Part 40 (1/2)
”How?” cries I angrily; ”have I ever spoken so disrespectfully of my lady that you should take the liberty to speak of me in this relation?”
”Lord love you, master! no,” says he; ”but 'twas because you always spoke of her ladys.h.i.+p with such mighty respect that I reckoned she must be something more to you than a cousin. I meant no offence; and, indeed,” adds he, with ready wit, ”'twould have been but a mean compliment to her ladys.h.i.+p's charms or your understanding if I had set you down for aught but her admirer.”
”Ay,” says Lady Biddy, laughing, ”and so should I.” But I observed that she was a little more reserved towards me after this, as if she perceived the imprudence of giving expression to those feelings of simple, innocent affection which I might take for an acknowledgment of warmer sentiment.
CHAPTER L.
WE TAKE COUNSEL OF THE INGAS AS TO OUR FUTURE, ETC.
Matthew's business was to tell us that the Ingas were waiting to hold council with us. As soon as we heard this we hastened from that pleasant, retired spot where we had been strolling, as I have said, to join them, not without some self-reproach for so slighting those to whom we owed better civility; but, to tell the truth, I had clean forget those good Indians, for where my sweet lady stood was all the world to me, and I was indifferent to all outside it.
Coming beyond those jutting rocks which had screened us from view we perceived the Ingas' camp. They had built a fire upon the further side of a little lake, fed by a stream running from the mountains, in the midst of the hollow, and here sat a score of Indians handling the arquebuses taken from the Portugals, and examining them by the light of the fire. At a little distance a dozen of their women were grouped together on their mats, about a pile of pack-saddles and merchandise.
Hard by stood a couple of tents of rush mats, very curiously woven and stained. These objects, lit up by the dancing flames of the fire, with the deep shade of the rocks beyond, were a pleasure to see for all who love pictures of strange things; but that which gave it the finis.h.i.+ng touch was an Inga with his spear, who stood on a high rock, keeping guard, and cut the rising moon in two halves with his dark, handsome figure.
When the Indians spied us approaching they rose to their feet, and their captain, coming to meet us with a very n.o.ble and courtly carriage, laid his hand on my breast, and I did likewise by him, seeing this was their mode of greeting. Then the Indian woman whose life I had saved came forward and went though the same ceremony; but, this done, she slipped beside my Lady Biddy and began to fondle her hand, stroking it gently, lifting it up to her cheek, etc., which I thought very pretty.
I begged Matthew to make my apologies to the captain for not having paid my respects to him; but this he would not do, telling me these Ingas were a mighty touchy sort of people in trifles, and were as like as not to take an apology as an admission of wrong, and a mean trick of getting cheaply out of a mess one ought never to have got into.
”How'mever,” says he, ”I have settled that matter by telling him that an Englishman's first duty is to pay his services to the females of his tribe, and, that being done, you are now at liberty to devote all your attention to him.”
In this matter it seemed to me Matthew showed more sense than I or many better cultivated men, who never meet without some paltry excuse or other.
The Indians meanwhile led us to the tent, where a supper had been laid out on a mat, and insisted very civilly on our eating before entering upon business: then they withdrew to their place by the fire, where a s.p.a.ce 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 s.e.x. ”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 w.a.n.gapona, 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 G.o.d, 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 fas.h.i.+oned 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 chesketaws[3] 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 cl.u.s.tering 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 G.o.d lives, and the moon's G.o.d is our G.o.d--the great father of all.”