Cortéz - 'For God & Spain.'

by S. Fowler Wright

Please wait large data file loading.

Foreword

      Sydney wrote this 237,500 word tale of the extra-ordinary achievements of Hernándo Cortéz, after visiting Mexico whilst in California (1932) assisting with the filming of his first novel 'Deluge', in 1933 - the final chapter being written in December 1934.

      It is likely that his original interest was awakened by the turn-of-the-century discovery of the Spanish friars' eye witness accounts.

      Of the only known (carbon) copy of the manuscript pages 1-4, 708 and 816 are missing.

      As with the majority of Sydney's writing it was not intended to be commercial. It was written to tell a story that both entertained and made the reader think.

Contents

Chapter

Chapter 1

Fortune's Smile

      ... ...both for distance and storms by the little sailing vessels they were. They took in water. They waited for a friendly wind and a placid sea, that they might, at least, make a fresh start on a lengthy way.

      Quintero thought that, if he could arrive first and alone, there would be a better market for the cargo that bulged his hold. There came a night when he slipped cable, and in the morning his place was bare.

      The comrades he had left smelled the wind: they looked at the sky: they thought their anchorage good. They were soon content to be watching a storm that raged on the outer sea. Quintero struggled back with a broken mast, which was a better fate than they had thought him likely to have. They met him with oaths and gibes, but consented to wait while his ship mended her wounds.

      As they neared the Indies, he tried the same trick again, putting on a press of sail in the night, but the winds were unkind once more. They seemed to keep storms for his special bane. He was buffeted from his course with a perversity of weather the rest of the squadron did not observe, and when he sailed into San Domingo, his comrades had already cleared their cargoes and made their trade, so that he must deal with those whose purses were lean, and their warehouses well-supplied.

      Hernándo may have observed again that Fortune will refuse a too-impatient attack. She is best wooed by those who are alert to watch for her smile. But, beyond that, Quintero's doings were nothing to him. He sought Ovando, Governor here, and with powers of which a king may come short, his royal master being so remote, and with brief leisure for thoughts of his Indian realm, so long as the treasure-galleons it sent home were frequent and richly filled.

      Ovando had been absent in a distant part of the island when Hernándo arrived, but his secretary was kind, and when he returned he received his young kinsman in a liberal way, giving him a wide grant of land, and solid advice therewith, which was accepted with some demur.

      The young Cortéz had come with dreams of golden fortunes that could be won by the sword's device, in strange and difficult lands. He found strangeness enough; but he was pointed to fruitful ground, and told that it was there that his fortune lay, where rents were none, and Indian labour forced, and needed no gold to pay. The Governor gave him slaves (as they were in all but name) - sufficient to work his land; he made him Notary also for the Acua district, in recognition of the slender legal education that he could claim, which may have been more than could be shown by any other of the adventurers among whom Ovando must make his choice.

      Hernándo accepted legal office, land and advice, in his smiling way, waiting his chance of a more spirited life, and quickly finding that that to which he had come would be better than dull.

      Ovando had a lieutenant, Diego Velásquez, whose part it was to keep order in the land where the Indians, though of an indolent docile kind, had not yet learned that insurrection was no more than a futile invitation to their new masters to scourge them with heavier whips. Cortéz joined his expeditions. He gained knowledge of the conditions of Indian warfare, and confidence in the powers of Spanish weapons and tactics to overcome far more numerous native foes. Confidence in himself he could not gain, for that he had never lacked. He would have joined Nicuessa's disastrous expedition, which would have been his probable end, had not Fortune smiled upon him with an illness for which he must have given belated thanks, when he saw what it had caused him to miss.

      But when he had been eight or nine years in Hispaniola, Velásquez was appointed to command an expedition for the conquest of the neighbouring island of Cuba, and Cortéz had been quick to leave his plantation to join in that successful adventure. That was a year ago. Cortéz, at this time, was known as a man of a ready sword and a ready jest, whose constitution had proved equal to endure a climate where many died, and who had worked his plantations with judgement and energy sufficient to fill his pockets with easy gold. In the conquest of Cuba, he had been popular with the troops and approved by Velásquez, to whom he gave valiant aid. When it had been brought to subjection, and Velásquez was appointed its governor, Cortéz may have considered the secretaryship which came to himself to have been no more than his deeds deserved.

      Don Diego was a man who had come to his present power without adversity's test. He had been born to wealth, and to a high name in his own land. He had served in the European wars for nearly twenty years in posts of some importance, if not separate command, and had avoided discredit, though he had not established a shining fame.

      He had seemed a safe choice for Ovando's lieutenant, and had proved equal to the task of reducing the natives of Hispaniola to the docile labour their new rulers required. He had seemed a safe choice again as a commander of the Cuban expedition, and for its subsequent government. It was the constant difficulty of this expansion of Spanish power in a distant world that men must be found of a temper and ability that hardy ventures required, and who could yet be trusted to continue an allegiance at a later time when subordination might become hard to enforce.

      Diego Velásquez had been successful in Hispaniola and Cuba, in such wars (if they can be dignified with that word) as had been easy to win. As a governor, he had not been tested at all. He proved to be of a restlessly suspicious temperament, cautious to hesitation in all he did, not remarkable for sound judgement of others, nor oversure of himself; yet with a vanity which much extolled the importance of the position which he had gained, and his services to the Spanish Crown.

      He was reputed to be avaricious, which was not a failing to make him conspicuous among those who crowded to plunder a golden world, unless it were a vice of robust growth. It is certain that he was soon surrounded by the discontent of those to whom he had become the patron by which they lived, being the power that could allot land and apportion slaves; and it is equally sure that these men were of a most lively greed, which it would not be easy for him to sate.

      He had for lieutenant a Spanish hidalgo, Narvaez, who was no more capable than himself, or perhaps less, but with a more buoyant self-belief, which was to end in shame on a later day. Narvaez may have thought the easy subjugation of Cuba to be a greater deed than it was, and exalted himself as the active instrument of the event. But, in fact, there had been no stubbornness of resistance from men who had neither love for war nor practise in its pursuit; except only from a chief, Hatua by name, who had fled from Hispaniola before rather than bend his neck to a foreign yoke. He fought hard, and, being captured at last, Velásquez condemned him to be burned alive for the 'rebellion' of resisting the Christian power. If we call him cruel for that, which is a moderate word, we must still observe that it was no more than would have been done by most of his time and race who were of the disposition to come to places and power; and few excepting some of the priests, would have called it an evil deed. The priests were earnest to save Hatua's soul, beside which, as they were firm in belief, his body's fate was a trifling chance; but he said that if Heaven were a place to which Spaniards went, he would prefer to set off on another road.

      Cortéz looked on, seeing him burn, and if the smile left his eyes, he did not protest. He may have done more than Narvaez to bring Hatua to the stake, and Cuba to the possession of Spain, but, unlike him, he did not think them to be very noble deeds.

      That was a year ago, and Velásquez had been his friend for some further months, which would be too much to say now. The governor had come to look on him with suspicious eyes, as one who was too disposed to take the part of the malcontents in a jesting way; and now there was a difference of a more personal kind.

      Hernándo Cortéz stood in a frowning doubt on the steps on the flower-clad porch of the house he had built, but three months before, to overlook the wide grant of fertile land that was now his for his slaves to till; and as he did so, Juan Xuarez rode up, and alighted before the door.

Chapter 2

Mistress Or Wife?

      Juan Xuarez deserves such pity as is due to a weak man who is thrust by the malice of events into a position calling for strength which is not his. Yet we must allow that it was by his own will that he came to Cuba from his Granada home, unless we say that his four sisters were not merely of the same mind, but controlled him wholly in that.

      Being there, with them on his hands, it was an easy guess that there would be trouble for him. The girls were beautiful in the Spanish style. They were poor by the standards of those among whom they must make the only acquaintances that were possible here. They were of gentle birth, but of an obscurity that held them off by no more than the flimsiest fence from the plebeian crowd, in the country from which they came. They may have had dreams that they would arrive at more splendid wedlocks than would be likely at home, in a colony to which some noble and wealthy Spaniards went out (though there were far more of baser degrees), and where women of equal rank would be hard to find

      But they overlooked an essential factor in the social problem with which they dealt. The morality of the island settlement was simple and unashamed. Gentlemen of Spain took all the mistresses they required from the docile population they had subdued. It was a condescension, and if sin at all by the Church's rule, it was one of a most venial kind. Nay it might be meritorious, if it should bring these heathen women into the Church's fold, as it was almost certain to do.

      It would be a misconception to attribute this attitude to the hypocrisy of the priests, in oblivion of the hard logic from which it came. The priests were honest in their belief that they could save those whom they baptized from the horrors of endless hell. Some of them had shown the true spirit of Christ in the boldness of their protests against the oppression of the natives of these West Indian isles, and of the cruelties of which many of the invaders had been guilty in their lust for wealth without toil. They had even resisted the system of forced labour by which the whole economic structure of prosperity was sustained. They had been so loud in their protests to the Spanish court that a royal commission had been sent out with full power to decide the issues that they had raised. The commission had consisted of three friars with a chairman of legal training. Their investigation was thorough, and their sympathy with the natives beyond denial. They recommended many reforms for their protection. But they could not honestly approve the freedom for which petition had been made by the local priests, for they encountered one objection beside which all others shrank to dwarfish size. If the natives were not forced to labour on the plantations, they would not come under Christian influence. They would be saved from aching muscles at an enormous cost... ... So the Indian maiden went, happily enough as it often was, to the oppressor's bed, that she might be taught to kneel to the crucifix he revered. The Spanish official or planter was content with a mistress now, and would look for a wife of good social rank, such as his own name would deserve, or his opulence would secure, when he should return to Grenada or Castile. He had no mind to burden himself before that with a wife of humble degree.

      Juan's sisters found that they were of an immediate popularity. They were quickly and warmly wooed. But they discovered that it was as super-mistresses, not as wives, that there would be a ready market for what they were. Isabella took the best prize that the traffic showed, or what would be commonly so esteemed. She became the Governor's mistress. Catalina, the second, found that she had drawn the eyes of a younger, and much handsomer man, whom it was very easy to love. Her surrender had been from passion, and not for price, and that to one who was skilful to woo in a bold and yet tender way.

      Juan learned from a sister's lips, in words that were barbed to wound, that Catalina was heading privily for the same path that Isabella had taken a month before in an open way. He was a much-worried young man. Isabella's conduct had vexed his pride, but he had recognized it to be a matter far beyond his control. She neither required, nor would have endured interference from him. Nor could he have brought the issue, had he so desired, to a duel's test, the Governor being too high for his sword to reach.

      But this matter of Catalina was of another colour. She was not content to parade what she would have considered shame, nor yet to be kissed and left in a private way, such as (it might be hoped) would be unknown outside the doors of her own home. Having given all in one passionate hour, she asked to be paid to the same sum, or (as Cortéz would be likely to think) very much higher than that.

      Isabella was on her side . She thought that Cortéz presumed, making that which she had done herself look a cheaper thing, a family failing, rather than an individual choice. She said with indignant eloquence that Catalina was worthy in every way to be Hernándo Cortéz' wife. If he loved her, why should the event pause? It was clear that it was not she who was seeking delay. If he did not, he had done her insult indeed.

      Isabella said these things also in the Governor's ears, making it clear that she looked to him to protect her sister from being held at Hernándo's price. Velásquez spoke to his secretary thereon, doing Catalina no good, but deepening a growing breach between Cortéz and himself.

      Cortéz was not pleased that the Governor should intrude into his private affairs. He would not be likely to agree that Velásquez should expect to obtain a senorita of the Xuarez on easier terms than himself, humility not being a virtue which he cultivated to any vigorous growth. He declined to admit that there had been such intimacy with Catalina as had been implicit in the Governor's words. Velásquez replied that he had Isabella's warrant for what he said.

      "Then," Hernándo was curt to say, "she should be practised to curb her tongue." After which he left the Governor's presence with less courtesy than his position required.

      He would have preferred to continue his relations with the girl without the obligations of a permanent bond, and in a discreet way, thinking it to be a matter for himself alone, and for her. Catalina's cause was being urged by worse advocates that she should have used, which were those of her own lips, and her own tears. Hernándo might be quick to smile, but was not therefore easy to drive.

      Isabella, finding her lover unable to help, gave her brother a jibing word, which moved him less than the sight of his sister's grief. Doubly spurred, he got out his horse, and rode to Cortéz' hacienda, ten miles away.

      Cortéz, as he saw him ride up, had been half resolved to go to Catalina, and make accord at her own price, if she were not to be brought to smiles at a lighter fee. He saw Juan appear, and the intention was put aside.

      Now he came down the steps in a smiling confident way, very sure of himself, and of his ability to control the position. He might have his doubting moods, but he would always be confident and cool when the moment for action came.

      He held out a ready hand, which was taken in a more hesitant grasp. He was quick to call one who would take charge of a steaming horse. He led the way hospitably in from the sun's heat.

      Juan was not a coward. He was young, and diffident among louder men. He knew the reputation that Cortéz had, he having fought half-a-dozen duels since he had made his home on the Indian Isles, and they had left him without a scar. That only one of his opponents had died was attributed more to his own will than any boast of theirs. He had trained himself to great skill with the sword.

      Men did not give him the name of one who was of quarrelsome moods. The duels had been the choice of those who thought that he made too free where he should not have looked. All but one had had a woman for cause, as most duels would. And in that he had done no ill, nor had it in thought. But he was not quick to explain; he drew his sword in an easy way, as though a bout of such strife were a trivial thing... ...

      "I would know," Juan said, when they were seated at ease, and he could no longer defer the subject on which he had come, "when you would wed Catalina, as Isabel tells me you have a purpose to do; and to say you are one whom it will be an honour to call our kin."

      Cortéz looked at him with eyes that had ceased to smile. "The Senorita Isabella," he said, "intrudes where a man would have discretion to keep away. ... Would you cheapen your sister's price by offering her thus, before petition is made?"

      Juan was confused by a point of view which he had not considered before. But he saw that it ignored facts, and that Cortéz played with words in a skilful way.

      "That," he said shrewdly enough, "would be true, if you were a stranger to her."

      Cortéz struck straight, as his way was if a feint should fail. "What," he asked, "will you say that I am to her?"

      "You are one," Juan replied, holding his point with a timid courage which would not yield, "who was in her room for two hours during the night, having climbed the vines after you left, when the house was barred."

      Cortéz frowned, "Does she say that?"

      "It is not she - "

      "Then there is no other who should. If you will give me the name he bears, I will silence that in a quiet grave, though it be Don Diego himself."

      "It is not a man. It was Maria who watched you descend."

      "Women again! If you knew of aught that could silence them! But a brother should do more than another may."

      Juan was confused again, but he had an obstinacy that replaced wit. "It is not that which I seek, but my sister's peace."

      "Which you accuse that I too lightly regard? It is of that I will talk with her."

      The boy was silenced at least, not knowing how much that promise might prove to mean. He sought, as he said, his sister's peace, though it was jeopard of honour which had been the urgence to bring him here. He had sense to see that he would bring her no joy by violent path, though it were to Cortéz' death, or else his, which was the more probable end.

      Hernándo had leisure for thoughts which he did not like. He had implacable moods, for all the laughter that filled his eyes, but he would be generous too, at times, in a large way, so that they did not utterly lie. He had a love of justice also, which he may have learned from when he read the books of the law; he added to this a sense of what was due to himself, and also to God. He did not care overmuch for the opinions that others held, but he would consider his own deeds in a frank way, and he was annoyed if they could not be called by a knightly name.

      There was a time when he had clambered a rotten wall. He was too wise for that now. He had been sure of the vines that had exalted him to the soft warmth of a woman's arms in the night, but he was not sure that he might not be slipping here in a worse way.

      He had no will to wed; and bullied to such an end he was resolved he would never be. He looked on the fortune he had made in the last years (which would be called wealth in his own land) as no more than the foundation on which he had still to build. He had dreams at times of returning home to a great name, and to alliance to some noble house of Castile. At others, he thought he would be content to make himself strong and secure in lands that were still only dropping the first jewels from fists that were tightly clenched, but were overfull.

      "Juan," he said, after the silence of thought, "you are one whom I would not harm, and I will not cheat, either for yourself, or for Catalina, to whom I would be a friend, and perhaps something beyond. I will talk to her as I have said, and if it lead to her peace or no, well, I suppose she will be equal to tell you that.

      "But I will ask you to look at this in a fair way; and you will see that you shall put the blame on those who meddle in matters which they would do better to leave... ... For, if I wed Catalina now, what will be said? That I have done so under threats which I lacked manhood to turn aside. That will be shame to me; but will it be honour to her? It will be said on all sides... ... But I will not say that, I will say only, that if we wed, it is my honour on which she must found her pride, and I should not be untarnished in that, if it came to be said (as you may see that it will) that I have danced to the tune that Don Diego or Isabella had played. ... You should tell Isabella to hold her peace, and I may bring all to a good end on a later day."

      Juan did not know what to answer to this. As a promise it was not much. As an excuse, it might be called good or bad; but excuses were not what he had come there to get. Yet he had an instinct that more might be gained by goodwill than by the show of a naked sword.

      Seeing him to be silent, Cortéz went on: "You may say more than that. You may give her warning that Don Diego would do better to look to his own defaults than what he considers mine, or else there may soon come a day (as I think there must) when there will be a governor here with another name. He has given you a wide portion of land, and I suppose that Isabella could tell you why; and for myself, I do not complain. But have you thought how large and fertile this island is, besides the wealth of the mines? And of how much of the fairest parts he will not allot, keeping them for those who will follow us (who have had the burden and heat of the day), and we might rightly suppose that they will not be favoured thus, except they augment the wealth of him by whom they will look to be richly fed?"

      Juan rode back with the doubt which had caused Cortéz to frown transferred to his own mind. He was not exactly sure of what he had done, or whether it were little or much. He felt it to be more than he could put into easy words, the fact being that he had been overborne by a stronger and more resolute will.

      But if he had come to doubt, he had left Cortéz better content than before, for he had avoided a quarrel he did not wish, which had not been easy to do, and had asserted himself against what he regarded as insolent interference by Velásquez in his private affairs, which his official position did not excuse.

      Juan told Isabella the warning he had received, which she repeated to him for whom it was meant, putting it in a worse way than it had been said. It did not cause Velásquez to conciliate discontent, but it made the breach between him and Cortéz wider than it had been before.

      Cortéz came to see Catalina, as he had promised, and as it was his pleasure to do. If he thought to continue the intimacy he had commenced, with some whispered promise of a more legal bond at a later day, he had a disappointment to meet, for Catalina had taken counsel which she preferred from the lips of Las Casas, her own priest, by whose gentle wisdom she gave her lover her lips, but no more from that day till the Church should sanction a closer bond.

Chapter 3

Hazard Of Treason

      In the months that followed, Hernándo Cortéz showed that a bold man may be very cautious, and a cautious man very bold.

      It became known, from the Governor's own querulous words, that Cortéz was out of favour with him. Malcontents began to make a rendezvous of his house. He received them well, and the plans that he nursed in his secret mind may have looked to a time when he would sit in Don Diego's place, and the Governor be a ruined man. But the advice he gave to those who grumbled was such as might be shouted for all to hear. If they had grievances, they must seek legal redress in an orderly way. They must lay complaints before the higher power at St. Domingo. The advise seemed futile, however good. Ships did not frequently sail, nor ever without the knowledge of Velásquez, who would be sure to prevent the departure of any emissary of his foes. He was, in fact, keeping a close watch, with better spies than even Cortéz observed.

      Yet with this cautious propriety of advice, Cortéz showed himself willing to take a risk, for when suggestion was made that one might slip away in an open boat across the fifty miles of treacherous sea that divided Cuba from the more easterly isle, he was ready to venture himself, as was rightly agreed, for he was the best spokesman that discontent would be likely to find, being of good repute in Hispaniola, and standing well with the government there.

      Had he put off, and escaped the seas, he might have changed the course of the island's history, for it is certain that he was not one to take such a chance without plans having been formed in a mind that was as subtle as it was bold. But Velásquez was more widely awake than he had judged him to be. Before the night when it had been planned that the boat should leave, Hernándo Cortéz found himself a shackled prisoner in the common jail, with a charge of treason against his name.

      In the quiet hours of the night, he had to adjust his mind to a position that he had not expected to meet. He had spoken treason to none; and there was no treason in what he had purposed to do. He was lawyer enough to see that, but he also saw that if he were promptly hanged, the irregularity of what the Governor did would be no satisfaction to him. Velásquez had the power of life and death over as turbulent a band of adventurers as might be found at that day in the world's breadth. He could make his own tale, and it was unlikely that it would be closely surveyed. There may be little urged on behalf of a man who is dead, and whose friends are quiet in the fear of a kindred fate. He considered what he would do in Don Diego's place, having gone so far, and was sure that he would be speedy to use the rope. He judged Velásquez to be less resolute, perhaps more scrupulous, than himself; but even so there was a doubt in his mind that he did not like.

      While he thought, a file came through the open window, and fell at his feet. He knew that he was not without friends, but he had not expected that, and by whose hand it was thrown he would never know. He did not seize it at first, which was not his way. He liked to think first. What could he do, should he get free? Would it be better to show the file as that which he had had, but declined to use, having a conscience so clear of wrong?

      On the whole, he thought not. The doubts which had been on his mind before, became active again. When he picked up the file, he had formed a clear plan. He worked till the fetters fell. When he was free of them he had little to fear. He was but one floor from the ground, and the window was wide in a month of heat. He watched till the sentry passed, and dropped unharmed to the ground. Then he ran for the church.

      In the morning Velásquez learned what he had done, and was a wroth man. But sanctuary was a sacred thing. In the church, Cortéz was safe; but to stay there was a dull life. After a few days he ventured out at times when the pavement was quiet and bare, or seeing those with whom he was anxious to talk, for he had things to say that he wished should reach the Governor's ears. There came a time when, as he did so, men sprang upon him, and he was captive again.

      This time, he was not placed in the same jail; he was taken aboard a ship that lay in the harbour, being ready to sail for St. Domingo, where Velásquez now designed to send him in irons, to be judged by those who would not be likely to favour him.

      Having done this, Velásquez could feel that he had acted in the resolute manner that his position required. He could put the incident from his mind, and give Cortéz' estates to a more pliable man. He had no reason to fear anything that Cortéz could do, now that he would be sent back in chains, as a turbulent and dangerous man. Even if appeal should be made to the Spanish Court, he had higher friends, and could bribe if need were great, with more gold than Cortéz' family could command. But in the morning he waked with the quick coming of tropic dawn, and there was Cortéz beside his bed. He was dishevelled and drenched, having again escaped in the night, and in a boat that he could not control, so that he had been forced to swim against the current, which was not easy to overcome; but he was quiet in manner, and self-possessed.

      "You have nothing to fear from me," he was quick to say. "I have watched you for the last hour, but I was content to wait till your sleep was done... ... I have come to talk sense, for you injure me with no cause, and so may oblige me to work you injury in my own defence, which is what I am not anxious to do... ... We were friends before, and you had good service from me. If you will be friends as we were, you may have good service again."

      He was sincere in this, for he had resolved, while the file lay on the floor, that he would abandon plans that would not go as he had first meant that they should, and make peace if he could bring Velásquez to the same mind, as he thought he could.

      He asked now what his offence had been from the first, and in such a way that Velásquez was led to mention the trouble over Isabella's sister, as he had meant that he should. He replied to that, that it was his purpose to wed Catalina when he was free, as he would have done before, had it been put in a different way.

      In the end, they made peace. Cortéz was not to be a secretary again, which he did not ask, but he was to wed Catalina and settle down on his estates, to which Velásquez would add some mining rights he had not had before, and which would prove to be of a solid worth. He undertook to leave discords alone; and he kept his word.

      He settled down for the next five years to draw wealth from the land. He imported cattle, being the first man to have the foresight to do that which was costly and hard to bring to success. He married one to whom he was faithful and kind, though she proved to have little wit, and bore no children to their bond.

      So the years passed, moving on to their incredible end.

Chapter 4

The Unknown Calls

      It was something more than two years after Cortéz' reconciliation with the Cuban Governor, that a Spanish captain, Hernández de Cordova, sailed with a little squadron of three vessels for the Bahamas, on a slave-hunting quest, and he was met with such a storm as drove him headlong to unknown seas.

      It was some months later he struggled back, sailing into St. Jago with no more than half the crews he had taken out, and himself dying of wounds.

      He said he had been driven far to the west and had come to an unknown coast, where the inhabitants were fiercely hostile, and appeared to be of a more formidable kind than any whom the Spaniards had encountered before.

      Their buildings were massive and high. They did not live in huts of rushes; they quarried stone. They were richly and gaily dressed. Their ornaments (and this was the point of all) were of solid gold. Of these he brought some specimens, wrought in barbaric style, which he had bought at his life's cost. He had, in fact, encountered the northern corner of Yucatan, and had skirted its northern coast.

      Velásquez determined to know more of this golden land. He fitted out four ships, which he strongly armed. He looked round for a man to be trusted for their command, and chose his own nephew, Juan de Grijalva, on whose attachment he could depend. They left St. Jago on May 1 st., 1517.

      Three months later, one of the ships came back. Its captain, Pedro de Alvarado, brought a great treasure of jewels and gold, which had been bought with barter of scissors and glass beads. De Grijalva had sent him back to make report on the rich harvest which he had found, while he continued to explore a new and wonderful land.

      St. Jago stirred to the news like a roused hive. There were many eyes and thoughts turned to the still undiscovered west, with bold avaricious dreams.

      Don Diego Velásquez felt that the moment for fame and fortune had come. He despatched a ship homeward to Spain, sending a royal share of the gold, and a letter petitioning that he should be granted a commission for the colonising of this new, vaguely-outlined land. He despatched another, having Christoval de Olid in command, with supplies for Grijalva, and an order for the conduct of his return. He began to consider the fitting out of a larger expedition, more commensurate with the extent and wealth of the territory of which Pedro da Alvarado told, and was quickly surrounded by the clamour of those who thought themselves to be equal to its command.

      At this time, it was not the custom for such expeditions to be fitted out at a public charge, neither was Velásquez in a position of unregulated control, being circumscribed by the terms of the commission he held from the superior authority at St. Domingo, and in some ways less free than a private citizen would have been.

      But a limited authority his commission explicitly gave, with more power to veto than permit; and it was a fact that this great discovery had been made by an expedition that had sailed from St. Jago with his authority, and with his own nephew in command. It is not surprising if he considered that the fame and wealth (and extended rule, if conquests should follow in these unknown lands) which would result, should be his primary right.

      The commission he held empowered him to send out an expedition to this extent, that he could either give or refuse permission for it to sail, and, if he should give such an authority it became his duty to issue a licence defining what it could do under the authority of the Spanish King. Also he could equip it, if he would, and if he were possessed with sufficient wealth, at his private charge; but not at that of the public treasury which he controlled.

      But he was restricted, even within these bounds, by the terms of his own appointment, and was explicitly without authority to authorise the establishment of any settlement outside the limits of his Cuban territory.

      It appears that while he was naturally anxious to take full credit with the Spanish Crown for the great discovery which had been made, and to bring it into subordination to his own governorship, he lacked the will or the means (or perhaps, both) to equip an expedition at his own cost, of the size which he recognized as necessary for such an occasion.

      He had, therefore, to look round for a leader who would be likely to remain loyal to him, even when far beyond any physical control; and who must yet be one of a resolution and temper both to rule his own turbulent crews, and to confront the perils of the unknown seas and unfriendly lands with the combination of boldness and prudence which such expeditions required. Beyond that, he must also be of private wealth enough to finance such an expedition from his single purse, (which was beyond reason to expect), or else one of such character and public esteem that others would invest their substance in an expedition over the precarious profits of which they would have so distant and limited a control.

      Velásquez considered various claimants for a position which was not easy to fill from the half-piratical adventurers among whom he must make his choice. He would not have overlooked Hernándo Cortéz, but he must have weighed his name in a doubtful mind. Other possibilities must be sifted first.

      But there was one in whom there had been neither hesitation nor doubt from the moment when he had sat opposite Pedro de Alvarado at a tavern board, and listened to what he told; and that was Cortéz himself. From that hour, he showed the energy of a man who works on a sure plan to settled goal.

      He counted the gold he had, which had grown to a large sum during several industrious years. He sold all he had of valuable kind by which that sum could be swelled. He mortgaged his estate. He borrowed all that he could. He bribed those who had the Governor's trust to suggest his name.

      He interviewed men who had wealth at command, and found that his persuasions prevailed. He had gained the name of a capable, dependable man. It was recalled that he had shown both courage and diplomatic resource in the way in which he had resisted the Governor some years before, and had then extracted himself form the difficult circumstance into which he fell.

      Since his marriage, he had lived a blameless domestic life. Catalina might be of slender education, and not overburdened with wit, but she worshipped him, and he was kind and patient to her in his generous, smiling way. The priest, Las Casas, who did not like him in other ways, was a witness to the happiness that was theirs. He recorded that Cortéz said that had he wed a duchess, he could have had no fuller content.

      All these things weighed with those who must venture gold in the purchase of cargo or ships which would disappear from the harbour-mouth on a quest so dangerous and so vague.

      It became common talk that Hernándo Cortéz was planning to go, and that there was no better choice.

      It could be seen, even now, that he was in many ways an ideal leader for such a venture as this was likely to be. He had a bold, confident, smiling mien, which made dangers seem less than they were. He had a habit of legal caution in all he did which the merchants approved. He offered generous terms to those who would invest either gold or their lives, but when a bargain was made, he would have the terms drawn with scrupulous care.

      It was observed that he was minute in his enquiries as to what such an expedition might need. He was exact and detailed in all that he planned and estimated. He was one who would leave nothing to chance for which pre-thought could provide.

      Even before the Governor was aware that his own mind was resolved, men were talking of Cortéz' leadership as of a settled, evident thing. Velásquez, aware of more doubt than it might be wisdom to show, took counsel with those on whom, at this time, he most surely relied.

      They replied with Cortéz' promises in their ears, and some of his gold already in their hands, that they could not imagine a better choice. A bold man, and yet cautious in all he did. One who had been successful in war, a popular captain, whom others followed on easy feet. Yet one who would be able to rule at need in a ruthless way.

      His plantations also - were there many in the breadth of the isle that were as well-ordered, as well-equipped, as well-reputed for heavy crops? He was one who would woo success with the many-detailed care to which the fickle deity is most apt to yield.

      The day came when the Governor's seal was affixed to a commission bearing Hernándo Cortéz' name.

Chapter 5

The Test Of Faith

      Hernándo kissed his wife in a buoyant mood. He said she must expect that he would remain in St. Jago for three days if not four, when she would see him again. She was not to see him for three years (or more nearly four), when she would be near to death in another land.

      He had said no more than he meant. It was the 15 th. of November, and though he had already assembled six ships, being more than could lie at once alongside St. Jago's quay, and they had taken much cargo aboard, he did not think to be ready to sail for some weeks. He would not have an hour lost, but, even so, he thought to have Christmas at his own hearth.

      He got lightly to horse, his mind busy with many affairs of recruiting, equipment, organisation, and financial bargaining, any of which he might now omit without censure of other men, but on which success or failure might depend on a later day.

      Twenty thousand ducats were already staked on this wild venture across strange seas to an unknown land. It was an enormous sum in those times for one man to own or control.

      Velásquez had not had such a fleet to command when he had been commissioned for the conquest of Cuba: Cordova's first expedition, which had ended at Yucatan, had been of three vessels: even Grijalva had commanded no more than four.

      But Hernándo was still less than content. Six were well enough, but eight were to be preferred; and four hundred men would be much better than three.

      But he would not delay, even for the advantage of greater strength. Expenses were heavy while the ships were moored, and men idled, along the quay. He would bustle all, and sail early in the New Year. There would be flourish of trumpets then, and half of Cuba would see them sail.

      When he reached the city, he put up at the tavern of the True Cross, where he transacted his affairs, so that, in these days, it had become like a private hostel for him, and those nearest to his designs.

      On the third morning, Velásquez's secretary, Andres de Duero, called upon him and requested a private interview, as their personal friendship and Duero's office made it natural for him to do.

      Duero was a man of peace, though he wore a sword, as did all of rank in those days. He was in dark blue velvet, richly but soberly clad. He was discreet and frugal of speech, and if the Governor gave him trust, it was a confidence which he had had no cause to regret.

      It is said (but unproved) that de Duero, like the treasurer de Lares (perhaps a more wily man) had taken Hernándo's gold; but, if that were so he may yet have been sure, in an honest mind, that the best Captain-Commander had been chosen that the island contained; and his own stake in the venture had not been small.

      He found Cortéz surrounded by many who came and went in a busy way, but he was not slow to put them aside, and take de Duero into his private room. He called for wine, and asked what he might do, either for His Excellency or his friend.

      "His Excellency," de Duero said, "has sent me to let you know that he has twenty bullocks that he can spare you from his own herd to provision the fleet. You are to have them at your own price."

      Cortéz knew the secretary as one whom he had good reason to trust, and who had the reputation of a discreet man, but he was careful to meet this with an expressionless face.

      Everyone on the island knew how the Governor sold his stock. It was always 'at your own price', and he would be riding for his own fall who did not overvalue that which he was directed to buy.

      "You are more expert in such values," he answered smoothly, "than I can be. You will thank His Excellency for so gracious a thought, and put on them such price as will match their worth."

      Andres smiled slightly. "You were ever discreet, as few are who are as bold as we know you to be; which is why I am in your venture with every ducat that I can spare, or beyond that."

      He became silent, but looked as though he had more to say, and Hernándo waited, with a caution as great as his.

      At length, the secretary asked: "If I should speak as a friend, would you give me a friend's reply?"

      Cortéz said: "Do I not know whom I can trust?" His eyes smiled. "Or would you call me a fool?"

      "Well, it is no more than this: Do you know why His Excellency should wish you ill?"

      "I can answer that with neither guile nor reserve. He has no reason at all but a fool's word."

      "And what word was that?"

      "It was two days ago, when I rode in, and waited upon him, as it is my first duty to do. He was desirous of inspecting the ships, and we walked together in this direction. On the way, we saw his fool in the street, and the rogue cried out, from the other side of the way, that he who sends such a captain to hunt may come to a day when he will be hunting him.

      "I said, hastily, that he should be whipped for so lewd a word, to which His Excellency did not respond, for a fool's license must leave him free.

      "There is nothing other than that. But he was cool thereafter, who had not been of embracing mood from our first word."

      "Well, be that as it may, if you will take the quiet word of a friend, you will be wary of speech and speedy to leave the quay."

      "I thank that which is kindly said. But can I make more haste than I do? I must be well furnished for that in which I am resolved that I shall not fail... ... And what have I to doubt or dread? Is it to be a knife in the dark?. ... I have commission signed; and its wording is all I would."

      The secretary did not deny that, for he had drawn it himself, with good feeling in what he did. But he said, as one merely stating a fact: "A commission may be revoked."

      This remark was met by an instant's uncomprehending or incredulous stare, which turned to one of black wrath; and more of fear than Hernándo's eyes may have shown to any until that hour.

      Beyond the wrecking of all his hopes, the revocation of his commission now would be utter financial ruin to him.

      It would be impossible to put things back as they were. It would be injustice, gross and intolerable, to cancel his authority now.

      And it would be without justification of any kind!

      Yet - if it were done? Would he have redress that would be of any avail?

      He thought that he could read the Governor's mind like an open book. Jealousy of the success that he would be likely to have had grown as he added ship to ship, and the potentiality of the expedition increased: jealousy of his efficiency, of his popularity - of all that justified his selection, and should have proved to be to the Governor's praise.

      It was the jealousy of a smaller man, who might see logical reason to fear that, while the failure of the expedition would be detriment both to his reputation and purse, its success in a far land, in these insecure times, might take Cortéz beyond his credit or his control. Commissions could not be revoked only in St. Jago: they could be revoked in Madrid.

      But while Hernándo thought thus, his face had regained its expression of sanguine energy and resolve. He said lightly: "You have been to me as a friend, which I shall be very slow to forget, though we may see more than the balance weighs. His Excellency will ever have moody hours. ... Yet I will assemble no more. I will be content with the ships I have."

      Andres said: "It is a most prudent resolve." He turned the conversation in other ways.

      After a short time he rose, saying that he must not keep the Captain-General from more urgent affairs. They parted cordially, and the secretary, walking away, and seeing the ships which were no more than half loaded as yet, and which would scarcely be ready to put to sea for some weeks at the shortest count, had more than a doubt of whose flag they would fly when that day should be.

      Hernándo, being alone, unlocked a chest in which were his private concerns, and took out the commission on which all his hopes must depend. He studied it with care, and a lawyer's mind, which it would always be his fortune to have.

      It required him first to seek Grijalva, and to make consort with him. Second, to probe a tale which Cordova had heard on his first landing in Yucatan, that six Spaniards, supposed to be survivors of a previous disaster, were in captivity there; and to buy their freedom if that might be. Third, and central of all, he was to open trade with the people of Yucatan, doing them nothing of fraud or harm, but acquainting them both of the gracious clemency of the Spanish Crown, and of its invincible might. He was to advise them of the expediency of sending presents to a monarch of such potency and goodwill - presents of gold, and precious stones, of little value to them, but which he would be gracious to accept as evidence of their regard. And he was to bear in mind the importance of saving heathen lives from the flames of a waiting hell.

      He was also to survey the coast, and gather information of the civilisation, customs and resources of the new land, seeking ever the glory of God and Spain.

      There was no instruction to establish settlements, of which Cortéz had no cause for complaint, for he knew that to be beyond the Governor's authority. He must act on his own, if he would do that and be condemned or justified by the event.

      Actually, such authority was being conferred on Velásquez at the time, but St. Jago was not yet aware of what was being done in Madrid.

      Finally, and of a potential importance difficult to assess, it was endorsed by the Governor of Hispaniola, by whom the appointment was thereby approved.

      Cortéz put back the parchment, with a mind resolved on that which he had been debating before.

      He did what he could during the day to advance the loading of the ships, but only so far as might be without his secret purpose being disclosed.

      When night came, he summoned his principal officers, and told them that he had resolved to sail without a moment's delay. Much that was unsaid must have been easy to guess, unless they were duller than those of such positions should be.

      When he was roused to face a critical hour, there were few who could be more persuasive than he.

      There was none making objection now: none who took the tale to where it must have been ruin for him.

      Velásquez slept, and there was bustle along the quay, and in the streets of the town.

      Should they sail without meat? Cortéz knocked up the chief butcher, who controlled the abattoir which provided for the needs of the town. He would take all he had, not counting the cost. The man was dubious about that. Should all the townsmen go short on the next day?

      Cortéz had a heavy chain of gold round his neck. He threw it down, and there was no answer to that. The meat was paid for a dozen times.

      Before dawn, the crews were aboard. Hawsers were loosed, and ships were warped clear of the quay.

      It was no later than sunrise when the tale of their movement was brought to the Governor, who leapt from his bed, very actively for his weight, for he was unwieldy now, and would become grossly fat as the years passed.

      He got to horseback in haste, and galloped to the quay at such a pace as he had not tried for five years, or perhaps ten.

      He saw Cortéz on the deck of a ship that lay within hailing distance, its sails half-dropped from the yards, but still riding on a bower-anchor, which the capstan was manned to raise.

      The other ships were moving. Two were clear of the bay.

      Cortéz waved in greeting, before the Governor had found words, or perhaps breath. He shouted that there was a fair wind, which he could not miss.

      So it might be, when they should be clear of the lands. It was fair in another way, that it brought the words of Cortéz clearly across the water, while those of Velásquez, less coherent in themselves, were blown away, and Cortéz shouted with real truth, and with feigned regret, that he could not hear.

      Then the anchor rose, the sails filled, and the ship made a tack for the harbour mouth.

Chapter 6

Gathering Strength

      It had not been Hernándo's true reason for setting out, but it had been a true word that the wind was fair.

      It bore his armada fifteen leagues along Cuba's coast. So he reached Macaca, which was a small settlement, but having some farms that belonged to the Spanish Crown.

      Here he helped himself to as much meat as he could usefully carry away. He made no payment for this, but - always careful in his accounts - he valued the beasts at a fair price, and booked it to the credit of the Spanish King.

      He sailed on to Trinidad, and went boldly ashore. Velásquez had calculated that he must make harbour there, and had despatched a letter to Verdugo, its commander, requiring him to take Cortéz into custody, and to send him back as a prisoner to St. Jago, he having been deposed from his command.

      But this letter had not arrived.

      Cortéz showed Verdugo his commission. He received permission not only to purchase stores, but to set up his standard on the shore, inviting recruits; and here fortune became his friend.

      There were scores of men in the town who had taken part in Grijalva's expedition, and been disbanded by him. They included several of the best officers that Grijalva had had. They were eager to join this new venture, and Cortéz was generous in the offers he made to them.

      Soon he had added more than a hundred men to his little fleet, including some of the noblest and most influential residents in the Trinidad settlement. He had gained in numbers and prestige; and he now had officers who could give him valuable accounts of what had happened before.

      When Velásquez's letter arrived, the commander consulted with his subordinates, including those who were joining the expedition, and they decided that the arrest of Cortéz was not only beyond their power (and perhaps their will), but that any such attempt would lead to the shedding of blood, which would be most probably theirs. He replied that Velásquez had required him to do something beyond his power.

      And meanwhile the six ships had become seven.

      For there had come a day when a Spanish gentleman adventurer, Senor Sedeno, sat in Hernándo's cabin in a state of anger for which he had cause enough, as he was not timid to say.

      He had sailed from Spain, bringing a cargo of wheat in his own ship, for which he expected to get a good price in the New World, where wheat was scarcer than gold.

      What he had come to was an armed caraval flying the standard of Spain, and a private flag which he had not known, which had required him, by the argument of the cannons mouth, to surrender cargo and ship.

      He had insufficient force to resist, and he was brought to Cortéz in a confused mood of anger, wonder, and fear.

      He said: "I did not think to be treated with violence under our country's flag. Are you pirates or loyal men?"

      "The fact is," Cortéz replied, in his friendliest tone, "that I need the wheat. I have men to feed."

      "So it may be. But I must still ask by what right you make violent spoil of one who should expect protection from those who fly the holy colours of Spain."

      "It is by the right of my armada of ships, that have many guns, and crews that are trained for war . ... But I would do you no wrong. I will buy ship and cargo at prices of which you will not complain. And when that is done, I will ask you to come with me to where gold can be lightly won."

      In the end, he talked Sedeno round to a willing mind. They agreed a price, and Cortéz signed a bill of exchange by which payment must be made on a later day, and Sedeno agreed to join the expedition. The six ships had become seven, and all been done at the last in a legal way.

      So the six ships became seven and the three hundred men became more than four, and much had been added (besides the cargo of wheat) to weapons and stores from the resources of Trinidad and the surrounding country.

      Cortéz begged or borrowed, bargained or bought.

      Much was secured by the sale of shares in ultimate profits, if such there should ever be. Men gambled on the hope of a great gain, as they are ever willing to do.

      But Cortéz was not content. He decided to sail round the island to Havana, and continue recruiting. He chose one of Grijalva's lieutenants, Pedro de Alvarado, to march across the island and meet him there, taking a small party of such men as would talk in the right way, and so obtain recruits who would not otherwise have been reached.

      The choice of Alvarado showed Cortéz' appreciation of the qualities of those who served him. Able, handsome, sanguine, loyal, unscrupulous, recklessly brave, he had the aspect of the successful adventurer. He could make men believe, even when he spoke boastful words. He was to do much, and go far, at the side of a greater man.

      When his party reached Havana, it had been joined by those who would do good service in future days.

      At Havana Cortéz displayed his standard again. He was active in all he did, but showed no haste to sail till he had obtained the last persuadable recruit, the last item of the munitions and other stores which might be of use in a hostile land.

      Not that he proposed war. He was on a mission of peaceful trading. But he would be prepared for the worst that might be encountered in a land that was great and strange. He had vague dreams, of which it was too early to speak.

      He found that supplies of cotton were available and he had the coats of all his men quilted thickly, so that they would be protected from arrows, by which many Spanish lives had been lost in the New World.

      And while this was being done he landed not only the small arms, but the heavy artillery, and had them cleaned and repaired.

      He raised his armada to eleven ships, and though some were small - there was a sloop among them, which could hardly be dignified by the name of ship - it was the largest fleet which had assembled in Western seas under the standard of Spain. And to each vessel, large or small, he allocated its share of soldiers, each with a separate commander, to be drilled into a trained unit while the fleet delayed.

      There were more letters from the Governor while these preparations went on.

      The Commander, Don Barba, had one. He was to arrest Cortéz and seize his ships.

      He replied temperately that it was an impracticable request. He said, also, with plain politeness, that it appeared to him to be a foolish idea. Cortéz was a good man for the job, and he was sure that he would be loyal to Velásquez, if the Governor would treat him in a different way.

      Cortéz also had a letter, in which Velásquez fatuously suggested that he should delay his departure until a personal interview could be arranged, which was acknowledged in courteous words, and with assurances of devotion to the Governor's interests, as to the sincerity of which we may think as we will, and observe what the course of events would be.

      On the 10 th. of February, 1519, the fleet moved to its final point of departure, St. Antonio's Cape. They were tiny vessels by any standard. That of Cortéz, the largest, was of no more than a hundred tons. There were two other square - rigged ships of seventy or eighty tons, and the other small craft were of sundry sorts - caravals and open - decked brigantines, and a one - masted sloop.

      No one appears to have made complaint of the loads they bore, but the careful records of their commander show that they would have had no use for a Plimsoll line.

      In addition to huge quantities of provisions, weapons, ammunition, trading stores, and miscellaneous requisites, they had on board:

Crossbow men . . . 32
Arquebusiers . . . . .13
Other Soldiers . . .508
Sailors . . . . . . . . .110
Indians, about . . . 200
Heavy guns . . . . . .10
Falconets . . . . . . . . .4
Horses . . . . . . . . . .16

      The horses should not really come last, for they had been brought from Europe at heavy cost in small wind - tossed vessels; and, for the service to which they were destined now, each of them would prove to be of more value than many men.

      The weight of cargo and men might be much for the ships to bear, but from another angle they were so feeble and few that the mission on which they sailed might seem to be a fitting cause for the laughter of sober men.

      Had it been for no more than a trading venture in a strange land, with barter on open sands, it would have been well enough, or might even be said to have been prepared with more elaboration than the occasion required. But that Cortéz had larger dreams became apparent when he arrayed all those who had enlisted under his banner, before they embarked for the unknown land, and addressed them with the eloquence which his father would have preferred him to have used in the law-courts of Spain.

      "Comrades," he said, "we are about to start on such a voyage as will give us fame till the setting of the last sun that this earth shall know." (The marvel was that he spoke no more than the truth when he said that). "Men do not come to such heights by ways of safety and ease. I offer you danger, and wounds, and death. I offer hardship and toil.

      "If there be any here for whom that be too hard a bargain to make, let him speak now. He may go without a reproaching word, and with return of any stakes he may have entrusted to me. But if he be silent now, let him be so also in later days, for I have told him my purpose without disguise.

      "I would have you do all for the glory of God and Spain; but if there be any here who is incited by lust of gold, let him be true to me, and he shall not lack. I will give him riches beyond his dreams. For we go where gold is like the pebbles of the sea shore. Men will give us that which is of little value to them, and, if you be guided by me, they may do it with goodwill, and the extending of peaceful hands. And for their gold we will give them a better thing, being the gospel of Christ, and salvation from the hell to which they are otherwise doomed.

      We are few in numbers, but if we have resolute minds, knowing that no infidels can prevail against God and Spain, we shall bring all to so fair an end as shall be to Their glory, which we shall be blessed to share."

      The short speech was answered by deepening cheers. They had a leader whom they knew to be courageous, confident, and yet very cautious in all he did. He was one whom they had good reason to trust, and by his spirit he made them one.

      It was the 18 th. of February 1519, when the little fleet weighed anchor to cross the channel of Yucatan.

Chapter 7

Cozumel

      It is not easy to hold a fleet of small sailing vessels together on stormy seas in the dark hours.

      Cortéz had a simple plan, probably the best there could have been, but it went wrong.

      He hung a lantern at his own stern, and gave orders that no other lights should be shown during the night. They must follow, or search for him. There would be no wandering after one which was going astray, and so splitting the fleet.

      Beyond that, they were all to meet at the island of Cozumel on the coast of Yucatan, where Grijalva had landed before.

      It was well that they had that destination agreed, for nine of the eleven lost touch with the guiding beacon, when they were struck by storm in the night. One by one, they arrived at the rendezvous, with leaking hulls, or damage of masts and spars. But it was several days before the commander's vessel appeared, in company with the other missing ship, which had been disabled in the storm. It was explained that Cortéz had observed its distress, and remained beside it till repairs had enabled it to proceed.

      He was not less popular for that, nor for the days of doubt which had taught men to realise how great a loss his absence would be, but he quickly heard of that which would test his fitness to lead in another way.

      Alvarado, whom he had trusted to lead the recruiting party to Havana, and who had the advantage of having been in Grijalva's expedition, was one of the best captains he had.

      But he had disobeyed orders during that leaderless week in a characteristic way.

      He had landed, and plundered some public buildings, frightening the defenceless native population, so that they fled into the interior. He had brought two captives aboard.

      Cortéz had these men brought before him. For intercourse with those with whom he sought to traffic, he had to rely upon a native of Yucatan who had been brought back by Grijalva, either as a guest or slave, and had been taught some Spanish in Cuba during the intervening months. By this medium, Cortéz explained that the violence of Alvarado had been without his authority and against his will. He gave generous presents, as a convincing proof of his sincerity.

      This policy succeeded. The fugitives returned, and a brisk barter began. Each party gave that which they regarded as of little value, for that which they more highly esteemed, and were well content.

      But Cortéz did more than that. He gave Alvarado scathing rebuke in a public way. If any thought he could do his own will under his present leader, he had much to learn.

      Next, he turned his thoughts to the tale of Spanish prisoners upon the opposite mainland.

      He sent two brigantines to that coast, with letters for the captives, if such there were, and an offer of rich reward for their release. The ships were to remain as long as eight days, if necessary; and the time of their absence to be used in exploring the island.

      Cortéz found that its inhabitants were few, its resources poor. But there were ancient, substantial buildings, and other evidences that greater days had gone by.

      So they had. It was destined to be entirely uninhabited in the next century, and choked by growth of jungle from shore to shore.

      Cortéz had more than one object in what he did, the glory of God not being least in his mind. But he had with him two missionary priests who had one object alone - the conversion of heathen men. Their belief, however crude, was sincere and simple: a man baptized was a recruit for the ranks of Christ. He was one less to be consigned to the endless torture of hell.

      With such a creed, any method, any violence, could be excused, if it should bring men to the font.

      Cortéz did not doubt that this efficacy of baptism was literal truth, and gave the priests his support. He would not use violence for trading gain, or for the conquest of peaceful men. God forbid that he should do such a wrong! But he would use violence to save their souls.

      During the ten days the brigantines were away, he challenged the loyalty of the inhabitants of Cozumel to their peculiar gods, by rolling their symbols and images in the dust.

      The outraged natives had no heart to resist, but they pleaded with tearful eyes.

      The priests replied through the interpreter. Let them see what their gods would do, which would be nothing at all.

      So it proved. In the end, the bewildered people were baptised into a faith of which the interpreter could not have told them much, or in very luminous words.

      The bold course had been a success. There had been a saving of many souls. Give the glory to God!

      Having spent their eight days on the Yucatan coast, the brigantines returned. Their captain, a young Spaniard of noble family, Diego de Ordaz, reported that he had heard vague tales of men who were said to be enslaved. The letters which had been written to them had been sent inland by Indian hands. He had offered rewards, far beyond what their slave-value was likely to be; but there had been no response.

      Cortéz had done all he could, at the cost of ten days' delay, and the gain of some men baptised. He could wait no more. He sailed northward, skirting the Yucatan coast.

      Then he was stayed by the fact that one of his ships reported a leak that its pumps could not control. It had been strained by the recent storm, and must have repair.

      This meant more delay. Cortéz would not abandon one of his ships. He decided that it must be careened, and that this could be more safely done at Cozumel than on a mainland he did not know.

      He put back.

      It seemed a matter of minor importance, though it meant some delay.

      In fact, it was a leak that changed the history of the New World.

Chapter 8

Jeronimo

      The fleet was anchored at Cozumel again when a canoe came rapidly over the water from the Yucatan coast. There were four men who paddled on either side, and there was one who sat in the stern, doing nothing.

      The canoe came to the side of Cortéz' ship, probably because it was the largest, and the sailors crowded to look down upon it.

      The man in the stern rose. He had an Indian look, and was clothed (or unclothed) in the Indian mode. He called out, in Castilian, ill-pronounced: "Am I indeed among Christian men?"

      One of the paddlers spoke to him, and he added: "He says there is a price fixed, at which I am sold to you."

      Cortéz looked down from the stern deck. He ordered that the interpreter should be called. He learned that this man was one of the shipwrecked six, and he ordered that the price should be paid in measure of bells and beads, and that the man should be brought to him. He said: "He is not a beast to be shown. I will see him in my cabin, and only he."

      When the man was brought, he bent at Cortéz' feet, his hand touching first the ground and then his own head, which was the Indian salutation.

      Cortéz pulled him to his feet. He said: "You are now among Christian men." He unbuttoned his own cloak, and cast it round the shoulders of one who was nearly naked and unconcerned.

      He asked: "What is your name?"

      "Jeronimo de Aguilar."

      "Where are the rest of the six?"

      "The six?" The man looked vaguely puzzled, and then intelligence came to his eyes.

      "Some of us," he said, "died in the boat. We had been long adrift. Some were... ... Killed. I was not ready for the right day. Not for the feast. We took a long time to fatten. We had been very thin... ... That was how I had time to escape. A woman helped me to get away."

      He stopped, as though there were no more to be said. Cortéz wondered what he had been eight years ago. He must have been young. He did not look like a seamen. He had a thin ascetic face.

      He asked: "What were you before this happened?"

      "I was a priest - in my second year."

      "And after you got away?"

      "I went inland. Hiding. Some people were kind. Then I got caught when I was asleep. I was bought by a rich man. A cacique. He kept me alive. But he was hard. Then he found I was useful, and didn't lie. After that he was kind.

      "Then he told me I must marry. There was trouble about that."

      "Why trouble?"

      "I couldn't. I am a priest. There were the vows."

      "But why trouble?"

      "He wouldn't understand. He thought I was obstinate not to obey. He didn't believe in my vows. He used to put girls in my bed."

      "But you kept your vows?"

      "Of course. ... When he understood, he was kind again. He gave me charge of his house, and all his wives. ... He didn't want me to come to you, but he gave way after a time. He was a good man."

      Cortéz thought: "This man will be a great gain to me. He knows the people of these parts. He knows their customs. Best of all, he will know their language, as he knows ours. He will be a better interpreter than an Indian who does not understand half I say."

      He ordered that Jeronimo should be put into a cabin near to his own, and, in the following days, they talked much.

      So it was that he heard of a continent on which a civilisation had developed, great and strange: Of a dominant race, the Aztecs, hated and feared by other nations that they had conquered, to reach whose territory he must sail much further along the coast. He was on the doorstep of a rich and wonderful land, inhabited by millions of men alien in customs and faith. Could he make friendship with them?

      Could he be more than a jest as their possible foe?

      His mind leapt forward to vague impossible dreams. He became eager to reach the far land which was only hearsay, even to this man who could tell so much.

      But this eagerness did not overcome his self-control: his cautious thoroughness of approach.

      The next item of his programme had been to put in at the mouth of the Tabasco river, where Grijalva had found a friendly reception, and most lucrative trade. If the Tabascans had been friendly to Spaniards before, they would be so now. There was reason in that.

      He sailed northward along the coast till it fell away, and he must steer due west to keep it in sight on his left hand.

      Richly wooded, too distant for visible signs of life, if any there were, he watched it till he came to the river mouth that he sought, and entered, and anchored there.

Chapter 9

Skirmish

      The fleet anchored at the river mouth, and waited for traders who did not come.

      Grijalva had had a friendly reception from Tabascans whom he had left in the same mood. He had done lucrative trade. What should be different now?

      Something was. Cortéz must either find it out, or sail blindly away. He could not take his ships up the river. There was so much silt at its mouth that even the little sloop drew too much water for that. He ordered that boats should be launched. These were many and large, which is a measure of prudence in lonely seas.

      They were soon loaded with men and arms, and with goods for trade. They pulled up the stream.

      It was wide and shallow. Mangroves grew thickly on either side, and the water spread among their roots.

      As the boats pulled up the centre of the stream dark forms were seen moving among the trees: forms of men who were plainly observing them, though keeping more than a bow-shot away.

      After a time they came to where a large island divided the river, and, above that there was a stretch of open land on the right bank, where many Tabascans were assembled, who greeted them with defiant shouts, and the bending of bows.

      Cortéz summoned the boat in which was the Indian interpreter. "Go forward," he said, "to the bank. They will not think that we have any hostile aim when we advance one boat alone. Tell them that we come in peace. And ask why they meet us in this way, who had been friendly before."

      This was done, and the Tabascans, while maintaining their hostile front, made no overt attack on the boat. When it was within hailing distance, the Indian interpreter talked with them for some time.

      No one could tell what was really said. It must remain no more than a guess.

      He returned to Cortéz to report that they said that they had been blamed by the whole country for the friendly reception they had given Grijalva, and he must choose between destruction and swift retreat.

      That may have been all that was said: but next day he was gone. He left his Christian clothes as evidence that he had abandoned what he may have judged to be a hopeless cause, for he had learned by then that Cortéz would not retreat.

      It was well indeed that Jeronimo was there, to take his place, and with far better qualifications than he.

      Cortéz decided to do nothing till the next day. The island in mid-river was large enough to serve for a camping-ground for the night.

      Landed there, he called around him for consultation those of his officers who had been with Grijalva's expedition.

      They agreed that the town of Tabasco was not more than a few miles up the river. Perhaps five. It was a town of considerable size. Alonso de Avila said that there was a road from the town to the river mouth. They had passed a byroad that came from it to the river bank half a mile below. He had himself been to the town. Could he find the road again? Yes, he could do that.

      Cortéz said: "It is a great hazard to land; and if we are beaten here we lose all. But we do if we go back to the ships, for the news would spread, and we should be held in contempt."

      He said to Avila: "I will give you a hundred men. You will go down the stream when the dawn is near, and land by the road you know.

      "We will land here, on the right bank, and if they join battle with us, you may take them upon the rear."

      It seemed a good plan, for the land was not inhabited there, being mangroves and swamp. A quick march might secure a decisive surprise.

      So it was done. Avila was gone before dawn, and, as the light grew, Cortéz ordered the rest of the men to the boats.

      They saw that more Indians had arrived during the night. They were thick on both banks, which were also lined with canoes, crowded with men.

      Cortéz made one more effort for peace. He approached the bank with all his remaining boats, prepared to force a landing if it should be in his power, but he first told Jeronimo to make a last declaration of his desire for peace, and to threaten what he would otherwise do.

      If the Tabascans understood what was said, it had no effect. Arrows began to fly. The next moment the boats clashed with the canoes, which had neither advanced nor fled.

      There was a confused turmoil of strife, fierce and short. Some of the canoes overturned. The Spaniards leapt from their boats, seeking to wade to the bank. Men fought waist-deep in the muddy stream.

      Cortéz, with the advantage of body-armour, which few had, was of the first who won to the bank. His sword was active for the aid of others, as well as for his own defence. But he was caught in the mud. He lost a sandal. He must go on with a bare foot. There was a shout among the Tabascans that he was the leader. If they could get him down -. He became the centre of crowding foes.

      Loyal comrades were also there. A flurry of bitter strife saw the Indians thrust somewhat back. With firm ground beneath them, some of the arquebusiers got their clumsy weapons to fire. It was a sound of terror, never heard before in that land.

      Crossbow bolts were also beginning to fly. The quilted coats of the Spaniards were some defence against the Indians arrows; but the Indians had no protection that would resist the force of a crossbow bolt.

      They had made a wooden barrier across the way to the town. They retired to that. But the Spaniards were too closely upon their heels for them to rally resistance there.

      They went over the barrier together in a confused riot of strife - and then Avila's men were at the Indian rear, and they broke and fled.

      Cortéz led the way to an empty town.

Chapter 10

Battle

      The town was a small matter, compared with those the Spaniards were to see in the coming days, but it was enough to show them that the new continent was a civilised land. There were mud huts there, but there were also houses of stone. As for their contents, they were mostly gone. The Indians had stripped the place, in anticipation that it might not be held. There was some food, but little else. Gold, in particular, had been taken away.

      Cortéz did not return to the boats. He did not suppose that the morning skirmish was more than a curtain-raiser for greater things; but he saw that he must stand his ground.

      None of his men was dead, but there were numerous wounds. He sent those with the worst injuries back to the ships, and the boats that took them brought every whole man that could be spared from the crews. They brought the horses also, stiff from long confinement, but quick to regain mobility on the welcome land.

      They brought up some of the cannon also. It was a busy day, during which they were not molested at all.

      But Cortéz was never one to await his foes. He sent out two parties to ascertain in what force and how near the Indians might be.

      Alvarado led one, and encountered nothing.

      Francisco de Lujo led the other, and had a different experience. He became surrounded by Indians, in such force that he felt it hopeless to fight his way back. He took refuge in a large stone barn, where he was closely besieged.

      Fortunately for him, his enemies' cries of triumph came to Alvarado's ears. If Alvarado had found himself at the gates of hell, he would have challenged the devil there. He was not one to count numbers at such a need. He was swift to come to his comrade's aid. Together, they fought their way back, to be met midway by Cortéz, coming to their relief.

      It was a warning of what there was soon to be.

      They had taken a few prisoners at the last, and these talked to Jeronimo freely enough. He said the whole country was in arms. Tomorrow they would be attacked with a great force.

      Cortéz said: "Do they think that? They will find that they are wrong. We shall attack them."

      If that decision were bold, it was prudent too.

      It showed confidence, on which much might depend.

      Besides that, the Indian strength might increase, but that of Cortéz would not. He had his horses. He had his guns. He had every man that the ships could spare. He said: "They shall not come to us in these streets. We march out at dawn."

      There was an engineer, Mesa, among the soldiers, who had had experience in the Italian wars, to whom he gave command of the artillery. He gave a general command of the infantry to Diego de Ordaz, taking the little force of cavalry under his own direction, for his favourite operation of an attack on the rear of his foes.

      He chose fifteen with care, captains and cavaliers who had armour of plate and were accustomed to ride, and to use of the knightly lance.

      They rode out at the first hint of dawn, intending to make a wide detour, and find the rear of their thronging foes.

      Alvarado and Avila were among these. And there were Velásquez de Leon, Olid, Sandoval, Montejo - names that would become famous in days to be.

      The horsemen rode away, and de Ordaz led out his little army, to advance over three miles of difficult ground - maize-fields, intersected with ditches for irrigation, brimming with water, through which men must splash and flounder, while the guns were hauled, one after one, along a narrow causeway that ran through the fields.

      They came to an open plain, and to sight of a great army of Indians, which they would afterwards say to have consisted of five divisions, each of eight thousand men, which we may believe if we will. It was certainly a great host.

      But the nearly-naked bodies of the Indians had no protection, and their offensive weapons were arrows and stones, fishbone lances, and swords of brittle kind, that would be blunted by many blows.

      Now the Spaniards tried to deploy upon open ground, and were met by volleys of arrows that caused many wounds, in spite of the quilted coats for which Cortéz had delayed his ships in Havana Bay. But for his prudence in that, his hopes must have ended in the next hour.

      For there was an hour during which the battle swayed. There was no sign of the sixteen cavaliers, who were to have made havoc upon that numerous rear. With hard fighting, sufficient space was made to enable the guns to be swung round, and ranged in line. Ammunition was brought up. With explosions that were new and dreadful to the New World, balls of iron or stone tore through crowded ranks, having a front which was not many paces away.

      Arquebusiers and crossbowmen got to work also, having a wide mark that they could not miss. There was fearful slaughter in crowded ranks, but they did not fly. They closed and came on.

      It seemed, as the minutes passed, that the hard-pressed line of struggling pikes, and straight-thrusting swords, must be overwhelmed, or driven back upon dyke and maize, although the dead were becoming a breastwork around their front - and then hope came, at the sound of a distant cry.

      Cortéz, with the caution of method by which his audacities were always controlled, had decided that he must make a wide detour to avoid the number of his confronting foes. He would not modify this determination when he found that the ground was so difficult that rapid progress could not be made.

      More than an hour after he had proposed to be there, he looked on the far-stretched ranks of those who were too intent upon what was going on in front to become aware of the menace upon their rear.

      Sixteen against thousands. - Cortéz had been endeavouring to visualise what would happen when they rode into so dense a throng. To be separated would be surely to die. But how should there be instant recovery of a lance that transfixed a foe?

      "Comrades," he said, "you will aim at their faces, as though they had heads alone. That is an order to be obeyed. When I cry St. Pedro! It will be a signal to charge. But keep together. We shall not be running a race. We must hold our ranks, and ride as one, till we reach our friends."

      It was good counsel, for which as it proved, there was little need.

      At the cry of "St. Pedro" the squadron charged, some taking up the same cry, and some preferring St. Jago, who was the patron of Spain. With two such saints to aid, who could doubt what the end would be?

      But, in fact, there was no resistance at all. Horses had not been seen in that land. Man and horse were regarded as one, a monstrous, murderous apparition which no man could be expected to face.

      With deafening cries of terror, the Indians broke and fled. The horsemen would not have reddened their lances but that men cannot run at a horse's pace, and that they were impeded by their own density.

      "Shall we pursue?" Diego asked, as Cortéz came to his side.

      "No. We have done enough. Let them go."

      It was a decision as wise as it was humane. There would have been no further reduction in morale from a few hundred additional deaths, nor material alteration in the number of those who had been their foes.

      And, besides, the Spanish were weary men.

      But a few prisoners had been taken, and, among them two officers of rank, as their clothing showed.

      "I will eat first," Cortéz said, "and after that I will talk to them. Treat them fairly; and let Jeronimo be here."

      When he had dined, he had the two prisoners brought before him. He looked at them with the friendly smile which would bring most men to serve his will.

      He said to Jeronimo: "Tell them they are free to go. Let them tell their countrymen that we have no quarrel with them. We came in friendship, and desire no less at this hour. But, should further violence be tried, we will slay till there be none who still lives, neither man, nor woman, nor child. Let them think well, and then say which it shall be."

      The captives went, with bewilderment and relief, and Cortéz was quick to ask what the Spanish losses had been. There were many wounded, but only two dead - two of unregarded names, though it was important to them.

      Of the Indians, estimates varied. Some said a thousand lay dead on Ceutla plain. Some said many thousands. We may have it which way we will. No one counted the slain.

      There was a deputation from the Tabascans on the next day. They desired peace. They could have that, Cortéz said, but it must be entreated by the heads of the state themselves.

      At that word, they were quick to come, bringing many gifts. Among these gifts there were twenty well-chosen girls with whom the Spaniards might do as they would (in return for baptism, of course, which outweighs all).

      This may seem to be of minor account. But it was not. It had consequences which cannot be told in a short word. He who looked for St. Pedro's aid could not complain that he had a negligent saint.

Chapter 11

Marina

      About sixteen years before the day of the Tabasco battle, and about the time when Hernándo was falling from a treacherous Medellin wall, far away, in the south-eastern corner of Mexico, a rich cacique died.

      He left a wife, and a young girl child.

      He lived in a highly civilised state, though it was outside the knowledge of Europeans, and itself knew nothing of them. According to its laws of inheritance, the widow had certain rights in the property which he left, but, at her death, the girl must inherit all.

      The widow married again. She had a son, whom she loved more dearly than the girl, as some women do. Should the boy have nothing, and she all?

      She nursed this bitter feeling as the boy grew, till she hated the girl. She began to plot ways in which she might foil the law.

      She had one plan which involved procuring the dead body of another girl, which was no more easily arranged in Mexico than elsewhere. But she had patience, and there was a day in the spring of 1519 when the chance came.

      She heard that a girl of her daughter's age was ill, and likely to die. She sought her parents secretly, and said, if their child should not recover, she would give a large sum for the dead body, if it could be delivered to her unobserved.

      The bargain was made. The girl died. The body was delivered secretly. The woman announced that her own daughter had died suddenly. The dead body was buried with the usual rites, and the boy inherited all.

      But the daughter had waked from a drugged sleep to find that she was in the hands of slave-dealers, far from her home, and being hurriedly borne to a distant land.

      The merchants, who, instead of paying for her, had been paid to take her away, carried out an evil bargain as honest men. They took her across the breadth of Southern Mexico and through Yucatan, till they were near the Atlantic coast. They sold her to a Tabascan cacique, as the ships of Cortéz appeared at the river mouth.

      She was beautiful, gently-nurtured, well-educated, intelligent. The conditions of slavery were not severe, according to the laws which prevailed before the Spaniards came. She was one who would be likely to make the best of whatever circumstance she might have to face.

      But what happened was beyond her wildest dream, or her sharpest fear.

      Almost immediately after she had been bought, her owner was required to contribute to the presentation which must be made to those who were to become friends. The slave he had just bought was naturally to be preferred for such a purpose to those who were established in his household. She found herself herded with nineteen other young women of sundry sorts who were to pass to the control of the strange and terrible white invaders, who had come with thunder and fearful beasts from the unknown sea.

      To be transformed in a single day from a life of secure luxury in an honoured home to the condition of precarious slavery, was an experience which falls to few, and which few indeed could face with the outward serenity which she had continued to show. But to pass from that condition almost instantly into the power of these white barbarians, alien in language, and religion, and in the habits of daily life, whose existence she could not have imagined the week before, was a development which might have excused her deciding that it was beyond belief - that she was in the spell of a dreadful dream.

      The twenty girls, having been assembled at the house of a chieftain some miles away, and provided with better clothing than many of them may have worn before (for should not costly gifts be presented in such a way that their value is not in doubt?) were led by foot - vehicles were not a feature of Maya civilisation - to the Spanish camp.

      The dress in which she had been sold by her mother had a collar of feather-work, very beautifully wrought, such as only noble-women in Mexico were allowed to wear.

      The merchants into whose hands she passed had produced it as evidence of her gentle birth, and it had been included in her sale, but taken from her by her new owner, as obviously unsuitable for a slave to wear.

      Now it had been returned; but the elaborate feather-work, surpassing anything which could have been procured in the markets of Europe or Asia, could mean nothing to the Spaniards, beyond the fact that it was lovely, intricate work, its brilliant iridescent colours being attractive setting to a cream-brown neck.

      She must get what satisfaction she could from the beauty of what she wore. There was little else of beauty the way she went, which was across the plain where Indian burial parties were digging trenches into which they were tumbling dead bodies too numerous to be identified in their deaths.

      The cannonballs which had bounced along the plain, mowing them down, had not been reticent in what they did.

      The girl looked on the shot-torn bodies with eyes that saddened, but did not flinch. ... They came at last to the large stone house in Tabasco which Cortéz had made his headquarters. They were herded into a room on the ground floor, while Cortéz, with the interpreter in an upper room, was interviewing those who till yesterday had been the lords of the land.

      The girls were not given seats. Should a slave tire? Some sat on the ground. This one stood, declining either to meet or avoid the glances of the cavaliers who came crowding into the room.

      There was Montejo, with penetrating eyes, but in mirthful mood. He looked less a warrior than a business man. He passed a jest to Alvarado, taller bolder, more gaily confident, at his side.

      Morrales entered alone. An old man, somewhat lamed by an ill-healed wound. Hard-featured, but one to trust, either for a fair bargain, or the thrust of a friend's sword at a time of need.

      Christoval de Olid, a red-faced, hawk-nosed man of robust strength, but somewhat bow-legged through the long years during which he had cared less for the solid ground than a horse's back, came in at the side of a younger comrade, Diego de Ordaz, lover of adventure of any kind, or strife of wits, be it war or chess, or who would turn to a merry mood with a fiddle beneath his chin.

      There also came Avila, for whom a fiddle would have no tune, but who would be cool and competent either to command in the field or to administer more peaceful affairs.

      Now he listened with restrained impatience while Ircio, vainer than he, boasted of the part he had played (well enough) when the Spaniards had been near defeat through Cortéz' delay.

      Even though they spoke in a foreign tongue, those whom they came to inspect, of whom some wept, and some giggled, some looked on the ground, and some looked up with inviting eyes, could not doubt what their fate would be.

      "Twenty female slaves?" Cortéz was saying in the room overhead. "They have been brought here on foot? Have they been refreshed?"

      He gave order that a meal should be promptly served.

      He thought that his officers would find pleasure with these. But there would be jealousies as to whose they should be. That must be handled with care. There would be those who must be placated with a smiling word of regret, such as he knew how to speak. For himself, he would not compete. There would be wisdom in that.

      But he must cast an eye on the tribute that he received. There can be wide differences in the quality of female slaves. Were they of the kind to sit at the board, or to clean the floor? - Or perhaps both?

      When the conferences ended, and the humbled chieftains of Tabasco withdrew, he went down to the lower room.

      He passed Bernal Diaz as he went in, - a young, blunt-mannered captain whose special duty - and privilege - it was to care for the horses, on which the success of the expedition would so largely depend. An illiterate man, perhaps; but thorough, efficient, of some knowledge, and one to trust. He was doubtless hoping to get one of the girls; and was one who would have to be denied, with smiling words of regret, and a future hope.

      He paused a moment, to enquire whether any of the horses had suffered hurt in the battle of the last day, and while he did so was unaware that a girl's eyes were on him with a straight glance, very different from the way in which she had looked past the other officers who had been filling the room.

      She saw a man of thirty-five years - nearly double her own age - but in whom there was no reduction in the light vigour of youth and health. He was of somewhat more than average height, slender and strong, dark of hair and eye. Alert in movement and glance. Smiling with eyes and lips as he talked to one who was plainly of lower rank than himself.

      He was strange, but not repellent, to one who had never seen a white man till the last hour, and seldom any as tall as he.

      He was dressed soberly enough, in indigo velvet, but it was of a quality she had wit to perceive, and the ostrich feathers that curled round his broad-brimmed hat, which he had adopted when he received his commission as a distinguishing sign, were strange to her, but their significance was emphasised by the fact that, among her own countrymen, feathers were the insignia of rank, which it was an offence to wear without legal right.

      As he advanced into the room, her eyes sought his, without boldness, but yet in an intimate, equal way, which he did not miss.

      "Oh," she prayed silently to the gods she knew, "if it could - if it could be he."

      He stopped short, while, for a long moment, they regarded each other, and were regarded by all around.

      Then he turned to where Jeronimo stood a few paces behind. "Tell her," he said, "that she will be conducted to my own ship; that she will have nothing to fear."

      He turned to Montejo to say: "Will you order this, that it be done with courtesy and regard?"

      Alvarado was at his side. He said, in his jesting way, but not as being free from chagrin: "You said you would have none. You should have said none but the best."

      Cortéz was short in his reply, as he would seldom be, unless in angered rebuke: "Have I said I will have any now? I have said she is not for you."

      He went on to nominate those to whom the remaining nineteen would fall. Olid asked: "Is that the order in which we choose? Or how is it to be?"

      His own name had come late.

      Cortéz knew the jealousies of those he controlled too well to fall into that trap. Was he to make one man content, and eighteen wrathful to the degree that others were esteemed to be more than they?

      He said: "Not at all. If you differ, are there not dice?"

      He went, without giving her a second glance, and became busy with other affairs.

Chapter 12

Shadow Of Power

      The landing at Tabasco had not been as disastrous as it had threatened, but it had not been evidently fortunate in its results. There had been hard fighting, and little gold. That might be the view which soldiers, and even Cortéz, would take, but Father Olmedo thought differently. The Tabascans were in a mood of subjection, and if swift action were taken might they not find themselves in the Christian fold before normal independence of mind should be resumed?

      Cortéz, though he might have other matters upon his mind, was never loth to listen when such suggestions were made. It need mean no more than a day's delay.

      The essentials of Christianity (according to Spanish Catholicism) were very briefly explained to very pliable minds. Jeronimo, having a thorough knowledge of their language, and a training for priesthood that could not be wholly forgotten, was doubtless an excellent medium for such a mission.

      The temple images were cast down. One of Virgin and Child was set up. Mass was celebrated before a vast concourse of wondering Indians, with all available pomp.

      Cortéz, as he was rowed back to the waiting fleet, could feel that he had come through the second ordeal of his adventure without discredit, and that the approval of Heaven was very sure.

      When he climbed the side of his own ship, horses and cannon, all the impediments of the invasion, and all of presents or plunder that had been collected, had been hoisted aboard, and the fleet was ready to spread its sails to the friendly wind for a further goal.

      Hour by hour, with Alvarado at his side, he leaned on the counter-rail, watching a coast along which his companion had sailed before.

      Alvarado could point out the river which Grijalva had named after himself: another, where they had done a lucrative trade: a third, where they had been horrified to find evidence, if not of cannibalism, of human sacrifices to heathen gods.

      But Cortéz was not willing to stop at any of these places. He did not wish his voyage to be a mere repetition of what Grijalva had done before. And he had stopped once, to come away with honour, but little else. He sailed on.

      The weather was pleasant. The wind fair. The scenery along which they sailed had luxuriant beauty which asserted a gracious land.

      Cortéz anchored at last, finding good shelter in the lee of the island of St. Juan de Ulna.

      He had already passed the limit of Grijalva's venture, but might have continued further along the Mexican shore, had not a large canoe almost immediately appeared from the mainland and steered for his own vessel. It contained Indians of a different aspect and dress from the Tabascans he had met before, and of an evident friendship. They brought welcome presents of fruit: gracious offerings of flowers. They had trinkets of gold, which they would gladly barter for the glass beads and other articles which were stranger to them than was the gold to European cupidity.

      Cortéz called upon Jeronimo to interpret for him, and found a difficulty he had not foreseen.

      He spoke Tabascan only, and these people conversed in another tongue. But he said there was a way by which this difficulty could be overcome. The girl whom Cortéz had brought aboard knew this and other languages of the New World. She knew the Tabascan tongue. He could translate to her, and she to the visiting Indians.

      Cortéz said: "Ask her to enquire of who they are, and of the lord of their land, whom I am anxious to meet."

      "So I will, and so, I am sure, she will do. But it will be no more than she knows without enquiry from them. She has told me of much, during the last two days, of the Aztec land, including matters of which I had known little before."

      "Then let her say no more than I will come ashore tomorrow, and I will hear first what she can tell."

      They returned with many presents, having expressed pleasure at the intimation that Spaniards would land.

      Cortéz ordered Jeronimo to bring the Aztec girl to his own cabin, where they would dine together that evening, a cavalier, Puerto-Carrero, who was in his confidence, making a fourth.

      It was intended that she should give an account of the Aztec people and land, which Jeronimo would translate, but, in fact, she said little during the first hour, for the priest had learned so much from her already that he could compose his own narrative, only turning to her from time to time for elucidation or further detail, when some incisive question from Cortéz would require more explanation than he could give.

      In the cabin of the sea-house, which was the best name she could give the ship in the Aztec tongue, (it must have been an almost incredible marvel to her), she sat silently and self-possessed, listening to the rapid Spanish of Jeronimo (which she was already beginning slightly to understand), and answered in low musical Tabascan, if any question were addressed to her.

      She knew that the commander's eyes were upon her continually, but avoided showing consciousness of that, only looking at him when she spoke, when she seemed to be addressing him personally, as it was surely courteous to do, though she might be speaking in a strange tongue, which must be translated to him.

      Jeronimo said: "There is a great Emperor, Montezuma, who rules over the whole land, from a city that is in the midst of a lake (a kind of inland Venice, if I understand rightly what I am told). It is about two hundred miles from here. But his dominions extend much further than that, for it may be, a thousand miles; and his rule includes nations of different languages, some of whom would rebel, if they had courage enough, but he is stronger than they."

      Cortéz asked: "Are these reluctant vassals nearer to us, or further away?"

      Jeronimo turned to the girl, and for a minute or two they spoke rapidly together, she drawing outlines at times with a pink nail on the damask cloth.

      Then he turned to Cortéz. "Marina says: -"

      "Marina?"

      "Yes. Did I not tell you that she has accepted the faith? She was baptised yesterday in that name. She said that she would take our faith, she having become one of us."

      Cortéz said: "It was most wisely resolved." He wondered what measure of persuasion there might have been from one through whom she must speak (if at all), and who was so earnest in his own faith. "Well," he asked, "what does Marina say?" To which Jeronimo gave a detailed reply, showing the central position of the Aztec power, and how strong the subordinate nations were.

      Cortéz listened with more care than he allowed to appear, and there was little that he forgot. Then he began to question Marina, through the priest, concerning the social customs of this strange empire, its laws, its religion, its military strength, and, not least, as to its stores of gold and of costly stones, and from where they came, and finally as to herself, as it became evident that she was educated and informed, as a slave was unlikely to be; and so heard a tale which would have been hard to believe, had she not been such as to make its wonder less by her own evident fitness for the rank and its background she claimed to have.

      And he noticed at times that she had the look of one who is not entirely baffled by what is said in another tongue. And once she spoke a few words of Spanish, in a halting way. He thought: "Is she learning our language already?" And then: "But she is hearing it all the time. Except when Jeronimo speaks Tabascan to her." And then: "But, if she will learn Spanish well, what a boon she will be! It seems that she can talk in all the tongues of this land, having been so taught in her school days, with no time to forget. Our landing at Tabasco was of more avail than I had seen. As was my putting back to Cozumel for the leak I cursed. Surely it is the overriding mercy of God."

      He dreamed of Marina during a restless night. Once he rose, remembering that her cabin was very near to his own in the high poop of the ship, as he had ordered that it should be. He thought: "She is my slave. Shall I not have what I will?"

      Surely she would be glad - But perhaps not.

      She was not of a kind with whom a hidalgo of Spain should deal in a rough way.

      He lay down. He would talk to her when the morning should come, which would not be long.

      But that was just what he could not do.

      He told Jeronimo, when morning came, that it was important for her to learn Spanish with speed, for she could then interpret direct, and the priest said that that was true, and he would do what he could. She was one who was easy to teach.

Chapter 13

Envoy Of Montezuma

      Cortéz considered the friendly reception which he had had, he considered also that Marina had said that if he were resolved to see the Emperor he could not land at a much nearer point. He decided to go ashore.

      But, after the experience he had had, he would do all in a cautious way.

      The shore was barren and flat, with a ridge of sandhills, in which he saw advantage if he should be met, after all in a hostile mood.

      The next morning, being Good Friday, he began by sending his guns ashore. Mounted among the sandhills, they commanded a wide range. When this was done, he started the building of what had the appearance of a permanent camp. In this, he had the help of many of the natives. They shared the labour of building huts. They did not object to the felling of trees, on the edge of the sandy plain. They brought cotton cloth for the tents.

      The work was willingly, even merrily done; but they gave the Spaniards an impression of being under orders in what they did.

      There was much trading also, with ease and goodwill, though it must be conducted by signs alone, for both parties were sure that they got more than value for what they gave.

      Marina watched from a quiet deck, for there had been an order that no woman should go ashore. There were a few of a menial kind among the two hundred Cuban Indians who had been shipped to do the services which Spanish cavaliers would require, whether on water or land. They were of little account, and, besides them, there were only the twenty slave girls who had been acquired a few days before.

      After the way in which the interpreter had disappeared, it was mere prudence not to allow them a similar opportunity. Marina might observe that, but she had reason for discontent.

      She asked Jeronimo, who was with her, teaching her his language, as he had been told to do: "Should we not be on shore? I might find out much which it would be important for the captain to know."

      "He would fear lest you should rejoin your own people. You are important to him."

      "So I wish to be. But - my own people? These are not of my race. I suppose all of this land are alike to him. I do not wonder at that. If I should come to your world, I might go from country to country saying, 'they are all pink. How can you tell them apart?' But these people are not mine. They are not of the Aztec race. They are men conquered by Montezuma."

      "Even so, you might go through them, and return to your own home."

      "How could I do that? I have told you what was done. If it were known, it would bring my mother to death. Do you think I would do that?"

      "It would be an act from which a daughter might shrink, even though she had been hostile to you. But you cannot be sure that it was by her act that you were carried away. (Marina did not reply to that) And you could surely do other things, without returning to your own home."

      "They might be of little comfort to me. But that is what we need not discuss, for it will not be. You can tell your captain that I came here without many things of which I have need, and which it is important for me to buy now. And if I talk to these people here, it may be useful to him."

      The priest went ashore, and put the matter to Cortéz, as she had put it to him. Cortéz thought: "It is a great risk, for she is beyond price for me to have, knowing, as she does, so much that I could learn in no other way; and as interpreter also. But if I go inland (as I aim to do) I must take her with me, and she could not be guarded against escape night and day unless she were held in chains. Besides that I desire her myself for a better use. ... If she be trusted, she may stay with us, as she would otherwise be unwilling to do. It is a risk I will take."

      Showing no sign of these thoughts, he said to Jeronimo: "You have talked with her. You know her better than I. Will she keep her word?"

      "I know little of women. But she is one whom I would trust before most."

      "So I will. She must have needs, as she says. Give her the means to buy what she will."

      The priest returned with the permission. He said: "The boat waits. You may go now, if you will, I have brought you these."

      He gave her twenty small diamond-shaped beads of glass, at which she laughed, taking four, and handing the others back. "Did you think I would buy a house? These are jewels enough. ... But no, give me two more. There are others who will have needs which are like to mine."

      She went ashore in a gayer mood than she had known since she had walked among the flowers of her own garth. She found men who would serve her needs (and those of the other slaves, who could not come ashore, and whom she did not forget), though she must wait for her requirements to be brought to her from a nearby town on the next day, for those who had come to barter had not thought that there would be such a market to meet, And she talked to those who were glad to find one with whom they need not converse by grimace and gesture, and they talked freely with her.

      When sunset was near, she returned to the ship, to which Cortéz also retired, though he planned to lie ashore on the next night.

      Marina sought Jeronimo. "I must see the Commander," she said. "I have learned that which he should hear."

      There was no delay about that. Cortéz knew that a decisive moment had come. He could remain at this spot for sufficient time to barter the cargoes which he had brought, for as much of gold, or stones of value to the Old World, as he could contrive to get, hoping that the amount