The Admirable Lady Biddy Fane
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I begged Matthew to make my apologies to the captain for not having paid my respects to him; but this he would not do, telling me these Ingas were a mighty touchy sort of people in trifles, and were as like as not to take an apology as an admission of wrong, and a mean trick of getting cheaply out of a mess one ought never to have got into.
"How'mever," says he, "I have settled that matter by telling him that an Englishman's first duty is to pay his services to the females of his tribe, and, that being done, you are now at liberty to devote all your attention to him."
In this matter it seemed to me Matthew showed more sense than I or many better cultivated men, who never meet without some paltry excuse or other.
The Indians meanwhile led us to the tent, where a supper had been laid out on a mat, and insisted very civilly on our eating before entering upon business: then they withdrew to their place by the fire, where a space was left in their midst for us, every man smoking tobacco, for I believe there is no people in the world so given to the use of this herb.
When we had finished our meal, we escorted Lady Biddy to the second tent, which had been given for her use, Matthew telling us that the Indians never speak of their affairs before the sex. "Though why not," says he, "I can not say, except it be that their females are given overmuch to talk, which leads to blabbing of secrets."
Lady Biddy retained us a minute at the entrance to her tent to show how Wangapona, her Indian friend, had decked the floor with soft blooms of flowers, and bound knots of bright feathers to the head and foot of the net which served her as a bed; also placing for her use a bowl of fresh water, in which floated certain fruits to give it flavor and sweetness. Then bidding each other farewell, with a fervent wish that we might sleep peacefully, we separated; but she did not again offer to let me kiss her.
Coming to the fire with Matthew, we sat down with the Indians, and accepted of their tobacco-sticks, which they call zigaroes; and now, all smoking like so many chimneys, the chief spoke to the matter in hand, every one listening in solemn silence. And first of all he bade Matthew tell me that every enemy of the Portugals and Spaniards was regarded by them as a friend.
"Ay," says the chief, in his tongue, "we spare the lives of those serpents and jagoaretes that haunt the woods they hunt, and pray to our god, the Sun, not to dry up the festering marshes that poison the air they breathe, but to nourish with his rays all venomous fruits that they may eat, all loathsome reptiles whose fangs and stings may taint their blood, and to give strength to those beasts who tear their flesh and break their bones.
"Our forefathers," he goes on, "were mighty kings, and the meanest of our people lived in palaces, to which the richest abodes of these accursed Portugals are but dens and hovels. Our people spurned under their feet the gold for which our enemies sell their souls. Our men were wise; our women were faithful; our children were obedient: all were happy. Then came this troop of ravening jagoaretes into our slumbering camp. Jagoaretes! Nay, 'tis an insult to the divine Sun to compare the basest beast he has fashioned to a Portugal. The jagoarete kills; he does not yoke our warriors with oxen and scar their backs with whips; he does not put chains upon our hopeful boys and doom them to lifelong pain; he does not force our innocent maids to bear a race of slaves."
"Lord love us, master," says Matthew, after translating this to me, "I hope he isn't going to make a capital offence of this trifle."
"We are unhappy," continues the Inga, sinking his voice to a tone of mournful sadness. "Who can laugh in the still night? The very flowers hang their heads: in the morning you will find tears in their eyes. Our sun has sunk. Will it ever rise again?"
"Ay, that it will, I warrant," says Matthew to him stoutly.
The Indians held up their hands as a warning not to interrupt the chief.
"They are numberless as chesketaws3 on the lagoons; they suck our blood like vampires in the night; we have no arms against them. We are scattered over the land like leaves after a tornado. Thus scattered, what can we do against our clustering enemies? We are hunted into the mountains and the desert; but even there our homes are not safe. The world is too small to give refuge to the Inga. There is no limit to the envious greed of our enemies; no bounds to their cruel spite. They want gold, but they will not buy it of us, for that would give us power and the means to live. They would not have a single Inga free, but all should be their slaves, to wear yokes and chains, and toil for them without hope. Is it all darkness?" says he piteously, looking round him; "is there no hope? Yes," cries he, facing the moon and stretching up his arms; "while the bride smiles, her god lives, and the moon's god is our god – the great father of all."
With this he slowly sank into his place upon the mat, saying never another word; and thus ended his speech, which seemed to me to be very fine for such as he to deliver.
After a few minutes' silence, given in respect to the chief, that his words might be duly digested, another Inga rose and spoke, and his speech was more practical and to the purpose. He said the tribe bore us a great affection, not only because were enemies to the Portugals, but also because in the face of that foe I had dared to strike up the musket leveled at the breast of Wangapona. As our true friends, they were prepared to give more consideration to our wishes than their own, and therefore the first thing they wished to know was in what manner they might serve us.
I told Matthew to ask if they could give us an idea of our position with regard to the sea; upon which the chief, taking a stick of wood, spread out the ashes of the fire in a plain to represent the face of the earth; then, with a handful of ashes, he built up a very fair presentment of the mountains, and after that traced furrows to show the course of rivers. That river we had crossed he called the Attrato, and another still a good distance to the west of the mountains where we lay he called the Cauca, and one yet further west the Magdalena (though he had another name for it), which joins the Cauca at some distance from its disemboguement. He also showed another stream rising from the mountains called the Meta, and this he assured us flowed into the Baraquan or Oronoque, through his knowledge of the country in that part was limited to hearsay.
"Now, Matthew," says I, "what are we to do? Our nearest way to the coast will be to follow the Cauca, and get into the Magdalena, which flows into the sea somewhere about Cartagena."
"Ay," says he, "but we must know if we are likely to flow with it into the hands of the Portugals."
To this question on this subject the Ingas replied that the whole of that coast was overrun with Portugals, who had, besides, several settlements on the Magdalena. They offered to guide us as far as they might go in safety, but could give us no encouragement of escaping our enemies.
"Then," says I, "we must strike out for the Meta, and so get to the Baraquan, where I doubt if any Portugals are to be met with."
The Ingas said they had heard of no enemies save certain tribes of hostile Indians on the Baraquan, and promised to guide us to the Meta, which they counted as three weeks' journey.
"If we take three weeks to get to the embers," says Matthew, regarding the plan of ashes, "Lord only knows when we shall get t'other side of the fire."
While we were discussing this difficulty, the Indians argued upon the possibility of descending the Meta.
"It seems to be a plaguy difficult job, master, even to these fellows, who are used to traveling those parts," says Matthew. "The open country is impassable by reason of the woods; and the river is not much better traveling, by reason of divers cataracts, lakes, and blind inlets, where one may be lost as in a maze, to say nothing of one part where we must go a hundred miles out of our way to avoid a race of hungry cannibals."
"Ask them," says I, "if they can offer any alternative by which we may come to our friends."
Upon this question a great discussion ensued, in which Matthew took part.
"Well, Matthew," says I, growing impatient, "what is it all about?"
"To begin with, master," says he, "when I told them we wished to join our friends, they put the very pertinent question, 'Where are they?' That was a poser. Hows'mever, for the glory of our country, I replied that Englishmen were to be found pretty nearly everywhere, especially where they are not wanted. At present, I told 'em, we were pretty well occupied in sweeping the seas of the Portugals, that we had made a very good beginning, and that when we had finished that business we should undoubtedly step ashore and turn them out of Guiana. But as we did not wish to wait here till then, we should take it as a kindness if they would put us in the way of getting to some part of the coast where there were no Portugals, and we might keep a smart lookout for a passing vessel of our own people."
"Was that the whole subject of discussion?" says I, when he paused.
"No, master. They don't doubt anything I said, and are ready to believe that our ships are as plentiful in the seas as herrings. But herrings are not always to be caught when they are wanted, and the possibility of our having to wait on the shore a week before being picked up by a passing Englishman lays open the difficulty of finding any spot on the coast where we are not likely to be picked up first by a passing Portugal. The west and north coasts are to be put out of the question. The only coast that may be safe is that they know nothing about, to be reached only by the Baraquan, of which they know as little."
"Then all this talk has resulted in nothing?" says I.
"No, master, it has not, but the subject will have to be sifted out by us slowly; and so I will let them know that we will give their proposal the consideration it deserves, and let them know our decision in the morning."
The reply he gave evidently pleased the Ingas, who, bidding us good-night after their fashion, lay down to sleep, while Matthew and I strolled in the moonlight to consider the proposal they had made.
CHAPTER LI
MATTHEW AND I CONTINUE THE DISCUSSION, BUT WITH SMALL PROFIT
"Master," begins Matthew, "the Ingas would have us go to their village, which lies, as I take it, among the mountains to the west, nigh that river Meta they have spoken about."
"There need be no hesitation in agreeing to that," says I; "for whether we resolve to make for the north seaboard board or the west, this village lies all in our way."
"You are in the right," says he; "but they would have us stay there."
"That needs no consideration neither," says I; "for we have no mind to become Ingas."
"Not so fast, master; hear me out," says he. "They would have us stay there until they have drawn together their scattered people in such force as we may assault the Portugals, and take one of their ports."
"That is easier said than done, Matthew."
"Ay," says he; "like descending the Baraquan, but with this difference – that in attacking a town we can ascertain pretty fairly what opposition we shall have to encounter, and what force we have to overcome it; while in t'other affair there's no knowing what obstacle may stand in our way, or what accidents of sickness and the like may happen to enfeeble us. Look you, master, the furthest an Englishman has penetrated into Guiana by the Oronoque is a matter of thirty or forty leagues, and that with the succor of lusty fellows well armed with boats and stores; now, what we two men, with no arms but what we can beg of the Ingas, and no stores but what we may carry on our backs, propose to compass is a journey through that same Guiana by untrodden ways and broken waters – a distance of three or four hundred leagues, as I reckon; and with a female, remember. Likewise I would have you reflect that ere we are many months on our way, we shall be overtaken by the rain, when we must seek high ground, or be swept away by the floods and torrents that pour through the valleys. For you and me a month or two of misery, more or less, may count for nothing; but how is the female to stand it, with not a dry thread to her back, and, as like as not, never a bit of shoe to her foot?"
This perspective was terrible enough, and yet, as I saw not overdrawn, but indeed favorable in comparison with the image that presented itself to my mind, of my poor lady falling sick under the hardships of privation, and having no shelter but chilly rocks, no remedy, no comfort, nor any hand to render those services which a woman can only receive from a woman.
"Now, Matthew," says I, "let me hear what you have to say in favor of t'other venture, for I see which song your voice is most in tune for."
"I will say what I think, master," says he, showing greater patience with me than I with him, "for I have no wish you should count me wiser or more foolish than I am. Yet that you may not be disinclined to the Ingas' design by thinking my wishes lead me to set it out in a fairer light than it deserves, I must tell you that I have no relish for meddling with the Portugals. I have seen enough of 'em to satisfy my stomach to the last day of my life, and would rather end my days in a wilderness than under the walls of a town. Anyhow, master, I will try to let you see their project as they laid it out to me. This tribe numbers about a hundred men and boys; females count for nothing. Ten of their number will be left with us in the village; the rest will go out to rouse up other tribes and bring them to their purpose. They will take with them the Portugals' muskets, as a proof of what they have done, and I warrant it will count for something in their inducement that they have for allies a couple of Englishmen who are accustomed to whipping Portugals; for it is certainly in the knowledge of these Indians that we beat them out of Cartagena in years gone by."
"How many Indians do they think to muster in this business?"
"Betwixt three and four hundred, according to the general opinion, and that within a month."
"Say they gather together all that they hope for," says I, "what can a band of naked savages do against a town fortified with guns and defended by trained soldiery, Matthew?"
"In the first place, master, let me tell you, 'tis no inconvenient to fight without clothes in these parts. As for their guns, I doubt if they will ever get a chance of firing at us. We shall take the town by surprise, for these Ingas know how to march easily through the woods by ways unknown to the Portugals. Against the trained soldiery we shall bring ten arquebuses, with good account, I'll answer for it, with galore of bows, blow-guns, and pikes, all wielded by fellows who are fighting for liberty and life."
"Supposing we carry the town, as very probably we may, what then? Unless every soul in the place is massacred the news must be carried to the Portugals, who will lose no time in sending ships and men to recover it. Supposing the Ingas can withstand an assault, how long can they stand out against an organized siege?"
"Why, that's their lookout," says Matthew. "What we have at heart is getting out of Guiana, and it will be odd indeed if we can't get some sort of craft to bear us thence ere the Portugals come down to lay siege to the place."
"What," says I, "would you desert the Ingas after leading 'em into this pitfall?"
"Nay," says he, "'tis their own wish to go there, and they know full well we have no wish to stay."
"Ay," says I; "but did you warn them of the vengeance the Portugals will certainly take? No! On the other hand, with your prating of our prowess on the sea, and the multitude of our ships, and drubbings in store for the Portugals, you may have led them to believe that we should come back with ships and men to help them, which can never be while we stand at peace with the Portugal."
Matthew scratched his head in silence for a minute, and then says he:
"'Twould be a scurvy trick to leave the poor fellows to fight the next battle alone, and that's a fact. If they could only hold their own – or anybody else's."
"But they can not, so we must set our faces against their design."
"I don't mind standing by 'em, master, if you're minded to let me take the responsibility of this business on my own shoulders. I warrant there's not a soul alive in England who remembers me, or would care to see me again."
"And what would become of you, my poor fellow?" says I, touched by the sadness of his speech. "Do you think you could hold the town against the Portugals?"
"No," says he; "but I wager I'd thin down the rascals before they took it from me."
"Come," says I, "let us think of something else, for you must know this can never be."
So I turned my thoughts to the Baraquan, and gloomy enough they were, so that I had not a word to say; but Matthew, though his hopes were dashed, still revolved the Ingas and their design in his mind, as it appeared, for presently, breaking silence, he says:
"I had no notion these Ingas were such a fine set of fellows, which only proves once again that we should never judge of a flock of sheep by the ewes in the pen."
"Why," says I, "did you not find your wives amiable and kind?"
"Ay," says he; "but what does a man want of such trumpery as amiability and kindness?" (As I have tried to show, he was himself remarkable for these qualities.) "Can you tell me anything about these Ingas, master, for I am no schollard?"
"Nor I neither, Matthew," says I. "I know no more of these people than what I have learnt from you and my own limited observation."
"You know enough to perceive they are better than the common ruck of mankind, I warrant," says he, "for they have the bearing and proud carriage of a noble race not used to base practices. For my own part I feel I could trust 'em with my life – as long as they learn nothing to my discredit."
"Ay," says I, "they do seem, as you say, a noble race of men."
"Then what a thousand pities it is," says he, "that they should be hunted from their homes, and worried to death by such a pack of dirty dogs as these Portugals."
I made no reply. Nor did he continue his theme for some time, but strolled beside me in silence, which was odd in him, who was wont to utter his thoughts as they came into his head. Yet I perceived his mind was still occupied, for, taking off his hat for the greater convenience of scratching his head, he would now and again give his thigh a slap with it, muttering occasionally betwixt his teeth, though I could catch no words but "dirty dogs of Portugals," and the like.
CHAPTER LII
MATTHEW LAYS OUT A SCHEME FOR STAYING FIVE YEARS IN THE WILDERNESS
"What a plague it is, master," says Matthew presently – "what a plague it is for a man who has no learning to get a good notion in his mind. Here am I like a young blackbird who feels he has the makings of a sweet song in his head, and yet can do no more than squeak out of tune."
"Nay, then," says I, "do as the blackbird does – strive to sing, and I warrant the tune will come in time."
"Well, master," says he, "to begin with, do you think these Ingas, if they gathered together and made head against the Portugals, might recover themselves some little corner of their territory, where they could live in peace like Christians, and trade with other nations?"
"The difficulty is," says I, "to get them to combine steadfastly for any length of time, for, according to their own showing, they are divided into a hundred tribes, each more or less hostile to the other."
"Why," says he, "that is but the outcome of their misfortunes, for no men are so snappish as those who suffer continual persecution. Do think how ill-tempered and cross-grained a wife will be who has a tyrant for a husband, and how buxom and cheerful she is whose spouse is kind. These poor fellows are fighting for their lives. The Portugals will not trade with them, or suffer others to trade, so that they get no comfort, and are forced to seek subsistence in the woods; then if one finds a good cover of game he must hold it against others in order that he may exist."
"All that is very true," says I; "but how can their case be remedied?"
"By such economy as is practiced among people who have not half their resources. What would become of our peasants, master, if they lived only on what they could find in the woods? Now if these Ingas pitched upon a fertile and healthy valley beyond the range of the Portugals, they might enclose fields and breed creatures for their food; they might till the ground and grow proper fruits and grain, so that they would no longer have to go far afield for game and fight their brethren to hold it."
"And how would you have them till the ground when they have no iron plowshares?"
"As for that, master," says he, "I have seen the earth tilled with a stick in Cornwall; but these might make plowshares of gold if they were so minded."
I laughed at this notion, but bade him go on, seeing this objection was but a trifle.
"Well, master," says he, "I take it, they must have more comfort by this way of living than they now can get; and other tribes, seeing their state, would willingly enough come to partake their contentment. There would still be much lacking to their estate; but by laying their plans carefully, and preparing themselves with arms and leaders, they might in the end take some port from the Portugals, where the country about would give them protection against assault, and so come about to open trade with any nation who wished to take their commodity in exchange for what the Ingas need."
"Hold, Matthew," says I, "what commodity have these Ingas to dispose of?"
"Lord love you, master," says he, "they have that which no other nation ever yet refused – gold! The Ingas, with their knowledge of these mountains, can easily produce you gold by the bushel; while the Portugals, with pain, get it by the thimbleful. And look you, master, once the traders know where they can get gold cheap, they will take means to prevent the Portugals again closing that port. The project may seem wild at the first glance, as many another achievement has looked in the beginning, but is it impossible?"
"It is not impossible," says I; "but the Ingas must be taught."
"To be sure, master. And they are willing enough to learn. All they need is a leader, as appears clearly from their seeking our help against the Portugals."
"Ay," says I, "but where is this teacher to be found?"
"Not a great way off, master. In a word," says he, "you are the man who may save thousands from destruction by the Portugals, and raise up these poor Ingas from misery and despair to happiness and prosperity."
This proposal did fairly take away my breath, and ere it came again for me to speak, Matthew continues: "When I tell the Ingas that you refuse to save yourself by the means they suggest, because they could not hold the town and would suffer disaster, they must needs regard you with respect and admiration, for the virtues they do most prize are sagacity and generosity. Thus will they be well disposed to listen to a scheme for their surer advantage, especially when they know that you will not leave them untill they are in a condition to maintain the independence of the state you have set up."
"And how long do you reckon it will take to carry out your project, Matthew?" says I.
"Why, master, I count we may do a good deal in four or five years."
"Five years!" says I, with a gasp.
"Ay, master; but that's not half the time it would take to get down the Oronoque. And what are five years when you are happily and profitably occupied? Will it be a great joy to you to know that you are redeeming these poor folks?"
"Ay, to be sure," says I; "but Lady Biddy?" For she had been in my mind all this time.
"Why, master, I mistake her ladyship if she is the sort to sit down and cry for farthingales in the midst of wild woods. No, I do rather count upon her entering cheerfully into this business, and teaching the women, as you teach the men, with good result for her pains, and the blessing of every wife and mother that wears a tawny skin."
"Ay," says I, "they could not fail to be happier for her tenderness."
"No, master, nor she for having such a scope for her tenderness. There's many a thing I might teach 'em for I have earned wages as a blacksmith and a carpenter in my time. And if lords, as I have heard, do live to get drunk, to hunt, and go gallanting, then may you live here like the best of 'em; for," says he, dropping into his customary vein of humor, "you may have a score of sweethearts, and not a man to say you nay; hunt without fear of trespassing on another lord's preserves; and 'twill be odd if amongst the blessings of civilization we can not make up some sort of liquor to get drunk on."