CHAPTER LIII.
MY CONSCIENCE GETS THE BETTER OF DESIRE, AND A BIRD BRINGS GREAT JOY TOMY DEAR LADY.
"Master," says Matthew, "let us try and snatch a wink of sleep, for 'tislate, and the Ingas are early risers. Moreover, we shall do well to seehow this design appears in the daylight, for I have known many a schemethat wore an excellent complexion overnight--like certain females--notworth two straws in the morning. Indeed," adds he, "we might withadvantage keep this business to ourselves and say not a word of it toany one until we know these Ingas better, and judge whether they areripe enough or too far gone for preservation."
I could but agree with him in this prudent suggestion, and so we badeeach other good-night, and laid ourselves down in a pleasant spot.
But I could not close an eye all the night for considering of thismighty project, and the more I thought about it the more I liked it. Yetwas I not so blind but that I perceived the difficulties which lay inthe way of one man raising a downtrodden and helpless people into a bodyof such force as to overthrow the Portugals and hold their ownhereafter. I knew I was only an ordinary man, with no special aptitudefor governing men; nevertheless I thought that, with Lady Biddy at handto temper my judgment with her practical good sense, I might yet manageto come out pretty well in the end.
And so all through the night I lay revolving my plans for the futurewithout perceiving the folly of them any more than if I had beenreasonably sleeping and these thoughts had taken the form of a dream.
As soon as the Ingas began to stir I roused up Matthew, who was so heavywith sleep that I believe he would have willingly abandoned his schemeof regenerating the Indians on the moment for the sake of another fiveminutes' doze, and bade him let our friends know at once that we couldhave nothing to do with their plan of attacking the Portugals.
"Nay," says he, "I'll hold my tongue on that matter until we havedecided upon t'other; they will more readily believe in your wisdom ifthey see you are not in a hurry."
If I had taken these words to heart I might have seen what a fool I was;for here had I settled to take upon myself the most seriousresponsibility with rather less hesitation than I should have given toswallowing a toadstool.
We journeyed all that day and the next through the mountains, coming alittle before nightfall within sight of the river Cauca; but we werestill at a prodigious height, so that we were forced to rest thereagain.
An Inga pointed down to a part of the valley where their village lay,but we could see nothing of it for the woods that lay everywhere aboutlike a thick mat. The sight of these vast unbroken woods took me abacksomewhat, for my imagination had figured some gentle grassy slope thatwould serve as pasturage for our cattle; and Matthew seemed likewise tohave fostered a pleasing hope of open country, for turning to me, with arueful look in his honest face and round eyes, he says--
"Master, I perceive we shall have to go a-felling trees."
"We shall see," says I, putting on an air of indifference; "from thispoint to be sure, the land looks somewhat encumbered" (he noddedassent), "but we may find elsewhere a space where there are not so manytrees."
"I hope to God we may, master," says he, "for, besides that, these treesare mighty big, and most of 'em like any iron and brass for toughness; Idoubt if the Ingas have ever a saw or a hatchet to lay our hands to."
We turned away in silence, and I think Matthew was nothing loth to setthe subject aside and go to sleep in quiet and peace, for I had kept himawake all the night before laying out my schemes, consulting him as tothe building of houses, the digging of water-courses, the setting up ofsmithies, workshops, and the like--indeed my enthusiasm bore me along tosuch lengths that towards daybreak I got naught but grunts in reply tomy questions, for the fellow, though he continued to keep his body in asitting posture, could no longer manage to resist sleep. Nor had I growncool upon this business during the day, but whenever occasion offered totalk with Matthew privily, I pursued the same theme, so that I do trulybelieve there was nothing left unsaid. Wherefore, as I say, he was innowise put out by my present silence, but hied him to a remote placewhere he might lie at full length and sleep with his ears shut.
Going back with the Ingas to where the tents had been set up, we weremet by Lady Biddy and Wangapona, who held her hand. The girl ran to herhusband's side, and I, taking my lady, led her to the point thatoverlooked the valley. On the way she laughed merrily as she told me ofher endeavor to learn a few Indian words from Wangapona; but being comethere she became of a sudden silent, and looked over that immense sweepof wilderness that stretched from our feet right down to the river, andthen up to the mighty mountains beyond, in wondrous admiration. And whenshe spoke, her voice was awed to a low tone.
"How magnificently grand it is, Benet," says she, "and yet howmelancholy! These mountains and forests--so old, so grand, sosilent--seem to reproach us for spending our little life so lightly."
"Is the reproach merited?" says I; "are we right to spend our liveslightly?"
"Nay," says she; "I can not think it wrong to employ the faculties thatare given us for our enjoyment. You would not tear the wings from abutterfly because it is less laborious than the worm that creeps!" Then,turning her wondering eyes over that vast wilderness, she adds sadly,"Sure, these wilds are not for men to live in."
"The Ingas live in the midst of it," says I, pointing down into thevalley.
"Then shame on those who have forced them to such an existence," saysshe, for I had told her how the Portugals had driven them from theircities. Then, with a tender sigh, "Poor souls!" says she, "_no wonderthey never laugh_. The stillness of these mountains and the sadness ofthe woods have filled their hearts."
These words went home to my conscience; and just as a soap-bubble at theslightest touch will burst--its perfect shape and bright colors, thatwere a delight to the eye, disappearing in an instant, leaving naughtbehind but the drop of murky water from which it sprang--so did allthose fine colorable hopes in which I had joyed for two whole days andnights vanish quite away at this prick, giving me to contemplate theselfish, paltry motive that gave 'em birth.
I took my lady in silence back to the tent, and, having bidden hergood-night, I hied me again in great dejection to the rock, whence thevalley looked now more gloomy and awesome than before, for the creepingdarkness; and there sitting down I took myself plainly to task. For Idid now plainly discern that I had been cheating and deceiving myselfwith false pretences, with a view to cheating and deceiving my dear LadyBiddy after. Why had I leapt so readily at Matthew's scheme? Not for thesake of the unhappy Ingas, but for my own delight; not because agenerous emotion moved me to rescue them from the Portugals, but becauseof a base and selfish desire to keep Lady Biddy in the wilderness,sundered from her friends and companions by necessity; not to advancethe welfare of others, but to stave off the inevitable moment when mylady and I must part forever. Nor could I excuse myself by pleadingignorance of any harmful intention, for surely I must have felt in myheart that this design was not to my lady's advantage, since I had notdared to mention one word of it to her. That in myself was enough toconvict me of wickedness.
Looking down into the valley, which had now became a black, unfathomablegulf, I repeated Lady Biddy's words--"These wilds are not for men tolive in"; and then again, "Would you tear the wings from a butterfly?"and after that, "Poor souls! no wonder they never laugh." And eachphrase was a reproach that did stab my heart like an avenging knife; forI had in my wishes doomed her whom I loved to dwell in this gloom. I hadmeditated robbing her of all the cheerful delights of youth and liberty.I had planned to silence her merry laughter, and overcast that brightyoung face with the wan cast of grief and despair.
"Nay," says I, springing up, "I will stay not a day longer in thesewilds than I can help. We will go hence. What matter how perilous andwearisome the way if she have hope to strengthen her heart? With God'shelp I will comfort her pillow every night with some prospect of betterfortune on the morrow."
Just at that moment I heard in
the woods below the cry of a bird thathad often filled Sir Harry and me with amazement and delight (which birdI have since heard called by the Ingas _Arara_), and this put me in mindhow I might dispel from my lady's mind those gloomy thoughts inspired bythe sight of the valley; so coming to her tent I scratched gently on oneof the mats to know if she were asleep, as I did use to do when we wereimprisoned on the pirate ship.
"Is that you, Benet?" says she from within.
"Ay," says I! "if it be not too great trouble, do come hither andlisten."
So presently she came out, and no sooner had she stood listening aminute, but she cries in a trembling voice:
"Oh, Benet, 'tis the bell of Falmouth church--hark!"
We stood quite silent again, and there came faintly to our ears, "Dong,dong--dong, dong--dong, dong!" to which we listened till it ceased andcame no more.
"What is it, Benet?" says she, not louder than a whisper.
"'Tis but a bird," says I; "but I take it Providence has winged ithither for a promise and sign that ere long you shall hear Falmouthbells again."
"Oh! Benet, Benet," says she, choking with tears of joy, "how good youare!" and with that she pressed my hand and went back to her tent.
"God grant that I be worthier of such esteem," says I to myself inpassion.