not devoured by the wild beasts that roamed through it.

The homeward march, like the outward one, took more than a year, and it
was in June, 1542, that the survivors trod again the high plains of Quito.
They were a very different looking party from the well-equipped and
hope-inspired troop of cavaliers and men-at-arms who had left that upland
city nearly two and a half years before. Their horses were gone, their
bright arms were rusted and broken, their clothing was replaced by the
skins of wild beasts, their hair hung long and matted down their
shoulders, their faces were blackened by the tropical sun, their bodies
were wasted and scarred. A gallant troop they had set out; a body of
meagre phantoms they returned. Of the four thousand Indians taken, less
than half had survived. Of the Spaniards only eighty came back, and these
so worn and broken that many of them never fully recovered from their
sufferings. Thus in suffering and woe ended the famous expedition to the
Land of Cinnamon.





CORONADO AND THE SEVEN CITIES OF CIBOLA.


The remarkable success of Cortez and Pizarro in Mexico and Peru went far
to convince the Spaniards that in America they had found a veritable land
of magic, filled with wonders and supremely rich in gold and gems. Ponce
de Leon sought in Florida for the fabled Fountain of Youth. Hernando de
Soto, one of the companions of Pizarro, attempted to find a second Peru in
the north, and became the discoverer of the Mississippi. From Mexico other
adventurers set out, with equal hopes, in search of empire and treasure.
Some went south to the conquest of Central America, others north to
California and New Mexico. The latter region was the seat of the fancied
Seven Cities of Cibola, the search for which it is here proposed to
describe.

In 1538 Francisco Vasquez de Coronado was appointed governor of New
Galicia, as the country lying north of Mexico was named, and sent out a
certain Fray Marcos, a monk who had been with Pizarro in Peru, on a
journey of exploration to the north. With him were some Indian guides and
a negro named Estevanico, or Stephen, who had been one of the survivors of
the Narvaez expedition to Florida and had travelled for years among the
Indians of the north. He was expected to be of great assistance. As the
worthy friar went on he was told of rich regions beyond, where the people
wore ornaments of gold, and at length he sent the negro in advance to
investigate and report. Stephen was to send back by the Indians a cross,
the size of which would indicate the importance of what he had learned.
Within four days messengers returned with a great cross the height of a
man, significant of great and important discoveries.

One of the Indians told the friar that thirty days' journey from the point
they had reached was a populous country called Cibola, in which were seven
great cities under one lord, peopled by a civilized nation that dwelt in
large houses well built of stone and lime, some of them several stories in
height. The entrances to the principal houses were richly wrought with
turquoise, which was there in great abundance. Farther on they had been
told were other provinces, each of them much greater than that of the
seven cities.

Two days after Easter, 1539, Fray Marcos set out on the track of his
pioneer, eager to reach the land of wonders and riches of which he had
been told. Doubtless there rose in his mind dreams of a second Mexico or
Peru. The land through which lay his route was strange and picturesque.
Here were fertile valleys, watered by streams and walled in by mountains;
there were narrow canons through which ran rapid streams, with rock-walls
hundreds of feet high and cut into strange forms of turrets and towers.

As he went on he heard more of the seven cities and the distant kingdoms,
and of the abundance of turquoises with which the natives adorned their
persons and their doorways. But nothing was seen of Stephen, though
shelter and provisions were found which he had left at points along the
route. As for the dusky pioneer, Fray Marcos was never to set eyes on him
again.

At length the good monk reached a fertile region, irrigated like a garden,
where the men wore three or four strings of turquoises around their necks;
and the women wore them in their ears and noses. But Cibola lay still
beyond, the tales of the natives magnifying its houses till some of them
were ten stories in height. Ladders, they said, were used in place of
stairways. Reaching at length the Gila River, a stream flowing through
deep and rugged valleys, he heard again of the negro, who was crossing the
wilderness to the northeast, escorted like a prince by some three hundred
natives. Fifteen days journey still lay between Fray Marcos and Cibola,
and he went on into the wilderness, escorted, like his pioneer, by a large
train of natives, who volunteered their services.

For twelve days the journey continued through a rough mountain region,
abundantly supplied with game, consisting of deer, rabbits, and
partridges, which was brought in by the Indian hunters. But now there came
back startling news, for one of the negro's guides appeared, pallid with
fright, telling how Stephen had reached Cibola, where he had been seized,
plundered, and imprisoned. Farther on two more Indians were met, covered
with blood and wounds, who said that they had escaped from the slaughter
of all their comrades by the warlike people of Cibola.

The bold monk had now much trouble in getting his frightened followers to
go on with him, but by means of abundant presents he induced two of the
chiefs to proceed. He was determined to gain at least a sight of the land
of wonders, and with the chiefs and his own followers he cautiously
proceeded. At length, from a hill summit, he looked down on a broad plain
on which he saw the first of the famous seven cities. To his excited fancy
it was greater than the city of Mexico, the houses of stone in many
stories and with flat roofs. This was all he could tell from his distant
view, in which the mountain hazes seem to have greatly magnified his power
of vision.

That was the end of Fray Marcos's journey. He did not dare to approach
nearer to that terrible people, and, as he quaintly says, "returned with
more fear than victuals;" overtaking his escort, which, moved by still
greater fear, had not waited for him. Back to Coronado he went with his
story, a disappointing one, since he had seen nothing of either gold,
silver, or precious stones, the nearest approach to treasure being the
greenish turquoise.

The story of the negro pioneer, as afterwards learned, was one that might
have fitted the Orient. He advanced with savage magnificence, bells and
feathers adorning his sable arms and legs, while he carried a gourd
decorated with bells and with white and red feathers. This he knew to be a
symbol of authority among the Indians. Two Spanish greyhounds followed
him, and a number of handsome Indian women, whom he had taken up on the
way, attended him. He was followed with a large escort of Indians,
carrying his provisions and other effects, among them gifts received, or
plunder taken, from the natives.

When near Cibola, he, in disobedience of the orders given him, sent
messengers to the city bearing his gourd, and saying that he came to treat
for peace and to cure the sick. The chief to whom the gourd was presented,
on observing the bells, cast it angrily to the ground, exclaiming,--

"I know not those people; their bells are not of our fashion; tell them to
return at once, or not a man of them will be left alive."

In despite of this hostile message, the vain-glorious negro went on. He
and his company were not permitted to enter the city, but were given a
house outside of it, and here they were stripped of all their possessions
and refused food and drink. The next morning they left the house, where
they were quickly surrounded and attacked by a great number of the
townspeople, all of them being killed except the two Indians who had
brought the news to Fray Marcos.

Why they were treated in this manner is not known. They seem to have been
looked on as spies or enemies. But it is interesting that the legend of
the killing of a Black Mexican still lingers in a pueblo of the Zuni
Indians, though three centuries and a half have since then elapsed.

The story of the discovery of the Seven Cities, as told by the worthy Fray
Marcos, when repeated in the city of Mexico gave rise to high hopes of a
new El Dorado; and numbers were ready to join in an expedition to explore
and conquer Cibola. The city was then well filled with adventurers eager
for fame and fortune, many of them men of good family, cavaliers of rank
"floating about like corks on water," and soldiers ready to enlist in any
promising service. It is no wonder that in a few weeks a company of over
three hundred were enlisted, a large proportion of them mounted. The
Indians of the expedition numbered eight hundred, and some small
field-pieces were taken along, while sheep and cows were to be driven to
supply the army with fresh meat.

Francisco de Coronado was given the command, and so distinguished was the
cavalcade that the viceroy would have appointed each of the gentlemen a
captain but for fear of making the command top-heavy with officers. It was
early in 1540 that the gallant expedition set out, some of the horsemen
arrayed in brilliant coats of mail and armed with swords and lances,
others wearing helmets of iron or tough bullhide, while the footmen
carried cross-bows and muskets, and the Indians were armed with bows and
clubs. Splendid they were--but woe-befallen were they to be on their
return, such of them as came back. An accessory party was sent by sea,
along the Pacific coast, under Hernando de Alarcon, to aid, as far as it
could, in the success of the army. But in spite of all Alarcon's efforts,
he failed to get in communication with Coronado and his men.

On the 7th of July, after following the monk's route through the mountain
wilderness, the expedition came within two days' march of the first city
of Cibola. It was evident from the signal-fires on the hills and other
signs of hostility that the Spaniards would have to fight; but for this
the cavaliers of that day seem to have been always ready, and the next day
Coronado moved forward towards the desired goal.

At length the gallant little army was before Hawaikuh, the city on which
Fray Marcos had gazed with such magnifying eyes, but which now was seen to
be a village of some two hundred houses. It lay about fifteen miles
southwest of the present Zuni. The natives were ready for war. All the old
men, with the women and children, had been sent away, and the Spaniards
were received with volleys of arrows.

The houses were built in retreating terraces, each story being smaller
than that below it, and from these points of vantage the arrows of the
natives came in showers. Evidently the place was only to be taken by
assault, and the infantry was posted so as to fire on the warriors, while
a number of dismounted horsemen sought to scale the walls by a ladder
which they had found. This proved no easy task. Coronado's glittering
armor especially made him a shining mark, and he was so tormented with
arrows and battered with stones as he sought to ascend that he was wounded
and had to be carried from the field. Others were injured and three horses
were killed, but in less than an hour the place was carried, the warriors
retreating in dismay before the impetuous assault.

Glad enough were the soldiers to occupy the deserted houses. Their food
had given out and they were half starved, but in the store-rooms they
found "that of which there was greater need than of gold or silver, which
was much corn and beans and chickens, better than those of New Spain, and
salt, the best and whitest I have seen in all my life." The chickens seem
to have been wild turkeys, kept by the natives for their plumage. But of
the much-desired gold and silver there was not a trace.

The story of all the adventures of the Spaniards in this country is too
extended and not of enough interest to be given here. It must suffice to
say that before their eyes the Seven Cities of Cibola faded into phantoms,
or rather contracted into villages of terraced houses like that they had
captured. Food was to be had, but none of the hoped-for spoil, even the
turquoises of which so much had been told proving to be of little value.
Expeditions were sent out in different directions, some of them
discovering lofty, tower-like hills, with villages on their almost
inaccessible summits, the only approach being by narrow steps cut in the
rock. Others came upon deep canons, one of them discovering the wonderful
Grand Canon of the Colorado River. In the country of Tiguex were twelve
villages built of adobe, some on the plain and some on the lofty heights.
The people here received the Spaniards peaceably and with much show of
welcome.

In Tiguex was found an Indian slave, called by the Spaniards El Turco,
from his resemblance to the Turks, who said he had come from a rich
country in the east, where were numbers of great animals with shaggy
manes,--evidently the buffalo or bison, now first heard of. Some time
later, being brought into the presence of Coronado, El Turco had a more
wonderful story to tell, to the effect that "In his land there was a river
in the level country which was two leagues wide, in which were fishes as
big as horses, and large numbers of very big canoes with more than twenty
rowers on a side, and carrying sails; and their lords sat on the poop
under awnings, and on the prow they had a great golden eagle. He said also
that the lord of that country took his afternoon nap under a great tree on
which were hung a large number of little gold bells, which put him to
sleep as they swung in the air. He said also that every one had his
ordinary dishes made of wrought plate, and the jugs, plates, and bowls
were of gold."

No doubt it was the love of the strangers for the yellow metal that
inspired El Turco to these alluring stories, in the hope of getting rid of
the unwelcome visitors. At any rate, this was the effect it had. After
wintering in the villages of the Tiguas, which the Spaniards had assailed
and taken, they set out in the following April in search of Quivira, the
land of gold, which El Turco had painted in such enticing colors. Against
the advice of El Turco, they loaded the horses with provisions, the
imaginative Indian saying that this was useless, as the laden animals
could not bring back the gold and silver. Scarcely to his liking, the
romancing Indian was taken with them as a guide.

On for many leagues they went until the Pecos River was crossed and the
great northern plains were reached, they being now in a flat and treeless
country, covered with high grasses and peopled by herds of the great maned
animals which El Turco had described. These strange creatures were seen in
extraordinary numbers, so abundant that one day, when a herd was put to
flight, they fell in such a multitude into a ravine as nearly to fill it
up, so that the remainder of the herd crossed on the dead bodies.

Various tribes of Indians were met, the story they told not at all
agreeing with that of El Turco, who accordingly was now put in chains.
Coronado, not wishing to subject all his companions to suffering, but
eager still to reach the fabled Quivira, at length sent all his followers
back except thirty horsemen and six foot-soldiers, with whom he continued
his journey to the north, the bisons supplying them with abundance of
food.

For six weeks they marched onward, crossing at the end of thirty days a
wide stream, which is thought to have been the Arkansas River, and at last
reached Quivira, which seems to have lain in the present State of Kansas.
A pleasing land it was of hills and dales and fertile meadows, but in
place of El Turco's many-storied stone houses, only rude wigwams were to
be seen, and the civilized people proved to be naked savages. The only
yellow metal seen was a copper plate worn by one of the chiefs and some
bells of the same substance. The utmost Coronado could do was to set up a
cross and claim this wide region in the name of his master; and his chief
satisfaction was in strangling El Turco for his many embellished lies.

We shall not describe the return journey, though it was not lacking in
interesting incidents. Finally, having lost many of their horses, being
harassed by the Indians, and suffering from want of provisions, the
way-worn army reached known soil in the valley of Culiacan. Here all
discipline was at an end, and the disorganized army straggled for leagues
down the valley, all Coronado's entreaties failing to restore any order to
the ranks.

At length the sorely disappointed commander presented himself before the
viceroy Mendoza, with scarcely a hundred ragged followers who alone
remained with him of the splendid cavalcade with which he had set out.

Thus ends the story of the last of the conquistadores, who had found only
villages of barbarians and tribes of half-naked savages, and returned
empty-handed from his long chase after the Will-o' the-wisp of Quivira and
its fleeting treasures. Little did he dream that Quivira would yet become
the central region of one of the greatest civilized nations of the world,
and rich in productions beyond his most avaricious vision.





THE FAITHFUL MIRANDA AND THE LOVERS OF ARGENTINA.


The early history of America has few romantic tales of love and devotion,
but there is one woven in with the history of the settlement of Buenos
Ayres, the modern Argentina, which is told by all the historians of the
time, and which exists as the one striking love romance of the Spanish
conquest. It has been doubted, it is true, but it will not to do to
dismiss all the chivalrous tales of the past on the plea that historical
critics have questioned them.

It may not be generally known to our readers that the man who explored and
took possession of the great rivers of Buenos Ayres for Spain was
Sebastian Cabot, he who, many years before, had with his father discovered
North America in the service of England. It was in the year 1526 that he
sailed up the noble river which he named the Rio de la Plata, a name
suggested by the bars of silver which he obtained from the Indians on its
banks. Sailing some hundred miles up the Paraguay River, he built at the
mouth of the river Zarcaranna a stronghold which he named the Fort of the
Holy Ghost. Some three years later Cabot set sail for Spain, leaving Nuno
de Lara as commander of this fort, with a garrison of one hundred and
twenty men.

These historical details are important, as a necessary setting for the
love-romance which followed the founding of this fort. Lara, being left
with his handful of men as the only whites in a vast territory peopled
with Indians, felt strongly that in his situation prudence was the better
part of valor, and strove to cultivate friendly relations with the nearest
and most powerful of these tribes, the Timbuez. His success in this
brought about, in an unexpected manner, his death and the loss of the
fort, with other evils in their train.

                 [Illustration: COFFEE PLANT IN BLOSSOM.]

                         COFFEE PLANT IN BLOSSOM.


The tragedy came on in this way: Sebastian Hurtado, one of Lara's
principal officers, had brought with him his wife, Lucia Miranda, a
Spanish lady of much beauty and purity of soul. During the frequent visits
which Mangora, the cacique of the Timbuez, paid to the fort, he saw this
lady and became enamoured of her charms, so deeply that he could not
conceal the evidence of his love.

Miranda was not long in observing the ardent looks of the Indian chief and
in understanding their significance, and the discovery filled her with
dread and alarm. Knowing how important it was for the commandant to keep
on good terms with this powerful chief, and fearing that she might be
sacrificed to this policy, she did her utmost to keep out of his sight,
and also to guard against any surprise or violence, not knowing to what
extremes the passion of love might lead an Indian.

Mangora, on his part, laid covert plans to get the fair lady out of the
fort, and with this in view pressed Hurtado to pay him a visit and bring
his wife with him. This the Spaniard was loath to do, for Miranda had told
him of her fears, and he suspected the Indian's design. With a policy
demanded by the situation, he declined the invitations of the chief, on
the plea that a Castilian soldier could not leave his post of duty without
permission from his commander, and that honor forbade him to ask that
permission except to fight his enemies.

The wily chief was not duped by this reply. He saw that Hurtado suspected
his purpose, and the removal of the husband seemed to him a necessary step
for its accomplishment. While seeking to devise a plan for this, he
learned, to his great satisfaction, that Hurtado and another officer, with
fifty soldiers, had left the fort on an expedition to collect provisions,
of which a supply was needed.

Here was the opportunity which the treacherous chief awaited. It not only
removed the husband, but weakened the garrison, the protectors of the wife
in his absence. Late one day the chief placed four thousand armed men in
ambush in a marsh near the fort, and then set out for it with thirty
others, laden with provisions. Reaching the gates, he sent word to Lara
that he had heard of his want of food, and had brought enough to serve him
until the return of Hurtado and his men. This show of friendship greatly
pleased Lara. He met the chief with warm demonstrations of gratitude, and
insisted on entertaining him and his followers.

So far the scheme of the treacherous Indian had been successful. The men
in the marsh had their instructions and patiently awaited the fixed
signals, while the feast in the fort went on till the night was well
advanced. When it broke up the Spaniards were given time to retire; then
the food-bearing Indians set fire to the magazines, and the ambushed
savages, responding to the signal, broke into the fort and ruthlessly cut
down all the Spaniards they met. Those who had gone to bed were killed in
their sleep or slain as they sprang up in alarm. The governor was severely
wounded, but had strength enough to revenge himself on the faithless
Mangora, whom he rushed upon and ran through the body with his sword. In a
moment more he was himself slain.

At the close of the attack, of all the Spaniards in the fort only the
women and children remained alive--spared, no doubt, by order of the chief.
These consisted of the hapless Miranda, the innocent cause of this bloody
catastrophe, four other women, and as many children. The weeping captives
were bound and brought before Siripa, the brother of Mangora, and his
successor as cacique of the tribe.

No sooner had the new chief gazed on the woman whom his brother had loved,
her beauty heightened in his eyes by her grief and woe, than a like
passion was born in his savage soul, and he at once ordered his men to
remove her bonds. He then told her that she must not consider herself a
captive, and solicited her favor with the gentleness and address that love
can implant in the breast of the savage as well as of the son of
civilization. Her husband, he told her, was a forlorn fugitive in the
forests of a hostile country; he was the chief of a powerful nation and
could surround her with luxuries and wealth. Could she hesitate to accept
his love in preference to that of a man who was lost to her.

These persuasions excited only horror and anguish in the soul of the
faithful wife. Her love for her husband was proof against all that Siripa
could say, and also against the fear of slavery or death, which might
follow her rejection of his suit. In fact, death seemed to her a smaller
evil than life as the wife of this savage suitor, and she rejected his
offers with scorn and with a bitter contempt which she hoped would excite
his rage and induce him to put her to instant death.

Her flashing eyes and excited words, however, had a very different effect
from that she intended. They served only to heighten her charms in the
eyes of the cacique, and he became more earnest than ever in his
persuasions. Taking her to his village, he treated her with every mark of
kindness and gentleness, and showed her the utmost respect and civility,
doubtless hoping in this way to win her esteem and raise a feeling in her
breast corresponding to his own.

Meanwhile, Hurtado and his men returned with the provisions they had
collected, and viewed with consternation the ruins of the fort which they
had so lately left. Their position was a desperate one, alone and
undefended as they were, in the midst of treacherous tribes; but the fears
which troubled the minds of his comrades did not affect that of Hurtado.
He learned that his wife was a captive in the hands of the cacique of
Timbuez, and love and indignation in his soul suppressed all other
feelings. With a temerity that seemed the height of imprudence, he sought
alone the village of the chief and demanded the release of his wife.

Siripa heard his request with anger at his presumption and savage joy at
having at his mercy the man who stood between him and the object of his
affections. Determined to remove this obstacle to his suit, he at once
ordered him to be seized, bound to a tree, and pierced with arrows.

This was not unseen by Miranda, and, filled with anguish, she rushed out,
cast herself at the Indian's feet and pitifully pleaded with him for her
husband's life. The force of beauty in grief prevailed. Hurtado was
unbound, but he was still kept in captivity.

Lover as Siripa was, he had all the undisciplined passions of a savage,
and the fate of husband and wife alike was at constant risk in his hands.
Now, tormented with the fury of jealousy, he seemed bent on sacrificing
the husband to his rage. Again, the desire of winning the esteem of
Miranda softened his soul, and he permitted the husband and wife to meet.

As the days of captivity passed the strictness of their detention was
relaxed and they were permitted greater freedom of action. As a result
they met each other more frequently and under less restraint. But this
growing leniency in the cacique had its limits: they might converse, but
they were warned against indulging in any of the fond caresses of love.
Jealousy still burned in his soul, and if Miranda would not become his, he
was resolved that no one else should enjoy the evidence of her affection.

The situation was a painful one. Husband and wife, as Hurtado and Miranda
were, they continued lovers as well, and it was not easy to repress the
feelings that moved them. Prudence bade them avoid any show of love, and
they resolved to obey its dictates; but prudence is weak where love
commands, and in one fatal moment Siripa surprised them clasped in each
other's arms and indulging in the ardent kisses of love.

Filled with wild jealousy at the sight and carried away by ungovernable
fury at their contempt of his authority and their daring disregard of his
feelings, he ordered them both to instant execution. Hurtado's old
sentence was renewed: he was bound to a tree and his body pierced with
arrows. As for Miranda, she was sentenced by the jealous and furious
savage to a more painful death, that of the flames. Yet painful as it was,
the loyal wife doubtless preferred it to yielding to the passion of the
chief, and as a quick means of rejoining in soul life her lover and
husband.

Thus ends the most romantic and tragical story of love and faith that the
early annals of America have to show, and the fate of the faithful Miranda
has become a classic in the love-lore of the America of the south.





LANTARO, THE BOY HERO OF THE ARAUCANIANS.


The river Biobio, in Southern Chili, was for centuries the boundary
between liberty and oppression in South America. South of it lay the land
of the Araucanians, that brave and warlike people who preserved their
independence against the whites, the only Indian nation in America of
which this can be said. Valorous and daring as were the American Indians,
their arms and their arts were those of the savage, and the great
multitude of them were unable to stand before the weapons and the
discipline of their white invaders. But such was not the case with the
valiant Araucanians. From the period of Almagro, the companion of Pizarro
and the first invader of Chili, down to our own days these bold Americans
fought for and retained their independence, holding the Biobio as their
national frontier, and driving army after army from their soil. Not until
1882 did they consent to become citizens of Chili, and then of their own
free will, and they still retain their native habits and their pride in
their pure blood.

The most heroic and intrepid of the Indian races, they defied the armies
of the Incas long before the Spaniards came, and the armies of the
Spaniards for centuries afterwards, and though they have now consented to
become a part of the Chilian nation, this has not been through conquest,
and they are as independent in spirit to-day as in the warlike years of
the past. Their hardy and daring character infects the whole of Chili, and
has given that little republic, drawn out like a long string between the
Andes and the sea, the reputation of being one of the most warlike and
unyielding of countries, while to its people has been applied the
suggestive title of "the Yankees of the South."

It would need a volume to tell the deeds of the heroes who arose in
succession to defend the land of Araucania from the arms of those who so
easily overturned the mighty empire of Peru. We shall, therefore, confine
ourselves to the exploits of one of the earliest of these, a youthful
warrior with a genius for war that might have raised him to the rank of a
great commander had not death early cut short his career. The second
Spaniard who attempted the conquest of this valiant people was Pedro de
Valdivia, the quartermaster of Pizarro, an able soldier, but one of those
who fancied that a handful of Spanish cavaliers were a match for the
strongest of the Indian tribes. He little knew the spirit of the race with
which he would have to deal.

Southward from Peru marched the bold Valdivia with two hundred Spaniards
at his back. With them as aids to conquest was brought a considerable
force of Peruvians; also priests and women, for he proposed to settle and
hold the land as his own after he had conquered it. Six hundred miles
southward he went, fighting the hostile natives at every step, and on the
14th of February, 1541, stopped and laid the foundations of a town which
he named St. Jago. This still stands as the modern Santiago, a city of
three hundred thousand souls.

We do not propose to tell the story of Valdivia's wars with the many
tribes of Chili. He was in that land nine years before his conquests
brought him to the Biobio and the land of the Araucanians, with whom alone
we are concerned. On the coast near the mouth of this river he founded a
new town, which he named Concepcion, and made this the basis of an
invasion of the land of the Araucanians, whom he proposed to subdue.

As it happened, the Araucanian leader at this time was a man with the body
of a giant and the soul of a dwarf. He timidly kept out of the way of the
Spaniards until they had overrun most of the country, built towns and
forts, and had reason to believe that the whole of Chili was theirs.
Valdivia went on founding cities until he had seven in all, and gave
himself the proud title of the Marquis of Arauco, fancying that he was
lord and master of the Araucanians. He was too hasty; Arauco was not yet
his.

A new state of affairs began when the Araucanians, disgusted with the
timid policy of their leader, chose a bolder man, named Caupolican, as
their toqui, or head chief. A daring and able man, the new toqui soon
taught the Spaniards a lesson. He began with an attack on their forts. At
one of these, named Arauco, the invaders had eighty Indians employed in
bringing them forage for their horses. The wily Caupolican replaced these
laborers by eighty of his own warriors, who hid their arms in the bundles
of hay they carried. On reaching the fort they were to attack the guards
and hold the gates till their ambushed comrades could come to their aid.

This device failed, the garrison attacking and driving back the
forage-bearers before Caupolican could reach the place. Foiled in this, he
made a fierce assault upon the fort, but the fire of eighty cannons proved
too much for Indian means of defence, and the assailants were forced to
draw back and convert their assault into a siege. This did not continue
long before the Spaniards found themselves in peril of starvation. Vainly
they sallied out on their assailants, who were not to be driven off; and
finally, hopeless of holding the fort, the beleaguered garrison cut its
way by a sudden night attack through the besieging lines and retired to
the neighboring fort of Puren. A similar result took place at another fort
called Tucapel, its garrison also seeking a refuge at Puren.

When news of these events reached Valdivia, he saw that his conquests were
in peril, and at once set out for the seat of war with all his forces,
amounting to about two hundred Spaniards and four or five thousand
Indians. A small party of cavalry were despatched in advance to
reconnoitre the enemy, but they were all killed by the Araucanians and
their heads were hung on roadside trees as a warning to their approaching
comrades. This gruesome spectacle had much of the effect intended. On
seeing it many of the Spaniards were dismayed and clamored to return. But
Valdivia insisted on advancing, and on the 3d of December, 1553, the two
armies came in sight of each other at Tucapel.

Valdivia soon found that he had no ordinary Indians to deal with. These
were not of the kind that could be dispersed by a squadron of cavalry. A
fierce charge was made on his left wing, which was cut to pieces by the
daring warriors of Caupolican. The right wing was also vigorously
attacked. But the artillery and musketry of the Spaniards were mowing down
the ranks of the Araucanians, whose rude war-clubs and spears were
ill-fitted to cope with those death-dealing weapons. Driven back, and
hundreds of them falling, they returned with heroic courage three times to
the assault. But at length the slaughter became too great to bear and the
warriors were ready to flee in dismay.

At this critical moment the first great hero of the Araucanians appeared.
He was a boy of only sixteen years of age, a mere lad, who some time
before had been captured by Valdivia, baptized, and made his page. But
young as he was, he loved his country ardently and hated the invaders with
a bitter hate, and it was this youthful hero who saved the day for his
countrymen and snatched victory out of defeat.

Leaving the Spanish ranks at the moment the Araucanians were shrinking in
dismay, he rushed into their ranks, called loudly on them to turn, accused
them of cowardice, and bade them to face their foes like men. Seizing a
lance, he charged alone on the Spaniards, calling on his countrymen to
follow him. Inspired by his example and his cries, the Araucanians charged
with such fury that the ranks of the Spaniards and their allies were
broken, and they were cut down until the whole force was annihilated. It
is said that of the entire expedition only two Indians escaped.

Valdivia, who had retired with his chaplain to pray, on seeing the fortune
of war turning against him, was seized by a party of the victors and
brought before Caupolican. The dismayed captive begged the chief for his
life, promising to leave Chili with all his Spaniards. Seeing Lantaro, his
late page, he asked him to intercede with the chief, and this the generous
boy did. But the Araucanians had little faith in Spanish promises, and an
old warrior who stood near ended the matter by raising his war-club and
dashing out the captive's brains. Thus tragically ended the career of one
of the least cruel of the Spanish conquerors. He paid the penalty of his
disdain of Indian courage.

Lantaro, the boy hero, had the blood of chiefs in his veins, and was
endowed by nature with beauty of person, nobleness of character, and
intrepidity of soul. His people honored him highly in the festival with
which they celebrated their victory, and Caupolican appointed him his
special lieutenant, raising him to a rank in the army nearly equal to his
own.

There was fighting still to be done. The leader of the Spaniards was dead,
but he had left many behind him, and there were still strongholds in the
Indian country held by Spanish arms. On hearing of the terrible disaster
to their cause, the Spaniards hastily evacuated their forts beyond the
Biobio and retired to the towns of Imperial and Valdivia. Here they were
besieged by Caupolican, while Lantaro was given the difficult task of
defending the border-land about the frontier stream. The youthful general
at once fortified himself on the steep mount of Mariguenu, a fort made
very strong by nature.

Meanwhile, the two Indians who had escaped from Tucapel brought the news
of the disaster to Concepcion, filling the minds of the people with
terror. The tidings of an attack on a party of fourteen horsemen, of whom
seven were slain, added to the dismay. The fact that they were now dealing
with a foe to whom artillery and cavalry had lost their terrors was not
reassuring to the invaders of the land. Evidently their position was
hazardous; they must fight to win or retreat.

Villagrau, who was chosen to succeed Valdivia, decided to fight. With a
small army of Spaniards and a strong body of Indians he crossed the Biobio
and marched upon Lantaro and his men, ascending Mount Mariguenu to attack
the stronghold on its top.

Boy as Lantaro was, he showed the skill of an old soldier in dealing with
his well-armed foe. While the Spaniards were toiling up a narrow pass of
the mountain a strong force of Araucanians fell upon them, and for three
hours gave them as sharp a fight as they had yet encountered. Then the
Indians withdrew to the strong palisade, behind which Lantaro awaited the
foe.

Up the side of the steep mountain rode a party of Spanish horsemen, with
the purpose of forcing a passage, but near the summit they were met with
such a storm of arrows and other missiles that it became necessary to
support them with infantry and artillery. Lantaro, vigilant in the
defence, endeavored to surround the Spaniards with a body of his warriors,
but the success of this stratagem was prevented by the advance of
Villagrau to their support. The battle now grew hot, the artillery in
particular sweeping down the ranks of the Indians.

At this critical juncture Lantaro showed that he was a born captain.
Calling to him one of his officers, named Leucoton, he said, "You see
those thunder-tubes. It is from them our trouble comes. There is your
work. Do not dare show your face to me until you have made them your own."

Leucoton at once rushed forward with his company and fell in fury upon the
battery, driving back the gunners and capturing their cannon. This
successful charge was followed by Lantaro with a fierce attack on the
Spanish front, which broke their ranks, throwing them into confusion and
putting them to flight. The defeat was ruinous, three thousand of the
Spaniards and their allies being slain, while Villagrau was saved with
difficulty and at the risk of their lives by three of his men, who picked
him up where he lay wounded and carried him off on his horse.

In their flight the Spaniards had to traverse again the defile by which
they had ascended. Lantaro had sent men to obstruct it by felled trees,
and the few remaining Spaniards had a severe fight before they could
escape. The Araucanians pursued them to the Biobio, fatigue preventing
their following beyond that stream. The fugitives continued their flight
until Concepcion was reached, and here the old men and women were speedily
sent north in ships, while the other inhabitants fled from the city in a
panic, and started for Santiago by land. All their property was left, and
the victors found a rich prize when they entered the city. Lantaro, after
destroying the place, returned home, to be greeted with the acclamations
of his people.

We must deal more rapidly with the remaining events of the boy hero's
career. Some time after this defeat the Spaniards attempted to rebuild
Concepcion, but while thus employed they were attacked and defeated by
Lantaro, who pursued them through the open gates of their fortress and
took possession of the stronghold, the people again fleeing to the woods
and the ships in the harbor. Once more burning the city, Lantaro withdrew
in triumph.

The "Chilian Hannibal," as Lantaro has been with much justice called, now
advanced against Santiago with six hundred picked men, as an aid to
Caupolican in his siege of Imperial and Valdivia. Reaching the country of
the Indian allies of the Spanish, the youthful general laid it waste. He
then fortified himself on the banks of the Rio Claro and sent out spies
into the country of the enemy. At the same time a body of Spanish horsemen
were sent from the city to reconnoitre the position of their enemies, but
they were met and driven back in dismay, being severely handled by the
Araucanians. The news of their repulse filled the people of Santiago with
consternation.

Villagrau being ill, he despatched his son Pedro against Lantaro, and
ordered the roads leading to the city to be fortified. Young Pedro proved
no match for his still younger but much shrewder opponent. When the
Spaniards attacked him, Lantaro withdrew as if in a panic, the Spaniards
following tumultuously into the fortifications. Once inside, the Indians
turned on them and cut them down so furiously that none but the horsemen
escaped.

Three times Pedro attacked Lantaro, but each time was repulsed. The young
Spanish leader then withdrew into a meadow, while Lantaro encamped on a
neighboring hill, with the design in mind of turning the waters of a
mountain stream on Pedro's camp. Fortunately for the latter, a spy
informed him of the purpose to drown him out, and he hastily retired to
Santiago.

Villagrau had now got well again, and relieved his son of the task which
had proved too much for him. At the head of a strong force, he took a
secret route by the sea-shore, with the purpose of surprising the
Araucanian camp. At daybreak the cries of his sentinels aroused Lantaro to
the impending danger, and he sprang up and hurried to the side of his
works to observe the coming enemy. He had hardly reached there when an
arrow from the bow of one of the Spanish allies pierced him with a mortal
wound, and the gallant boy leader fell dead in the arms of his followers.

A fierce combat followed, the works being stormed and the fight not ending
till none of the Araucanians remained alive. The Spaniards then withdrew
to Santiago, where for three days they celebrated the death of their foe;
while his countrymen, dismayed by his fall, at once abandoned the siege of
the invested cities and returned home.

A remarkable career was that of this young captain, begun at sixteen and
ending at nineteen. History presents no rival to his precocious military
genius, though in the centuries of war for independence in his country
many older heroes of equal fame and daring arose for the defence of their
native land against the Spanish foe.





DRAKE, THE SEA-KING, AND THE SPANISH TREASURE-SHIPS.


At the end of October, 1578, Sir Francis Drake, the Sea-King of Devon, as
he was called, and the most daring and persistent of the enemies of the
Spanish settlements in America, sailed from Cape Horn, at the southern
extremity of the continent, and steered northward into the great Pacific,
with the golden realm of Peru for his goal. A year before he had left the
harbor of Plymouth, England, with a fleet of five well-armed ships. But
these had been lost or left behind until only the "Golden Hind," a ship of
one hundred tons burden, was left, the flag-ship of the little squadron.
Of the one hundred and sixty men with whom he started only about sixty
remained.

The bold Drake had previously made himself terrible to the Spaniards of
Mexico and the West Indies, and had won treasure within sight of the walls
of Panama. Now for the first time the foot of a white man trod the barren
rocks of Cape Horn and the keel of an English ship cut the Pacific waves.
Here were treasure-laden Spanish galleons to take and rich Spanish cities
to raid, and the hearts of the adventurers were full of hope of a golden
harvest as they sailed north into that unknown sea.

Onward they sailed, nearing the scene of the famous adventures of Pizarro,
and about the 1st of December entered a harbor on the coast of Chili.
Before them, at no great distance, lay sloping hills on which sheep and
cattle were grazing and corn and potatoes growing. They landed to meet the
natives, who came to the shore and seemed delighted with the presents
which were given them. But soon afterwards Drake and a boatload of his
men, who had gone on shore to procure fresh water, were fiercely attacked
by ambushed Indians, and every man on board was wounded before they could
pull away. Even some of their oars were snatched from them by the Indians,
and Drake was wounded by an arrow in the cheek and struck by a stone on
the side of his face.

                [Illustration: THE HARBOR OF VALPARAISO.]

                        THE HARBOR OF VALPARAISO.


Furious at this unprovoked assault, the crew wished to attack the hostile
natives, but Drake refused to do so.

"No doubt the poor fellows take us for Spaniards," he said; "and we cannot
blame them for attacking any man from Spain."

Some days later a native fisherman was captured and brought on board the
ship. He was in a terrible fright, but was reassured when he learned that
his captors were not Spaniards, but belonged to a nation whose people did
not love Spain. He was highly pleased with a chopping-knife and a piece of
linen cloth that were given him, and was sent ashore, promising to induce
his people to sell some provisions to the ship's crew. He kept his word,
and a good supply of fowls and eggs and a fat hog were obtained.

With the boat came off an Indian chief, glad to see any white men who
hated the Spaniards as deeply as he did himself. He was well received and
served to the best the ship could afford. Then he said to his entertainer
in Spanish, a language he spoke fairly well,--

"If you are at war with the Spaniards, I will be glad to go with you, and
think I can be of much use to you. The city of Valparaiso lies not far
south of here, and in its harbor is a large galleon, nearly ready to sail
with a rich treasure. We should all like much to have you capture that
vessel."

This was good news to Drake. The next day the "Golden Hind" turned its
prow down the coast under full sail, with the friendly native on board.
When Valparaiso was reached, Drake saw to his delight that his dusky pilot
had told the truth. There lay a great galleon, flying a Spanish flag. Not
dreaming of an enemy in those waters, the Spaniards were unsuspicious
until the "Golden Hind" had been laid alongside and its armed crew were
clambering over the bulwarks. The rich prize was captured almost without a
blow.

The crew secured, Drake searched for the expected treasure, and to his joy
found that she was laden with over one hundred and twenty thousand dollars
in gold coin, and with other costly goods, including about two thousand
jars of Chili wine. This rich plunder was transferred to the hold of the
"Golden Hind," and the Spanish ship left to her disconsolate captain and
crew.

After celebrating this victory with a gleeful feast, in which the rich
viands obtained were washed down freely with the captured wine, an armed
force was sent ashore to raid the town, whose people fled hurriedly to the
fields when they saw the hostile strangers approaching. In the deserted
houses and the church a fair supply of gold and silver spoil was found,
and what was equally welcome, an abundant addition to their scanty store
of provisions. Greatly the richer for her raid, the "Golden Hind" set sail
again up the coast, putting the native pilot ashore at the place where he
wished to land, and enriching him in a way that drew from him eager
protestations of joy and gratitude.

Good and bad fortune attended the adventurers in this voyage up the South
American coast. One of the examples of good fortune came at a place called
Tarapaza, where a boatload of men, who had gone ashore, came upon a
Spaniard lying fast asleep on the bank of a small stream. By his side, to
their surprise, were thirteen heavy bars of solid silver. The sleepy
treasure-bearer and his silver were speedily secured. Farther inland the
party met with another Spaniard and an Indian boy, who were driving some
sheep, with bulging bags upon their backs. On opening those they were
found also to contain silver bars. It was a joyous party that returned to
the "Golden Hind" with the treasure thus unexpectedly obtained, and it
began to look almost as if the country grew silver.

The next raid of the adventurers was at a place called Arica, a small
seaport town at the output of a beautiful and fertile valley. Here lay two
or three Spanish vessels which were quickly captured and searched for
goods of value. The town was not taken, for a native whom Drake met here
told him of a Spanish galleon, heavily laden with a valuable cargo, which
had recently passed up the coast. Here was better hope for spoil than in a
small coastwise town, and the "Golden Hind" was speedily under sail again.

"A great galleon is ahead of us," said Drake to his men. "I am told she is
richly laden. The first man of you who sets eyes on her will win my hearty
thanks and a heavy gold chain into the bargain."

It may well be imagined that the eyes of the sailors were kept wide open
in the days that followed. The man to win the golden chain was John Drake,
the admiral's brother, who rushed to him one morning, as he came on deck,
with the glad tidings,--

"Yonder is the galleon!"

He pointed to the far northern horizon, where the sails of a great ship
were just becoming visible through the morning haze. "Make all sail!" was
the cry, and the English cruiser glided swiftly forward before the fresh
breeze towards the slow-moving Spanish ship.

Not dreaming of such an unlikely thing as an English ship in those waters,
as yet never broken except by a Spanish keel, the captain of the galleon
took the stranger for a craft of his own nation, and shortened sail as the
"Golden Hind" came up, signalling for its officers to come on board. Drake
did so, with a strong body of armed sailors, and when the Spanish captain
learned his mistake it was too late to resist. The crew of the galleon
were put under hatches, and her cargo, which proved to be rich in gold and
silver, was quickly transferred to the "Golden Hind." Then captain and
crew of the galleon were put ashore, and the captured ship was set adrift,
to try her chances without pilot or helmsman in those perilous seas. The
next storm probably made her a grave in the breakers.

Great had been the spoil gathered by the English rovers, a rich wealth of
treasure being within the coffers of the "Golden Hind," while she was
abundantly supplied with provisions. Drake now thought of returning home
with the riches he had won for himself and his comrades. But the port of
Lima, Pizarro's capital, lay not far up the coast, and here he hoped for a
rich addition to his spoil. Though satisfied that a messenger had been
sent from Valparaiso to warn the people of the presence of an armed
English ship on the coast, he had no doubt of reaching Lima in advance of
news brought overland.

On reaching the port of Lima a number of Spanish vessels were found, and,
their captains being unsuspicious, were easily taken. But they contained
no cargoes worth the capture. Lima lay several miles inland from the port,
and the governor, on hearing of these depredations, imagined that the
stranger must be a Spanish vessel that had fallen into the hands of
pirates and was on a freebooting cruise. While he was making preparations
for her capture the messenger from Valparaiso arrived and told him the
real character of the unwelcome visitor.

This news spurred the governor to increased exertions. An armed English
war-ship on their coast was a foe more to be dreaded than a pirate, and
the wealth it had taken at Valparaiso was amply worth recapture. With all
haste the governor got together a force of two thousand men, horse and
foot, and at their head hurried to the port. There in the offing was the
dangerous rover, lying motionless in a calm, and offering a promising
chance for capture.

Hastily getting ready two Spanish ships and manning them heavily from his
forces, he sent them out, favored by a land-breeze which had not reached
Drake's sails. But before they had gone far the "Golden Hind" felt the
welcome wind and was soon gliding through the water. With his small force
it was hopeless for the English captain to face the strongly armed
Spaniards, and his only hope for safety lay in flight.

The pursuit went on hour after hour, the Spaniards at times coming near
enough to reach the "Golden Hind" with their shots. As the wind varied in
strength, now the chase, now the pursuers, gained in speed. The Spanish
ships proved fair sailers and might in the end have overhauled the
Englishman but for a precaution the governor had neglected in his haste.
Expecting to capture the English ship in a short run, he had not thought
of provisioning his vessels, and as the chase went on their small food
supply gave out and the soldiers were nearly famished. In the end the
governor, who was on board, was reluctantly forced to order a return to
port.

Yet he did not give up hope of capturing the English rovers. On reaching
Lima he sent out three more ships, this time fully provisioned. But Drake
and his men had won too good a start to be overtaken, and the new pursuers
never came within sight of him.

Homeward bound with an abundant treasure, the rovers pressed merrily on.
To return by the Straits of Magellan seemed too risky a venture with the
Spaniards keenly on the alert, and the adventurous Englishman decided to
sail north, expecting to be able to find a passage through the seas north
of the American continent. The icy and impassable character of these seas
was at that early date quite unknown.

Onward through the Spanish waters they went, taking new prizes and adding
to their store of treasure as they advanced. The coastwise towns were also
visited and booty obtained from them. At length the South American
continent was left behind and the "Golden Hind" was off the coast of
Central America. About mid April they left the shore and stood out to sea,
at last bound definitely for home.

Drake fancied that the Pacific coast stretched due northward to the limit
of the continent, where he hoped to find an easy passage back to the
Atlantic, but after more than five weeks of a north-westward course,
gradually verging to due north, he was surprised to see land again to his
right. At first taking it for a large island, he soon learned that he had
met the continent again and that America here stretched to the northwest.

He was off the coast of the country now called California, in a new region
which English eyes had never seen, though Spaniards had been there before.
The land seemed well peopled with Indians, very different in character and
degree of civilization from those of Peru. They were simple-minded
savages, but very friendly; fortunately so, since, as they lay in harbor,
the ship sprang a leak, and it became necessary to take measures to repair
the damage.

The ship was anchored in shallow water near the shore, her cargo and
provisions were landed and stored, and steps taken to make the necessary
repairs. While this was going on the mariners were visited by the savages
in large numbers, occasionally with what were thought to be signs of
hostility. But their friendliness never ceased, and when at length their
visitors, with whom they had established very amicable relations, were
ready to depart they manifested the greatest grief, moaning, wringing
their hands, and shedding tears.

The harbor of the "Golden Hind" was in or near what is now called the
Golden Gate, the entrance to the magnificent bay of San Francisco. On the
23d of July, 1579, the ship weighed anchor and sailed out of the harbor.
On the hill-side in the rear was gathered a large body of Indians, some of
them fantastically attired in skins and adorned with feathers, others
naked but for the painted designs which covered their bodies. They built
bonfires in all directions in token of farewell, and Drake and his
officers stood on deck, waving their hats to their new-made friends.
Slowly the hill with its fires of friendship disappeared from view, and
they were on the open ocean again.

From this point the ship sailed northward, skirting the coast. But the
farther they went the colder the weather became, until it grew so bleak
that it was deemed necessary to give up the hope of reaching home by the
northern route. Yet to return by the way they had come would be very
dangerous with their small force, as the Spaniards would probably be
keenly on the lookout for them. Only one course remained, which was to
follow the route taken by Magellan, sixty years before, across the vast
Pacific, through the islands of Asia, and around the Cape of Good Hope.
Drake had with him the narratives and copies of the charts of the first
circumnavigator of the globe, and it struck him that it would be a great
and glorious thing to take the "Golden Hind" around the earth, and win him
the credit of being the first Englishman to accomplish this wonderful
task.

The prow of the "Golden Hind" was thereupon turned to the west. Quick and
prosperous was the voyage, the sea being almost free from storms, and
after sixty-eight days in which land had not been seen a green shore came
in view. It was the last day of September, 1579.

The voyagers had many interesting experiences in the eastern archipelago,
but no mishaps except that the ship grounded on a rocky shoal near one of
the islands. Fortunately there was no leak, and after throwing overboard
eight of their cannon, three tons of cloves they had gathered in their
voyage through the isles of spices, and many bags of meal, the "Golden
Hind" was got afloat again, none the worse for her dangerous misadventure.

Stocking their vessel once more with spices and sago at the island of
Booten, and meeting with a hospitable reception at the large island of
Java, they sailed to the south, doubling the stormy Cape of Good Hope
without mishap and entering the Atlantic again. Finally, on the 26th of
September, 1580, the "Golden Hind" dropped anchor in Plymouth harbor, from
which she had sailed nearly three years before, and with wealth enough to
make all on board rich.

Never had England been more full of joy and pride than when the news of
the wonderful voyage of the "Golden Hind" round the world was received and
its strange adventures told. Queen Elizabeth was glad to make a knight of
the bold sea-rover, changing his name from plain Francis Drake to Sir
Francis Drake, and the people looked on him as their greatest hero of the
sea. In our days acts like his would have been called piracy, for England
was not at war with Spain. But Drake was made a hero all the same, and in
the war that soon after began he did noble work in the great sea fight
with the Spanish Armada.





SIR WALTER RALEIGH AND THE QUEST FOR EL DORADO.


Gold was the beacon that lured the Spaniards to America, and dazzling
stories were told by them of the riches of the countries they explored,
stories illustrated by the marvellous wealth of Peru. It was well known
that Cortez had not obtained all the treasures of Montezuma, or Pizarro
all those of Atahualpa, and many believed that these treasures had been
carried far away by the servants of those unhappy monarchs. Guiana, the
northeastern section of South America, was looked upon by the Spanish
adventurers as the hiding-place of this fabulous wealth. Others fancied
that Guiana was the true El Dorado in itself, a land marvellously rich in
gold, silver, and precious stones. Gonzalo Pizarro, in his expedition in
1540, had heard much from the Indians of this land of wealth, and Orellana
brought back from his famous descent of the Amazon marvellous stories of
the riches in gold, silver, and precious stones of the land of the north.

These stories, once set afloat, grew in wonder and magnitude through pure
love of the marvellous or wild expansion of the fanciful tales of the
Indians. Far inland, built on a lofty hill, so the fable ran, was a mighty
city, whose very street watering-troughs were made of solid gold and
silver, while "billets of gold lay about in heaps, as if they were logs of
wood marked out to burn."

In this imperial city dwelt in marvellous magnificence a mighty king. The
legend went that it was a habit of his to cover his body with turpentine
and then roll in gold-dust till he gleamed like a veritable golden image.
Then, entering his barge of state, with a retinue of nobles whose dresses
glittered with gems, they would sail around a beautiful lake, ending their
tour by a bath in the cooling waters.

Where was this city? Who had seen its gold-emblazoned king? Certainly none
of those who went in search of it or its monarch. Of the Spanish
adventurers who sought for that land of treasure, the most persistent was
a bold explorer named Berreo, who landed in New Granada, and set out
thence with a large body of followers--seven hundred horsemen, the story
goes. His route lay along the river Negro, and then down the broad
Orinoco. Boats were built for the descent of this great stream. But the
route was difficult and exhausting and the natives usually hostile, and as
they went on many of the men and horses died or were slain.

For more than a year these sturdy explorers pushed on, reaching a point
from which, if they could believe the natives, the city they sought was
not far away, and Guiana and its riches were near at hand. As evidence,
the Indians had treasure of their own to show, and gave Berreo "ten images
of fine gold, which were so curiously wrought, as he had not seen the like
in Italy, Spain, or the Low Countries." But as they went on the gallant
seven hundred became reduced to a weary fraction, and these so eager to
return home that their leader was forced to give up the quest. He sought
the island of Trinidad, near the coast of South America, and there, as
governor, he dwelt for years, keeping alive in his soul the dream of some
day going again in search of El Dorado.

While Berreo was thus engaged, there dwelt in England a man of romantic
and adventurous nature named Walter Raleigh. He became afterwards famous
as Sir Walter Raleigh, and for many years devoted himself to the attempt
to plant an English colony on the coast of North America. On this project
he spent much time and money, but ill-fortune haunted him and all his
colonies failed. Then he concluded to cross the ocean himself and restore
his wasted wealth by preying on the Spanish treasure-ships, after the
fashion of the bold Sir Francis Drake. But Queen Elizabeth put an end to
this project by clapping him in prison, on a matter of royal jealousy.
While one of the queen's lovers, he had dared to marry another woman.

While Raleigh lay in prison, some of the ships of the fleet he had fitted
out came back with a Spanish galleon they had taken, so richly laden with
costly goods that the whole court was filled with delight. Part of the
spoils went to the queen and another part to Raleigh, and when at length
he was released from his prison-cell his mind was set on winning more of
the American gold. The stories of El Dorado and its marvellous city were
then in great vogue, for Berreo had but lately returned from his
expedition--with no gold, indeed, but with new tales of marvel he had
gathered from the Indians.

It was now the year 1594. Raleigh was but forty-two years of age, in the
prime of life and full of activity and energy. His romantic turn of mind
led him to a full belief in the stories that floated about, and he grew
eager to attempt the brilliant and alluring adventure which Berreo had
failed to accomplish. Though the Spaniard had failed, he had opened up
what might prove the track to success. Raleigh had sent various
expeditions to the New World, but had never crossed the ocean himself. He
now decided to seek Guiana and its fairyland of gold.

A small vessel was sent in advance, under command of Raleigh's friend,
Jacob Whiddon, to feel the way and explore the mouth of the Orinoco, which
was deemed to be the gateway to the golden realm. Whiddon stopped at
Trinidad, and found Berreo, then its governor, very kindly and cordial.
But, on one pretext or another, the treacherous Spaniard had the English
sailors arrested and put in prison, until Whiddon found his crew so small
that he was obliged to go back to England without seeing the Orinoco.

Whiddon's report made Raleigh more eager than ever. He believed that
Berreo was getting ready to go back to Guiana himself, and was seeking to
rid himself of rivals. He hastened his preparations accordingly, and in
February, 1595, set sail from Plymouth with a fleet of five well-supplied
vessels, taking with him about one hundred gentlemen adventurers in
addition to the crews. A number of small and light boats were also taken
for use on the rivers of Guiana. Many of their friends came to see the
voyagers off, flags floated on all the vessels in the harbor, and Raleigh
and his companions, dressed in their best array, stood on the decks, as,
with set sails and flying pennons, the stout ships moved slowly away on
their voyage of chance and hope.

Raleigh followed the example of the sea-rovers of his day, committing what
would now be called piracy on the high seas. Not long had the fleet left
the Canary Islands before a Spanish ship was seen and captured. It was
quickly emptied of its cargo,--a welcome one, as it consisted of fire-arms.
Very soon after a second ship was captured. This was a Flemish vessel,
laden with wines. These were taken also, twenty hogsheads of them. About
two months out from Plymouth the hills of Trinidad were sighted, and
Raleigh's eyes rested for the first time on the shores of that New World
in which he had so long taken a warm interest.

Governor Berreo tried to treat Raleigh as he had done his agent,
forbidding any of the Indians to go on his ships on peril of death. But
they went on board, for all that, and were delighted with the kind
treatment they received. They told Raleigh that several of their chiefs
had been seized and imprisoned in the town of St. Joseph, and begged him
to rescue them. No Englishman of that day hesitated when the chance came
to deal the Spaniards a blow, and a vigorous attack was soon made on the
town, it being captured, the chiefs set free, and the governor himself
made a prisoner.

              [Illustration: A TROPICAL BUNGALOW AND PALMS.]

                      A TROPICAL BUNGALOW AND PALMS.


Raleigh, while holding the Spaniard as a captive on his flag-ship, treated
him with every courtesy, and had him to eat at his own table. Here Berreo,
who did not suspect the purpose of the English, talked freely about his
former expedition and gave his captor a good deal of very useful
information. One thing Raleigh learned was that his ships could not be
taken up the Orinoco, on account of the sand-banks at its mouth and its
dangerous channels. He therefore felt it necessary to leave the ships at
Trinidad and cross to the mainland in the boats he had brought with him.

One hundred men were chosen for the journey, the others being left to
guard the fleet. An old galley, a barge, a ship's-boat, and two wherries
carried them, and a young Indian pilot, who claimed to be familiar with
the coast, was taken along. Trinidad lies at no great distance from the
mainland, but stormy weather assailed the voyagers, and they were glad
enough to enter one of the mouths of the river and escape the ocean
billows. But here new troubles surrounded them, the nature of which
Raleigh described later, in his account of the expedition. He wrote:

"If God had not sent us help, we might have wandered a whole year in that
labyrinth of rivers, ere we had found any way. I know all the earth does
not yield the like confluence of streams and branches, the one crossing
the other so many times, and all so fair and large, and so like one
another as no man can tell which to take. And if we went by the sun or
compass, hoping thereby to go directly one way or the other, yet that way
also we were carried in a circle among multitudes of islands. Every island
was so bordered with big trees as no man could see any farther than the
breadth of the river or length of the branch."

The Indian pilot proved to be useless in this medley of water-ways, and
only chance extricated the voyagers from the labyrinth in which they were
involved. This chance was the meeting and capturing a canoe with three
natives, who became friendly when they found they had nothing to fear from
the strange white men. One of them was an old man who knew the river
thoroughly, and whom presents and kind words induced to guide them past
their difficulties.

Resting that night on a little knoll on the wooded banks of the stream,
they were off again early the next morning. The river was still swift and
violent, broken here and there with rapids, where they had to land and
pull the boats. There were shoals also, which they had much trouble in
getting over. And the banks were so crowded with trees and high reeds that
they could not land, and were almost stifled from the closeness of the
air.

After four hard and weary days of this kind they reached a smoother
channel and could proceed more easily. But their work was still far from
easy, for the inflowing tidal waters had left them and they had the swift
current of the river to breast, while the tropic heat grew more oppressive
day by day. It was hard work for the gentlemen rovers in that tropical
climate, where the dense forest growth cut off every breath of air and
their diminishing bread forced them to be put on short allowance. They
began to complain bitterly, and Raleigh had to use all his powers of
persuasion to induce them to go on.

Yet the countr

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