The Sambo, Manangani, and others, surrounded him. A gleam of indignation
flashed from his eyes, which was reciprocated by his captors.
"My son had then no pity on my tears," said the Sambo, "since he
suffered me for so long a time to believe in his death?"
"Is it on the eve before a revolt that Martin Paz, our chief, should be
found in the camp of our enemies?"
Martin Paz replied neither to his father, nor to Manangani.
"So our most important interests have been sacrificed to a woman!"
As he spoke thus, Manangani had approached Martin Paz; a poignard was
gleaming in his hand. Martin Paz did not even look at him.
"Let us first speak," said the Sambo; "we will act afterward. If my son
fails to conduct his brethren to the combat, I shall know now on whom to
avenge his treason. Let him take care! the daughter of the Jew Samuel is
not so well concealed that she can escape our hatred. My son will
reflect. Struck with a mortal condemnation, proscribed, wandering among
our masters, he will not have a stone on which to rest his sorrows. If,
on the contrary, we resume our ancient country and our ancient power,
Martin Paz, the chief of numerous tribes, may bestow upon his betrothed
both happiness and glory."
Martin Paz remained silent; but a terrific conflict was going on within
him. The Sambo had roused the most sensitive chords of his proud nature
to vibrate; placed between a life of fatigues, of dangers, of despair,
and an existence happy, honored, illustrious, he could not hesitate. But
should he then abandon the Marquis Don Vegal, whose noble hopes destined
him as the deliverer of Peru!
"Oh!" thought he, as he looked at his father, "they will kill Sarah, if
I forsake them."
"What does my son reply to us?" imperiously demanded the Sambo.
"That Martin Paz is indispensable to your projects; that he enjoys a
supreme authority over the Indians of the city; that he leads them at
his will, and, at a sign, could have them dragged to death. He must
therefore resume his place in the revolt, in order to ensure victory."
The bonds which still enchained him were detached by order of the Sambo;
Martin Paz arose free among his brethren.
"My son," said the Indian, who was observing him attentively,
"to-morrow, during the fête of the Amancaës, our brethren will fall like
an avalanche on the unarmed Limanians. There is the road to the
Cordilleras, there is the road to the city; you will go wherever your
good pleasure shall lead you. To-morrow! to-morrow! you will find more
than one mestizo breast to break your poignard against. You are free."
"To the mountains!" exclaimed Martin Paz, with a stern voice.
The Indian had again become an Indian amid the hatred which surrounded
him.
"To the mountains," repeated he, "and wo to our enemies, wo!"
And the rising sun illumined with its earliest rays the council of the
Indian chiefs in the heart of the Cordilleras.
These rays were joyless to the heart of the poor young girl, who wept
and prayed. The marquis had summoned Father Joachim; and the worthy man
had there met his beloved penitent. What happiness was it for her to
kneel at the feet of the old priest, and to pour out her anguish and her
afflictions.
But Sarah could not longer remain in the dwelling of the Spaniard.
Father Joachim suggested this to Don Vegal, who knew not what part to
take, for he was a prey to extreme anxiety. What had become of Martin
Paz? He had fled the house. Was he in the power of his enemies? Oh! how
the Spaniard regretted having suffered him to leave it during that night
of alarms! He sought him with the ardor, with the affection of a father;
he found him not.
"My old friend," said he to Joachim, "the young girl is in safety near
you; do not leave her during this fatal night."
"But her father, who seeks her--her betrothed, who awaits her?"
"One day--one single day! You know not whose existence is bound to that
of this child. One day--one single day! at least until I find Martin
Paz, he whom my heart and God have named my son!"
Father Joachim returned to the young girl; Don Vegal went out and
traversed the streets of Lima.
The Spaniard was surprised at the noise, the commotion, the agitation of
the city. It was that the great fête of the Amancaës, forgotten by him
alone, the 24th of June, the day of St. John, had arrived. The
neighboring mountains were covered with verdure and flowers; the
inhabitants, on foot, on horseback, in carriages, were repairing to a
celebrated table-land, situated at half a league from Lima, where the
spectators enjoyed an admirable prospect; mestizoes and Indians mingled
in the common fête; they walked gayly by groups of relatives or friends;
each group, calling itself by the name of -partida-, carried its
provisions, and was preceded by a player on the guitar, who chanted,
accompanying himself, the most popular -yaravis- and -llantos-. These
joyous promenaders advanced with cries, sports, endless jests, through
the fields of maize and of -alfalfa-, through the groves of banana,
whose fruits hung to the ground; they traversed those beautiful
-alamedas-, planted with willows, and forests of citron, and
orange-trees, whose intoxicating perfumes were mingled with the wild
fragrance from the mountains. All along the road, traveling cabarets
offered to the promenaders the brandy of -pisco- and the -chica-, whose
copious libations excited to laughter and clamor; cavaliers made their
horses caracole in the midst of the throng, and rivaled each other in
swiftness, address, and dexterity; all the dances in vogue, from the
-loudon- to the -mismis-, from the -boleros- to the -zamacuecas-,
agitated and hurried on the -caballeros- and black-eyed -sambas-. The
sounds of the -viguela- were soon no longer sufficient for the
disordered movements of the dancers; the musicians uttered wild cries,
which stimulated them to delirium; the spectators beat the measure with
their feet and hands, and the exhausted couples sunk one after another
to the ground.
There reigned in this fête, which derives its name from the little
mountain-flowers, an inconceivable transport and freedom; and yet no
private brawl mingled among the cries of public rejoicing; a few lancers
on horseback, ornamented with their shining cuirasses, maintained here
and there order among the populace.
The various classes of Limanian society mingled in these rejoicings,
which are repeated every day throughout the month of July. Pretty
-tapadas- laughingly elbow beautiful girls, who bravely come, with
uncovered faces, to meet joyous cavaliers; and when at last this
multitude arrive at the -plateau- of the Amancaës, an immense clamor of
admiration is repeated by the mountain echoes.
At the feet of the spectators extends the ancient city of kings, proudly
lifting toward heaven its towers and its steeples, whose bells are
ringing joyous peals. San Pedro, Saint Augustine, the Cathedral, attract
the eye to their roofs, resplendent with the rays of the sun. San
Domingo, the rich church, the Madonna of which is never clad in the same
garments two days in succession, raises above her neighbors her tapering
spire; on the right, the vast plains of the Pacific Ocean are undulating
to the breath of the occidental breeze, and the eye, as it roves from
Callao to Lima, rests on those funereal -chulpas-, the last remains of
the great dynasty of the Incas; at the horizon, Cape Morro-Solar frames,
with its sloping hills, the wonderful splendors of this picture.
So the Limanians are never satisfied with these admirable prospects, and
their noisy approbation deafens every year the echoes of San Cristoval
and the Amancaës.
Now, while they fearlessly enjoyed these picturesque views, and were
giving themselves up to an irresistible delight, a gloomy bloody
funereal drama was preparing on the snowy summits of the Cordilleras.
CHAPTER VIII.
CONQUERORS AND CONQUERED.
A prey to his blind grief, Don Vegal walked at random. After having lost
his daughter, the hope of his race and of his love, was he about to see
himself also deprived of the child of his adoption whom he had wrested
from death? Don Vegal had forgotten Sarah, to think only of Martin Paz.
He was struck with the great number of Indians, of -zambos-, of
-chiños-, who were wandering about the streets; these men, who usually
took an active part in the sports of the Amancaës, were now walking
silently with singular pre-occupation. Often some busy chief gave them a
secret order, and went on his way; and all, notwithstanding their
-detours-, were assembling by degrees in the wealthiest quarters of
Lima, in proportion as the Limanians were scattered abroad in the
country.
Don Vegal, absorbed in his own researches, soon forgot this singular
state of things. He traversed San Lazaro throughout, saw André Certa
there, enraged and armed, and the Jew Samuel, in the extremity of
distress, not for the loss of his daughter, but for the loss of his
hundred thousand piasters; but he found not Martin Paz, whom he was
impatiently seeking. He ran to the consistorial prison. Nothing! He
returned home. Nothing! He mounted his horse and hastened to Chorillos.
Nothing! He returned at last, exhausted with fatigue, to Lima; the clock
of the cathedral was striking four.
Don Vegal remarked some groups of Indians before his dwelling; but he
could not, without compromising the man of whom he was in search, ask
them--
"Where is Martin Paz?"
He re-entered, more despairing than ever.
Immediately a man emerged from a neighboring alley, and came directly to
the Indians. This man was the Sambo.
"The Spaniard has returned," said he to them; "you know him now; he is
one of the representatives of the race which crushes us--wo to him!"
"And when shall we strike?"
"When five o'clock sounds, and the tocsin from the mountain gives the
signal of vengeance."
Then the Sambo marched with hasty steps to the -chingana-, and rejoined
the chief of the revolt.
Meanwhile the sun had begun to sink beneath the horizon; it was the hour
in which the Limanian aristocracy went in its turn to the Amancaës; the
richest toilets shone in the equipages which defiled to the right and
left beneath the trees along the road; there was an inextricable mêlée
of foot-passengers, carriages, horses; a confusion of cries, songs,
instruments, and vociferations.
The clock on the tower of the cathedral suddenly struck five! and a
shrill funereal sound vibrated through the air; the tocsin thundered
over the crowd, frozen in its delirium.
An immense cry resounded in the city. From every square, every street,
every house issued the Indians, with arms in their hands, and fury in
their eyes. The principal places of the city were thronged with these
men, some of whom shook above their heads burning torches!
"Death to the Spaniards! death to the oppressors!" such was the
watch-word of the rebels.
Those who attempted to return to Lima must have recoiled before these
masses; but the summits of the hills were quickly covered with other
enemies, and all retreat was impossible; the -zambos- precipitated
themselves like a thunderbolt on this crowd, exhausted with the fatigues
of the festival, while the mountain Indians cleared for themselves a
bloody path to rejoin their brethren of the city.
Imagine the aspect presented by Lima at this terrible moment. The rebels
had left the square of the tavern, and were scattered in all quarters;
at the head of one of the columns, Martin Paz was waving the black
flag--the flag of independence; while the Indians in the other streets
were attacking the houses appointed to ruin, Martin Paz took possession
of the Plaza-Mayor with his company; near him, Manangani was uttering
ferocious yells, and proudly displaying his bloody arms.
But the soldiers of the government, forewarned of the revolt, were
ranged in battle array before the palace of the president; a frightful
-fusillade- greeted the insurgents at their entrance on the square;
surprised by this unexpected discharge, which extended a goodly number
of them on the ground, they sprang upon the troops with insurmountable
impatience; a horrible mêlée followed, in which men fought body to body.
Martin Paz and Manangani performed prodigies of valor, and escaped death
only by miracle.
It was necessary at all hazards that the palace should be taken and
occupied by their men.
"Forward!" cried Martin Paz, and his voice led the Indians to the
assault. Although they were crushed in every direction, they succeeded
in making the body of troops around the palace recoil. Already had
Manangani sprang on the first steps; but he suddenly stopped as the
opening ranks of soldiers unmasked two pieces of cannon ready to fire on
the assailants.
There was not a moment to lose; the battery must be seized before it
could be discharged.
"On!" cried Manangani, addressing himself to Martin Paz.
But the young Indian had just stooped and no longer heard him, for an
Indian had whispered these words in his ear:
"They are pillaging the house of Don Vegal, perhaps assassinating him!"
At these words Martin Paz recoiled. Manangani seized him by the arm;
but, repulsing him with a vigorous hand, the Indian darted toward the
square.
"Traitor! infamous traitor!" exclaimed Manangani, discharging his
pistols at Martin Paz.
At this moment the cannons were fired, and the grape swept the Indians
on the steps.
"This way, brethren," cried Martin Paz, and a few fugitives, his devoted
companions, joined him; with this little company he could make his way
through the soldiers.
This flight had all the consequences of treason; the Indians believed
themselves abandoned by their chief. Manangani in vain attempted to
bring them back to the combat; a rapid -fusillade- sent among them a
shower of balls; thenceforth it was no longer possible to rally them;
the confusion was at its height and the rout complete. The flames which
arose in certain quarters attracted some fugitives to pillage; but the
conquering soldiers pursued them with the sword, and killed a great
number without mercy.
Meanwhile, Martin Paz had gained the house of Don Vegal; it was the
theatre of a bloody struggle, headed by the Sambo himself; he had a
double interest in being there; while contending with the Spanish
noblemen, he wished to seize Sarah, as a pledge of the fidelity of his
son.
On seeing Martin Paz return, he no longer doubted his treason, and
turned his brethren against him.
The overthrown gate and walls of the court revealed Don Vegal, sword in
hand, surrounded by his faithful servants, and contending with an
invading mass. This man's courage and pride were sublime; he was the
first to present himself to mortal blows, and his formidable arm had
surrounded him with corpses.
But what could be done against this crowd of Indians, which was then
increasing with all the conquered of the Plaza-Mayor. Don Vegal felt
that his defenders were becoming exhausted, and nothing remained for him
but death, when Martin Paz arrived, rapid as the thunderbolt, charged
the aggressors from behind, forced them to turn against him, and, amid
balls, poignard-strokes and maledictions, reached Don Vegal, to whom he
made a rampart of his body. Courage revived in the hearts of the
besieged.
"Well done, my son, well done!" said Don Vegal to Martin Paz, pressing
his hand.
But the young Indian was gloomy.
"Well done! Martin Paz," exclaimed another voice which went to his very
soul; he recognized Sarah, and his arm traced a bloody circle around
him.
The company of Sambo gave way in its turn. Twenty times had this modern
Brutus directed his blows against his son, without being able to reach
him, and twenty times Martin had turned away the weapon about to strike
his father.
Suddenly the ferocious Manangani, covered with blood, appeared beside
the Sambo.
"Thou hast sworn," said he, "to avenge the treason of a wretch on his
kindred, on his friends, on himself. Well, it is time! the soldiers are
coming; the mestizo, André Certa, is with them."
"Come then," said the Sambo, with a ferocious laugh: "come then, for our
vengeance approaches."
And both abandoned the house of Don Vegal, while their companions were
being killed there. They went directly to the company who were arriving.
The latter aimed at them; but without being intimidated, the Sambo
approached the mestizo.
"You are André Certa," said he; "well, your betrothed is in the house of
Don Vegal, and Martin Paz is about to carry her to the mountains."
This said, the Indians disappeared. Thus the Sambo had put face to face
two mortal enemies, and, deceived by the presence of Martin Paz in the
house of Don Vegal, the soldiers rushed upon the dwelling of the
marquis.
André Certa was intoxicated with rage. As soon as he perceived Martin
Paz, he rushed upon him.
"Here!" exclaimed the young Indian, and quitting the stone steps which
he had so valiantly defended, he joined the mestizo. Meanwhile the
companions of Martin Paz were repulsing the soldiers body to body.
Martin Paz had seized André Certa with his powerful hand, and clasped
him so closely that the mestizo could not use his pistols. They were
there, foot against foot, breast against breast, their faces touched,
and their glances mingled in a single gleam; their movements became
rapid, even invisible; neither friends nor enemies could approach them;
in this terrible embrace respiration failed, both fell. André Certa
raised himself above Martin Paz, whose poignard had escaped his grasp.
The mestizo raised his arm, but the Indian succeeded in seizing it
before it had struck. The moment was horrible. André Certa in vain
attempted to disengage himself; Martin Paz, with supernatural strength,
turned against the mestizo the poignard and the arm which held it, and
plunged it into his heart.
Martin Paz arose all bloody. The place was free, the soldiers flying in
every direction. Martin Paz might have conquered had he remained on the
Plaza-Mayor. He fell into the arms of Don Vegal.
"To the mountains, my son; flee to the mountains! now I command it."
"Is my enemy indeed dead?" said Martin Paz, returning to the corpse of
André Certa.
A man was that moment searching it, and held a pocket-book which he had
taken from it. Martin Paz sprang on this man and overthrew him; it was
the Jew Samuel.
The Indian picked up the pocket-book, opened it hastily, searched it,
uttered a cry of joy, and springing toward the marquis, put in his hand
a paper on which were written these words:
"Received of the Señor André Certa the sum of 100,000 piasters; I
pledge myself to restore this sum doubled, if Sarah, whom I saved
from the shipwreck of the -San-José-, and whom he is about to
espouse, is not the daughter and only heir of the Marquis Don Vegal.
"SAMUEL."
"My daughter! my daughter!" exclaimed the Spaniard, and he fell into the
arms of Martin Paz, who carried him to the chamber of Sarah.
Alas! the young girl was no longer there; Father Joachim, bathed in his
own blood, could articulate only these words:
"The Sambo!--carried off!--toward the river of Madeira!--"
And he fainted.
CHAPTER IX.
THE CATARACTS OF THE MADEIRA.
"On! on!" Martin Paz had exclaimed. And without saying a word, Don Vegal
followed the Indian. His daughter!--he must find again his daughter!
Mules were brought, prepared for a long journey among the Cordilleras;
the two men mounted them, wrapped in their -ponchos-; large gaiters were
attached by thongs above their knees; immense stirrups, armed with long
spurs, surrounded their feet, and broad-brimmed Guayaquil hats sheltered
their heads. Arms filled the holsters of each saddle; a carbine,
formidable in the hands of Don Vegal, was suspended at his side. Martin
Paz had encircled himself with his lasso, one extremity of which was
fixed to the harness of his mule.
The Spaniard and the Indian spurred their horses to their utmost speed.
At the moment of leaving the walls of the city they were joined by an
Indian equipped like themselves. It was Liberta--Don Vegal recognized
him; the faithful servant wished to share in their pursuit.
Martin Paz knew all the plains, all the mountains, which they were to
traverse; he knew among what savage tribes, into what desert country the
Sambo had conveyed his betrothed. His betrothed! he no longer dared give
this name to the daughter of Don Vegal.
"My son," said the latter, "have you any hope in your heart?"
"As much as hatred and tenderness."
"The daughter of the Jew, in becoming my blood, has not ceased to be
thine."
"Let us press on!" hastily replied Martin Paz.
On their way the travelers saw a great number of Indians flying to
regain their -ranchos- amid the mountains. The defection of Martin Paz
had been followed by defeat. If the -émeute- had triumphed in some
places, it had received its death-blow at Lima.
The three cavaliers traveled rapidly, having but one idea, one object.
They soon buried themselves among the almost impracticable passes of the
Cordilleras. Difficult pathways circulated through these reddish masses,
planted here and there with cocoanut and pine trees; the cedars,
cotton-trees, and aloes were left behind them, with the plains covered
with maize and lucerne; some thorny cactuses sometimes pricked their
mules, and made them hesitate on the verge of precipices.
It was a difficult task to traverse the Cordilleras during these summer
months; the melting of snows beneath the sun of June often made
unforeseen cataracts spout from beneath the steps of the traveler; often
frightful masses, detaching themselves from the summits of the peaks,
were engulfed near them in fathomless abysses!
But they continued their march, fearing neither the hurricane nor the
cold of these high solitudes; they traveled day and night, finding
neither cities nor dwellings where they might for a moment repose; happy
if in some deserted hut they found a mat of -tortora- upon which to
extend their wearied limbs, some pieces of meat dried in the sun, some
calabashes full of muddy water.
They reached at last the summit of the Andes, 14,000 feet above the
level of the sea. There, no more trees, no more vegetation; sometimes an
-oso- or -ucuman-, a sort of enormous black bear, came to meet them.
Often, during the afternoon, they were enveloped in those formidable
storms of the Cordilleras, which raise whirlwinds of snow from the
loftiest summits. Don Vegal sometimes paused, unaccustomed to these
frightful perils. Martin Paz then supported him in his arms, and
sheltered him against the drifting snow. And yet lightnings flashed from
the clouds, and thunders broke over these barren peaks, and filled the
mountain recesses with their terrific roar.
At this point, the most elevated of the Andes, the travelers were seized
with a malady called by the Indians -soroche-, which deprives the most
intrepid man of his courage and his strength. A superhuman will is then
necessary to keep one from falling motionless on the stones of the road,
and being devoured by those immense condors which display above their
vast wings! These three men spoke little; each wrapped himself in the
silence which these vast deserts inspired.
On the eastern slope of the Cordilleras, they hoped to find traces of
their enemies; they therefore traveled on, and were at last descending
the chain of mountains; but the Andes are composed of a great number of
salient peaks, so that inaccessible precipices were constantly rising
before them.
Nevertheless they soon found the trees of inferior levels; the llamas,
the vigonias, which feed on the thin grass, announced the neighborhood
of men. Sometimes they met -gauchos- conducting their -arias- of mules;
and more than one -capataz- (leader of a convoy) exchanged fresh animals
for their exhausted ones.
In this manner they reached the immense virgin forests which cover the
plains situated between Peru and Brazil; they began thenceforth to
recover traces of the captors; and it was in the midst of these
inextricable woods that Martin Paz recovered all his Indian sagacity.
Courage returned to the Spaniard, strength returned to Liberta, when a
half-extinct fire and prints of footsteps proved the proximity of their
enemies. Martin Paz noted all and studied all, the breaking of the
little branches, the nature of the vestiges.
Don Vegal feared lest his unfortunate daughter should have been dragged
on foot through the stones and thorns; but the Indian showed him some
pebbles strongly imbedded in the earth, which indicated the pressure of
an animal's foot; above, branches had been pushed aside in the same
direction, which could have been reached only by a person on horseback.
The poor father comforted himself and recovered life and hope, and then
Martin Paz was so confident, so skillful, so strong, that there were for
him neither impassable obstacles nor insurmountable perils.
Nevertheless immense forests contracted the horizon around them, and
trees multiplied incessantly before their fatigued eyes.
One evening, while the darkness was gathering beneath the opaque
foliage, Martin Paz, Liberta and Don Vegal were compelled by fatigue to
stop. They had reached the banks of a river; it was the river Madeira,
which the Indian recognized perfectly; immense mangrove trees bent
above the sleeping wave and were united to the trees on the opposite
shore by capricious -lianes- (vines), on which were balancing the
-titipaying- and the -concoulies-.
Had the captors ascended the banks? had they descended the course of the
river? had they crossed it in a direct line? Such were the questions
with which Martin Paz puzzled himself. He stepped a little aside from
his companions, following with infinite difficulty some fugitive tracks;
these brought him to a clearing a little less gloomy. Some footsteps
indicated that a company of men had, perhaps, crossed the river at this
spot, which was the opinion of the Indian, although he found around him
no proof of the construction of a canoe; he knew that the Sambo might
have cut down some tree in the middle of the forest, and having spoiled
it of its bark, made of it a boat, which could have been carried on the
arms of men to the shores of the Madeira. Nevertheless, he was still
hesitating, when he saw a sort of black mass move near a thicket; he
quickly prepared his lasso and made ready for an attack; he advanced a
few paces, and perceived an animal lying on the ground, a prey to the
final convulsions--it was a mule. The poor, expiring beast had been
struck at a distance from the spot whither it had been dragged, leaving
long traces of blood on its passage. Martin Paz no longer doubted that
the Indians, unable to induce it to cross the river, had killed it with
the stroke of a poignard, as a deep wound indicated. From this moment he
felt certain of the direction of his enemies; and returned to his
companions, who were already uneasy at his long absence.
"To-morrow, perhaps, we shall see the young girl!" said he to them.
"My daughter! Oh! my son! let us set out this instant," said the
Spaniard; "I am no longer fatigued, and strength returns with hope--let
us go!"
"But we must cross this river, and we cannot lose time in constructing a
canoe."
"We will swim across."
"Courage, then, my father! Liberta and myself will sustain you."
All three laid aside their garments, which Martin Paz carried in a
bundle upon his head; and all three glided silently into the water, for
fear of awakening some of these dangerous -caïmans- so numerous in the
rivers of Brazil and Peru.
They arrived safely at the opposite shore: the first care of Martin Paz
was to recover traces of the Indians; but in vain did he scrutinize the
smallest leaves, the smallest pebbles--he could discover nothing; as the
rapid current had carried them down in crossing, he ascended the bank of
the river to the spot opposite that where he had found the mule, but
nothing indicated the direction taken by the captors. It must have been
that these, that their tracks might be entirely lost, had descended the
river for several miles, in order to land far from the spot of their
embarkation.
Martin Paz, that his companions might not be discouraged, did not
communicate to them his fears; he said not even a word to Don Vegal
respecting the mule, for fear of saddening him still more with the
thought that his daughter must now be dragged through these difficult
passes.
When he returned to the Spaniard, he found him asleep--fatigue had
prevailed over grief and resolution; Martin Paz was careful not to
awaken him; a little sleep might do him much good; but, while he himself
watched, resting the head of Don Vegal on his knees and piercing with
his quick glances the surrounding shadows, he sent Liberta to seek below
on the river some trace which might guide them at the first rays of the
sun.
The Indian departed in the direction indicated, gliding like a serpent
between the high brush with which the shores were bristling, and the
sound of his footsteps was soon lost in the distance.
Thenceforth Martin Paz remained alone amid these gloomy solitudes: the
Spaniard was sleeping peacefully; the names of his daughter and the
Indian sometimes mingled in his dreams, and alone disturbed the silence
of these obscure forests.
The young Indian was not mistaken; the Sambo had descended the Madeira
three miles, then had landed with the young girl and his numerous
companions, among whom might be numbered Manangani, still covered with
hideous wounds.
The company of Sambo had increased during the journey. The Indians of
the plains and the mountains had awaited with impatience the triumph of
the revolt; on learning the failure of their brethren, they fell a prey
to a gloomy despair; hearing that they had been betrayed by Martin Paz,
they uttered yells of rage; when they saw that they had a victim to be
sacrificed to their anger, they burst forth in cries of joy and followed
the company of the old Indian.
They marched thus to the approaching sacrifice, devouring the young girl
with sanguinary glances--it was the betrothed, the beloved of Martin Paz
whom they were about to put to death; abuse was heaped upon her, and
more than once the Sambo, who wished his revenge to be public, with
difficulty wrested Sarah from their fury.
The young girl, pale, languishing, was without thought and almost
without life amid this frightful horde; she had no longer the sentiment
of motion, of will, of existence--she advanced, because bloody hands
urged her onward; they might have abandoned her in the midst of these
great solitudes--she could not have taken a step to have escaped death.
Sometimes the remembrance of her father and of the young Indian passed
before her eyes, but like a gleam of lightning bewildering her; then she
fell again an inert mass on the neck of the poor mule, whose wounded
feet could no longer sustain her. When beyond the river she was
compelled to follow her captors on foot, two Indians taking her by the
arm dragged her rapidly along, and a trace of blood marked on the sand
and dead leaves her painful passage.
But the Sambo was no longer afraid of pursuit; he cared little that
this blood betrayed the direction he had taken--he was approaching the
termination of his journey, and soon the cataracts which abound in the
currents of the great river sent up their deafening clamor.
The numerous company of Indians arrived at a sort of village, composed
of a hundred huts, made of reeds interlaced and clay; at their approach,
a multitude of women and children darted toward them with loud cries of
joy--more than one found there his anxious family--more than one wife
missed the father of her children!
These women soon learned the defeat of their party; their sadness was
transformed into rage on learning the defection of Martin Paz, and on
seeing his betrothed devoted to death.
Sarah remained immovable before these enemies and looked at them with a
dim eye; all these hideous faces were making grimaces around her, and
the most terrific threats were uttered in her ears--the poor child might
have thought herself delivered over to the torturers of the infernal
regions.
"Where is my husband?" said one; "it is thou who hast caused him to be
killed!"
"And my brother, who will never again return to the cabin--what hast
thou done with him? Death! death! Let each of us have a piece of her
flesh! let each of us have a pain to make her suffer! Death! death!"
And these women, with dishevelled hair, brandishing knives, waving
flaming brands, bearing enormous stones, approached the young girl,
surrounded her, pressed her, crushed her.
"Back!" cried the Sambo, "back! and let all await the decision of their
chiefs! This girl must disarm the anger of the Great Spirit, which has
rested upon our arms; and she shall not serve for private revenge
alone!"
The women obeyed the words of the old Indian, casting frightful glances
on the young girl; the latter, covered with blood, remained extended on
the pebbly shore.
Above this village, plunges, from a height of more than a hundred feet,
a foaming cataract, which breaks against sharp rocks; the Madeira,
contracted into a deep bed, precipitates this dense mass of water with
frightful rapidity; a cloud of mist is eternally suspended above this
torrent, whose fall sends its formidable and thundering roar afar.
It was in the midst of this foaming tempest that the unfortunate young
girl was destined to die; at the first rays of the sun, exposed in a
bark canoe above the cataract, she was to be precipitated with the mass
of waters on the rude rocks against which the Madeira broke.
So the council of chiefs had decided; and they had delayed until the
morrow the punishment of their victim, to give her a night of anguish,
of torment, and of terror.
When the sentence was made known, cries of joy welcomed it, and a
furious delirium seized the Indians.
It was a night of orgies--a night of blood and of horror; brandy
increased the excitement of these wild natives; dances, accompanied with
perpetual yells, surrounded the young girl, and wound their fantastic
chains about the stake to which she was fastened. Sometimes the circle
narrowed, and enlaced her in its furious whirls: the Indians ran through
the uncultivated fields, brandishing blazing pine-branches, and
surrounding the victim with light.
And it was thus until sunrise, and worse yet when its first rays
illuminated the scene. The young girl was detached from the stake, and a
hundred arms were stretched out to drag her to execution, when the name
of Martin Paz involuntarily escaped her lips, and cries of hatred and of
vengeance responded.
It was necessary to climb by steep paths the immense pile of rocks which
led to the upper level of the river, and the victim arrived there all
bloody; a canoe of bark awaited her a hundred paces above the fall; she
was deposited in it, and fastened by bonds which entered her flesh.
"Vengeance and death!" exclaimed the whole tribe, with one voice.
The canoe was hurried on with increasing rapidity and began to whirl.
Suddenly a man appeared on the opposite shore-- It is Martin Paz! Beside
him, are Don Vegal and Liberta.
"My daughter! my daughter!" exclaims the father, kneeling on the shore.
"My father!" replied Sarah, raising herself up with superhuman strength.
The scene was indescribable. The canoe was rapidly hastening to the
cataract, in whose foam it was already enveloped.
Martin Paz, standing on a rock, balanced his lasso which whistled around
his head. At the instant the boat was about to be precipitated, the long
leathern thong unfolded from above the head of the Indian, and
surrounded the canoe with its noose.
"My daughter! my daughter!" exclaimed Don Vegal.
"My betrothed! my beloved!" cried Martin Paz.
"Death!" yelled the savage multitude.
Meanwhile Martin Paz redoubles his efforts; the canoe remains suspended
over the abyss; the current cannot prevail over the strength of the
young Indian; the canoe is drawn to him; the enemies are far on the
opposite shore; the young girl is saved.
Suddenly an arrow whistles through the air, and pierces the heart of
Martin Paz. He falls forward in the bark of the victim; and,
re-descending the current of the river in her arms, is engulfed with
Sarah in the vortex of the cataract.
A yell of triumph is heard above the sound of the torrent.
Liberta bore off the Spaniard amid a cloud of arrows, and disappeared
with him.
Don Vegal regained Lima, where he died with grief and exhaustion.
The Sambo, who remained among his sanguinary tribes, was never heard of
more.
The Jew Samuel kept the hundred thousand piasters he had received, and
continued his usuries at the expense of the Limanian nobles.
Martin Paz and Sarah were, in their brief and final re-union, betrothed
for eternity.
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566
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572
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578
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579
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619
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623
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625
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626
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628
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629
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631
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632
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641
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!
647
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650
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651
652
653
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655
656
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657
658
"
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659
!
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660
661
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,
-
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662
?
!
!
663
!
!
!
!
"
664
665
,
,
,
666
,
,
,
667
,
,
.
668
669
"
!
"
,
"
!
670
!
,
671
;
672
!
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673
674
,
675
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,
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677
678
,
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679
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681
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687
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688
689
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695
696
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697
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700
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:
701
,
-
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702
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703
704
,
705
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706
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707
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708
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709
710
711
,
712
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;
713
,
.
714
715
"
!
"
,
.
716
717
.
718
719
-
-
!
720
,
.
721
722
"
!
!
"
,
.
723
724
"
!
"
,
.
725
726
.
727
,
.
728
729
,
,
730
.
,
731
,
732
.
733
734
"
!
!
"
.
735
736
"
!
!
"
.
737
738
"
!
"
.
739
740
;
741
;
742
;
;
743
;
.
744
745
,
746
.
;
,
747
-
,
748
.
749
750
.
751
752
,
753
.
754
755
,
.
756
757
,
,
758
.
759
760
,
761
.
762
763
,
-
,
764
.
765