CHAPTER XLIX
MY LADY BIDDY AND I MEET AGAIN, TO OUR JOYFUL CONTENTMENT
About sunset (as the Inga had promised) we came to the place where his tribe were encamped, which was amidst the mountains on the further side of the river, approached by a very intricate winding way, and so encompassed with sharp, high rocks that no man not acquainted with those parts might find his way thither, though he searched a lifetime.
Coming through this tortuous defile to an open space, the Inga, being in advance some paces, suddenly came to a halt, and, turning to me, pointed in silence to a little rising hillock not far distant, where stood my Lady Biddy, shielding her eyes from the rays of the setting sun with her hand, and scanning the valley below.
For a moment my heart stood still, feeling as if it must burst with the great joy that flooded it. I think I must have cried aloud in my gladness (though I know not what I did), for she turned that moment like a startled doe, and came running down the hillock with her hands stretched out. So I flew to her, and we stood clasping each other's hands and gazing into each other's faces, she with a look of gladness in her face, yet a sad reproach in her eyes, as though she would ask me why I had been so long a-coming. But neither of us could say one word; so with a quick impulse, as if our two minds were but one, our silent, trembling lips drew together, and we exchanged the first kiss they had known since we were boy and girl.
This kiss was none but such as a brother and a sister might have shared; 'twas not the passionate overthrow of modesty which covers a maiden's face with blushes, and makes a man's limbs tremble under him; 'twas simply the overflowing of a sweet, innocent affection that can find no other mode of expression. After that kiss we looked in each other's hearts with open, unwinking eyes, and hands still clasped.
"Benet," says she faintly, "how long we have been sundered!"
"Have we?" says I, leading her to a little boulder where there was room for us to sit together.
"Why, an age!" says she, with a return of her usual merry laugh. "Have you not missed me?"
"Now I come to think of it," says I, "there has been trouble in my heart; but my joy is so great to be with you again that the past seems naught but an evil dream. And 'twas no more than a dream, the worst part of it; for one while I imagined you lost beyond recovery, and another while I imagined you dead and eat up by tigers; but this is real, and no idle fancy," holding her sweet fair hand up to look at it and make sure I was not stark mad. "But, Lord," says I, dropping my voice for pity, "'tis much thinner than it was."
"Ay, I shall be a sad old witch to look at ere long," says says she; "'tis well I have no glass to look into."
"Trust me for a faithful mirror," says I, "when I tell you that you never looked so sweet as now."
Indeed, I said no more than the truth, as far as my judgment went in this matter; yet I saw that her face was not so round as of old, and her skin was rarely pale, so that her eyes looked larger, darker, and more lustrous thereby. And thinking how she must have suffered by fright, etc., to have lost flesh and blood in this sort, I was greatly moved with compassion.
"A joyful heart makes a bright face," says she; "but what would it have been like had the Indians come back without you? What would have become of me?"
"Nay," says I, "These Ingas would never have harmed you."
"Is that all?" says she. "Do you think I hold your affection so lightly that I could have lived to forget you?"
Thus might our conversation have run on till she had expressed all that it was in her simple, affectionate heart to say to her kinsman, but that I became silent. For the pressure of her hand and kind looks did stir my smouldering passion and fan it to a flame, so I had much ado to restrain myself from flinging my arms about her waist and drawing her to my breast.
All the love that a warm-souled woman has for a dear brother she wished to bestow on me, but I had more than innocent love in my heart. Still, I had the sense to see that my own happiness, as well as hers, would be blighted if I let my mad desire be known, and I had also the strength to control it (God be praised!). Still, I dared not trust myself too far, and counted it best to let go her hand, and talk of other matters. So getting up, as if I would look about me, I begged her to give me an account of all that had happened to her. Whereupon she rose also, and slipping her hand through my arm walked beside me up and down that pleasant spot, in the waning twilight, telling me of her adventures; how Lewis de Pino had told her I was gone on with the first part of the train, seeming in an ill-humor, which appeared less remarkable to Lady Biddy because I had been particularly dull the day before; how, as they went on and came not up with me, she grew alarmed, yet had no means of discovering whether Lewis de Pino had told the truth or not, and so of force went on, yet with a sinking heart; how, being brought to a stand in that narrow road in the mountain-side by the bridge being gone, they were attacked with arrows from above in such sort that the arquebusiers only succeeded in wounding one of the Ingas, and were themselves shot down one after the other till not a man was left, even to the Indian stripling who served De Pino for a page; how the Indians then coming down from above, she recognized amongst them that poor slave whom she begged De Pino to take from her yoke; and how finally the dead Portugals, being rifled of their arms, were cast down over the precipice, the slaves liberated from their bonds, and they, with my lady (who from first to last had been treated with the utmost respect and courtesy), led back along the mountain-path till they came to a narrow way, by which they descended to the river. Also she told me how with signs she had given the Inga girl to understand her trouble about me, which she (being of a quick wit) readily comprehended, and, bringing forward her husband with further signs, bade her know that I should be sought and brought safely to her, etc. All these particulars agreed so well with what Matthew had suggested, and I have set down, that I need not dwell upon them, but may get on at once with fresh matter.
The light faded away over the western mountains till there was naught but a faint glow beyond the dark peaks, and still we strolled up and down, discoursing to one another of our various fortunes; and so forgetful was I of my late fatigue in the delight of these moments that it did not enter my head for some time that my lady might be weary; but suddenly bethinking myself of my selfish disregard to her comfort I begged to know if she was not weary.
"No," says she gayly; "'tis a relief to talk again, for I was getting heart-sick of silence. But you, Benet? – men do not care to chatter as we women do."
"Nay," says I, "you may be sure that I shall never weary of listening till you weary of talking." And then I ventured to tell her that I counted this the very happiest moment of my life. Upon which she gave my arm a little kindly pressure with her hand, which sent a thrill of inexpossible delight through every nerve of my being.
And so she began to gossip again as merrily as before, which was a great comfort to me, for I could have found never a word to say at this time for the tumult of joy in my heart. I would have lingered there till morning broke, feeling her hand so lightly lying on my arm, and listening to the sweet purling of her gentle voice; but presently spying Matthew, who had drawn up at a respectful distance, and stood there humming and coughing as if he would speak with me, but dared not approach, I bethought me that I had not yet introduced the faithful fellow to Lady Biddy. So I called to him, and when he drew near, scraping and shuffling with his hat in hand, I said:
"This is Lady Biddy Fane, Matthew."
"Your ladyship's humble and obedient servant," says he, with another scrape.
"My cousin has been talking about you, Matthew," says she, offering her hand to him; "and I hope you will forgive me being so tardy in acknowledging my gratitude, for in helping him you have befriended me."
"As for your ladyship's gratitude," says he, "I hope I may yet lay better claim to it; and as for tardy acknowledgment, I count you were better occupied; while as for the rest," adds he, "I wish you joy of your sweetheart."
At these words all the blood rushed into my face, and happy was I there was little light to reveal my confusion to Lady Biddy.
"How?" cries I angrily; "have I ever spoken so disrespectfully of my lady that you should take the liberty to speak of me in this relation?"
"Lord love you, master! no," says he; "but 'twas because you always spoke of her ladyship with such mighty respect that I reckoned she must be something more to you than a cousin. I meant no offence; and, indeed," adds he, with ready wit, "'twould have been but a mean compliment to her ladyship's charms or your understanding if I had set you down for aught but her admirer."
"Ay," says Lady Biddy, laughing, "and so should I." But I observed that she was a little more reserved towards me after this, as if she perceived the imprudence of giving expression to those feelings of simple, innocent affection which I might take for an acknowledgment of warmer sentiment.
CHAPTER L
WE TAKE COUNSEL OF THE INGAS AS TO OUR FUTURE, ETC
Matthew's business was to tell us that the Ingas were waiting to hold council with us. As soon as we heard this we hastened from that pleasant, retired spot where we had been strolling, as I have said, to join them, not without some self-reproach for so slighting those to whom we owed better civility; but, to tell the truth, I had clean forget those good Indians, for where my sweet lady stood was all the world to me, and I was indifferent to all outside it.
Coming beyond those jutting rocks which had screened us from view we perceived the Ingas' camp. They had built a fire upon the further side of a little lake, fed by a stream running from the mountains, in the midst of the hollow, and here sat a score of Indians handling the arquebuses taken from the Portugals, and examining them by the light of the fire. At a little distance a dozen of their women were grouped together on their mats, about a pile of pack-saddles and merchandise. Hard by stood a couple of tents of rush mats, very curiously woven and stained. These objects, lit up by the dancing flames of the fire, with the deep shade of the rocks beyond, were a pleasure to see for all who love pictures of strange things; but that which gave it the finishing touch was an Inga with his spear, who stood on a high rock, keeping guard, and cut the rising moon in two halves with his dark, handsome figure.
When the Indians spied us approaching they rose to their feet, and their captain, coming to meet us with a very noble and courtly carriage, laid his hand on my breast, and I did likewise by him, seeing this was their mode of greeting. Then the Indian woman whose life I had saved came forward and went though the same ceremony; but, this done, she slipped beside my Lady Biddy and began to fondle her hand, stroking it gently, lifting it up to her cheek, etc., which I thought very pretty.
I begged Matthew to make my apologies to the captain for not having paid my respects to him; but this he would not do, telling me these Ingas were a mighty touchy sort of people in trifles, and were as like as not to take an apology as an admission of wrong, and a mean trick of getting cheaply out of a mess one ought never to have got into.
"How'mever," says he, "I have settled that matter by telling him that an Englishman's first duty is to pay his services to the females of his tribe, and, that being done, you are now at liberty to devote all your attention to him."
In this matter it seemed to me Matthew showed more sense than I or many better cultivated men, who never meet without some paltry excuse or other.
The Indians meanwhile led us to the tent, where a supper had been laid out on a mat, and insisted very civilly on our eating before entering upon business: then they withdrew to their place by the fire, where a space was left in their midst for us, every man smoking tobacco, for I believe there is no people in the world so given to the use of this herb.
When we had finished our meal, we escorted Lady Biddy to the second tent, which had been given for her use, Matthew telling us that the Indians never speak of their affairs before the sex. "Though why not," says he, "I can not say, except it be that their females are given overmuch to talk, which leads to blabbing of secrets."
Lady Biddy retained us a minute at the entrance to her tent to show how Wangapona, her Indian friend, had decked the floor with soft blooms of flowers, and bound knots of bright feathers to the head and foot of the net which served her as a bed; also placing for her use a bowl of fresh water, in which floated certain fruits to give it flavor and sweetness. Then bidding each other farewell, with a fervent wish that we might sleep peacefully, we separated; but she did not again offer to let me kiss her.
Coming to the fire with Matthew, we sat down with the Indians, and accepted of their tobacco-sticks, which they call zigaroes; and now, all smoking like so many chimneys, the chief spoke to the matter in hand, every one listening in solemn silence. And first of all he bade Matthew tell me that every enemy of the Portugals and Spaniards was regarded by them as a friend.
"Ay," says the chief, in his tongue, "we spare the lives of those serpents and jagoaretes that haunt the woods they hunt, and pray to our god, the Sun, not to dry up the festering marshes that poison the air they breathe, but to nourish with his rays all venomous fruits that they may eat, all loathsome reptiles whose fangs and stings may taint their blood, and to give strength to those beasts who tear their flesh and break their bones.
"Our forefathers," he goes on, "were mighty kings, and the meanest of our people lived in palaces, to which the richest abodes of these accursed Portugals are but dens and hovels. Our people spurned under their feet the gold for which our enemies sell their souls. Our men were wise; our women were faithful; our children were obedient: all were happy. Then came this troop of ravening jagoaretes into our slumbering camp. Jagoaretes! Nay, 'tis an insult to the divine Sun to compare the basest beast he has fashioned to a Portugal. The jagoarete kills; he does not yoke our warriors with oxen and scar their backs with whips; he does not put chains upon our hopeful boys and doom them to lifelong pain; he does not force our innocent maids to bear a race of slaves."
"Lord love us, master," says Matthew, after translating this to me, "I hope he isn't going to make a capital offence of this trifle."
"We are unhappy," continues the Inga, sinking his voice to a tone of mournful sadness. "Who can laugh in the still night? The very flowers hang their heads: in the morning you will find tears in their eyes. Our sun has sunk. Will it ever rise again?"
"Ay, that it will, I warrant," says Matthew to him stoutly.
The Indians held up their hands as a warning not to interrupt the chief.
"They are numberless as chesketaws3 on the lagoons; they suck our blood like vampires in the night; we have no arms against them. We are scattered over the land like leaves after a tornado. Thus scattered, what can we do against our clustering enemies? We are hunted into the mountains and the desert; but even there our homes are not safe. The world is too small to give refuge to the Inga. There is no limit to the envious greed of our enemies; no bounds to their cruel spite. They want gold, but they will not buy it of us, for that would give us power and the means to live. They would not have a single Inga free, but all should be their slaves, to wear yokes and chains, and toil for them without hope. Is it all darkness?" says he piteously, looking round him; "is there no hope? Yes," cries he, facing the moon and stretching up his arms; "while the bride smiles, her god lives, and the moon's god is our god – the great father of all."
With this he slowly sank into his place upon the mat, saying never another word; and thus ended his speech, which seemed to me to be very fine for such as he to deliver.
After a few minutes' silence, given in respect to the chief, that his words might be duly digested, another Inga rose and spoke, and his speech was more practical and to the purpose. He said the tribe bore us a great affection, not only because were enemies to the Portugals, but also because in the face of that foe I had dared to strike up the musket leveled at the breast of Wangapona. As our true friends, they were prepared to give more consideration to our wishes than their own, and therefore the first thing they wished to know was in what manner they might serve us.
I told Matthew to ask if they could give us an idea of our position with regard to the sea; upon which the chief, taking a stick of wood, spread out the ashes of the fire in a plain to represent the face of the earth; then, with a handful of ashes, he built up a very fair presentment of the mountains, and after that traced furrows to show the course of rivers. That river we had crossed he called the Attrato, and another still a good distance to the west of the mountains where we lay he called the Cauca, and one yet further west the Magdalena (though he had another name for it), which joins the Cauca at some distance from its disemboguement. He also showed another stream rising from the mountains called the Meta, and this he assured us flowed into the Baraquan or Oronoque, through his knowledge of the country in that part was limited to hearsay.
"Now, Matthew," says I, "what are we to do? Our nearest way to the coast will be to follow the Cauca, and get into the Magdalena, which flows into the sea somewhere about Cartagena."
"Ay," says he, "but we must know if we are likely to flow with it into the hands of the Portugals."
To this question on this subject the Ingas replied that the whole of that coast was overrun with Portugals, who had, besides, several settlements on the Magdalena. They offered to guide us as far as they might go in safety, but could give us no encouragement of escaping our enemies.
"Then," says I, "we must strike out for the Meta, and so get to the Baraquan, where I doubt if any Portugals are to be met with."
The Ingas said they had heard of no enemies save certain tribes of hostile Indians on the Baraquan, and promised to guide us to the Meta, which they counted as three weeks' journey.
"If we take three weeks to get to the embers," says Matthew, regarding the plan of ashes, "Lord only knows when we shall get t'other side of the fire."
While we were discussing this difficulty, the Indians argued upon the possibility of descending the Meta.
"It seems to be a plaguy difficult job, master, even to these fellows, who are used to traveling those parts," says Matthew. "The open country is impassable by reason of the woods; and the river is not much better traveling, by reason of divers cataracts, lakes, and blind inlets, where one may be lost as in a maze, to say nothing of one part where we must go a hundred miles out of our way to avoid a race of hungry cannibals."
"Ask them," says I, "if they can offer any alternative by which we may come to our friends."
Upon this question a great discussion ensued, in which Matthew took part.
"Well, Matthew," says I, growing impatient, "what is it all about?"
"To begin with, master," says he, "when I told them we wished to join our friends, they put the very pertinent question, 'Where are they?' That was a poser. Hows'mever, for the glory of our country, I replied that Englishmen were to be found pretty nearly everywhere, especially where they are not wanted. At present, I told 'em, we were pretty well occupied in sweeping the seas of the Portugals, that we had made a very good beginning, and that when we had finished that business we should undoubtedly step ashore and turn them out of Guiana. But as we did not wish to wait here till then, we should take it as a kindness if they would put us in the way of getting to some part of the coast where there were no Portugals, and we might keep a smart lookout for a passing vessel of our own people."
"Was that the whole subject of discussion?" says I, when he paused.
"No, master. They don't doubt anything I said, and are ready to believe that our ships are as plentiful in the seas as herrings. But herrings are not always to be caught when they are wanted, and the possibility of our having to wait on the shore a week before being picked up by a passing Englishman lays open the difficulty of finding any spot on the coast where we are not likely to be picked up first by a passing Portugal. The west and north coasts are to be put out of the question. The only coast that may be safe is that they know nothing about, to be reached only by the Baraquan, of which they know as little."
"Then all this talk has resulted in nothing?" says I.
"No, master, it has not, but the subject will have to be sifted out by us slowly; and so I will let them know that we will give their proposal the consideration it deserves, and let them know our decision in the morning."
The reply he gave evidently pleased the Ingas, who, bidding us good-night after their fashion, lay down to sleep, while Matthew and I strolled in the moonlight to consider the proposal they had made.