The Project Gutenberg eBook, Famous Discoverers and Explores of America, by Charles H. L. (Charles Haven Ladd) Johnston

FAMOUS DISCOVERERS

AND EXPLORERS OF AMERICA

FAMOUS LEADERS SERIES

Each, one volume, illustrated, $2.00
Except as otherwise noted

BY

CHARLES L. JOHNSTON

FAMOUS INDIAN CHIEFS
FAMOUS SCOUTS
FAMOUS CAVALRY LEADERS
FAMOUS PRIVATEERSMEN
FAMOUS FRONTIERSMEN
FAMOUS DISCOVERERS AND EXPLORERS OF AMERICA
FAMOUS GENERALS OF THE GREAT WAR
FAMOUS AMERICAN ATHLETES

FAMOUS AMERICAN ATHLETES

BY

CHARLES LEE LEWIS

FAMOUS AMERICAN NAVAL OFFICERS

BY

EDWIN WILDMAN

FAMOUS LEADERS OF INDUSTRY—First Series

FAMOUS LEADERS OF INDUSTRY—Second Series

THE FOUNDERS OF AMERICA

or, Lives of Great Americans from the Revolution to the Monroe Doctrine.

THE BUILDERS OF AMERICA

or, Lives of Great Americans from the Monroe Doctrine to the Civil War.

FAMOUS LEADERS OF CHARACTER

(new revised edition)

or, Lives of Great Americans from the Civil War to To-day.

BY

TRENTWELL M. WHITE

FAMOUS LEADERS OF INDUSTRY

L. C. PAGE & COMPANY, BOSTON

AMERIGO VESPUCCI (see page [45])

FAMOUS DISCOVERERS
and Explorers of America

Their voyages, battles, and hardships in traversing
and conquering the unknown territories
of a new world

By

CHARLES H. L. JOHNSTON

Author of “Famous Scouts,” “Famous Indian Chiefs,”
“Famous Cavalry Leaders,” “Famous Frontiersmen,”
“Famous Privateersmen,” etc.

Illustrated

THE PAGE COMPANY

BOSTON PUBLISHERS

Copyright, 1917
By The Page Company
All rights reserved

Made in U. S. A.

Fourth Impression, September, 1928
Fifth Impression, March, 1932

THE COLONIAL PRESS INC.,
CLINTON, MASS.

Dedicated
To the Great Brotherhood of the Clergy
who, with self-sacrifice, devotion, and lack
of personal profit,
have consecrated their lives to
the education and development of the youths
of all English speaking countries.

PREFACE

My Dear Boys:

It has seemed fitting to include in the Famous Leaders Series this volume upon the discoverers and explorers, not only of North America, but also of Central and South America.

It has been impossible to include them all in a volume of this character; but I have selected the most important, and have omitted such men as Sebastian Cabot, Jacques Cartier, Sir Francis Drake, Baffin, Verendrye, Robert Gray, Lewis and Clark, Pike, Franklin, Frémont, and many others.

This is no new subject. The lives and histories of these discoverers have been written by many another; but I have endeavored to bring before you a series of pictures of some of the most noted of these men of daring and grim determination, and, if I have succeeded in painting the canvas with colors which are agreeable, then, my dear boys, I shall feel that the moments occupied in the preparation of these pages have been well spent.

Believe me,

Yours very affectionately,

Charles H. L. Johnston.

Chevy Chase, Maryland.

August, 1917.

THE VOICE

A voice came from the westward, it whispered a message clear,

And the dripping fog banks parted as the clarion tones drew near;

It spoke of shores untrodden, and it sang of mountains bold,

Of shimmering sands in distant lands which were covered with glittering gold.

It sang of hemlock forests, where the moose roamed, and the bear,

Where the eider bred near the cascade’s head, and the lucivee had his lair.

It praised the rushing water falls, it told of the salmon red,

Who swam in the spuming ripples by the rushing river’s head.

It chanted its praise of the languorous days which lay ’neath the shimmering sun,

Of the birch canoe and the Indian, too, who trapped in the forests dun.

Yea, it told of the bars of silver, and it whispered of emeralds green,

Of topaz, sapphire, and amethyst, which shone with a dazzling sheen.

Of warriors red with feathered head, of buffalo, puma, and deer,

Of the coral strand in a palm-tree land, and of dizzying mountains sheer.

And the voice grew louder and louder, and it fell upon listening ears,

Of the men who had heard strange music which was moistened with women’s tears.

Of the men who loved to wander, of the souls who cared to roam,

Whose bed was the hemlock’s branches, who rejoiced in the forest’s gloom.

Leif the Lucky, Magellan, deLeon and Cortés bold,

Cartier, Drake, and Franklin; Pizarro and Baffin, old;

Shackleton, Hudson, Roosevelt; brave Peary and gay Champlain,

Frémont, Lewis, Balboa; Verendrye, and the Cabots twain;

’Twas the voice that called them onward, ’twas the voice that is calling still,

And the voice will call ’till the end of it all, and the voice has a conquering will.

CONTENTS

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

LEIF ERICSON:

THE FIRST EUROPEAN TO EXPLORE, AND
SETTLE IN, AMERICA.

“From Greenland’s icy mountains; from Iceland’s rocky shore,

We sailed the ship which forged ahead and ruddy oarsmen bore;

We found the wild grape growing; we scoured the river’s bed,

And chased the moose whose horns were broad, whose blood was rich and red.

Our axes felled the wild-wood, our spears the Skraelings slew,

We sank their round skin-barges as the cutting North Winds blew,

Over the wild waves rolling, back to the fiords of home,

We safely came to anchor,—but we’ll never cease to roam.”

Saga of the Vikings, 1000 a.d.

FAMOUS DISCOVERERS AND
EXPLORERS OF AMERICA.

LEIF ERICSON:

THE FIRST EUROPEAN TO EXPLORE, AND SETTLE IN, AMERICA.

ON the shore of a great fiord, or estuary of the sea, in the far northern country of Greenland, stood a little boy. He was sturdy-limbed, blue-eyed, flaxen-haired, and he was looking out across the water at a great high-prowed Viking ship which lay bobbing upon the waves.

He stood there thinking,—thinking, until, as he gazed enraptured upon the scene before him, a tall, bearded Norwegian came up behind him. He smiled upon the little boy, and, laying his hand upon his head, said:

“Little one, what are you dreaming about?”

The youthful Norwegian looked around and also smiled.

“Good Lothair,” he answered, “I am thinking of the time when I shall be able to sail far to the westward, with the older Vikings, and can have adventures of mine own.”

The other laughed.

“Ah, ha, that time will not be far distant,” said he, benignly. “You will wax tough and sinewy in this bracing air and by sailing in these blue fiords. And then, some day, one of the Vikings will want a stout fellow to man an oar. He will call upon Leif, little Leif. And I’ll warrant that little Leif will then be ready.”

“I will be.”

“And would you go far to the westward, to the land of the setting sun?”

“Even so.”

“And would you be willing to risk life and limb amidst ice and snow?”

“I’d be glad to do it.”

Lothair laughed loud and long.

“You are a true Viking, my boy. You are, indeed, one of those whom Thor has smiled upon and whom the Valkyrias would love to assist in battle. Keep up your spirit, and, some day, you may be famous,—who knows?”

So saying he walked away, still laughing softly to himself.

And the little boy still kept on thinking, thinking, and looking out upon the great, blue sea which seemed to beckon to him, to nod to him, and to sigh: “Come on! Come on! I have marvelous things to reveal to you, little boy.”

The youthful Viking turned around, went back to his home, and kept on working and sailing, and fishing, and playing, until a time came when he had waxed great in both strength and in stature, and, as he looked at himself in the polished surface of his shield he said: “Ah! Now, indeed, I am a true Viking. I am ready for great things.”

This little boy was the son of Eric the Red, a strong man, and a bad man, also. Eric’s father lived in Iceland, whither he had been forced to fly from Norway, for he had killed a man there and he would himself have been killed, had he not jumped into a boat, rowed to a Viking ship, and sailed to the westward. And Eric the Red seems to have inherited the traits of his father, for he, too, killed another. He had lent some of his furniture to a neighbor who would not restore it. Eric, therefore, carried off his goods and the other pursued him. They met, and hot words passed; so they had a struggle and Eric killed the fellow. He was thus made an outlaw, so he went sailing away to find some place where he could live in peace, far from his brother Vikings. He found a land, where he settled,—and called it Greenland, for, said he, “other Vikings will come here and settle, also, if I give this place a good name.”

Eric the Red, had two children, of whom one was called Thorstein, and the other, Leif. The first developed into a thin youth with black hair and a sallow complexion, but the second was rosy-cheeked, fair-haired, blue-eyed, and sturdy-limbed. He was, in fact, the little boy to whom Lothair spoke as he stood upon the banks of the fiord, gazing far into the distance, determined, some day, to sail towards the West where he was certain that adventure and treasure, too, perhaps, were waiting for him.

One of the men who accompanied Eric, the murderer, to Greenland was named Herjulf. This bold and daring adventurer had a son named Bjarni, who roved the seas over, in search of adventure, for many, many years. Finally, in 986, he came home to Iceland in order to drink the Yuletide ale with his father. Finding that his parent had gone away, he weighed anchor and started after him to Greenland, but he encountered foggy weather, and thus sailed for many days by guess work, without seeing either the sun or the stars. When, at length, he sighted land, it was a shore without mountains. He saw, through the misty murk, only a small height covered with dense woods. So, without stopping in order to make explorations, he turned his prow to the north and kept on. He knew that this was not Greenland, and, so we may think it strange that he did not stop to examine the rugged coastline.

The sky was now fair and a brisk breeze was astern, so, after scudding along for nine or ten days, Bjarni saw the icy crags of Greenland looming up before him, and, after some further searching, found his way to his father’s house. He had more than once sighted a heavily timbered shore-line, to the west, while steering for home, and, when he told of it, great curiosity was excited amongst the Norsemen.

Little Leif had now grown to be a man of size and strength. He had made many a journey to Norway, and, when there, in the year 998, found that Roman missionary priests were preaching up and down the land, and had converted the King, Olaf Tryggbesson, who had formerly worshiped the Gods Thor and Odin. Leif, himself, became a Christian and was baptized, so, when he returned to Greenland, he took several priests with him, who converted many of the people. Old Eric the Red, however, preferred to worship in the way of his fathers, and continued to believe in the mystical Valhalla, or hall of departed spirits, where the dead Vikings were supposed to drink huge cups of ale while feasting with their gods.

Upon a bright, warm day in the year 1000 a.d., a great Viking ship lay calmly upon the waters of the bay before the town of Bratthalid in Greenland, and on shore all was bustle and confusion. Leif Ericson, in fact, had determined to sail far to the westward, even as he had dreamed of doing when a little boy; and so, with thirty staunch adventurers, he was preparing to load his ship with sufficient provisions to last for the journey to that strange country of which Bjarni had brought news. It took several weeks to gather provisions and men, but at length everything was ready. The sail was hoisted, the great oaken oars were dipped into the water, and the sharp bow of the Viking ship was turned toward the open sea. “Huzzah! Huzzah!” shouted the Norsemen. “Huzzah!”

The Viking ship, which had a huge dragon’s head at the prow, was such a tiny affair, when compared with the massive ocean liners of to-day, that one can well imagine how she must have been tossed about by the great, surging waves; but she kept on and on, ever steering westward, until a land was discovered which seemed to be filled with flat stones, so they called it Helluland, or flat-stone land. This was the Newfoundland of our maps, to-day.

Leaving this behind them, the Vikings kept on steering southward and westward, until they saw a low-lying and heavily wooded shore. This was Nova Scotia, and they coasted along it, for many days, occasionally coming to anchor in one of the deep bays, and heaving overboard their fishing lines, so as to catch some of the many fish which seemed to abound in these waters.

They sailed on towards the south, and at last reached a place where a beautiful river flowed through a sort of an inland lake into the sea. Many islands were near the mouth of this stream, and, as salmon seemed to abound in the waters of this blue and clear-flowing estuary of the Atlantic, Leif decided that this was a good place in which to spend the winter. So down went the anchor, the Viking ship was moored near the shore, and the men scrambled to the beach in order to erect huts in which to spend the cold season. Thus the dream of the little boy, as he had stood upon the shore of Greenland, years before, had come true, and Leif had reached a new world, to which he had been led by his daring and his love of adventure.

You see, that, although it was long supposed that Columbus was the first white man from Europe to ever set his foot upon the shore of America, such is not the case.

The real discoverer of America, of whom we have any definite record, was Bjarni, the son of Herjulf, who, in the midst of fog and murk, coasted along the shore of Nova Scotia in 986 a.d.

LEIF ERICSON

(From the statue at Boston, Mass.)

And the first European to make a settlement upon the shores of the new world was Leif Ericson, who sailed into that blue, salmon-filled river which flows “through a lake into the sea.” So, if you look along the coast of New England, and try to find a river which answers this description, you will, I think, find but one. This is the river Charles, which, emptying into the Charles River Basin—a huge lake, if you wish—flows into the blue Atlantic. And, if you search the shore upon the Cambridge side near the hospital, you will find, to-day, the cellars of four houses,—the houses, no doubt, which Leif and his men erected in the year 1000 a.d.

The Vikings built their huts, caught many salmon, and journeyed inland, where they found a profusion of wild grapes, so many, in fact, that they dried a great mass of them, loaded them into the hold, and called this land Vinland, the Good. They also found a race of people living in this country, who were ferocious in aspect, with ugly hair, big eyes, and broad cheeks. They were clad in the skins of the beaver, the lynx and the fox, and their weapons were bows and arrows, slings, and stone hatchets. As they screeched dismally when about to attack in battle, the Vikings called them Skraelings, or Screechers. It is apparent that the Skraelings were more like the Esquimaux, than like the Indians found by Columbus.

The Vikings spent a peaceful winter in Vinland and had no difficulty with the Skraelings, who left them alone. The Norsemen felled a great many trees and loaded their ship with lumber, with dried fish and grapes. Spring at last came and the ice and snow melted in the deep forests, the gray geese began to fly northward, and the robins chanted a melodious welcome from the budding thickets. The followers of Leif deserted their huts, clambered aboard their low-lying vessel, and, singing a song of thanksgiving, turned her prow towards the blue Atlantic. They coasted past the islands at the harbor-mouth, and, driven by a stout breeze, were soon careening over the waves upon their journey to Greenland.

But adventures were not entirely over, for, upon the way home, a dark spot appeared upon the horizon, and, upon sailing up to it, Leif and his seamen discovered a boat-load of sailors. These poor fellows had been out in a large vessel, but she had foundered, and had gone to the bottom in a squall. The castaways were rescued, were taken aboard the home-going Viking ship, and were carried along to Bratthalid, where Leif and his followers received a royal welcome, and great interest was taken in the story of their adventures. Leif was christened Leif the Lucky, and by that name he was to be known forever afterwards.

The daring navigator never again sailed to the pine-clad coast of Vinland, but other Norsemen made the journey and some left their bones to bleach upon the shores of New England. Thus in 1002, when Eric the Red died, and Leif the Lucky succeeded to his Earldom, Thorstein (Leif’s brother) decided to explore the new-found country. So, with thirty or more men, he sailed to the westward, found the huts which the first adventurers had erected, and had the pleasure of spending the winter there. These voyagers stayed here for several years, for, in the Spring of 1004, while some of the party were exploring, the ship was driven ashore in a storm, near a ness, or cape. They put a new keel into their damaged vessel and stuck the old one into the sand, calling the place Kjalarness, or Keel Cape. The cape was undoubtedly near the end of Cape Cod.

Thorstein was subsequently slain in a battle with the Skraelings, but his men returned to Greenland, bringing lumber, dried fish, and many tales of this wonderful country; so that other Vikings longed to go and explore. Thus, in the summer of 1011, two ships set sail for Vinland, one with Leif’s brother and sister, Thorwald and Freydis, and a crew of thirty men; the other with two brothers, Helgi and Finnibogi, and a crew of thirty-five. There were also a number of women.

Helgi and Finnibogi were the first to arrive at the huts which Leif had constructed, and had taken possession of them, when Freydis, arriving soon afterwards, ordered them to leave. Bad blood arose, and Freydis one day complained that Helgi had given her evil words and had struck her. She told Thorwald that he should avenge this insult, and taunted him so mercilessly, that, unable to bear her jeering words any longer, he was aroused to a deed of blood. Surrounded by his followers, he made a night attack upon the huts of Helgi and Finnibogi, seized and bound all the occupants, and killed them with cold steel. The peaceful shores of the river Charles witnessed such a murder as has never occurred again.

In 1012 the survivors sailed for Greenland in the vessel of the murdered brothers, which was the larger of the two. The evil woman, Freydis, who had caused all this trouble, pretended that the other party had been left in Vinland, and that ships had merely been exchanged. She threatened her men, that, if any told on her, they would be murdered, but words were let fall which came to the ears of Leif the Lucky. Three of those who had just returned were put to the torture, until they told the whole story of murder and death in the peaceful country of Vinland.

Leif was greatly affected by the news, but said with great show of magnanimity: “I have no heart to punish my wicked sister Freydis as she deserves. But this I do say to Freydis and Thorwald,—that their posterity will never thrive.”

“And”—says an old Viking—“so it went that no one thought anything but evil of them from that time on.”

This is the last that we hear of Leif the Lucky. That little rosy-cheeked boy, who dreamed that one day he would be a great adventurer, had accomplished his purpose. He had found a new country, he had lived to see it explored by other Vikings, and he had opened the eyes of Europeans to the fact that, far away there was a land which was richer in furs and in timber than anything which they had about them.

The citizens of Boston, Massachusetts, have erected a bronze statue to this navigator, upon Commonwealth Avenue; where, with hand shading his keen eyes, the staunch Norwegian is going out upon the Charles River;—that river, upon the banks of which in the year 1000 a.d., he and his followers spent a peaceful winter in the land of the Skraelings, the beaver, the bear, and the pink-fleshed salmon. Skoal, then, to Leif the Lucky! And remember that it was he, and not Columbus, who first trod upon the shores of America as an adventurer from the European world.

VINLAND

’Neath the scent of the green hemlock forests, near the sands of the storm-driven sea,

Lies a land which is good, filled with balsamy wood, and a voice there is calling to me;

There the grapes grow in reddening clusters, there the salmon jump clear of the falls,

And in crystalline splendor, the moon, in November, shines bright, as the lynx caterwauls.

From Moosehead the wild loon is screaming, from Rangely the trout jumps at play;

And from Kathadyn’s bold peak, comes the osprey’s fierce shriek, while the brown bear creeps near to its prey.

Oh! that is the land for the Vikings; yea, that is the kingdom of rest;

In the rude deer-skin boats, the warrior gloats, as the strangers press on to the West.

There is thunder for Thor and for Odin; there is silver for Tyr and Brogé,

In Jotunheim’s palace, there is envy and malice; but nothing but love far away:

Come, Vikings, hoist up your rude anchors! Come, seamen, row hard, as ye should!

And steer to the West, where there’s peace and there’s rest; steer straightway to Vinland the Good.

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS:

RE-DISCOVERER OF AMERICA, WHO GAVE
A NEW CONTINENT TO THE WORLD.

(1436-1506)

Great man, whose courage led you o’er

The ocean’s unknown length,

A thousand voices thankfully

Proclaim your power and strength.

The treasures of the tropic isles,

You found, but failed to gain.

The honor that was due, was lost,

You saw your subjects slain.

Your plans for empire sailed away,

Undone by other wills;

And left but glorious memories,

Which every seaman thrills.

CHRISTOPHER COLUMBUS:

RE-DISCOVERER OF AMERICA, WHO GAVE
A NEW CONTINENT TO THE WORLD.

(1436-1506)

THE good and genial friar Juan Perez was working, one day, in front of the convent of La Rabida, which had been dedicated to Santa Maria de Rabida, near the pleasant city of Palos, in Spain. It was a lonely place, built upon beetling cliffs which overhung the blue ocean. The friar, with his brown cassock tucked up around his fat legs, was busily engaged in hoeing some beans, when he saw a man standing at the little wicket gate which was between himself and the roadway. The man was thin, care-worn, and cadaverous-looking. His hair was quite gray and he held a small boy by the hand.

“Kind priest,” said he, “I am faint with hunger.”

The good friar dropped his hoe and stood there smiling; for he had a warm heart, and the little boy, whom the stranger held by the hand, was very wistful.

“In God’s name, my poor fellow,” said Juan Perez, “come into the convent with me, and I will give you all that you wish, for I see that you are faint with hunger. And the little boy is surely very ill.”

So the white-haired man and the little boy went into the convent of Santa Maria de Rabida, and there the priest fell into a long conversation with this traveler. He found out that the wanderer was named Christopher Columbus and that he had been born in Genoa, in Italy. The little boy was his son, Ferdinand.

The priest was a man of great learning and had been confessor to the Queen of Spain. He soon perceived that this Christopher Columbus was a man of considerable learning, also, and found out that he had been a sailor ever since he had been a boy of fourteen. Charmed and delighted with the conversation of this penniless mariner, he asked him to remain as a guest at the convent, for he saw that, within the lean body of this white-haired sailor, burned a spirit of adventure which was like a beacon light.

“Had I the money, the ships, and the men,” said Columbus, “I could discover a new country lying far to the west. But, you see, I am a pauper.”

“Yes,” replied the good priest. “But I have powerful friends who have both money and ships. These will doubtless help you in your contemplated voyage. Stay with me for a few days. I will call them hither, so that you can discuss this matter with them.”

Columbus was glad to have this prelate listen to his schemes for sailing far to the westward, for he had been endeavoring, for a long time, to get some one to give him the necessary financial assistance, so that he could fit out ships both with provisions and with men. In a day or two a physician arrived. He was a learned fellow, and his name was Garcia Fernandez. He was accompanied by a wealthy navigator, called Martin Alonzo Pinzon, who listened to the schemes of Columbus with great enthusiasm.

“I, myself, will lend you money for this voyage westward,” said he. “And I will go in person upon this hazardous undertaking.”

The good priest, Juan Perez, had become most enthusiastic over the scheme.

“Wait until I write to our gracious Queen Isabella,” said he. “She, I know, will aid you in your contemplated journey. Be of good cheer, for she is the best of sovereigns, and cannot allow a Frenchman to have the honor of any discoveries in the West.”

Christopher Columbus was quite willing to have this done, for he was sure that, could he but gain access to the ear of the great Queen, she, herself would see the righteousness of his cause and aid and abet in that which filled him with zeal and enthusiasm. So he waited patiently at the convent while a letter was dispatched to the kind-hearted Isabella, carried to the court by one Sebastian Rodriguez, a pilot of Lepe, and a man of considerable prominence. The Queen was at the military camp of Santa Fé, where she was directing her troops against the city of Granada, which was held by the Moors.

Fourteen days went by, and, at last, Rodriquez returned to the heights of Palos.

“The Queen is much interested in your mariner friend, Columbus,” said he to Juan Perez. “She wishes greatly to add to the glory of Spain, and requests that you allow this sailor to travel to her military camp. But first she wishes to talk with you, good priest.”

The friar was delighted. Quickly saddling his mule, he was soon upon his way to Santa Fé, where he was received with kindness and consideration. The Queen had a friend and companion called the Marchioness Moya who urged her to give aid to Columbus and thus bring much renown and glory both to herself and Spain. “This fellow has a great idea,” she said. “Surely you will allow him, in the name of Spain, to find out what lies far to the westward.”

Isabella was feeling particularly happy, just then, for her troops had nearly captured the city of Granada and the hated Moors were about to be driven from the soil of Spain. So she gave a great deal of money to the priest from Palos, in order that Christopher Columbus could buy a mule and sufficient clothing to appear at court. With smiles of satisfaction the good friar returned to the convent at La Rabida and the first link in the chain which led to the discovery of the West Indies by those of white complexion, had been forged.

The time had come when the schemes of western exploration, which for years had lain dormant in the breast of this penniless man from Genoa, were about to be put into execution. Columbus was now light-hearted, even merry, and, leaving his little son to the care of the good monks of Palos, he mounted a mule and journeyed to Santa Fé, accompanied by his friend Juan Perez.

It was a propitious moment. The Moorish leader had just handed over the keys of the city of Granada to Queen Isabella, who, mounted upon her horse and surrounded by a retinue of ladies-in-waiting and courtiers, joyfully received the keys, as evidence that the Moors were at last driven from the soil of Spain. Columbus soon was admitted to her presence and there told of his desire to sail westward toward the setting sun.

“But,” said he, “if this voyage is a success, I must be made Admiral and Viceroy over the countries which I discover, and must also receive one-tenth of the revenues which come from these lands, either from trade or from agriculture.”

These terms did not suit the Queen’s counselors.

“It would be degrading to exalt an ordinary man to such high position,” said Talavera, the Queen’s foremost advisor. “The demands of this threadbare navigator are absurd.”

More moderate terms were offered to Columbus, but he declined them.

“Good-by, Your Majesty,” said he. “I will go to France, where the King will perhaps give me more advantageous offerings than you care to present.”

So the good man mounted his mule—the very one which the Queen had presented him with—but he did not seem to mind using it, and, turning his back on Santa Fé, and the convent of La Rabida, he started for the Pyrenees Mountains in order to journey to France.

As soon as he had gone the Queen began to feel sorry that she had allowed him to depart. Her friends gathered around her and had a good deal to say.

“What an opportunity you are losing to enhance the glory of Spain,” said several. “What a chance to make your own name forever great. If I were you, I would call this navigator back to court before he arrives upon the soil of France.”

Her husband, King Ferdinand, looked coldly upon the project, for his treasury had been exhausted by the fighting with the Moors and he did not wish to spend any more money, just then. But the Queen had many jewels which she could pledge in order to raise money for ships and for supplies.

“Ferdinand,” said she to her husband, “if you do not care to undertake this enterprise for the glory of the crown of Castile, I myself, will do so, and I will give all of my jewels as security for a loan to the navigator Columbus.”

A courier was sent post haste after the sailor from Genoa, who was then ambling along upon his mule and was crossing the bridge of Pinos, some six miles from Granada.

“The Queen has changed her mind towards you,” said the courier who had been sent to find the poor navigator. “Come back! You will now have funds with which to go upon your journey.”

Columbus hesitated a moment, for he feared that this was a lie, but, convinced of the truth of the statement, he turned about and whipped up his mule. They trotted along joyfully towards Santa Fé.

The Queen was now in a pleasant humor. Columbus was given all that he had asked for, but he was required to bear one-eighth of the expense of the journey. Papers to this effect were drawn up and signed on April the seventeenth, 1492, and, a month later, the joyful navigator set out for Palos in order to get ready the ships and provisions for the long-hoped-for voyage of discovery.

By the terms of the agreement between himself and the King and Queen he was to be called Viceroy and Governor of the new provinces which he wished to conquer in the rich territories of Asia, the country which he thought to be in the far west. He was to receive one-tenth of the pearls, precious stones, gold, silver, spices, and merchandise of whatever kind, which might be taken by his followers in the kingdoms which he expected to take possession of. Good terms these! Let us see how he fared!

Three caravels were now equipped for the journey at the port of Palos. It was difficult to find sailors to man them with. All were frightened at the enterprise and shuddered when they thought of a long sail into the unknown West. But the King said that he would pardon all those who had criminal charges hanging over them, should they join the expedition. In this way a sufficient number of sailors were secured.

The three ships were called the Gallega, the Pinta, and the Nina. The first was to be the flagship of Columbus, so he changed her name to the Santa Maria, as he was of a religious turn of mind. The Pinta was commanded by Martin Pinzon, and the Nina by his two brothers, Francis and Vincent.

On Friday, August 30th, 1492, the caravels headed out to sea and started upon this voyage of discovery. One hundred and twenty sailors had been secured, most of them with criminal records, so it was not to be expected that the Admiral, as Columbus was now called, would have an easy time with them. Some, in fact, were so anxious not to go that they purposely unshipped the rudder of the Pinta, when only a day from port, and the vessel had to be steered for the Canary Isles in order to repair the damage. Finally, after a three weeks’ delay, during which another rudder was made, the expedition again hoisted canvas and headed for the blue horizon of the west. The hearts of the Spanish sailors now failed them and many cried like little children, for they were fearful of what lay before them; some, indeed, even thinking that they would come to a great hole and fall in. As for Columbus, he tried to comfort them with the prospect of gold and precious stones in India and Cathay which he was sure that they would discover.

“On, on, my men,” said he. “On, and let us all be enriched by the treasures which we will soon come upon!”

But the ignorant sailors were constantly anxious and distrustful.

The bellying sails carried the three caravels ever to the westward. They sailed through vast masses of sea-weed on which small fish and crabs were hanging, and the sailors feared that they would be stranded upon this mass of vegetation. But when they threw lines into the water these did not touch the bottom, so they knew that they could go forward. The three vessels, in fact, were plowing through the Sargossa Sea, eight hundred miles from the Canary Isles. This is a mass of tangled sea-weed over two miles in depth, so it is no wonder that the lines did not touch anything when they let them down.

Now birds began to fly around the caravels, such as gannets and sea-swallows.

“Land must surely be near,” cried many. “We have now been six weeks upon the water and Asia must certainly be before us.”

But, in spite of the birds and the floating sea-weed, the boats kept on and on and still no land came to view.

Columbus, himself, never lost his confidence in the ultimate success of the journey.

“My men,” said he, “land will eventually be sighted. You must bolster up your hearts and have great courage, for we will soon view the coast of Asia, where lives the mighty Khan.”

And, each evening, he made the sailors chant a hymn to the Virgin. Cheered by the words of this heroic man, the Spaniards gained renewed hope and eagerly scanned the horizon for some signs of palm trees or tropic vegetation.

Before the expedition had set out, King Ferdinand had promised a reward of 10,000 maravédis, or 400 pounds sterling ($2,000), to the sailor who first discovered land. So, do you wonder that the mariners eagerly scanned the blue distance for a dark line of earth!

As the ships drowsed along with a gentle easterly wind in their rear, numerous large birds, petrels, man-of-war birds and damiers, flying in couples, were a sign that land must certainly be near, for otherwise how could these feathered sea-farers breed and lay their eggs? On, on, the mariners drifted, the sailors eager, depressed, even mutinous, but the courage of Columbus never wavered.

The month of October had now arrived and the Admiral announced to his crews that the ships had traveled 1,272 miles to the westward. In reality, they had sailed 2,100 miles; but Columbus hid the truth from his followers, for he knew them to be on the point of mutiny, and, should they learn how far they were from home, they would wish to return. On October the seventh the crews were much excited by hearing several musketry discharges from the Nina, the commander of which thought that he had discovered land. But this was an illusion; what he took to be land was but a patch of sea-weed, bobbing on the glassy waves.

A number of parroquets went flying by in a southwesterly direction, and, thinking that they were doubtless winging their way towards their homes, the Admiral was requested to steer more towards the south. This he did, and it is well that he so traveled, for, had the vessels kept due westward, they would doubtless have run aground upon the great Bahama Bank and would have been destroyed.

But why did not land appear?

Each evening the sun dipped down behind an interminable horizon of water. Sea-weed floated past, birds flew around upon every side, and still no land came to view. The Spaniards began to murmur loudly against Columbus.

“He is a Genoese, a foreigner,” said some. “What does he care for Spaniards! He has enticed us from our own country only to drown us all. One thrust of a poniard and he will be out of the way forever!”

The Admiral heard of these remarks and knew that his sailors plotted his destruction, but his spirit never faltered, and, as the men still worked the ships, he kept courageously onward.

The eleventh of October had now come, and, as the bold navigator was looking over the side of the Santa Maria, he noticed a reed, still green, floating upon the top of a wave. His heart beat faster, for he realized that land must certainly be in the offing. Almost at the same time the men on board the Nina perceived the branch of a thorny tree, covered with blossoms, which bobbed upon the sprawling waves. All rejoiced exceedingly, for they knew that the coast of some strange country must be near. Night fell over the sea, and Columbus took up his position on the foremost part of his vessel, where he could watch until morning. About ten o’clock he thought that he saw a light in the distance and called to a sailor, Pedro Guitierrez, a chamberlain in the King’s service, who confirmed it. Once or twice, after this, the Admiral again saw the light, which looked as if some person were carrying a flambeau on shore, or in a boat, tossed by the waves.

Columbus spent a restless night. When morning broke, a sailor called Rodrigo de Triana, saw land from the deck of the Pinta, and a thrill of joy and thanksgiving ran through every heart. It was only two miles away, and the vessels quickly headed towards the low-lying shore. Every one eagerly crowded forward, with shouts and cries of joy, as the three caravels drew nearer and nearer to the sandy beach. The vessels anchored, and, crowding into the boats, Columbus, with his followers, rowed towards the breaking combers. All were eager to set foot upon the new-found territory.

Columbus had on a scarlet coat; and in one hand he held a cross, in the other a sword. When he reached the beach he knelt upon one knee and kissed the soil, while one of his followers held over his head the royal banner of gold, embroidered with crowns and with an F and I, the initials of Kind Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. He gave thanks to God; while all his crew of malcontents joined him in singing the Te Deum. His sailors gathered about him, embracing him with fervor, and begging his forgiveness for their mutinous spirit.

At this moment some naked savages appeared from behind the tropic foliage and came timidly towards the Spaniards. None of the men appeared to be over thirty years of age, and the women, too, were young. They were well made, their figures handsome, and their faces agreeable. Their hair, as coarse as the tail of a horse, hung down in front as far as their eyebrows, while behind it formed a long mass which was apparently never cut.

As they approached, the Spaniards greeted them kindly, and, when the voyageurs showed them their swords, the poor natives seized them in their hands so that they cut their fingers.

THE LANDING OF COLUMBUS

The Spaniards roamed about for some time, glad indeed to stretch their legs, and then jumped into their long boats, in order to go back to the ships. Several of the natives plunged into the water and swam after them, crying out with apparent pleasure. Next day they came in crowds around the vessels, paddling themselves in enormous canoes shaped from the trunks of trees and guided by means of broad paddles, like a snow shovel. Several of the islanders wore little plates of gold hanging from their nostrils, which interested the Spaniards more than anything else. “Where did you get this?” they signaled to the chattering Indians. The natives pointed towards the south, when they understood what the mariners wished to know, and this made the voyageurs eager to get away, for gold was ever that which has lured the Spaniard onward.

Columbus named the island San Salvador, and believed that he had arrived upon the coast of Asia. The place was beautiful. Gray and yellow parroquets chattered and screamed from the trees, and brilliant tropic birds fluttered before them, as the Spaniards explored the interior. A small lake was in the center of the island, but there was no sign of gold or of gold mines. So the voyageurs turned away, disgusted, and determined to sail southward where the natives told them was a mighty monarch who possessed great vessels of gold, and immense riches.

The next morning, at day-break, Columbus gave orders to have the ships prepared for sea and all set sail towards the south, coasting along the western side of the island, while the natives, running down to the shore, offered the Spaniards water and cassava bread, made from the root of a plant called the “yucca.” The Admiral landed upon the coast at different points and carried off some of the natives, so that he might exhibit them in Spain. Poor, ignorant islanders! Little did they guess that soon the white-skinned strangers would tear them from their country in order to sell them as slaves.

The Spaniards were really among the West Indies; but Columbus still had the idea that he was near China, the home of the mighty Khan, stories of whose wealth and possessions had already been brought to Spain. So, after the three caravels had left the island of Cuba, two emissaries were dispatched into the interior in order to take presents to the Khan. They soon returned, telling of the peaceful natives, beautiful groves of palm trees, but of no signs of the Asiatic potentate. They reported that both the native men and women smoked tobacco by means of a forked pipe, and that they had cotton houses made in the form of tents.

The crews now began to grow restless. They had come to find Asia or India, where were great hoards of gold. Instead of this they had found merely some tropic islands, populated by a race of naked savages who had no great treasures and knew nothing of gold mines. The Admiral sailed onward and kept discovering other islands, in all of which he found many articles of gold, but no particularly great city or town with riches and treasure. And there were no signs of the mighty Khan of Asia.

While exploring the coast of an island called Hayti, a young chief visited the caravels, attended by two hundred subjects. He spoke little, but gave the Admiral a curious belt and two pieces of gold, for which Columbus, in return, presented him with a piece of cloth, several amber beads, colored shoes, and a flask of orange water. In the evening the native was sent on shore with great ceremony and a salute was fired in his honor, which both surprised and interested him.

A short time after this a still greater chief, named Guacanagari, sent a messenger to the Admiral requesting him to come to his part of the island. The ships were therefore turned in the direction of this chief’s home, and had sailed within a mile of his residence, when the Santa Maria ran upon a sand bank and quickly went to pieces. When news of this was brought to the native ruler, he sent his followers to unload the vessel and guard the contents, and his family to cheer the Spanish navigator and to assure him that everything which he possessed was at his disposal. All of the Spaniards went on board the Nina and were later entertained by the prince. So well, indeed, did Columbus like this island that he determined to erect a fort upon the coast, and to leave there a certain number of men with a year’s provisions of bread, wine, and seed, also the long boat of the Santa Maria.

As a matter of fact the Spaniards were now eager to return to Spain, for, although they had discovered a new territory, they had not found the great quantities of gold. As for the mighty Khan, he was certainly not in the vicinity of these tropic isles, with their green paroquets screaming from the waving branches of the palm trees, and their naked savages with soft voices and hollowed canoes. The majority of the seamen thought that they had done quite sufficient exploring and were certainly ready to return to the bullfights and the crooked streets of old Seville.

“Back to Spain,” they said to Columbus. “Back to Spain and let other adventurers come here if they wish. We have found the way for them. Let them explore and develop this territory.”

Columbus was quite ready to set sail across the Atlantic, for he had found a new country for the Spanish Crown, and had added many square miles of territory to the possessions of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella. It was now the month of January; the skies were blue and the weather was balmy; so all seemed propitious for a safe and speedy passage. Leaving thirty-nine men to garrison a fortress which he ordered to be constructed, and to search for gold until he could come back again from Spain, and naming one Rodrigo de Escovedo as their commander, the Admiral boarded the Nina, and, after fighting a mimic sham battle with his men, in order to amuse the Indians, he turned the prow of the little vessel toward the rising sun. The Pinta, under the command of Martin Pinzon, had been cruising to the south for some days; but she now returned, with the news that, although the natives had told of a great island to the south where there was much gold, none existed. The sailors were much distressed in mind, for they had certainly expected to find a quantity of gold and treasure in this tropic country.

It was now the seventh day of January and the boats lay to, in order to stop a leak which had sprung in the hold of the Nina. Columbus profited by the delay and explored a wide river which flowed from the base of a high mountain, called Monti Christi by some of the crew. The Admiral found the banks of this stream were full of gold-dust—so much, in fact, that he named it the Golden River. In spite of this discovery the Spanish sailors were still anxious to return and began to murmur against the authority of Columbus. Thus, on the ninth day of January, the two caravels set sail, and, steering towards the southeast, skirted the coast, en route for Spain.

As they swung lazily along, the natives sometimes followed them in their canoes. One day they began to shoot at the sailors with their arrows, so that discharge of musketry had to be resorted to, in order to drive them away. Two or three of the islanders were killed in this little affair, and thus, for the first time, the blood of an Indian flowed beneath the hand of a European.

Four of the natives were captured and taken on board so that they might be exhibited in Spain. They went unwillingly, but, when they endeavored to escape, were bound to the masts and were forced to join the Spanish adventurers. So, cruel even in this first expedition to the new world, just as they were ever afterwards, the Spanish navigators plowed eastward towards the land of Ferdinand and Isabella. The passage proved to be a quick one until the twelfth day of February, when the vessels encountered a fearful storm lasting three days.

The little caravels with their three-cornered sails were slapped around on the surging billows until all thought that they were lost, and the sailors swore on bended knee that they would go and pray in their shirts, and with naked feet, at the monastery of our Lady of Loretto, if a Kindly Heaven would only put an end to this fearful raging of the waters. Columbus seems to have given up all hope of ever reaching land, for he wrote out a description of his voyages, placed it inside a cask, and hurled it into the sea. This included a request that whoever should find this document would forward it to the King of Spain.

Luck, however, was with him, and the storm at length abated to such a degree that the two caravels cast anchor at the island of St. Mary, one of the Azores. The crew went ashore, and were immediately thrown into prison; but, after a period of five days, were allowed to leave by their Portuguese jailors. Again the two caravels headed for Spain, but again the winds blew vigorously, so that the Pinta was driven into the Bay of Biscay and the Nina had to take refuge at the mouth of the Tagus, in Portugal.

Here the Portuguese welcomed the Admiral in a kindly fashion, but he was anxious to return to Spain, and, as soon as the weather would permit, the Nina again set sail. Finally, on the fifteenth day of March, after seven months of navigation, she cast anchor at the port of Palos, that little harbor from which the man with a great idea had sailed with a half-hearted and distrusting crew.

Columbus had guessed correctly. A new land did lie far to the westward across the blue Atlantic, and it was a land where was gold, that which every Spaniard prized the most. The Genoese mariner had discovered the islands of San Salvador, Conception, Great Exuma, Long Island, the Mucaras, Cuba, and San Domingo.

The first man to give him a welcoming pat on the back was the good old friar Juan Perez.

“You have done well, my good Columbus,” said he. “How glad I am that I introduced you to the gracious Queen Isabella. You have indeed fulfilled the dreams that you dreamed in the convent of La Rabida.”

Ferdinand and Isabella were then at Barcelona, and, hearing of the safe return of Columbus, a message was immediately dispatched to ask him to come at once to court. The Admiral landed, offered thanks to God for preserving him in all his trials, and, taking with him the Indian captives, started on his journey to the residence of his King. From all parts of the country the Spanish people ran to look at him as he passed. They threw their hats in their air, shouting: “Long live Columbus! Long live the discoverer of new countries! All honor to the Admiral!” He was preceded by a troop of cavalry and a band of music when he entered Barcelona, and flowers were strewn in his pathway.

Ferdinand and Isabella received him with great pomp at the Deputation. After hearing his story, told by him with graphic words, all knelt and chanted the Te Deum. Christopher Columbus was then ennobled by letters patent, and the King granted him a coat of arms bearing the device: “To Castile and Leon, Columbus gives a New World.”

The fame of the poor navigator rang throughout all the then civilized world; the Indians were baptized in the presence of the whole court; and all tongues gave praise to this poor and unknown sailor who had dreamed a dream of conquest which had come true.

Strength of purpose and strength of will had won the day. Had the Genoese mariner given in to discouragement when his half-criminal sailors grew mutinous and wished to return to Spain after they had passed the Sargossa Sea, to some one else would have belonged the honor of the discovery of the West Indies. Had he not used a firm hand in dealing with them, they would have marooned him on one of the islands which he discovered and would have left him there to die. Had he not been sure that he would find what he was after, Queen Isabella would not have aided him to glory and renown. Great and valiant Sailor, you should indeed be remembered with reverence, for you knew how to triumph over doubt and discouragement and your faith was sublime! All honor then to Christopher Columbus!

The remaining adventures of this gallant soul can be briefly narrated. Upon a second voyage to the West Indies he found the men whom he had left behind him had all been murdered by the Indians. After Columbus had sailed to Spain the Spaniards had stolen some of the Indian women and had consequently stirred up the wrath of the great chief who lived in the interior of the island of Hayti, where they had been instructed to build a fort and live until the return of their companions. A row of graves under the swaying palm trees showed where once had been thirty-nine adventurous souls from Palos in Spain.

The Spaniards came over in numbers after this expedition, but, although they founded a city and attempted to settle in the new world, there were continual dissensions with the natives; fights; ambuscades; massacres. The men from Castile were lazy; greedy for gold; cruel to the natives; and treated them brutally when the poor Indians could not furnish them with the glittering metal which they so keenly desired. Then the more rapacious ones turned on Columbus himself, threw him in irons on one occasion, and continually derided him to the King of Spain, who, because the Indies did not produce the revenues which he had expected them to, turned coldly upon the mariner from Palos, and rather took the part of these malcontents against him. Like all persons who reach a certain pinnacle of greatness, Columbus could not remain a popular idol, for all men are human and he had the ambitions of others to contend with. There were fights with the natives; fights among the Colonists themselves; fights with the malaria, the yellow fever, and with other diseases.

Columbus himself fared badly. After the death of good Queen Isabella, Ferdinand would not aid him in the least. He had saved no money, after all these adventures, and, as his life drew to a close, had to live by borrowing. He did not even own a home in Spain, and had to reside at Inns and at boarding houses. Alone, neglected, miserable, poor, he finally passed to another and better world, on May the twentieth 1500. He was seventy years of age.

Buried in the convent of St. Francisco, at Valladolid, Spain, his body was removed to the monastery of Las Cuevas at Seville, and, still later, to the cathedral of San Domingo at Hispaniola. But again it was taken up, and transported by vessel to Havana, Cuba, that rich tropic isle which the great navigator himself had discovered. Here to-day it is lying, and the sad spirit of this strange man of destiny hovers over the richest of all the possessions which Spain held in the West Indies, until wrested from her feeble grasp by the people of the United States in the year 1898, and magnanimously presented to the Cuban people themselves, to govern as they wished.

Could the poor old mariner, as he lay dying at Valladolid, have but looked forward into the centuries and seen the New World which he had discovered, he would have indeed been well satisfied. Had he known that a great Exposition would have been held to his memory and fame, and could he have guessed that the children of the civilized world would ever afterwards be taught the history of his life, of his perseverance, his courage, and his faith, he would indeed have been cheered in those last cheerless and poverty-stricken days.

In the career of this poor Italian dreamer, studying in every moment of leisure, asking assistance year after year from crowned heads until he was fifty-six years of age, in order that he might make his immortal discoveries, is a lesson to all who feel that their lives have not been perhaps worth while as they near middle age. The lesson is:—keep on trying to win, and, even though you may not be appreciated during your lifetime, history will always give you a proper niche in the temple of fame. And do not believe that youth is the only time for adventurous discoveries. Columbus did not sail upon his epoch-making journey towards the West until after he had reached his fifty-sixth year. Middle age and perseverance, then, are good aids to place one within the halls of the immortals.

THE SONG OF THE ISLANDER

O brother, good brother, look out on the bay,

What’s that that is nearing, so long and so gray?

’Tis a palm tree, I’ll warrant, so large and so lean,

That it o’ershadows all palm trees that e’er I have seen.

O brother, good brother, it stops and is still;

White clouds are above it, they beckon and fill;

Two sticks running upward are covered with vines,

And a humming resounds like the wind when it whines.

O brother, good brother, a puff of white smoke

Rolls upward and onward—a voice surely spoke,

’Tis the speech of God Tezcal, he’s calling aloud,

For the rest of the Gods to gather and crowd.

O brother, good brother, what’s that to the rear?

A canoe is approaching, it fills me with fear,

For the white gods are paddling; they dress all in red,

And the skin of their hands looks like that of the dead.

O brother, good brother, bend low and keep still.

See the God in the bow, he is white-haired and ill.

Let us hide in the palms, ere they step on the shore,

Let us watch in the grass ’til this danger is o’er.

They jump to the beach, raise a cross-stick on high,

They speak a strange tongue and utter a cry.

O brother, good brother, what’s that shines and gleams?

On their breasts, on their backs,—it glitters and beams.

Let us talk with these strangers, let us speak with these men,

There are hundreds of brothers behind in the glen,

They surely can’t harm us, they come from the sky,

And they smile as they see us. Then let us draw nigh.

O brother, good brother, had I never been near,

These pale-visaged Gods who from Spain traveled here,

I’d be in the forest, not bound to the mast,

As the Nina rolls on and the shore flyeth past.

Good-bye, tropic islands! Good-bye, Salvador!

My spirit is crushed; my free life is o’er.

Farewell, beloved palm trees! Farewell and adieu!

My home is behind me and fades from my view.

AMERIGO VESPUCCI:

FLORENTINE NAVIGATOR FROM WHOM
AMERICA HAS DERIVED ITS NAME.

(1452-1512)

AMERIGO VESPUCCI:

FLORENTINE NAVIGATOR FROM WHOM
AMERICA HAS DERIVED ITS NAME.

(1452-1512)

ABOUT the beginning of the thirteenth century a family called Vespucci established themselves in the City of Florence, Italy. Anastatio Vespucci was the head of the family in 1451 and lived in a stately mansion, now occupied as a hospital for the poor, near the gate of the city known as Porta del Prato. He was Secretary of the Senate, and, although he lived in a palatial dwelling, had little besides the salary attached to his high office. Upon March the ninth, 1451, the third son of this official was born, and, when three days of age, was duly christened Amerigo. He has since been called Americus.

Almost from his cradle the boy was destined to become a merchant. Yet he had a good schooling, too, and was educated at a private institution presided over by his father’s brother, a monk of the Order of San Marco, who, before the birth of Americus, had become famous as a teacher of the noble youths of the city. Here the boy was taught mathematics, astronomy, geography, and the classics. He became especially interested in geography and was ambitious to excel as a geographer.

Amerigo, or Americus, seems to have remained a student under the direction of his uncle for a number of years, yet we have no record of when it was that he followed the wishes of his father and entered upon mercantile pursuits. At any rate, he never lost his early interest in geography. In spite of his days in a counting house, he eagerly studied maps and charts. He made a collection of them, and, for one map alone, paid a sum equivalent to five hundred and fifty-five dollars.

Americus had an elder brother, Geralamo, who had left home to seek his fortune in foreign climes and had established himself in business in Asia Minor. He became immensely wealthy, and all went well with him, until one day, while he was at church, thieves broke into his house and robbed him of all that he possessed. This greatly impoverished the family, so that Americus determined to leave Florence and journey to some other country where he could retrieve his brother’s losses. He selected Spain as the scene of his future labors.

Just as Magellan deserted Portugal for Spain, so, also, Americus felt that here were fame and fortune awaiting him. Ferdinand and Isabella were then waging war upon the Moors who held the southern part of the peninsula, and, as this was regarded as a holy war, many of the young nobles from surrounding countries were in Spain fighting for the crown of Castile. The war created a demand for many articles of commerce, so Americus went to Spain as the agent for one of the Medici, a ruling family in Florence. At the beginning of the year 1492, when Columbus made his first journey of exploration to the West Indies, we find the young Italian associated with one Berardi, who, after the return of Columbus from his first voyage, was commissioned to furnish and equip four vessels to be sent to the New World at different intervals. Vespucci met Columbus, had lengthy conversations with him regarding the New World, and, from his letters, we can see that he had a very clear idea that Cuba was not the main land, as Columbus supposed it to be, but was an island.

Berardi died in December, 1495, and the management of all his affairs devolved upon the shoulders of Vespucci, who soon wearied of seeking the favors of fortune and determined to abandon mercantile life for something, “laudable and stable.” He formed, in fact, a determination to visit the various parts of the world, a determination which he soon put into execution.

A navigator, called Ojeda, was about to set sail for the West Indies with four vessels and we find that Americus became one of his crew. According to some, he was to be one of the principal pilots; according to others he was to be an agent of the King and Queen, having a voice in the direction of the ships. On May 10th., 1497, the fleet left Cadiz, and, after reaching the Canary Islands, sailed so rapidly that, at the end of twenty-seven days, it came in sight of land. This was the coast of South America.

The Spaniards anchored and attempted to hold some intercourse with the natives, but the Indians were very shy and refused to come out to visit them. So, coasting along the shore, they came upon a village, which, much to their surprise, was built after the fashion of the city of Venice, Italy. The houses were placed upon piers in the water, and had entrances by means of drawbridges, so that the inhabitants, by leaving the bridges down, could traverse the whole town without difficulty. The explorers therefore called it Venezuela, a name which has endured to the present day.

The inhabitants, at first, shut themselves up in their houses and raised the drawbridges, and, as the ships came nearer, the savages embarked in their canoes and rowed out to sea. The Spaniards made every mark of friendship and invited the Indians to come to their ships, but the brown-skinned natives hastened away, making signs for the Spaniards to wait where they were, as they would return. They came back, bringing with them sixteen young girls, who beckoned to them and made signals of peace. The Castilians were much impressed by this; so much so, in fact, that their suspicions were not aroused by the sight of numerous natives who came swimming towards the ships. Suddenly they noticed that some of the women at the doors of the huts were wailing and tearing their hair, as if in great distress.

While wondering what this meant, suddenly all the girls sprang from their canoes, and the Spaniards saw that many men—who had been heretofore hidden by them—were armed with a bow and arrows. Each native in the water had a lance in his or her hand. Hardly had the white men perceived this before they were furiously attacked.

AMERIGO VESPUCCI OFF THE COAST OF VENEZUELA

The Spaniards vigorously defended themselves with their muskets and then made a dash for the canoes in their long boats. They overturned several, killed about twenty of the South Americans, and took two of the girls and three men prisoners. Many of the natives were wounded. The Spaniards did not burn the town, but returned to their ships, where they placed the three men, whom they had captured, in irons. Then they sailed southward, but, when morning dawned, discovered that the natives had managed to wiggle out of their irons and had jumped overboard.

Keeping their course continually along the coast, the explorers came to anchor about eighty miles from this new-world Venice, where they saw about four thousand persons gathered upon the shore. These set up a wild yelping, when the Spaniards let down their boats, and fled into the forest. The white men followed and found a camp where two natives were engaged in cooking iguanas, an animal which the early discoverers describe as a serpent. The two cooks fled, of course, but the whites disturbed nothing in the camp, in order to reassure the natives, and then leisurely returned to their boats.

Upon the following day these Indians paddled to the ships, and when they saw the two girl prisoners whom the Spaniards had taken, they became suddenly very friendly, for these girls belonged to a tribe with which they were then at war.

“We have only come here for the fishing,” said one of them, a chief. “We live far back in the country and wish you to journey to see us as our friends.”

The invitation was received with great satisfaction by the whites.

“They importuned us so much,” says Vespucci in his narrative of these events, published some years afterwards, “that, having taken counsel, twenty-three of us Christians concluded to go with them, well prepared, and with firm resolution to die manfully, if such was to be our fate.”

So, the Spaniards journeyed inland, remained three days at the fishing camp, and then set out for the interior, where they visited so many villages that they were nine days on the journey, and their comrades on board the vessels grew very uneasy about them. The Indians, in fact, showed them great attention, and when they were about to return to the ships, insisted upon carrying them along in hammocks, slung upon the shoulders of strong and willing porters. When the explorers arrived at the shore, their boats were almost swamped by the numbers of savages who wished to accompany them, while swarms of natives who could not get into the boats, swam alongside to the ships. So many came aboard, that the mariners were quite troubled, fearing that they might make a sudden and unexpected attack. A cannon was fired off to impress the natives with the power of the explorers. At the explosion of the piece, many leaped into the sea, like frogs plunging into a marsh. Those who remained seemed to be unafraid and took leave of the mariners with many demonstrations of affection.

The Spaniards had now been thirteen months at sea, so their thoughts turned towards home. It was therefore decided to careen their vessels on the beach, in order to calk and pitch them anew, as they leaked badly, and then they would return to Spain. The Castilians made a breastwork of their boats and their casks, and placed their artillery so that it would play upon any enemies who might advance; then, having unloaded and lightened their ships, they hauled them on land to make much needed repairs.

No attack was made by the natives. Instead of this the South Americans brought them food, begging them to assist them in punishing a very cruel tribe of people who came to their country, every year, from the sea, and killed many of their warriors. They afterwards would eat them. Against these enemies they said that they were unable to defend themselves. When the Spaniards promised to march against the cannibals, no words could express their gratitude. Many wished to go with them, but the whites wisely rejected such offers, permitting only seven to accompany them.

The Spaniards sailed in a northeasterly direction for seven days, and then came upon some islands, many of which were peopled. They cast anchor before one of them and lowered the boats; but, as they did so, they saw about four hundred men and women gather on the beach; the men armed with bows, arrows, and lances, their naked bodies painted with various colors. As the Castilians approached to within bowshot of the shore, the savages sent a flight of arrows at them in an effort to prevent them from landing.

The cannon were therefore loaded and fired. As some of the Indians fell dead, the rest retreated. The Castilians, with a cheer, hastily landed and fell upon the savages, who put up a stiff fight. The battle raged for about two hours without a decisive victory upon either side; some of the Indians were killed and some of the whites were injured. At last, tired out, the explorers were glad enough to return to their vessels.

Next day the Spaniards landed again, and, under the leadership of Vespucci, had a bloody battle with the cannibals. The natives were at length badly worsted, were driven to their village, and this was burned to the ground. Only one of the explorers was killed, while twenty-two were wounded. Many of the Indians were burned in the ruins of their thatched huts.

Well satisfied with the outcome of this affair, the mariners now set sail for Spain, with the plaudits of the savages, whom they had assisted, ringing in their ears. They arrived in October, 1498, after an absence of about nineteen months, and were well received by the King and Queen, for they brought considerable gold, jewels, and skins of strange beasts and birds. Vespucci was highly pleased; he had been the first to visit the shore of South America and had really done something great in exploration,—his dream for many years.

Shortly after his return, a second expedition was prepared for a journey to this new-found country, headed by one Ojeda, a Spaniard of some wealth and influence. A fleet of four vessels was equipped, and the latter part of the Spring of 1499 saw them ready for sea. The reputation of Vespucci as a geographer was such as to make him the very man needed for this particular voyage, and, although at first disinclined to leave home at so early a date, he finally yielded to the entreaties of Ojeda, and joined the party.

They set sail from Cadiz in May, 1499, and twenty-four days later saw land. The shore was low and so densely covered with small aromatic trees that the explorers concluded to return to their ships and try some other spot. After coasting along in a southerly direction they came to the mouth of a great river, and, having manned their boats with twenty well-armed adventurers, entered the stream and ascended it for more than fifty miles. But the land was as low, up-stream, as it was at the mouth, so the reconnoitering party floated down-stream to the fleet again. Anchors were raised, the ships stood out to sea, and, sailing in a southerly direction, encountered the great equatorial current which sweeps along the coast of Brazil.

“We could scarcely make any headway against it,” says Amerigo, in his description of this journey published some years later. “Seeing that we made no progress, or but very little, and also seeing the danger to which we were exposed, we determined to turn our prows to the northwest.”

Ten degrees north of the equator, the explorers again saw land, and, drawing nearer, found that this was an island. Many of the inhabitants were gathered upon the shore; but, when the pale-faced strangers landed, they took fright and ran into the woods. Fortunately two were captured and acted as envoys, so, after a time, the rest allowed the Spaniards to approach and speak with them. They were cannibals, eating the bodies of all those whom they killed or captured in war, and had the heads and bones of those who had been eaten piled up in a big heap. Much disgusted at what they had seen, the Spaniards sailed away.

Drowsing along the coast of this island they came to another village of the same tribe, where they were hospitably received and were fed by the brown-skinned inhabitants. But they moved onward, sailed westward, and soon anchored near one of the mouths of the Orinoco River, where was a large village close to the sea, the inhabitants of which regaled the mariners with three different kinds of wine, and presented them with eleven large pearls, more than a hundred smaller ones, and a small quantity of gold. Here the navigators remained seventeen days, feasting upon fruits and the savory acorns with which the place abounded. Then they continued along the coast, stopping occasionally to hold intercourse with the natives.

These, for the most part, were unfriendly, and the Spaniards had many a battle with the South Americans.

Vespucci says: “Many times not more than sixteen of us fought with two thousand of them, and, in the end defeated them, killing many and robbing their houses. We were obliged to fight with a great many people, but we always had the victory.”

Thus they progressed upon their way, fighting, trading, exploring, until their stock of provisions became so nearly exhausted that it was impossible for them to proceed further. Their ships, too, were sea-worn and leaky, so that the pumps could scarcely keep them free from water.

Other Spanish adventurers had founded a city called Hispaniola, not long before this, situated upon the eastern coast of Panama. The Ojeda expedition was now about three hundred and sixty miles from the point, but it was decided to sail thither in order to repair the ships and secure food, such as Europeans were accustomed to. After a voyage of several weeks, the Spanish caravels anchored in the harbor of the city founded by their countrymen, where they remained for two months.

Refreshed by their stay at Hispaniola, the Spaniards now cruised for some time among the numberless small islands north of Hayti, but the provisions which they had secured soon began to give out; they were reduced to six ounces of bread and three small measures of water a day for each man; and the ships began to leak again, in spite of all the caulking which had been done at Hispaniola. The leaders of the expedition, therefore, decided to capture some slaves for the purpose of selling to wealthy grandees in Spain, and to return home.

This harsh resolution was well carried out. Two hundred and thirty-two unfortunate natives were torn from their island home and their pleasant, indolent life, and were taken on board the ships. It was a dastardly thing to do, but men in these times were like the German invaders of Belgium in ours,—they were brutes. The prows of the four caravels were now turned towards Spain, and, after an uneventful voyage, they arrived at their place of departure, June 8th., 1500, after an absence of about thirteen months. Of the fifty-seven men who had set out upon the expedition, two had been killed by the Indians, the rest returned home. Thirty-two of the slaves died upon the journey across the Atlantic, the rest were sold to the Spanish grandees.

Amerigo wrote freely of the journey to South America and his letters had a wide circulation, for he was the first newspaper correspondent: the forerunner of the modern Richard Harding Davis-es and Frank G. Carpenters. By means of these epistles he gained a wide celebrity and his name became more closely connected with the New World than that of Columbus. Such being the case, it is no wonder that people began to call these new possessions after the man who wrote so graphically of what he had seen there. Amerigo Vespucci told of a land which came to be known as the land of Americus, or America. It should really have been called Columbia, after Christopher Columbus, but Columbus did not happen to have the facility for writing interesting letters.

Amerigo, greatly pleased with what he had accomplished, was resting quietly at Seville, when an invitation came from the King of Portugal to have him visit him, and, when he arrived at Lisbon, the King had much to say to him.

“Would he undertake another expedition to the new world under the Portuguese banner?” Yes, he would.

No sooner said than done. On May 13th, 1501, Vespucci left on another journey with three armed caravels. They ran south, touched at the Canary Islands, and then, through fierce and violent tempests, plowed towards the coast of South America. This they reached at length, and, coasting southward, frequently landed on the shore, where they had intercourse with the natives, most of whom were cannibals.

Here the Spaniards remained for several months, then, having found no minerals of value in the country, although there was a great abundance of valuable woods of every kind, they decided to return to Portugal. All the vessels were stocked with food and with water for six months, their prows were turned eastward, and, bidding the cannibals of South America a fond adieu, the explorers headed for home. After a stormy passage, and, after a voyage of fifteen months, the adventurous navigators again sailed into the harbor of Lisbon, where they were received with much joy. Florence received the accounts of the discoveries of her illustrious son with much pride, and honors were bestowed upon those members of his family who lived in the city of the Arno.

Amerigo Vespucci was now a popular idol. He had been the discoverer of the method of obtaining longitude at sea, by observing the conjunction of the moon with one of the planets, and his observations and enumeration of the stars in the southern heavens were of great value to mariners who came after him. He was far in advance of most other learned men of the age in his knowledge of the sciences of astronomy and geometry.

Believing that Amerigo would have reached India by way of the southwest, had not his last voyage been interrupted by the severe storm which he had encountered, the King of Portugal lost no time in fitting out another expedition. Six vessels were therefore prepared, Amerigo being placed in command of one of them, and recognized as the scientific authority of the squadron. The fleet set sail again for that country of which all Europe was talking and speculating.

This expedition was similar to those which preceded it. The vessels met with severe storms; saw cannibals, brightly plumaged birds, and islands of palm groves and chattering parrots. The Spaniards built a fortress upon one of the many harbors which they entered; then, as all but one ship had been lost by shipwreck, the vessel which Vespucci commanded sailed back to Lisbon, arriving on June 18th., 1504. He was received as one risen from the dead, for the whole city had given him up for lost.

Thus ended the last voyage of the famous Florentine. Perhaps disheartened by the unfortunate result of his cruise, he abandoned the idea of again going to sea, and devoted himself to writing an account of what he had already accomplished. Although younger by four years than Columbus, when the great Admiral had set sail upon his first voyage to the unknown West, Amerigo decided to rest upon laurels already won, and to never again tempt fame and fortune in an expedition to the shores of South America. He spent his declining years in writing a full and graphic account of his many expeditions to the New World, and, on February the twenty-second, 1512, the spirit of the astronomer and geographer passed to a better sphere.

For many years after its discovery there seems to have been no effort to give a name to the New World; indeed, it was so long supposed to be a part of Asia that this was thought to be unnecessary. In a Latin book, printed at Strassburg, Germany, in 1509—the work of an Italian called Ilacomilo—it was suggested that the country be called America, as it was discovered by Amerigo (Americus).

Not in the lifetime of the great Vespucci was this name so used. As late as the year 1550, North America was called Terra Florida on the Spanish maps, while Brazil was the name given to the coast of South America, where much dye-wood was obtained; the title coming from the Portuguese word braza, meaning live coal, or glowing fire. Both the names of America and Brazil were applied to the shore of South America, until, after a while, the second of these names was confined to that part of the coast where the valuable dye-wood was obtained, while the other name was attached to the part north and south of it. From this it was but a short step to speaking of all of the great southern peninsula as America, and gradually this name was given to the entire western continent.

Somewhere in Spain or Italy, Amerigo Vespucci sleeps in an unknown grave, but his epitaph is the name of a double continent: rich, populous, teeming with all things valuable.

Of noble thought, splendid mind, and facile pen, the memory of the great Florentine geographer should be revered and respected for all time.

JUAN PONCE DE LEON:

DREAMER AND SEARCHER FOR THE
FOUNTAIN OF PERPETUAL
YOUTH.

(1460-1521)

The tropic breeze fanned a fairy tale, a tale of the sheltering palms,

Where the grimy sea cow sunned herself, in the bay where the ground-swell calms.

It sang a song of a fountain clear in the depth of the tropic glade,

Where the bubbles sparkle clear and cool, o’er the rocks of brown and jade.

It spoke of the waters healing, which to bathe in meant joyous youth,

To the gray-haired and decrepit, with wrinkles and hollowed tooth.

And the breeze came to the ears of men, who believed it to be no lie.

So the agéd De Leon chimeras chased, in the land where he was to die.

JUAN PONCE DE LEON:

DREAMER AND SEARCHER FOR THE
FOUNTAIN OF PERPETUAL
YOUTH.

(1460-1521)

ONCE there lived in the island of Porto Rico, which became the property of the United States in 1898, a Spanish Knight who had fought against the Moors in Spain and who had helped to drive them from his native country. His name was Juan Ponce de Leon, and he was rich in slaves, in plantations, and in money.

The good knight was growing old. As he gazed in his mirror he saw that his once coal-black beard was now silvered with gray, that his head was not only bald, but also grizzled, and, as for his joints, well, he had strange rheumatic pains when he bent over, and he did not leap out of bed in the morning with the same spirit of enthusiasm that he had had twenty years before.

It is no wonder that this wrinkled soldier gave eager ear to the remarks of a native chieftain, Atamara, who one day said to the gray-haired veteran:

“I see, good sir, that you are nearing a time when you will have to bid farewell to all your earthly possessions, which will, I know, be far from pleasing to you. If you sail to the westward, you will find a fountain whose waters will restore the full vigor of youth. No matter how old you may be, should you but drink of this marvelous spring, you will be again twenty years of age. Your aches and pains will disappear, and you will enjoy life even as you did when a stripling.”

Ponce de Leon pricked up his ears at this, and eagerly questioned the chief concerning the direction which the fountain lay from the Isle of Porto Rico.

“It lies towards the northwest,” said the Indian. “Here a man and a woman, called Idona and Nomi, who had grown old together, came down to drink. Filling a pearly shell which lay near the water, first Nomi handed it to Idona, saying:

“‘Drink, my love, that I may know thou wilt not part from me forever, for I have heard from the wind that this is a magic fountain where the water has the power of returning one’s youth.’

“Idona drank, then turned and filled the cup for his mate. A marvel now came to pass. There stood Nomi, beautiful as in her youth; garlanded, too, with flowers as when Idona had first seen her, and facing her was her lover in all the glory of his young manhood.

“And, because these two had been so faithful to their pledges and had borne the pains of life so bravely together, the Spirit of the Earth led them to her own home, where they dwelt happily ever afterwards.

“But once in twelve moons they come to the fountain to drink together of its waters.

“This is the legend of the water,” concluded Atamara, “as it has been known amongst us from a time so far away that our wise men cannot measure it.”

Nowadays no one would give credence to such a legend, but those days were different from the present. For had not hundreds of Spaniards believed in the El Dorado, or gilded man, and had not they followed De Soto in order to view him? So the Knight of Spain asked many questions of Atamara concerning his knowledge of the land where was the Fountain of Youth, and he learned enough to satisfy himself that many unexplored islands and seas lay to the northward, which were only waiting for the eyes of some venturesome Castilian. He still had an iron constitution, built up by sound habits, military training, and temperate living; and he felt that he was not yet too old to use his good sword to carve out a greater dominion in new territories. On the other hand, he had reached the downward turn of life so that this tale of the Fountain of Youth appealed to him the more he pondered upon it; and he determined to go and seek for this mysterious water, even as De Soto had sought for the Gilded Man.

The King of Spain was quite ready to grant this knight permission to discover, explore, and colonize the fabled land of which De Leon now wrote him, and sent him a letter which ran as follows:

“To the Knight Don Juan Ponce de Leon. Inasmuch as you, Juan Ponce de Leon, have sent and asked permission to go and discover the Island of Biminin, in accordance with certain conditions herein stated, and in order to confer on you this favor:

“We grant you that you may discover, explore, and colonize the said island, provided that it be not heretofore discovered and under the conditions herein stated, to wit:

“First, that you, Juan Ponce de Leon, take with you such ships as you require for the discovery of the said island, and for the carrying out of such projects. We grant you a period of three years, dating from the day which you receive this document, with the understanding that you are to set out on this voyage of discovery the first year, also during your outward course you are privileged to touch at such islands, or mainlands in the ocean, as yet undiscovered, provided they do not belong to the King of Portugal, our much beloved son. Nor can you take anything whatever save such articles as are required for your sustenance, and the equipment of your ships, paying for them according to value received.

“Moreover, to you, Ponce de Leon, in finding and discovering said island, we accord the Governorship, also the administration of justice, during your lifetime, and, to insure the privilege, we will make your authority extend to the civil and criminal jurisdiction, including every and all issues, and rights annexed.

“I order that the Indians be distributed among the people who make the first discoveries, as they should receive the most advantages.

“Dated at Burgos, January 22nd., 1512.

“I, the King Fernando.

“Signed by the Bishop of Valencia.”

De Leon overhauled his caravels, accumulated stores of arms, provisions, gifts, and trinkets of various kinds that would be suited to the tastes of the Indians whom he should find in these lands which he might discover, and arranged his home affairs. He had three caravels in all, and three hundred sailors and soldiers. Besides these, were several priests, for whose accommodation a chapel was built upon the after deck of the Dolores, the largest vessel. All things were now ready, and, bidding his good wife, the Dona Dolores, farewell, the Spanish adventurer turned the prow of his flagship towards the west, and sailed through azure seas, whose very fish were rainbow tinted, in quest of the Fountain of Youth.

The air was balmy, scented with the sweet odors of fruits and flowers, and fragrant with the spices of mango trees. The vessels drifted onward from one fairy-like islet to another, at all of which they made a brief stay, searching for that marvelous fountain of which the Indian had spoken.

Brown-skinned natives came from the forests, bearing gifts of precious stones, of fruit, and of beauteous flowers, for which they refused any recompense. White beaches glistened in the tropic sunlight as if their sands were polished grains of silver, and, as the caravels luffed under the lee of some of these palm-studded isles, the sailors saw quiet coves, shining like polished mirrors, into which crystal streams gurgled with murmurs almost human.

The Castilians were charmed with the beautiful scenery, and many said: “Surely in this land of peace and beauty there must be a Fountain of perpetual Youth.”

So they kept onward towards the north, ever looking for the marvellous water which was to turn their grizzled leader into a youth again.

The sailors gazed at the many birds which fluttered in the palms and sometimes hovered near their ships. There were white egrets, or herons, parroquets with green and yellow plumage, pink curlews, and flamingos with scarlet feathers and long curved bills. There were great sea turtles splashing in the shallows with huge, flabby feet, and gray sharks which whirled about amidst the foam in eager search for their prey.

Everywhere the natives were friendly, and, when asked if they knew aught of the Fountain of Youth, would shake their heads. Vainly the Spaniards drank of all the springs and the rivulets in these tropic isles, for none seemed to possess the wonderful healing properties for which they longed. The brown-skinned islanders knew little of Atamara’s legend of the fountain, but they spoke of a great land lying far beyond, where perhaps the wondrous water might be spouting. It was a fine country, said they, called by the musical name of Florida.

One moonlight evening, as De Leon sat upon the high deck of his caravel, when his vessels threaded a channel between two shadowy islands upon the port and the starboard, suddenly, far, far in front of him he beheld a brownish gray strip of country. It was an hour when revery would take the form of dreams, and, fearing that the vision of coast and headland, gulf, bays, palm trees and ports-of-refuge might be some delusive vision of the brain, he turned to his companion, Perez de Esequera, saying:

“Is it true that I view the shadowy sea-coast of some undiscovered land? I see great bays, indentations, and projections. I believe, good Perez, that we are nearing a shore from which many Spains, nay, all of Europe might be carved and scarcely missed. Pray that the saints shall guide us to the land of Bimini and to that wondrous fountain of perpetual youth!”

“Indeed, good Knight,” replied his companion. “I, also, see this vision. It may be a mirage, but I feel that soon we shall find this country of which the natives tell. Let us be optimistic!”

Next day the vessels were headed towards the north, and, with a stiff breeze filling the bellying canvas, made progress onward. During the night, the sailors of De Leon’s caravel heard the distant booming of breakers, and awakened their leader. The good knight called to his sailing-master to make soundings, which showed that they were in shallow water. So the anchors were let go, the sails were furled, and the vessels lay waiting for the coming of the day.

Dawn reddened in the east, and, far to the north and south of the anchorage, stretched a multitude of sand dunes. The surging billows of the Atlantic threw white wisps of spray upon a long yellowish beach, beyond which was a background of dark green forests. From the masthead a sailor called out that he saw a winding river, coursing through grassy marshes, which grew broad and green-gray as it reached the ocean. It was Palm Sunday, March the 27th., 1512, so the Castilians sang the Te Deum and, with ringing cheers, gave voice to their pleasure in finding the fabled land of Florida.

When the vessels neared the beach, next day, the adventurers saw that there was little here but a succession of sand hills. So the Spaniards coasted along by the booming surf and at length reached a sheltered bay which they called the Bay of the Holy Cross. Many native canoes were seen disappearing into narrow creeks among the marshes, so it was apparent that the Indians had no desire to become acquainted with these strange mariners in the queer-shaped caravels. The ships anchored and that night De Leon called his captains and lieutenants on board his flag ship for counsel. It was decided that on the morning a landing should be made, in force, and that formal possession should be taken of this soil in the name of King Ferdinand of Spain.

The next morning was the second of April, a time when the foliage of Florida is at its best. As day crept on, boats were lowered along the sloping sides of the little caravels, which rapidly filled with armored men upon whose greaves and breastplates the sunlight flashed and gleamed with silvery reflections in the green-black water. Waving plumes and crimson scarfs tossed in the morning breeze, while high above all gleamed the golden cross borne by the Chaplain, good Father Antonio. The commander had decreed that all should appear in the best of armor and equipment so that the honor due the King of Spain by his followers should be ample and sufficient.

The tide being full, the boats landed high up on the shore, Ponce De Leon leading the way, and being the first to step upon the soil which would thenceforth be his by decree of his Sovereign. Halting, the cavalier waited for Father Antonio with his cross, before which, on bended knee, he gave thanks to God for his great mercy in bringing him safely to this goodly land.

Now all disembarked, and, while trumpets sounded and drums beat, formed a procession headed by the priests, the cross, and Ponce de Leon with his banner. Marching to the roll of drum and the blare of bugle, the cavalcade went some distance up the beach to a spot where the priests had erected the chapel altar, decorated with sacred emblems and votive offerings. This was in the square of an Indian village. The golden cross was placed in a position facing the morning sun and the soldiers knelt in a semi-circle around it, as service was held to commemorate this auspicious event.

Save for the deep booming of the sea, and the song of a mocking bird, there was silence. The Indians peered at the strange sight from behind trees and bushes in the neighboring forest, and, perceiving that the fair-skinned strangers were engaged in some ceremony or proceedings, they looked upon the crouching Spaniards with expressions of awe.

The mass was soon ended, and Ponce de Leon took formal possession of the country in the name of his sovereign, proclaiming himself, by virtue of the royal authority, Adelantodo of the Land of Florida. Then a fanfare of trumpets rent the air, mingled with the cheers of the soldiers.

A small stone pillar was now set up, which had been brought from Porto Rico for that purpose, and upon which was carved a cross, the royal arms, and an inscription reciting the discovery of Florida and its possession by the Crown of Spain.

Although De Leon felt that he was really the first Spaniard to find this country, such was really not the case, for the outline of the peninsula is plainly drawn in an old map published in the year 1502. To this discovery little attention seems to have been paid at the time, for it was a period when explorers were most anxious to find gold and pearls and there was nothing to fix particular attention to this new coast. Thus Ponce de Leon’s vaunted first vision was really a rediscovery of what an earlier and equally valiant Castilian had seen.

The Spaniards, who had landed, it seems, not far from the site of St. Augustine, found, when they attempted to search for the Fountain of Perpetual Youth, that the natives did not have quite as good an opinion of their mission as they could wish.

After they had sailed from the Bay of the Holy Cross the wise men of the Indian village concluded that the stone pillar represented something inimical to their own rights of possession, so they had it taken to the deepest part of the bay and there thrown overboard. Previous to this they had vigorously protested against the invasion of their peaceful country. Yet no blows had been struck.

The caravels headed down the coast with fair wind behind them and, not far from the southern point of the island, which formed the seaward barrier of the Bay of the Holy Cross, they saw a curious spot upon the surface of the sea where the water boiled like a caldron, or as if some mighty fountain flowed upward from a hole in the bed of the ocean. This is a natural well in the Atlantic, quite similar to those on land, and can still be seen by sailors off the Florida coast. There were great schools of fish nearby, and many were captured in nets as the vessels drifted slowly upon their course.

The voyagers coasted along the low-lying shore, admiring the view, and finally saw a canoe approaching in which was a handsome youth, the messenger from a native chieftain Sannatowah. He bore a missive to the effect that, if the strangers came in peace, he was ready to meet them in the same spirit, also; but if they came not with such intent, it would be best for them to remain on board their floating houses, for there were as many warriors in the land as there were palm trees in the forests.

“How shall it be known whether we come in peace or in war?” asked Ponce de Leon.

“By this,” answered the herald, touching the bow which was slung over his shoulder, “if it be war. Or this,” laying his hand upon a green branch thrust in his girdle, “if it be peace. There are eagle eyes watching on yonder shore, and, whichever I hold up, the message goes straight to Sannatowah!”

“And if I let you make no sign nor go back, what then?”

“War!” was the answer.

A smile came to the serious countenance of the Spanish seeker for the Fountain of Youth as he said:

“I pray thee, then, young sea eagle, go to the prow of my ship and hold up the green bough of peace. I pledge you my sacred word that there shall be peace between thy people and mine as long as it is in my power to have it so. Tell me if there be any answer from the shore and if all is well. Tarry with us, so as to be our herald to your cacique.”

As he ceased speaking, the youthful Indian went forward, and, standing upon the bowsprit, waved his green branch first towards the south, next to the north, and then towards the sky. This over, he came back to the after deck, saying:

“All is well. Sannatowah and his people will greet you as friends and as guests.”

The Spaniards soon went ashore, greeted the Indian chieftain, and were told by him that, two days’ easy journey to the westward, lay several great springs and a mighty river, the beginning and end of which was unknown to him. One of these springs, said he, was in the territory of a tribe with which they were now at war; but, when he was a youth, there had been peace, and he had often visited it. This spring was deemed to be sacred. It was a great fountain which welled up from the depths of the earth and was apparently bottomless. Its waters were as clear as azure, so that one could see far into the pearly depths.

“I drank not of it,” he continued, “for the wise men of the tribe said that it was forbidden by the Great Spirit, except to one of the tribe in whose land it was. The fountain is in the country of Tegesta.”

Ponce de Leon tarried quietly in the bay for several days; but finally landed his men, in order to travel to the place where lay this wondrous fountain. He had ten horses on the caravels and one mule. These were lowered overboard and swam ashore, which occasioned much surprise and astonishment among the natives, who viewed these strange animals with both fear and distrust.

When Father Antonio’s long-eared mule climbed from the ocean and struck the solid earth with his hoofs (the first of his kind to come to Florida) and then opened his mouth for one long, piercing bray, all the natives took to the woods in impulsive flight. It was some time before they dared to return.

Sannatowah was eager to befriend De Leon, and sent him guides to pilot him to the place where lay the great river and the crystal spring; and, although usually averse to such labor, a number of redskins went along as porters, agreeing of their own free will to go at least as far as their own boundaries. Everything was soon ready, the trumpets blared out their clarion notes of warning, and the march began.

Through forests of great oaks, magnolias and palm trees which hung with streamers of long, gray moss and matted vines, the Spaniards wended their way, startling many a shy deer from the leafy coverts and once or twice a great brown bear, which lumbered away, snorting with fear. Mocking birds trilled at them from leafy branches, and squirrels chattered and scolded from fallen tree trunks.

Carrying his helmet at his saddle-bow, so that he might feel the refreshing breeze, De Leon rode at the head of the little column of horse and foot until they came to a place in the forest where a great tree lay prostrate over the trail.

“This,” said the native guides, “is the border of our lands. Beyond is Tegesta. We can go no farther, for, while the flower of peace[1] blooms, there is a truce between ourselves and those who live beyond.”

So the Spaniards made camp, but next morning they pressed onward into the wilderness, and, passing around a great cypress swamp, suddenly came upon an Indian village named Colooza, near a large lake. They were met with a shower of arrows, but, clapping spurs to their horses, soon drove the redskins behind a rude stockade which surrounded their thatched huts.

De Leon flung himself from his horse, and, regardless of the arrows which were singing around him and were glancing from his steel breastplate, he led a charge upon the gate, with a wild cry of “St. Iago and at them!” With his battle-ax he swept an entrance to the palisade, and then, dashing in, followed by his men, the village was soon cleared of all but five of the native Floridians. These, apparently awed by the invulnerability of their opponents, gave in and surrendered. They were compelled to go along with the Spaniards as guides.

Passing through a country of well-tilled fields and gardens, where were picturesque clusters of native houses, the discoverers came to the waters of a great lake which was so wide that the woods were scarcely distinguishable upon the opposite shore. This was Lake Munroe, a broad expanse of the St. Johns River, which enters it at one end and flows from it at the other. De Leon here halted, sending the captured natives onward to find the chief of this country, telling them to assure him that the white men were peacefully inclined and were in search of the fabled and mystical Fountain of Perpetual Youth, which they had heard was in the territory over which he held dominion.

At nightfall, one of these native runners appeared at the camp, bearing the reply of the great chief Olatheta, which was that he was delighted to learn that the strangers did not wish to war with him and requested that their leader should meet him at the council house upon the following day.

Ponce de Leon was overjoyed. Now he was nearing his goal, for he believed that the Fountain of Perpetual Youth lay only a few leagues before him. Eagerly he awaited the morrow, and, at the time set for the advance, heralds came from Olatheta to conduct the Spaniards to their chieftain.

The Castilians soon came upon a great collection of dwellings, many of which were quite large, and before the largest of all was the chieftain with his principal men. As they entered the town, the signal was given for the trumpeters to blow and the drums to beat. This caused great fear among the natives so that many ran away; but, seeing that there were no signs of hostility on the part of the strangers, they resumed their wonted attitude of stoical reserve.

“Pray, why have you come to this country?” asked Olatheta. “Are you peaceful, or are you warlike?”

Ponce de Leon bowed.

“I am the servant of a Great King beyond the water,” said he, “and he has given me the Governorship of these islands. So I have brought with me a holy man to teach you the true religion, and, as I have heard that you have here the Fountain of Perpetual Youth, I would like to visit it and to drink of its wonderous waters.”

Olatheta smiled, as he answered:

“There is a great fountain near at hand, which we all reverence and hold sacred. Yet, because my people have transgressed the proper laws of our tribe, the Great Spirit has taken much of its virtue from it. If, however, you wish to visit it, I will willingly accompany you. This holy man of yours may induce the great God to restore its power, which will be such a great blessing to my people that they will all rejoice at your coming, instead of being angry with you, as many are now, because of your attack upon Colooza.”

“Let us journey to this spring immediately,” said De Leon with enthusiasm. “Good chieftain, lead on!”

Olatheta arose, and, beckoning to the Spaniards to attend him, walked rapidly away. The Castilians followed, surrounded by a vast multitude of natives, who crowded around them in wonder and curiosity. As they wound through the thickets, Father Antonio’s mule startled every one with a series of the most ear-piercing brays, which caused an instant panic among the Indians, coupled with loud laugher from the soldiers.

“By the Saint of San Sebastian,” cried a Sergeant, called Bartola, “were that mule mine and were this indeed the fountain whereof we are in search, I should see to it that he drank not a drop of its waters.”

“Why so?” asked a smiling comrade.

“Why? A pretty question truly. Because there would be no place for any sound on earth, if the waters would have such virtue to increase vigor as they are said to have. All would have to fly before the thunderous braying of yonder ass.”

The cavalcade passed onward, and, nearing a grove of stately trees, the eager Spaniards saw a fountain such as they had never seen before in any other land. There was a brim as round as a huge cup, and inside were waters as clear as crystal, which boiled up from depths lost in inky shadows, and ran over the edge into a little water course, which gushed and bubbled towards the lake.

“Hurrah!” cried the eager De Leon. “It must indeed be the Fountain of Youth! Hurrah! Hurrah! Hurrah!”

The day was a beautiful one. Bright birds darted from the waving branches, the sun shone brilliantly upon the armor of the Spanish adventurers, as, with the horsemen in advance, clad with plumed helmets, silver shields, upon which were emblazoned red lions, and with sword and battle-axe clanking against their armored legs, the Spaniards neared the gushing waters of the fountain.

In front of all was the good Father Antonio, who, holding with one hand the bridle-rein of his dun-brown mule, raised the other in blessing. The Indians crowded around him, awed by the sonorous Latin, and, as he finished his benediction, Olatheta stepped forward and filled an earthen cup, which he had brought, with water dipped from the fountain. Turning about he handed it to Ponce de Leon.

Smiling, and with a trembling hand, the good knight raised the cup to his lips. The cool liquid gurgled down his bronzed and weather-beaten throat. Yet—oh! sad and distressing to relate! No part of his grizzled exterior changed to the freshness of youth.

As he was raising this goblet to his lips, his companions rushed tumultuously to the fountain and buried their heated faces in the clear and sparkling water. They drank deeply, and in silence awaited the beginning of miracles, each with eager eyes fixed upon his neighbor.

Again, alas! The miracles came not. Beards of grizzly gray remained the same. Wrinkles did not disappear, and stiffened joints still moved with the same lack of spring as of yore. Alack and aday!! The fountain had lost its charm and was not the fabled water of perpetual youth.

The silence was broken by the solemn voice of Father Antonio:

JUAN PONCE DE LEON AT THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH.

“God’s will be done!” cried he. “Blessed be His holy name!”

In sorrow and with downcast faces, the Spaniards turned about, and wearily, dejectedly, mournfully, wended their way back to the camp of the friendly Olatheta.

The good Knight Ponce de Leon traveled through much of this beautiful land of Florida, fought many a stiff fight with the native inhabitants, and finally sailed back to the isle of Porto Rico, bearing marvelous tales of this land of promise, but no water which would restore the agèd to youth and beauty. He journeyed to Spain, was received right graciously by the King, and came back to his island home, expecting to remain there in peaceful pursuits, until his demise.

Yet, still hoping to find that mystical and fabled fountain, he finally fitted out two caravels, and, with a larger force than had followed his banner in the first expedition, resolved to again explore the western coast of beautiful Florida.

This journey was to be his undoing. At every point naked savages fought desperately against his mailed warriors. In one of these encounters he was attempting to rescue one of his comrades, when he was hit by an arrow in the thigh. The barb penetrated the protecting armor to the bone. He was rescued by his faithful followers and was carried to his ship, weak and fainting from the loss of blood. It is said by some, that, although the arrow was withdrawn, a part of the arrow-head, which was of flint, did not come wholly away.

Suffering and delirious, the brave old navigator was borne to the harbor of Matanzas in Cuba, where was a settlement which he, himself, had founded. His adventurous companions lifted the pallet upon which he lay on the upper deck, where the cooling breezes might alleviate his fever, lowered it into a boat, and, when the shore was reached, carried him tenderly into an unfinished house, which he was having constructed. They brought his suit of mail, his banner, and his sword, placing them around him so that he might feel at home. Delirium now seized the care-worn explorer, and thus he lay for days, as, in fancy he saw himself a boy again, climbing the bold rocks of the Sierras after young eagles, contending in the courtyard with his brothers, or chasing the brown deer in the leafy forests.

Then the camp and battle scenes passed before his eager vision; voyages over vast seas among beauteous islands; expeditions through palms and moss-grown mimosas; journeying to the villages of brown-skinned natives.

One night, peace came to the old warrior, and there was weeping and sorrow among his staunch and battle-scarred companions.

They carried the body of the good knight to the Isle of Porto Rico, where they first gave him a sepulchre within the castle, but eventually his ashes were deposited beneath the high altar of the Dominican church in San Juan de Puerto Rico, where they rested for more than three hundred years.

When the American forces invaded the country in 1898, and took it away from the rule of Castile, his remains were placed beneath a monument, upon which was carved the trite but appropriate saying:

“This narrow grave contains the remains of a man who was a lion by name, and much more so by nature.”

VASCO NUÑEZ DE BALBOA:

DISCOVERER OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN.

(1475-1517)

A sob and a moan from the ocean; a voice from the swaying palm,

As a parroquet, brilliant with spangles, chatters and clatters alarm.

For a man stands gazing seaward, a man who is pale and worn,

With a lean hand shading his forehead, a doublet faded and torn.

“I take you, O brilliant waters, for the King and Queen of Castile

And I name you the Southern Ocean, Ye must know how joyous I feel.

For, from lands that are distant and foreign, I sailed to view and explore,

And what I have seen is o’erpowering; what I behold, I adore.”

And the parroquet chattered and scolded, and the waters lay calm and gray,

As Balboa, who found the Pacific, gazed and dreamed through the day.

VASCO NUÑEZ DE BALBOA:

DISCOVERER OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN.

(1475-1517)

IT is something to be a discoverer of anything. It must give the one who has that happy fate a great thrill of satisfaction. He should know that his name will go down to history as a man of particular eminence. Yet, do you think that any of these early Spanish voyagers held that thought? I doubt whether either De Soto, or Balboa, ever had any extraordinary feeling of elation when they had feasted their eyes upon the two great sheets of water, which, as far as we know, they were the first white men to set eyes upon; the first, the Mississippi; the second, the vast Pacific Ocean.

Once I thought that I had discovered a wide plateau upon the summit of the Rockies. I knew that I was in an unexplored region which had never been mapped, and, as I scrambled to a high eminence to look down upon the headwater of a curving stream, I turned to my companion, exclaiming:

“This is magnificent! We are turning our eyes upon a scene of verdant beauty upon which no one but the wild Cheyenne, or roving Blackfoot warrior has ever gazed before! I feel thrilled! I feel awed! I feel in the same way that Columbus must have felt, when—”

“He saw that tomato can lying down there in that sage bush,” interrupted my companion, dryly, and sure enough—some accursed white man had been there before me! It was a drop from the sublime to the ridiculous!

But Vasco Nuñez de Balboa, when he stood upon the shores of the Pacific, was aware that he was the first Spaniard to set eyes upon this particular sheet of water, because he had learned from the Indians that such an ocean existed, and, so far, no explorer had yet come to Spain who had brought word of it. The accounts of the scene say that he was thrilled and awed by the vision which came to him, and that, realizing, when approaching the water, that he was about to view an ocean which no other European had ever seen, he left his party behind him, so that no one else should share his honor. This shows a selfishness which is quite characteristic of these early Spanish adventurers and discoverers.

Balboa was not only selfish, but he was also daring. He was likewise a fellow of considerable humor, as the following incident will illustrate.

The adventurer and explorer was tall, red-headed and athletic. He had come from a good family in Spain, and, when a young man, had emigrated to the New World, where he had settled as a farmer in Hispaniola. Here he was soon overwhelmed with debt, as he was loose and prodigal in his habits. His creditors pressed him severely and it came to be quite a problem with him how to escape these persons who were hounding his trail. But he was clever, and eluded their watchfulness by having himself hauled in a cask from his farm to a vessel, which was about to set sail. As this barrel was supposed to contain provisions, he was soon safely out to sea. The contents of that cask were the most animated that the sailors had ever seen, and, when the stowaway gained the deck, shouting: “Good morning, Señors, I am going to be one of you henceforth,” the Spanish stevedores nearly fainted from surprise.

In those days the Spaniards were continually making new settlements near the Isthmus of Panama, and the venturesome Balboa had fallen in with a body of adventurers who settled at Darien, a native village upon the east coast of the Isthmus and near a great bay. There were many natives at this town when the Castilians arrived, but, although they put up a sharp fight in order to protect their village and their possessions, they were routed by the navigators, who seized their village, with a large quantity of food and cotton, and also a great mass of gold ornaments, worth fifty thousand dollars. This place seemed to be healthy and fertile, so, from this time forth, it became the headquarters of the Spaniards in the New World.

As has seemed to be perpetually the case in Spanish America, when these settlers were not fighting Indians, they were fighting among themselves. There were two Governors in the country, at this period, who had the sweet-sounding names of Encisco and Nicuesa, and, as is customary with Spanish-American potentates, they were soon at daggers’ points with one another.

Balboa carefully stirred up the resentment between them, hoping that there would come a revolution, after which he would step into the Governorship, himself. Encisco declared that he had control over the town and citizens of Darien, but Balboa contented that Darien was situated in the territory assigned to Nicuesa and that Encisco had no authority there, whatsoever. Stirred by the speeches of this cask-traveler, the Spanish adventurers refused obedience to the pompous Encisco.

Some one, at this moment, sent to Nombre de Dios, another settlement on the coast, and advised Nicuesa to come down to Darien in order to act as Governor. Balboa stirred up a revolution against him, while he was on his way, declaring that his reputation was that of a harsh administrator, that he ruled in a very high-handed fashion, and that he would be a worse ruler than Encisco.

The hot Spanish blood began to boil in the inhabitants of Darien, and had soon boiled to such a pitch that, when Nicuesa sailed into the harbor, he was greeted by an angry rabble who yelled at him derisively, refused to receive him as governor, and, when he attempted to march into the city, attacked him with swords and drove him into the woods.

To the credit of Balboa be it said that he now interceded for the poor fellow, so that no actual harm was done him, and, since he refused to return to Nombre de Dios, he was presented with the worst vessel in the harbor and the most unseaworthy, in which to return to Spain. This he did with a few faithful followers, and was never heard of again in the New World.

Now see how the crafty Vasco Nuñez de Balboa profited by this little revolution, for, having deposed one of the governors, and having sent away the other, the irascible inhabitants of the country chose Balboa and a man named Lamudio to rule them as magistrates.

Encisco was, of course, furious at this and shortly sailed to Spain in order to plead his own cause before the King; but Balboa was not to be caught napping. He dispatched his friend, Lamudio, along at the same time in order to offset the pleas of the angry Encisco, and, to further aid and abet his own cause, secretly loaded him with a sound sum of gold with which to ease the palm of the royal treasurer in old Madrid. He was crafty, as you can well appreciate.

What do you think of this fellow now? From being a mere stowaway, and an outcast who was hunted by his creditors and head over heels in debt, this adventurous Spaniard, at one bound had risen to be a governor and commander of troops. And in this new rôle he showed marked ability, for he not only led his men well against the native chiefs, but also managed to gain the confidence of these wild inhabitants of the Isthmus, so that, one after another, they became his friends and his allies.

Balboa kept up his expeditions into the unknown interior and more than once was told that a vast ocean lay beyond the mountains which jutted up from the table-land of the central portion of this strip of country between North and South America. Several natives spoke of a gray, glittering body of water, quite different from the Atlantic. The Indians said that “it was far away,” so, as Balboa anticipated a long journey to see and make certain of the native tales, he determined to ask assistance from the King of Spain. In spite of the fact that he was really a rebel and was ruling over a colony of revolutionists, we find that he actually did send a letter to Ferdinand, asking for a thousand men to be dispatched to him, so that he might undertake the discovery of this fabled ocean. He was careful to send along some gold, for nothing spoke more loudly with the Spanish sovereign than this.

The ambitious Balboa waited patiently for a reply from far distant Spain; but, before it came, he received a very disquieting epistle from Lamudio, his faithful friend whom he had dispatched to court to plead his cause. Alas! Ferdinand had heard the complaint of the outraged Encisco and had given judgment in his favor against the upstart and revolutionist, Nuñez de Balboa. Worse yet! The adventurous Governor of Darien was to be summoned to Spain in order that he might answer to the King for his treatment of Nicuesa.

Balboa heard this with regret, also with some anger. He was clever enough to see that only one course could save him, and that was to act promptly, and at once; to find this ocean, and to travel to Spain with the news of this discovery, first hand. He knew King Ferdinand well enough to believe that, if successful in this venture, displeasure would be turned into favor. The royal order had not yet come—he was still free—so he determined to waste no moment in idleness.

This was to be no child’s play, for dense tropical forests were in front of him; lofty mountain ranges; and deep rivers. There were also vindictive Indian tribes in the path, and warriors who had no love for those mail-clad white-skins. Balboa had less than two hundred soldiers and these were not properly armed, yet, should he stay where he was, ruin stared him in the face and disgrace confronted him. It was forward and success, or a future of oblivion in old Madrid.

The morning of the first day of September, 1513, dawned bright and sunny upon the harbor of Darien, as a small fleet of vessels sailed away, with Balboa in command. With them were several savage bloodhounds with which to chase and terrorize the Indians, and also a number of friendly natives who were to act as guides and interpreters. The journey up the coast was uneventful, and, having finally arrived at Coyba, the domain of a friendly chief, the soldiers were disembarked, the march was commenced, and all struck off cheerfully towards the high mountains which could be seen towering up in the interior. It was hot and the men suffered from the torrid blaze, because of their armor and steel caps.

Keeping on, and struggling through the tropic vegetation, the expedition made good progress, and reached a native village from which the inhabitants had fled as soon as they had learned of the approach of these adventurers. But it was quite necessary to obtain guides who knew the wilderness in front, so Balboa sent some of his Indians to find the chieftain, who had disappeared from this pleasantly situated little collection of huts. The chief was not far away and allowed the native path-finders to approach without waylaying them. He was later persuaded to visit the camp of the Spaniards, and, after he had been feasted, consented to furnish the eager Castilians with trained men who could pilot them through the country.

“There,” said he, pointing to a lofty ridge, “is a mountain from the top of which one may see the great waters upon the other side.”

Balboa’s eyes sparkled, for he was now within striking distance of his goal and he saw success written upon the banner, which, waving aloft, carried the blazoned arms of Castile. A number of the men were ill and exhausted, so they were sent back. The remainder were eager to get on, so, with renewed courage, the Spaniards again pressed through the tropic foliage and tangled undergrowth.

Advancing for about thirty miles, they came to the territory of a chieftain who was a deadly enemy of the native whose country they had just traversed. He attacked the small Spanish band with vindictive fury. The natives advanced with a great show of confidence,—yelling, screeching, and discharging a veritable shower of arrows. The first boom from the old-time guns made them cease their yelping and stop still. The Castilians now advanced for a little sword-work, but they were to find no brave foe who would engage in combat. The Indians fled. As they did so, the bloodhounds were let go and many of the redskins were overtaken and worried to death by these ferocious animals. In the native village was found a large quantity of both gold and jewels.

Some of the Castilians had been struck by arrows, so they were now left behind. The rest pressed on, for they had reached the foot of the large mountain from the top of which the friendly chief had declared that one could view the vast expanse of water beyond. All were cheerful and sang songs from old Madrid in order to make the journey a more joyous one.

That night they camped near a spring of crystal water and in the morning emerged from the forest at the foot of an eminence from which their friends, the natives, told them that they could see the ocean.

Now note how Balboa did the same thing which another explorer was criticized for doing many years later. He left his party behind, in order that no one might share the honor of discovery, and climbed alone to the mountain top. Up, up, he clambered, and at last stood upon the summit. Hurrah! he had found what he had suffered great hardship and privation to find. There before his eager gaze lay another ocean.

The adventurous explorer sank upon the soil and feasted his eyes upon the scene. Beyond a wide, intervening belt of rocks and forest, and seen through the swaying branches of green savannah trees, was that vast, mysterious ocean of which Columbus had heard, but which no European had yet beheld. It lay there gleaming, glistening, rising and falling, beckoning to the adventurous to sail upon its surface and find danger,—and treasure.

Balboa reclined there for a long time, dreaming, speculating, and thanking his lucky star that he had at last seen this once fabled sheet of water, for now he could go before King Ferdinand and be sure of a cordial reception. Then he arose and climbed down the side of the mountain to where his followers lay drowsing.

“Come, men!” he cried. “I have found it, the Mal de Sur (Southern Ocean).”

The men scrambled to the summit in no time, and, when they, too, saw the gray, rolling billows, they set up a wild cheering. The Te Deum was chanted, a cross was erected, and, from this lofty eminence, Balboa cried out that he took possession of this sheet of water, with all of its islands and surrounding lands, in the name of his master, the King of Spain. Then again a hymn was sung and all clambered down to the lowland where they feasted right merrily. It had been an eventful hour for these hard-marching, hard-mannered swashbucklers from Darien.

This was the twenty-sixth day of September, 1513, a day to be long remembered by Balboa, for he felt a great weight lifted from his shoulders as he thought of that letter which Lamudio had sent all the way from Spain. His men had taken twenty days in crossing a strip of territory scarcely forty miles in width, so you can well imagine how tangled must have been this tropic underbrush. Yet, unmindful of their hardships, they now set forth to journey to the very sea-coast, and to there touch the water of this newly discovered Mal de Sur.

BALBOA TAKING POSSESSION OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN IN THE NAME OF THE KING OF SPAIN

The Castilians descended the slope of the high mountains and sought for the rich kingdoms of which they had heard the natives speak. But they found nothing remarkable save some wild thickets and impenetrable bogs.

Finally they passed through the territory of a warlike chieftain who came out to stop their progress and forbade them to set foot within his dominions. He drew up his followers in close array, and seemed to be quite willing to fight; but a volley from the arquebusiers scattered his followers like chaff before the wind. The chieftain soon gave himself up, and, in order to gain the favor of the Spaniards, brought them a quantity of gold. This pleased Balboa greatly and he tarried in the native village for several days.

Then separate parties were dispatched to the sea in order to find the best route by which it could be approached. One of these bands, in which was a fellow named Alonzo Martin, reached the water before any one else, and at a place where were several canoes. Alonzo jumped into one of these, and, pushing it into the waves, cried out to his companions:

“See, my friends, I am the first European to ever sail upon the new ocean.”

Balboa followed soon afterwards, and, taking a banner upon which was painted a picture of the Virgin and child, and under them the royal arms of Spain, drew his sword, waded to his knees in the water, and solemnly declared that this belonged to his sovereign, together with all the adjacent lands from pole to pole, as long as the world should endure and until the final day of judgment. Then he came back to the beach where his few followers cheered lustily.

The climate was hot and muggy, but the Spaniards were keen and enterprising and soon had explored a considerable area. The Indians were friendly and gave them gifts of gold and pearls, of which a quantity was set aside for shipment to Spain. Stories were told by the natives of a country far to the south where was more gold than could be ever seen in this particular land. The chattering brown-skinned Indians also spoke of animals, resembling a deer, which the southern people used for transporting their luggage. They showed the Spaniards a figure molded in clay which was said to be the baggage-bearer of these natives to the south. It seemed to be somewhat like a deer and somewhat like a camel in appearance, in fact, was the llama, which Pizarro later came upon in far-distant Peru. The tales of this country and these animals stirred up many thoughts in the active mind of Balboa, and he conceived the idea of sailing to that mysterious realm and taking possession of it, even as he had seized the Isthmus of Panama.

The Spaniards had now seen about all that was to be seen, and it was time to march across the mountains towards Darien. With their usual cheerfulness the adventurers started for their home port, carrying along a great quantity of gold and pearls, and also a stock of provisions, which was transported by friendly natives. But, as they tramped into the country, they secured more gold, and, because they loaded the Indians with this instead of with food, they came near dying of hunger. They met many hostile chiefs, among whom was a fellow who had eighty wives. He was called Tubanama, and, although he put up a stiff fight for his freedom, he was captured. His people ransomed him by means of many golden ornaments, and, thus appeased, the Castilians marched onward, naming this country Panama, after the wily chieftain.

Balboa was now prostrated by fever and had to be borne along in a hammock by the natives. The heat and humidity of the swampy country caused many of his followers to become ill and this delayed the march. Still, the little caravan kept on, and, on the eighteenth day of January, reached Darien, after an absence of four and a half months in this journey of exploration. The entire population turned out to welcome the discoverer of the Pacific, who returned laden with pearls, golden ornaments and plates of embossed silver. There was also a long train of captive natives who followed in the rear. The trip had been a glorious success and all cheered lustily for Balboa: adventurer, explorer, and first European to view the Pacific Ocean.

The time was now opportune for a missive to the King of Spain, for the adventurous explorer knew that Ferdinand would not oust a man from office who had added such a vast domain to his possessions. So he dispatched a special envoy to Madrid, with a letter which gave a full account of this overland journey. He also added a gift of glittering pearls and one-fifth of the gold which he had secured, this being the regular tax which the Spanish government imposed upon all its subjects.

The vessel was delayed in sailing, and the delay was fatal, for the King of Spain had resolved to appoint another Governor of Panama in place of Balboa, as he had listened to the story of Encisco and had decided that he had been very unjustly treated by this upstart from Hispaniola, who had escaped from his debtors in a cask. A man named Pedrarias had been selected for the post and he was already on his way, accompanied by a host of adventurers who had heard that Darien was a country of enormous wealth. There were, in fact, fully two thousand men, who were eager for adventure in this new-found territory.

Pedrarias, with his many followers, had scarcely put to sea, before a ship sailed into the harbor of Seville bearing the envoy from Balboa. He delivered his letters to Ferdinand, told him of the discovery of this wonderful new ocean, and presented the King with the golden vessels and trinkets which his faithful subject had sent him.

The King opened his eyes in wonder and surprise. Why, he might have made an error after all! This fellow was a pretty good sort,—a discoverer of new territory, of a new ocean, indeed. He had also sent him considerable treasure. Well! Well! Well! The King decided that he had acted somewhat hastily. He would send another missive to far-off Darien, and would make the excellent Balboa a colleague of Pedrarias, and entitled to equal honor. That would be proper recognition for all that this man had done for the crown of Castile and should satisfy him, without a doubt.

Meanwhile Pedrarias was sailing towards the Isthmus and eventually landed at Darien, where, at the head of two thousand men in gorgeous array, he made a triumphant entry into the town.

The cavaliers from Spain had expected to find a brilliant city, with food in abundance and treasure piled high on every side. Instead of this they found Balboa wearing a cotton suit and a Panama hat. His five hundred seasoned veterans were clad in loose cotton clothes, and were living in straw-thatched cabins on roots and cassava-bread. They also had no wine, but were drinking water.

The newcomers were grievously disappointed at what they found here in the colony. The climate was hot and sticky and fever soon carried off a score of victims. Others sickened and died of various complaints, so that, within a very short time, seven hundred of these dashing cavaliers had passed to the great beyond. A ship-load of the gay blades now sailed back to Spain, for they had seen all that they desired of this new country. Another ship-load soon followed them to Cuba.

Several expeditions were sent into the interior after gold, but they suffered ill fortune. One of these parties was defeated by the warlike chieftain Tubanama. Another small army, sent out by Pedrarias, was overwhelmed and butchered to a man: only one small Indian boy escaping to tell the tale of the massacre. The friends of Balboa began to murmur against this newly-appointed Governor and to cry out, that, should their own leader be in control, there would be no such disasters.

Pedrarias realized that his own position was getting to be insecure, and decided that he had better form an alliance with Balboa by giving him one of his daughters in marriage. He suggested this to his rival and the other accepted the offer gladly. Thus a written agreement was drawn up and signed by both parties whereby the young lady was to be joined in wedlock to Balboa just as soon as she could be brought from Spain. All now looked favorable for a peaceful rule in the Isthmus.

Balboa’s restless mind soon conceived the idea of another expedition,—or: a second journey to the Pacific coast. This he wished to explore, and, since there were no vessels upon the other side of the mountains, nor could he build any, should he attempt the feat, he decided to cut and shape the timbers on the Atlantic coast and to transport them across the Isthmus to the Pacific. A worthy undertaking and one which took great courage and perseverance! Let us see how it came out!

The Spaniards set diligently to work and soon had shaped the timbers for two brigantines, with all the necessary spars and rigging. It was a stupendous undertaking to transport these to the other shore, yet the feat was accomplished. The timbers were carried over the mountains by the miserable natives, who had been enslaved by the greedy Castilians, and they did good work. Although hundreds perished on the journey, the fact gave their master little concern.

Finally the caravan had arrived upon the Pacific coast, the ships were put together, and floated upon the waters of the new-found ocean. Hurray! The first European vessel had been launched upon the far away Pacific and the proud flag of Spain floated from her masthead.

Balboa and his compatriots boarded their ships and headed south, bound to sail to that far distant land of which the natives had told him. But stormy winds were met with, so the men put back, sailed to the point which they had started from, and determined to make two more vessels before they would again depart for the land of the llama and glittering gold. Alas! busy tongues had been working against Balboa since he had left Darien and it was to go ill with this intrepid explorer.

The vessels were greatly in need of iron and of pitch, so it was decided to send across the mountains for these. Balboa, himself accompanied his men, and, as he advanced through the forest, was met by a messenger who presented a letter from Governor Pedrarias. It was couched in the friendliest of terms and bade him come at once to Darien in order to confer with him upon matters of the utmost importance. Balboa smiled, for matters were apparently going well with him.

The weak old Governor, however, had been stirred up by the enemies of the discoverer of the Pacific, to such a point, that he was in a fit of jealous rage. Some had told him that Balboa had no intention of marrying his daughter, as he was about to take unto himself an Indian girl as wife. Others whispered that he and his men were about to start an independent government on the Pacific coast and throw off their allegiance to the Spanish crown. Pedrarias determined to arrest this successful adventurer as soon as he should arrive.

Balboa, meanwhile, was approaching the Atlantic sea-coast with a light heart, and a feeling that all would go well with him. What was his surprise when he was met by a cavalier called Pizarro, with an armed force, and was told that, by orders of the Governor, he was a prisoner. Yet he submitted quietly and was taken to Darien in irons. There he found that the irascible Governor had determined to try him for treason, and, if he could, to do away with him.

A trial was soon held, and the venturesome navigator was charged with treasonable intentions. There was no evidence against him that was not trumped-up for the occasion, yet he pleaded his innocence in vain.

“How preposterous is this charge of my determination to usurp the power here,” said he. “I have four vessels and three hundred devoted followers upon the other coast. Should I have so wished, I could have sailed away far beyond the Governor’s reach, and could have founded a colony of mine own in far-distant Peru. My coming here is good evidence that I had no desire to disobey the summons of the Governor. I am innocent of these so-called offenses.”

In spite of all that he could say, the judges found him guilty, yet recommended mercy because of his wonderful discoveries and evident patriotism for Spain. The Governor, however, would entertain no suggestion of this nature.

“If he is guilty, let him die, and the sooner the better,” said the irate Pedrarias, scowling. “To the block with him!”

So they took brave Balboa out and beheaded him in spite of all the renown which he had won. The discoverer of the Pacific met his end with calm indifference, and, as the news of this was borne to the people of Darien, many wept tears for the man who had founded their city and had brought much honor to the Spanish flag. Thus, in the very prime of his manhood, perished one of the greatest explorers which the world has produced, and, although he was foully and brutally murdered by his own people, his fame will last as long as men love those of courage, of daring, and of imagination.

HERNANDO CORTÉS:

CONQUEROR OF MEXICO.

(1485-1547)

Lift high the golden goblets and quaff to our leader bold,

Who came from Cuba’s heated sands to gather Aztec gold,

His heart was big with courage; with his hands he seized the helm,

And he gathered the power and gained the dower of Montezuma’s realm.

The muffled war drums mocked him, from the top of the white stone wall,

And the maddened priests reviled him as they heard his trumpets call.

His Tlascalan allies trembled at the curse of the warriors red,

But the cry was ever “Onward!” to the city’s fountain head.

To the top of the teocalli where the eagle banner floats,

Where the evil gods are smiling and Huitzilopochtli gloats;

Up! Up! our leader clambered. Up! Up! and won the prize,

Hurrah! Hurrah! for Cortés! Come victors, drink as we rise!

Song of the Spanish Cavaliers, 1519.

HERNANDO CORTÉS:

CONQUEROR OF MEXICO.

(1485-1547)

TO the brave belong the spoils. To him, who ventures much, sometimes comes a great reward.

Here is the story of a man who determined to conquer an empire with but a handful of followers,—and accomplished his purpose. Although it seems to be a romance, it is a series of facts. Strange, wonderful, almost unbelievable, yet true; for truth, they say, is sometimes stranger than fiction. Listen, then, to this tale of as valiant a soul as ever led fighting men on to victory!

Long, long ago, when fat King Henry the Eighth ruled over Merrie England, and Charles the Fifth was King of Spain, there lived a young Spanish cavalier called Hernando Cortés. He was a wild youth and did not care for books or study. In fact, although his parents wished him to be a lawyer and, when he was fourteen years of age, sent him to an excellent school, he would not learn his lessons and so was asked to leave the institution. Returning home, he greatly annoyed his good father and mother by cutting up and playing all kinds of pranks, so that they were glad to learn he had determined to join an expedition which was setting out for that New World so lately discovered by Columbus.

Shortly after this decision he fell from the top of a high wall, upon which he had been climbing after wild grapes, and hurt himself so grievously that he could not walk. It was therefore impossible for him to join the adventurers who were heading for the New World. The ship set sail without him.

For two years longer, young Cortés remained at home, and then, finding that another expedition was about to set sail, he obtained permission to join this fleet, bound for the West Indies. He was now nineteen years of age and was extremely agile and sinewy. His face was pale, his eyes piercing, and his hair raven black. He was looking for adventure and was determined to bear himself right valiantly in whatever situation he should find himself.

The fleet set sail, and arrived without accident at Hispaniola. Cortés went immediately to see the Governor of the island, whom he had known in Spain.

“You must remain here and become a good citizen,” said the Spanish dignitary to him. “I will therefore present you with a grant of land which I hope that you will cultivate.”

“I came to get gold, not to till the ground like a peasant,” said Cortés. “And I am anxious for adventure.”

The Governor laughed.

“You had better become a farmer,” said he. “There is more money in crops than there is in searching for gold.”

Six years passed, six rather monotonous years for Cortés, although he occasionally joined some expeditions against the natives, where he learned how to endure toil and danger, and became familiar with the tactics of Indian warfare. At length, in 1511, when Diego Velasquez, the Governor’s Lieutenant, undertook the conquest of Cuba, Cortés gladly became one of his followers, and, throughout the expedition, conducted himself right valiantly.

The Spaniards conquered the country; but when, later on, there was distribution of lands and of offices, great discontent arose. Those who believed that they had been ill-used, chose Cortés to journey back to Hispaniola and lay their grievances before the higher authorities. This reached the ears of Velasquez. He ordered that the youthful Cortés should be bound, loaded with fetters, and thrown into prison. The act was humiliating, but it was what those of Spanish blood were accustomed to do to one another. Note, however, how the young man conducted himself!

Cortés soon succeeded in escaping from the irons which encircled him, and, letting himself down from the window of the jail, took refuge in the nearest church, where he claimed that he could not be touched, as he was under the protection of the priests. Velasquez heard of this, was very angry, and stationed a guard near the sanctuary, with orders to seize the youthful Spaniard, should he endeavor to get off. Cortés was careless, wandered, one day, quite far from the church door, and was immediately captured.

Velasquez determined to get rid of the young adventurer, this time, so had him carried on board a ship which was to sail, next day, for Hispaniola. But Cortés was again too clever for him. By great exertion he managed to drag his feet through the rings which fettered him, and, dropping silently over the side of the ship into a little boat, made off in the darkness.

As he neared the shore, the water became so rough that the boat was useless, so he dove overboard and swam the rest of the way. He was tossed up upon the beach in a half-dazed condition; but finally arose, made his way to the church, and hid himself in the sanctuary. Velasquez had no idea where he had disappeared to.

Shortly after this the bold adventurer married a lady named Catalina Xuarez whose family was friendly with the hard-hearted Velasquez. Peace was therefore made with the Governor, and Cortés received a large estate near St. Iago, where he lived for some years and even amassed a considerable sum of money.

Here he was quietly residing when news came of an exploring expedition which had set out in 1518 to find out what lay farther to the west. It had been led by Grijalva, a nephew of Velasquez, and he had touched at various places on the coast of Mexico. This was a land inhabited by Indians called Aztecs who had named their country after “Mexitili”: war god of their race.

These Aztecs, it seems, had originally come down from the north, and, after many wanderings, had halted on the western border of a great lake which lay in a long valley, situated at a height of about 7,500 feet above the sea, so that the air was cool even in the hottest weather. The valley, sixty odd miles in width, was surrounded by towering rocks which were a protection from invasion.

The Aztecs were few in numbers when they first came to the shores of the lake, but they increased rapidly in population and in power. Nearby were other Indian tribes, and, as there was much warfare between them, the Aztecs united themselves with the King of the Tezcucans in order to aid him against a tribe called the Tepanics, who had invaded his territory. The allies won, and, as a result, an agreement was made between the states of Mexico, Tezcuco, and Tlacopan, that they should support one another in the wars and divide all the spoils between them. This alliance remained unbroken for over a hundred years.

Although fond of warfare and cruel in their tortures to prisoners, the Aztecs had many wise laws and institutions, and were, in some respects, highly civilized. They were governed by an Emperor, and, when he died, another one was chosen by four nobles from among his sons or nephews. The one preferred was obliged to have distinguished himself in war, and he was not crowned until he had waged a successful campaign, had captured large numbers of the enemy, and thus provided enough captives to grace his entry into the capital.

The Aztecs worshiped thirteen principal gods, and more than two hundred of less importance, whose temples were everywhere to be seen. At the head of all the gods was the great Huitzilopochtli, whose temples were in every city of the empire, and whose image was always loaded with costly ornaments.

They also had a legend that there had once dwelt upon the earth the great god, Quetzalcoatl, god of the air, under whose sway the Aztec people had flourished and there had been peace and prosperity among all men. He was said to have been tall in stature, with a white skin, long, dark hair, and a flowing beard. He had, in fact, quite resembled a Spaniard, and this led to the success which Cortés had with the Mexicans, as you will presently see.

Quetzalcoatl, it was said, had in some way incurred the wrath of the principal gods, so that he had been forced to leave the country. He had turned towards the Gulf of Mexico, had stopped at the city of Cholula, and had then departed in a magic boat, made of serpent’s skins, to the fabled land of Tlapallan. Tradition had it that as he was leaving, he had turned to the faithful ones who had followed him saying: “Watch and wait for me, I shall come again.” For this reason the Aztecs were ever on the lookout for the great and benevolent god of the white skin and flowing beard.

As horses were not known, communication was held by means of couriers, who, trained from childhood to run, traveled with amazing swiftness. There were relay stations, or post houses, for these couriers, and they would thus carry on their messages for a hundred to two hundred miles in a day. In this manner the Emperor of the Aztecs, as he sat in his palace in the City of Mexico, would feast upon fresh fish, which, twenty-four hours before, had been caught in the Gulf of Mexico, over two hundred miles away. Thus the news was transmitted when war was in progress, and, as the messengers came along the highways, the people knew whether the tidings were good or bad, by the dress which they wore. If bad news, the runners were in black. If good, in gay colors.

The one great object of all expeditions made by the Aztecs was to capture victims to be sacrificed upon their altars. They believed that the soldier who fell in battle was transported at once to the blissful regions of the sun, and consequently they fought with an utter disregard for danger. The dress of the warriors was magnificent. Their bodies were protected by a belt of quilted cotton, impervious to all darts or arrows, and over this the chiefs wore mantles of gorgeous feather-work. Their helmets were made of wood, fashioned so as to resemble the head of some wild animal, and embellished with bits of gold and of silver. Their banners were embroidered with gold and with feather-work.

After the prisoners had been brought from the battle field they were sacrificed to the gods in a most brutal and horrible manner. The poor victim was held by five priests upon a huge, round, sacrificial stone; while a sixth butcher, clothed in a scarlet mantle, plunged a long knife into the breast of the writhing captive, and, cutting out the heart, held it up first to the sun, which they worshiped, and then cast it at the feet of the stone god. The dagger used was as sharp as a razor and made of “itztli,” a volcanic substance as hard as flint. This was not all. The body of the captive thus sacrificed was afterwards given to the warrior who had taken him in battle, who thereupon gave a great banquet and served him up among choice dishes and delicious beverages, for the entertainment of his friends.

The Aztecs called their temples, teocallis, which means, “Houses of God,” and there were several hundred of them in each of the principal cities. They looked like Egyptian pyramids, and were divided into four or five stories, each one smaller than the one below it. The ascent was by a flight of steps. At the top was a broad space on which stood a tower, from forty to fifty feet high, which contained the images of the gods. Before such a tower was the stone of sacrifice and two lofty altars on which the sacred fires burned continually. The floor was dyed crimson from the blood of the helpless victims of the Aztec wars.

These people were unknown to the Spaniards, at this time, since of them Grijalva sent back to Cuba only a few vague reports. It was said, however, that the country was full of gold and of treasure.

When this news reached the ears of Cortés he was immediately fired with a resolve to penetrate into this unknown land and to gain great renown for himself. The Governor of Cuba, likewise, determined to send out ships in order to follow up the discoveries of Grijalva. Who should be put in command? Who was better, indeed, than Hernando Cortés!

The Spanish adventurer, with the utmost energy, at once began to purchase and to fit out ships. He used all the money that he had saved and as much as he could persuade his friends to lend him, so that it was not long before he was in possession of six vessels, while three hundred recruits had signified their intention of sailing with him.

But now the Spanish nature began to assert itself, for a jealousy and distrust of Cortés took possession of the mind of Velasquez and he determined to entrust the fleet to the hands of some one else. This would have put an end to the aspirations of the youthful leader, had it not been whispered to him that Velasquez was about to have him removed from his place. He took care to checkmate the plans of his former enemy. Summoning his officers secretly, he set sail that very night with what supplies he was able to put his hands on, although his ships were neither ready for a voyage, nor properly provisioned.

Morning dawned and Velasquez heard that the fleet was under weigh. He rose hastily, galloped to the ocean, and found Cortés in a small boat drifting near the shore. The commander of the expedition rowed back to within speaking distance.

“This is a courteous way of taking leave of me, truly,” cried the angry Governor.

“Pardon me,” answered the young mariner. “Time presses and there are some things which should be done even before they are thought of. Good-bye, my friend; may you live to see the day when I return a great man.”

With that he paddled to the fleet and ordered all hands to sail away. This was November the 18th., 1518.

Shortly after this the vessels anchored off Trinidad, a town on the southern coast of Cuba. Here Cortés landed, set up his standard, and invited all, who wished to join the expedition, to come on with him. He told them that there was great wealth to be gained and attracted many volunteers to his banner. Finally, in February, he had sufficient reënforcements assembled, so he set sail. He had eleven vessels, one hundred and ten sailors, five hundred and fifty-three soldiers, and two hundred Indians. He likewise had sixteen horses, ten large guns, and four falconets, or light cannon.

The fleet set out, touched upon the coast in several places, and then reached the mouth of the Rio de Tabasco. The Spaniards landed and found that the Indians were hostile and were drawn up in great force against them. But Cortés had his cannon put ashore, ordered an attack, and soon had captured both the town of Tabasco and also many of the Indians, who saw the uselessness of further fighting, and consequently came humbly to the Spaniards, bringing presents and slaves. Among the latter was a beautiful Mexican girl called Malinche who had fallen into the hands of the cacique of Tabasco through some traders, to whom she had been sold by her mother. The Spaniards always called her Marina, and, as she quickly learned to speak their language, she was soon of inestimable assistance to them as an interpreter. Cortés made her his secretary and always kept her near him in the exciting days which followed.

By means of his interpreter, Cortés found that these Indians were the subjects of the emperor Montezuma, and were governed by Tenhtlile, one of the great nobles. He determined to send word to the potentate who ruled over this country and to let him know that he and his followers wished to see him.

Upon the day following, Tenhtlile arrived at the Spanish camp, accompanied by a numerous retinue. The Indian chieftain asked about the country of the strangers and the object of their visit.

“We are subjects of a powerful monarch beyond the seas,” replied the leader of the adventurers, “who has heard of the greatness of your Mexican Emperor and has sent me with a present to be delivered to him in person, as a token of his good will. I would be glad, therefore, to go immediately to his capital and trust that you can guide me there.”

This seemed to annoy the Aztec noble, for he replied in a haughty manner:

“How is it that you have been here only two days, and yet demand to see my Emperor? I am surprised to learn that there lives another monarch as powerful as Montezuma, but, if it is true that you are his representative, I will communicate with my Emperor and will forward to him the royal present sent by you. Meanwhile, pray receive the gifts which I have brought for you.”

As he spoke, a number of slaves came forward and deposited ten loads of gorgeous feather-work, and a wicker basket filled with golden ornaments.

Cortés was greatly pleased with this show of friendliness, and ordered his own soldiers to bring forth the presents for Montezuma. These were an armchair richly carved and painted, a crimson cloth cap with a gold medal, and a quantity of collars, bracelets and other ornaments of cut glass, which much surprised the Aztecs, as this was a country where there was no glass, and hence these were more valuable than emeralds or sapphires.

“I see over there a soldier with a shining thing upon his head,” now said Tenhtlile. “I should much like to send that to Montezuma, for it will remind him of the one worn by the god Quetzalcoatl. Can I not have it?”

“Certainly,” replied Cortes, “and I trust that you will ask the Emperor to return it filled with the gold dust of the country, so that I may compare it with that which is in mine own. If you must know it, my kind friend, we Spaniards are troubled with a disease of the heart for which gold is the only sure remedy. I trust, therefore, that you will send us all that you can.”

While he was speaking, Cortés observed that one of the Indians was busy with a pencil, and, on looking at his work, saw that he had made a sketch of the Spaniards, their costumes, and weapons. This was the celebrated picture writing, for which the Aztecs were famous.

“You see,” said Tenhtlile, “the Emperor can thus get an excellent idea of you and your followers.”

“Bring out the cavalry,” cried Cortes, at this. “We will show you our wonderful horses.”

The appearance of the snorting steeds filled the natives with astonishment, and, when the General ordered a cannon to be fired off, the natives ran away in alarm. The painters, however, were very busy, and faithfully recorded everything which the Spaniards possessed, even putting in a picture of the ships as they swung at anchor.

At length the Aztecs departed, with much bowing and scraping. Their chief, Tenhtlile, seemed to be in a good humor and left orders with his people to supply the Spanish general with all that he might require until further instructions from the Emperor Montezuma.

Meanwhile great excitement was taking place in the Mexican capital, for many seemed to think that the great god, Quetzalcoatl, had returned to earth and was about to revisit the scenes of his former life. Montezuma, himself, seemed to be undecided how to act. When the picture writings, showing the Spanish invaders, reached him, he summoned the Kings of Tezcuco and Tlacopan in order to consult with them as to how the strangers should be received. The three differed in their ideas, but finally Montezuma resolved to send a rich present to Cortés which would impress him with a high idea of the Emperor’s wealth and his grandeur. At the same time he determined to forbid him to approach the capital.

Eight days passed away—eight long days for Cortés and his men, as they were suffering greatly from the intense heat—and then the embassy, accompanied by the governor, Tenhtlile, arrived at the camp, and presented Cortés with the magnificent presents sent by Montezuma.

After the usual salute, the slaves unrolled some delicately woven mats and displayed the gifts which the Aztec Emperor had sent. There were shields, helmets, and cuirasses embossed with plates and ornaments of pure gold; with collars and bracelets of the same precious metal. There were also sandals, fans, plumes, and crests of variegated feathers, wrought with gold and silver thread, and sprinkled with pearls and with precious stones. There were golden birds and animals; curtain coverlets and robes of cotton. There were more than thirty loads of cotton cloth, and finally, the helmet which Cortés had sent, loaded to the brim with grains of pure gold.

This rich treasure fired the zeal and ardor of the Spaniards; yet they controlled themselves, and expressed admiration only for two circular plates of gold and of silver as large as carriage wheels. One, representing the sun, was richly carved with plants and with animals, and was worth a fabulous sum of money.

When the voyageurs had received the presents, the ambassadors courteously delivered their message, to the effect that Montezuma had great pleasure in holding communication with such a powerful monarch as the King of Spain; but could grant no personal interview to his soldiers. That the way to the capital was too long and dangerous for the white men to attempt. Therefore the strangers must return to the land from which they had come.

Cortés received this message with coldness, and, turning to his officers, said:

“This is, indeed, a rich and powerful Monarch, and he does well to speak in this manner; but I am determined to visit him in his capital.”

He then bade good-by to the Aztec ambassadors, who shortly withdrew. That night every neighboring hut was deserted by the natives, and the Spaniards were left quite alone in the wilderness. They prepared for an attack, but none came.

The soldiers now became mutinous, saying that it was about time they returned with what treasure they had already collected. Cortés had difficulty in keeping them out of the boats, but now an event occurred which aided him very materially in his design to march to the City of Mexico, a design which he had long ago determined upon.

Five Indians entered the camp who wore rings of gold and bright blue gems in their ears and nostrils. A gold leaf, delicately wrought, was attached to their under lip. These were not Aztecs and explained that they came from Cempoalla, the capital of a tribe called the Totonacs, who had been lately conquered by the Aztecs, and who greatly resented the oppressions of these bloodthirsty tribesmen. The fame of the Spaniards, said they, had reached their leader, who had sent them to request the strangers to visit him, and to aid him in throwing off the domination of the Aztecs.

It can be easily seen that Cortés was delighted to hear this. He saw that discontent in the provinces conquered by Montezuma could be turned to his own advantage, and that, by allying himself to these Totonacs, he might be able to conquer Montezuma himself. He therefore dismissed the tribesmen with many presents, promising that he would soon visit their city.

Not long afterwards, the army set out to march northward, to a place where it had been decided to build a town. The men crossed a river in rafts and broken canoes, which they found on the bank, and soon came to a very different kind of country than that which they had left behind them. There were wide plains covered with green grass and groves of palm trees, among which were deer and flocks of pheasants and wild turkeys. The trees were loaded with fruits and with beautiful clusters of bowers, while gayly plumaged birds fluttered in the branches. There were gardens and orchards on either side of the road. As the Spanish soldiers passed along, they were met by crowds of friendly natives, who mingled fearlessly with the soldiers, and hung garlands of flowers around the neck of the General’s horse.

The cacique, or chief of the Totonacs, received Cortés with great courtesy, and assigned his soldiers to a neighboring temple, where they were well supplied with provisions. Cortés, himself, was presented with several vessels of gold and robes of fine cotton.

Upon the following day the General paid the cacique a visit, and, with the aid of Marina, held a long talk with him. He promised to aid the Totonacs against Montezuma. This pleased the chief greatly, and he promised to assist the Spaniards in every way that he could. Cortés returned to his troops, ordered an advance, and soon reached the town of Chiahuitztla, which stood upon a crag overlooking the valley.

As the Spaniards were halted in the center of the village, five men entered the market place where they were standing. Their dark, glossy hair was tied in a knot upon the top of their heads, and they carried bunches of sweet-smelling flowers in their hands. Their attendants bore wands, or fans, to sweep away the flies and insects from their lordly masters, who, by their disdainful looks, showed that they considered themselves to be superior to all around them. They brushed by the Spaniards, scarcely seeming to notice them, and were immediately joined by the Totonac chiefs, who seemed anxious to gain their favor. Cortés was much astonished, and, turning to Marina, asked what this meant.

“These are Aztec nobles,” the girl replied, “and they are empowered to receive tribute for Montezuma.”

“What are they saying?” asked he.

“They bring word that Montezuma is very angry with the Totonacs for entertaining you and your men without his permission,” Marina replied. “And, as a punishment, he has demanded twenty young men and maidens to be sacrificed to the gods.”

Cortés was much irritated by this and told the Totonacs that they should not only refuse this demand but should seize the Aztec nobles and throw them into prison. This was done, but Cortés had the true Spanish character and now played a part of duplicity which was characteristic of the men from Seville. He had two of the captured Aztecs released, brought them before him, and very cunningly led them to believe that he was sorry to learn that they had been thrown into jail. He told them that he would help them to escape, and begged them to tell Montezuma that the great Emperor was held in high regard by the Spaniards. The two nobles were then hastily dispatched to the port where lay the Spanish vessels. They were taken on board, landed secretly upon the coast, and allowed to depart for the court of Montezuma. The Totonacs were very angry when they found that two of their prisoners had escaped, and determined to sacrifice the remainder; but Cortés interfered, had them taken to his vessels, and soon allowed them to join their companions. In this way he secured the friendship of Montezuma, while still appearing as the friend of the Totonacs.

Messengers were sent to all the other Totonac cities, telling the natives of the defiance that had been shown the Emperor, and bidding them, also, to refuse to pay tribute to Montezuma. The Indians soon came flocking into the town in order to confer with the powerful strangers, and thus Cortes managed to embroil them with the Emperor. At the same time he made them all swear allegiance to the Spanish King.

The Spaniards now busied themselves in building a town, for they had to have some place to store their belongings and also to retreat to in case of disaster. The Indians helped them willingly, so they soon had an excellent little village: the first one in new Spain.

When the Aztec nobles who had been set free reached the city of Mexico, and told Montezuma of the treatment which they had received, the Emperor of the Aztecs felt rather kindly disposed towards the Spaniards, and sent an embassy consisting of two young nephews and four of his chief nobles. They bore a princely gift of gold, richly embroidered cotton mantles, and robes of feather work. On coming before Cortés, the envoys presented Montezuma’s thanks to him for the courtesy he had shown the captive nobles.

“We believe that you are the long-looked-for strangers who are to return with the god Quetzalcoatl,” said the ambassadors, “and are therefore of the same lineage as ourselves. Therefore, out of deference to you, we will spare the Totonacs; but our day of vengeance against them will soon come.”

Nothing was said about not being allowed to journey to the capital, so Cortés gave these Aztecs presents, as usual, and told them that he intended to soon visit Montezuma in the city of Mexico, when all misunderstanding between them would be adjusted. The Totonacs were amazed and awed by the influence which the Spaniards seemed to exert upon the Aztecs, and felt safe from further incursions by the terrible Emperor.

The bold and resolute Cortés was now determined to march to Mexico City, itself, to oust Montezuma, and to obtain possession of his country and his treasures. But he knew that the Governor of Cuba was his enemy, and also knew that, should he not send news of his discoveries to the King of Spain, he would be seriously interfered with by Velasquez. Consequently he prepared a letter setting forth the extent and magnitude of his discoveries, gave up all his own treasure which he had obtained from the natives, and persuaded his soldiers to do the same. This was placed in the hands of some of his followers who were given a ship, were bidden god-speed, and were told to sail to Spain. Cortés besought the King to make him Governor over all the new territory, so that he could add the great Indian Empire to the possessions of the Spanish crown.

Very soon after the departure of the treasure ship, Cortés discovered that there was a conspiracy among his followers, who had seized one of the ships, had stored provisions and water on board, and were just about to set sail for Cuba. One of the traitors repented of the part he had taken in the plot, betrayed it to Cortés, and thus made evident the extent of the conspiracy. In consequence, the ringleaders were hanged, and the Spanish commander determined to take the bold step of destroying the ships without the knowledge of his army. Accordingly he marched his entire force to Cempoalla, where he told his plan to a few of his devoted adherents, who approved of it. Nine of the ships were sunk; after the sails, masts, iron, and all movable fittings had been brought ashore.

When this act became known, it caused the greatest consternation among the Spaniards. They murmured loudly, and mutiny was threatened. Cortés, however, was equal to the emergency. He managed to reassure them, to persuade them that he had only done what was best for them, and so cleverly told them of the fame and treasure which they were on the eve of gaining, that not one of them accepted the chance of returning to Cuba in the remaining ship.

August the sixteenth, 1519, was a day ushered in by brilliant sunshine, as if the fates were friendly to the daring Spanish adventurer. Cortés was now ready to advance into the interior, for he had obtained from the cacique of Cempoalla, thirteen hundred warriors and a thousand porters to carry his baggage and drag onward the guns. His own force amounted to four hundred foot and fifteen horses, with seven pieces of artillery. Surely a small and insignificant army with which to attempt to conquer this vast and populous land!

The army set out upon its mission of conquest, and, at the close of the second day, reached Xalapa, a mountain town, and from which they looked back upon one of the grandest views which they had ever seen. Around were towering mountains; below lay the flat region, a gay confusion of meadows, streams, and flowering forests, with now and again a tiny Indian village dotting the brilliant landscape. Far, far away, to the eastward, was a faint line of light upon the horizon, which told them that there rolled the ocean which they had lately crossed, and beyond which slumbered their country, which many never expected to see again. To the south a mighty mountain, called “Orizaba,” poked its head into the air, covered with a mantle of snow; while toward the southwest the Sierra Madre, with a dark belt of pine trees waving in the breeze, stretched with a long line of shadowy hills into the distance.

Onward and upward crawled the little army, pushing and jerking the guns over the rocks and crevices, and finally, on the fourth day, arrived at the town of Naulinco. The Indian inhabitants entertained the soldiers with great hospitality, for they were friendly with the Totonacs.

Cortés endeavored to persuade them to give up their savage idol worship, and, through a priest, Father Almedo, had them instructed in the teachings of Christianity and had a cross erected for future worship.

The troops pressed onward, entered a narrow, ragged valley, called “the Bishop’s Pass,” and, as they toiled around a bare, volcanic mountain, a snow-storm descended upon them with great violence. The Indians, who were natives of the flat region, suffered dreadfully, and several of them died by the way. The Spaniards, however, were protected by their thick coats of cotton, and thus bore up well beneath the change of climate.

For three days the little band pressed forward over the rugged mountain trail,—then emerged into an open country with a more genial climate. They had reached the great table-land which spreads out for hundreds of miles along the crests of the mountains, more than seven thousand feet above the level of the sea. Carefully cultivated fields of corn lay around them, and, as they trudged forward, they came upon a populous city made of substantial buildings of stone and of lime.

The army rested here for four or five days and then went on through a broad valley shaded by lofty trees and watered by a splendid river. An unbroken line of Indian dwellings extended for several leagues, and, on a knoll, stood a town of four to five thousand inhabitants, commanded by a fortress with walls and trenches. The army halted here and the troops were met with friendly treatment.

As the soldiers refreshed themselves, Cortés made inquiries concerning the route which he was to follow. The Indians, who were traveling with him, told him to go through Tlascala: a small republic which had always managed to maintain its independence against Mexican arms. The tribesmen had been friendly with the Totonac allies of the Spaniards, and had the reputation of being frank, fearless, and trustworthy.

Cortés decided to attempt to gain their good will, so he dispatched four or five of his principal Cempoallan allies to the Tlascalan capital with a cap of crimson cloth and a sword and cross-bow, as gifts. They were to ask permission to pass through the land and were to express admiration for the valor and the courage of the Tlascalans in resisting the Aztecs for such a long time. Three days after the departure of these envoys, the army resumed its march.

At last they reached the border of the Tlascalan territory, and were much surprised to find a strong fortification in their path. This was a stone wall nine feet high and twenty feet thick, with a parapet a foot and a half broad at the top, for the protection of those who defended the causeway. It had only one opening in the center, made by two semi-circular lines of wall which overlapped each other. As it extended for more than two miles and was built of natural blocks of stone, it could be easily seen, that, had the Tlascalans cared to dispute the passage of the Spanish invaders, not only would they have inflicted great damage upon them, but would undoubtedly have forced them to retire towards the sea-coast.

Fortune favored the Spanish command. No Tlascalans were there to hurl javelins and arrows into their ranks, so they pressed onward towards the capital.

“Tlascala” means the land of bread. The Tlascalans were an agricultural people and their country was very fertile. They had previously lived upon the western shore of Lake Tezcuco, a part of Mexico which was not very productive; but their neighbors had driven them from their original holdings and were now very jealous of their prosperity: so jealous, in fact, that the Tlascalans repeatedly had to defend themselves against their attacks. Montezuma, himself, had endeavored to conquer them, but they had defeated an army sent against them and commanded by the Emperor’s favorite son. This had highly enraged the great ruler and he repeatedly harassed them with his troops, so that they were certainly glad to see some one journey to their land with whom they could ally themselves. They had heard about the Spaniards and their victorious advance, but they had not expected that they would venture their way. They were therefore much embarrassed when they saw the white-skinned strangers at their very gates, and demanding a passage through the fertile agricultural regions which they had so often defended with their lives.

While the Tlascalan chiefs were in the council chamber, trying to make up their minds what to do, Cortés and his men were advancing through their country. As they threaded their way through a steep gorge, they saw before them a small party of Indians armed with swords and bucklers. They fled as the Spaniards approached, but the men from Castile spurred their horses, and overtook them. As they were endeavoring to parley with them, the Indians turned and furiously assaulted those in armor. A stiff fight ensued and the native force would soon have been cut to pieces had not a body of several thousand Indians appeared, who rushed to their rescue. Cortés hastily dispatched a messenger to bring up his infantry and stood off the overwhelming masses of the enemy as best he could. The Indians fought like tigers, dragged to the ground one cavalier, who afterwards died of his wounds, and killed two horses by cutting through their necks with great broadswords. This was a serious loss to the Spaniards, as their steeds were very few, and they needed them, not only for battle, but also for hauling their possessions over the rough mountain trails.

Arrows were whizzing fast around the ears of the horsemen in the advance, when the infantry approached. Hastily falling into position, the soldiers delivered a volley from their crossbows, which not only astonished the enemy, but threw them into great confusion. The natives soon beat a hasty retreat, and the road towards the Tlascalan capital was left open to the adventurers.

This was not the only battle with the Tlascalans. Several other bands of natives were defeated as the Spanish pressed forward, so that, when the daring Cortés sent an embassy to the Tlascalan capital, his men received a most respectful hearing from the dejected natives, A free passage through the Tlascalan possessions was offered to these white gods and they were furnished with food.

Meanwhile, what of Montezuma?

As the terrible strangers advanced towards his capital, news of all of their doings had been faithfully reported to him by his runners, or messengers. He learned, with dismay, that these fair-skinned soldiers were defeating all of the natives that were sent against them. He saw that they were practically invincible, and that, before very long, they would be knocking at the very gates of his capital. With great satisfaction he had heard of their taking the road through the land of the Tlascalans, for he knew these Indians to be fiercely warlike, and he hoped that the white gods (so called) were only mortal men, and would prove to be no match for the natives who had defeated his own best troops. Alas! He now learned that even these gallant warriors had succumbed to the prowess of the strangers.

In his alarm and uncertainty, he dispatched five great nobles of his court, attended by two hundred slaves, to bear to Cortés a gift consisting of three thousand ounces of gold and several hundred robes of cotton and of feather-work.

The Spanish leader received the fawning natives with respectful attention. They laid the gifts at his feet and told him that they had come to offer him Montezuma’s congratulations upon his many victories. They also stated that they wished to express their regret that the Emperor could not receive them at the capital, for his own population was so unruly, that, should they enter the city, he could not answer for their safety. He therefore respectfully requested Cortés to retire to the sea-coast.

“I wish to express my greatest respect for Montezuma,” replied the artful Cortés, “and I wish that I could do as he desires. But I have received commands from my own sovereign to visit the City of Mexico, and it would go ill with me should I disobey the desires of the mighty Monarch of Spain. Tell the great and powerful Montezuma that I will some day repay him for his wonderful presents. And tell him, also, that I will be soon at the gates of Mexico City, where I hope to be received in a style befitting the Monarch whom I represent.”

The Mexican ambassadors withdrew, but they were sadly displeased with the turn which matters were taking. They saw a firm friendship established between the Tlascalans—their mortal enemies—and the dreaded Spaniards. They also saw that nothing could deter the white men from coming forward. So, with gloomy faces and lowered eyes, they departed for the City of Mexico.

The Spanish troops were well treated by the Tlascalans, who feasted and entertained them in the four quarters of their city. But amid all these friendly demonstrations the General never relaxed, for a second, the discipline of the camp, and no soldier was allowed to leave his quarters without special permission.

Montezuma, meanwhile, had received the message from the doughty Spanish invader and was more frightened than even before. Had he exhibited a good fighting spirit, and had he been determined to expel the Spaniards, he could have raised a hundred thousand fighting men to overwhelm them as they advanced upon his capital. But he was lacking in resolution. Deep in his soul he had a suspicion that Cortes was really the god Quetzalcoatl, come back again to Mexico in order to bring peace and prosperity with him. In his heart he feared, that, should he kill the invader, he would be sacrificing one of the gods. And thus he vacillated, hesitated, and, at length, seeing that he could not buy off the invader with money, or frighten him by means of threats, determined to conciliate him. So he sent word that he invited the Spaniards to visit him in his capital, and requested them to take a route through the friendly city of Cholula, where arrangements were being made, by his orders, for their reception. He also besought Cortés to make no alliance with the Tlascalans; whom he called base, treacherous, and barbarous.

But now came startling events, yet events which pleased the daring Cortés greatly, for the conqueror was never so happy as when in the thick of fighting.

After a short consultation among the officers, the Spanish army moved forward on the road to Cholula. It was an ancient and populous place, six leagues to the south of Tlascala. Its inhabitants excelled in the art of working in metals, and in manufacturing cotton cloth and delicate pottery. They were not as bloodthirsty as the surrounding tribes, but were distinguished more for the skill in the arts than for their warlike attainments. Here it is supposed that the god Quetzalcoatl had paused on his way to the coast, many years before, and to his honor a great pyramid had been erected, upon which was a gorgeous temple and a statue of the fair-skinned god, bedecked with gold and with jewels.

Six thousand Tlascalan warriors allied themselves with Cortés in his march towards the capital. As the troops drew near the town of Cholula they were met by swarms of men, women, and children, all eager to catch a glimpse of these wonderful strangers. An immense number of priests, swinging censers, mingled with the crowd, and, as the Spaniards moved onward, they were decorated with garlands of flowers; while musicians filled the air with strange, melodious symphonies. The strangers were given lodgings in the court of one of the many teocallis and were well supplied with provisions.

All seemed to be going well, and the Spaniards were highly pleased with their reception, but soon the scene changed. Messengers arrived from Montezuma, who told Cortés that his approach occasioned much disquietude to their royal master. They hinted that he would not be well received, and then had a separate conference with the Cholulans. When they departed they took one of them off with them. The Cholulans now kept away from the Spanish camp, and, when pressed for an explanation, made many excuses, saying that they were ill. The supply of provisions ran short, and, when asked to bring more corn, the Indians answered that they were unable to do so, as it was very scarce.

The doughty General of the Spanish forces became alarmed at this sudden change. His allies, the Cempoallans, now told him, that, in wandering about the city, they had seen several streets barricaded, and, in some places, they saw where holes had been dug and a sharp stake planted upright in each. Branches had been strewn over these pits in order to conceal them. They also announced that the flat roofs of the houses were being stored with stones and with other missiles.

Cortés prepared for an attack, particularly as his Tlascalan allies announced, that, in a far distant quarter of the town, a number of children had been sacrificed to the war god: the mighty Huitzilopochtli. They reported, too, that numbers of the people had taken their wives and children out of the city, as if to get away from the battle which was imminent.

Shortly after this, Marina made a discovery which proved that the Spaniards were in a most precarious position. The wife of one of the Cholulan caciques had taken a great fancy to the Mexican girl, and had continually urged her to visit her house; hinting, rather carefully and very mysteriously, that she would, in this way, escape a great danger which threatened the Spaniards. Marina appeared to be delighted with this proposal, and pretended to be glad to have a chance of escaping from the white men. She, at length, won the confidence of the Cholulan lady, who revealed the entire plot to her, a plot which had originated with Montezuma, and by which he hoped to get rid of these terrible strangers.

A force of twenty thousand Mexicans, said the wife of the cacique, were already near the city, and were to fall upon the Spaniards and their allies as they left. They were to be assisted by the Cholulans, who had stored great quantities of rocks and arrows to hurl upon the unsuspecting white men as they defiled along the roadway leading to the City of Mexico. After the fair-faced strangers had been captured, some were to be left with the Cholulans for sacrificial victims to their gods; the rest were to be sent in chains to Montezuma.

Marina rushed to the gallant Cortés with the news of this impending disaster to his army. The General at once ordered the cacique’s wife to be seized, and she repeated to him the same story that she had told to Marina. The Spanish leader was not slow to act. Two native priests were immediately summoned into his presence, one of whom was a person of much prominence. By courteous treatment and many presents, he secured from them a complete confirmation of the story which Marina had told him. There was no time to be lost and Cortés was a man of action.

Sending for the more prominent Cholulans, Cortés asked them to supply him with two thousand porters, next morning, as he had determined to move his army away from the town, and would need this many additional men, in order to transport his luggage and the many presents which had been given to him. After some consultation, the chiefs decided to give him this number of men, as it would assist them in their own plan of annihilating the invaders of their country. But Cortés had made up his mind how to act, and intended to annihilate the Cholulans when once he had them in his power. Night fell upon the city and every Spanish soldier lay down fully armed. The sentinels were doubled, but all remained quiet.

When the first streak of dawn reddened the east, next morning, Cortés was ahorse, and was directing the movements of his little band of heroic Spaniards. He placed the greater portion of his small force in the large oblong court in the center of the town. These were lined up in a hollow square, facing the center, all fully armed, with pouches filled with bullets, and quite ready for anything that might occur. A strong guard was placed at each of the three gates leading from the town, and a number of the best soldiers were stationed in charge of the cannon, which were pointed so as to command all the more prominent roads leading to the center of the native stronghold.

Hardly had this disposition of the troops been made than the Cholulan caciques arrived, bringing a much larger body of porters than Cortés had demanded. They were placed within the hollow square formed by the Castilian infantry.

The Spanish leader now took the caciques aside and said in a stern tone:

“Know, O Chiefs, that I have learned of your conspiracy to destroy me and my followers. I am fully aware that you intend to fall upon me and my men when we leave town, and I am determined to deal a just and summary vengeance upon you.”

The Cholulans were thunderstruck, and gazed with awe upon these strangers, who seemed to have the power of reading their inmost thoughts. They made no attempt to deny the accusation, but tried to excuse themselves by throwing the blame upon Montezuma.

“The great Emperor made us do it,” said they.

“I do not care whether he made you do it or not,” answered the irritated leader of these Spanish conquerors. “For daring to think that you could capture and defeat me and my men, I will put you all to death, so that it will teach any others who may have designs upon my person, in the future, to leave me alone. ‘Fire!’”

As he spoke a cannon growled out an ominous roar. It was the signal for which the Spanish soldiers had been anxiously awaiting.

In an instant the muskets and crossbows were leveled at the startled Cholulans, as they stood crowded together in the center of the market place. A crash of firearms,—and many of them lay groaning upon the pavement. Then, with a fierce and vindictive yell, the Spanish soldiers rushed at the natives with their swords, and mowed them down as they stood. The Indians had heard nothing of what was going on, and offered but slight resistance to the armored men of Castile.

Wild shrieks and yells arose above the din of firearms, as the massacre took place, and, attracted by the noise, the Cholulans from outside began a furious assault upon the Spanish soldiers. The heavy cannon opened fire upon them as they approached, and, when they advanced in close formation, many were swept off their feet. The cavalrymen now charged into their midst and hewed a passageway of blood in the lane of human beings. The Tlascalan allies of the Spaniards fell upon the rear of the battling Cholulans. Thus, harassed upon every side, the Cholulan townsfolk could no longer maintain their ground. They fled, some to the buildings nearby, others to the temples of the gods.

Headed by several priests, one strong body of fugitives ran to the largest of all the temples, the great teocalli. As the Spaniards came storming up the steps, these rained down stones, javelins, and burning arrows upon them. In spite of this shower of missiles, the soldiers pressed hard upon the heels of the fugitives, set fire to the wooden tower, and cheered wildly when they saw the natives throw themselves headlong from the parapet.

All was confusion and slaughter in the city of Cholula. The Spaniards and Tlascalans plundered and burned wherever they went, and, as the Tlascalans seemed only to want clothes and provisions, the adventurers under Cortés secured all the gold and jewels that they cared to have. Thus fire, plunder, and murder went on for many hours, until the General yielded to the entreaties of the Cholulan chiefs, who had been saved from the massacre, and, calling off his men, put an end to further violence. By degrees the tumult was appeased. The terrible vengeance of the invaders made a great impression upon the natives, but no one trembled more than did Montezuma on his throne within the mountains.

The Mexican Emperor, in fact, felt his empire melting away from him. His former vassals, on every hand, were sending envoys to the Spanish camp to tender their allegiance to the crown of Castile, and to attempt to secure the favor of the conqueror by rich gifts of gold and of slaves. Montezuma made up his mind to send another embassy to Cortés, the members of which were to impress upon him the fact that the Emperor had nothing to do with the conspiracy at Cholula. The envoys carried splendid presents of golden vessels and ornaments, including artificial birds made in imitation of turkeys with their plumage worked in gold, and also fifteen hundred robes of delicate cotton cloth. When they spoke to Cortés they told him that Montezuma had no knowledge of the plot to attack the Spaniards after they had left the town of Cholula and that the Aztec force had been sent there, not to assist in annihilating the Spaniards, but to quell a disturbance in the neighborhood.

Cortés, who was not fooled by this series of lies by Montezuma, remained quietly in the confines of Cholula. He restored the city again to order, seized upon the great temple, or teocalli, of which all the woodwork had been burned, and built a church out of the stones which remained. He also opened the cages in which hundreds of captives were kept until the day should come when they were to be sacrificed. After this had been done, he called up the chiefs of his Tlascalan allies, told them that the armies would now march toward the City of Mexico, and, upon the day following, set his own troops in motion.

He moved slowly, and soon was met by another embassy from the Emperor, consisting of several Aztec noblemen who brought a rich gift, indeed, and also a message from the trembling Montezuma to the effect that he would give four loads of gold to the General, each year, and one load to each of his Captains, if he would turn back from the city and would leave him alone. Cortés was surprised at this show of weakness and also pleased that the Aztec sovereign did not attack him. He replied that he could not return to the King of Spain without first visiting the Emperor at his capital.

“We Spaniards,” said he, “are advancing in a spirit of peace, and wish to be courteously received. If, after a short stay, you find our visit burdensome, it is very easy for you to notify us that our presence in your beautiful city is no longer desired.”

The ambassador reported this answer to Montezuma, who called a council of his chief advisors to determine what was now to be done. A great difference of opinion arose. Cacama, the Emperor’s nephew, counseled him to receive the Spaniards courteously, as the ambassadors of a foreign prince; while his brother, Cuilahua, urged him to muster all his fighting men and to drive back the invaders, or die in the defense of his capital.

Torn with doubt and distress, the Emperor did not know which way to turn. It would not have been impossible to strike the invaders with his warriors, but Montezuma feared these white-skinned travelers as he had never before feared any enemy.

“Of what avail is resistance,” said he, “when the gods have declared themselves against us? I must face the storm as best I may. I see my empire crumbling to dust before these invaders, and I am prepared to fight only when I see that I cannot rid myself of them by peaceful means.”

Thus, trusting that he would eventually free himself from this menacing band, Montezuma awaited the entry of the Spaniards into the city.

The followers of Cortés, with their Tlascalan allies, now marched along the southern shores of Lake Chalco, through forests of strange-looking trees, such as they had never seen before, and orchards growing with unknown fruits. At length they came to a great dike, or causeway, four or five miles in length, which divided Lake Chalco, from Xochicalco, on the west. It was sufficiently wide, in some parts, for eight horsemen to ride abreast; and was solidly built of stone and of lime. At its narrowest part it was only a lance’s length in breadth.

From the causeway the army descended upon a narrow point which lay between the two lakes, and, quickly crossing over this, reached the royal residence at Iztapalapan, a place governed by Montezuma’s brother. Here Cortés was presented with gifts of gold and costly stuffs, and then the Spaniards were led into the gorgeous halls of the palace, the roof of which was of odorous cedar wood, while the stone walls were hung with brilliant tapestries. Here, also, the army rested for an entire night, ready and prepared for the advance upon the following morning into the sacred precincts ruled over by Montezuma.

Day dawned. As the sharp tones of the bugle woke the echoes in the quaint Aztec village, the Spanish adventurers bestirred themselves, formed in line of march, and followed by the dark horde of Tlascalan warriors, advanced upon the capital. Cortés’ force was not more than seven thousand in all, and of this number less than four hundred were Spaniards. The adventure seemed foolhardy indeed. How could four hundred Spaniards hope to conquer an entire country?

At the distance of half a mile from the capital the invaders encountered a solid fortification, like a great curtain of stone, which was built across the dike. It was twelve feet high, and had a tower on each end; in the center was a battlement-gateway through which the troops passed. This was the fort of Xoloc, and here the Spaniards were met by several hundred Aztec chiefs. After the usual salutations, the march was resumed, and the army reached a wooden drawbridge which crossed an opening in the dike. As the soldiers left it, they realized that they were in the power of Montezuma, for, had he so wished, he could cut them off from communication with the country, and hold them prisoners in his capital.

But now the Emperor Montezuma, himself, approached. A crowd of Indian nobles surrounded him, and he was preceded by his officers of state, bearing golden wands. Reclining upon the royal palanquin, blazing with burnished gold, he was borne aloft by four attendants, who were barefooted, and who walked with a slow, measured pace, their eyes bent upon the ground. Montezuma wore a square cloak of the finest cotton, on his feet were sandals with soles of gold, and both cloak and sandals were sprinkled with pearls and with precious stones. On his head was a plume of royal green feathers, the badge of his military rank. He was at this time about forty years of age, was tall and thin, and lighter in color than most of his countrymen.

The Emperor received Cortés with princely courtesy, and appointed his brother to conduct the Spaniards to their quarters. The adventurers followed their guide, and, with colors flying and with music playing, entered the southern portion of the Aztec capital. As they proceeded, they crossed many bridges which spanned the canals, and at length halted in a wide, open space, near the center of the city and close to the temple of the war god. Here were a number of low, stone buildings, once a palace belonging to the Emperor’s father, but now to become the lodging of the Spaniards.

After a rapid survey the General assigned the troops to their respective quarters. He planted his cannon so as to command the approaches to the palace, stationed sentinels along the walls, and ordered that no soldier should leave his quarters under pain of death. When all these precautions had been taken, he allowed his men to enjoy the banquet prepared for them.

Not long after this, Montezuma came to visit the fair-skinned strangers, and was received with great courtesy by Cortés, who had the faithful Marina to interpret for him. The Emperor made many inquiries concerning the country of the Spaniards, and particularly asked why Cortés and his men had visited Mexico.

“We have desired to see you,” answered the General, “and to declare to you the true faith which we, as Christians, believe. We think that your own worship is most pernicious, and we do not approve of the many human sacrifices which you are continually making to your gods. We therefore pray that you give up the worship of idols, adopt the faith of Jesus Christ, and cease to tear out the hearts of poor human beings as a sacrifice in your temples.”

The Emperor smiled at the reference to the ancient customs of the Aztecs, and made many inquiries concerning the rank of the cavaliers in their own country and their positions in the army. He then commanded a gift of cotton robes to be distributed among the Spaniards and their Tlascalan allies, and returned to his own palace. When he had departed, Cortés ordered a general discharge of his artillery, so as to impress the natives with his power. The noise of the guns and the smoke filled the Aztecs with alarm and dismay, and put them in great fear of these strangers from another country.

Cortés had several other audiences with the Aztec ruler, who seemed to wish to treat these adventurers with kindness and consideration; but the Spanish general was harassed by many doubts. He was in the heart of a great capital, with dikes and drawbridges on every side, which might be converted into serious obstacles against him and his men, should the Aztecs determine to crush the small Spanish army. At a nod from the mighty Montezuma all communication with the rest of the country would be cut off, and the whole population would be immediately hurled upon him and his handful of followers. Against such odds, of what avail would be his armor, his muskets, and his cannon? Montezuma had a thousand warriors to his one. His best policy, therefore, seemed to be to keep up the superstitious reverence in which he seemed to be held by both the Emperor and his people, and to find out all that he could about the city and its inhabitants. Then, should the opportunity occur, he would seize the chief power for himself.

Next day the General asked the Emperor’s permission to visit the principal public buildings and received a willing assent. Putting himself at the head of his cavalry, and, followed by nearly all of his foot soldiers, he set out, under the guidance of several caciques, to view more closely what he had only seen at a distance. He was led to the great teocalli of the god of war, Huitzilopochtli, which stood in an open court surrounded by a wall of stone and lime, about eight feet high, and ornamented by raised figures of serpents, so that it was called the “wall of serpents.” It was pierced by huge gateways, opening upon the four principal streets of the city, and over each gate was an arsenal filled with arms and other warlike gear.

The Spanish visitors climbed up the flights of steps and reached the great paved space at the summit, where was a huge, round stone upon which the victims were stretched before their hearts were cut out to propitiate the feelings of the great god. At the other end of the platform stood two towers, each three stories in height, in which were the images of the gods.

Montezuma came forward to receive Cortés and conducted him into the first tower, at the end of which, in a huge recess, stood a colossal stone image of Huitzilopochtli, the god of war. In his right hand he held a bow: in his left a bunch of golden arrows. The second sanctuary was dedicated to Tezcatlepoco, who was believed to have created the earth and to watch over it. He was represented as a young man, although his image was made of polished, black stone, garnished with gold plates and with ornaments. A shield, burnished like a mirror, was upon one arm; and in this was supposed to be reflected the doings of the world.

On descending again to the courtyard, the cavaliers took a careful look at the other buildings in the inclosure, and saw, to their horror, a great mound with a timber framework upon its summit, along which were strung hundreds of thousands of skulls: those of the many victims which had been sacrificed. The rest of the space was filled with schools, granaries and gardens. Several fountains, spouting crystal streams of water, played gracefully in the clear air. It was a combination of barbarism and civilization which was quite characteristic of the Mexican people.

Upon the day following, the Spaniards asked permission to convert one of the halls in their palace into a chapel where they could hold the services of their church, and Montezuma readily granted their request. While the work was in progress, a young cavalier discovered what seemed to be a door which had only recently been plastered over. There was a rumor that Montezuma kept the treasures of his father in this place, so, to satisfy their eager curiosity, the plaster was knocked away. Sure enough, a doorway was beyond the plaster, and, pushing this aside, a great hall was disclosed, filled with all manner of rich and beautiful stuffs. There were also much gold and silver in bars, and many jewels of inestimable value. Some thought that all the riches in the world were in that room. Afraid to touch it, then, by command of the General, the wall was again built up, and strict orders were given that the discovery must be kept a profound secret.

Time was passing and Cortés grew somewhat worried over his position. Some of his officers were for an immediate retreat. Some, and these were in the majority, were well satisfied with the plan which their General now disclosed to them, which was: to march to the royal palace, and by persuasion, or force, to induce Montezuma to take up his abode in the Spanish quarters. When they had taken possession of his person, it would be easy to rule in his name, until they had made their position secure. Then, too, reënforcements might reach them at any time.

An excuse soon offered itself, for two of the Spaniards were treacherously murdered by the Aztecs, when upon a journey to Vera Cruz, and this was sufficient pretext to seize the person of the Emperor. Having asked for an audience with Montezuma, which was granted, the Spanish adventurer immediately made the necessary arrangements for this hazardous enterprise. The principal part of his force was drawn up in the courtyard, next day, but one detachment was stationed in the avenue leading to the palace, so that no rescue could be attempted by the citizens. Twenty-five or thirty soldiers were ordered to drop into the palace by twos and by threes, as if accidentally, and Cortés was accompanied by five cavaliers upon whose courage and coolness he could perfectly rely. All were in full mail and were armed to the teeth.

Montezuma seemed to be in great good spirits when the Spaniards arrived, and paid Cortés the compliment of offering him one of his daughters in marriage; an honor which the general most respectfully declined, because of the fact that he already had one wife. Not long after this he saw that all of his soldiers were ready, and, turning to Montezuma, asked him why the Aztecs had murdered his two soldiers at Vera Cruz. The Emperor listened to him with great surprise, and said that such an act had never been by his direction.

“I care not whether you ordered this massacre or not,” replied Cortés, “this native chief, Quanhpopoca, whose men killed my soldiers, must be sent for at once, so that I may deal with him as he deserves.”

Montezuma agreed to this, and, taking his royal signet ring from his finger, gave it to one of his nobles, with orders to show it to the Aztec governor and require his immediate presence in the capital. In case he resisted, the bearer was to call in the aid of the neighboring towns and their fighting men.

The messenger had soon disappeared, and Cortés assured the smiling Montezuma that he was now perfectly convinced of his innocence in the matter, but that it was quite necessary that his own sovereign should be assured of it. Nothing could therefore be better than that Montezuma should transfer his residence to the palace occupied by the Spaniards, as this would show a personal regard for the Spanish monarch which would free him from all suspicion.

To this proposal Montezuma listened with the greatest amazement, and then exclaimed, with resentment and offended dignity:

“When was it that a great prince like myself willingly left his own palace to become a prisoner in the hands of strangers?”

“You will not go as a prisoner,” replied the artful Cortés, “but will simply be changing your residence.”

“If I should consent to such a degradation,” cried Montezuma, wrathfully, “my subjects never would.”

But Cortés was obdurate and insisted that the Aztec should go, in spite of the fact that the Emperor offered him one of his sons and two of his daughters as hostages, so that he might be spared this disgrace. Thus two hours passed by in a fruitless discussion.

Finally Velasquez de Leon, one of the cavaliers, who was impatient at the long delay, cried out in loud tones:

“Why do we waste words on this barbarian? Let us seize him, and, if he resists, let us plunge our swords into his body!”

The fierce tones of the man in armor, coupled with his menacing gesture, alarmed Montezuma, who asked Marina what the angry Spaniard had remarked. The Mexican girl explained, as gently as she could, what had been said, then besought him to accompany the white men, who would surely treat him with respect and kindness.

“If you refuse,” she whispered, “you will, perhaps, be killed.”

As she said this, the Emperor shuddered, and, looking around for some sympathetic glance, saw only the stern faces and mail-clad forms of the Spaniards. He felt that, should he refuse, he would be immediately dispatched.

“I will go with you, Malinche,” said he, in a scarcely audible voice. “Bring forward the royal litter!”

As the Aztec retinue marched dejectedly down the avenue to the Spanish quarters, the people crowded together, crying out that Montezuma had been carried off by force.

“Disperse, subjects!” cried the Emperor. “I am visiting my friends of my own accord.”

The crowd remained quiet, and, on reaching the Spanish quarters, Montezuma sent out his nobles to the mob with similar assurances, and bade them all return to their homes.

The Spaniards received him with great respect and allowed him to choose his own apartments, which were speedily furnished with tapestry, feather-work, and all other Indian luxuries. Yet it was only too clear to the Aztecs themselves that their honored Emperor was a prisoner, as by day and night the palace was guarded by sixty sentinels, both in the front and in the rear, while yet another body was stationed in the royal antechamber.

In a day or two, the native chief, Quanhpopoca, arrived from the coast. He was asked by Cortés why he had made an attack upon his soldiers, and, as he could make no satisfactory reply, was immediately condemned to be burned to death. Montezuma made no objection to this, so a funeral pile was erected in the courtyard before the palace, and upon this the chief and his attendants were burned. Just before the execution took place, Cortés entered the Emperor’s apartment, followed by a soldier bearing fetters in his hands. The Spanish general accused Montezuma of having been the instigator of this treacherous deed, and said that a crime which merited death in a subject, must be likewise atoned for by a king. With this, he ordered the soldier to fasten the fetters upon Montezuma’s ankles, and, after coolly waiting until this was done, turned his back upon the outraged Aztec Emperor, and quitted the room.

After the execution was over Cortés came in and unclasped the irons with his own hands. Montezuma thanked him as if he had received some great and unmerited favor.

Not long after this the Spanish commander told Montezuma that he could return to his own quarters. But the Emperor declined to go back, for, realizing how his conduct must be viewed by the great nobles of his Empire, he decided that his life was safer with the Spaniards than with them. Although he had thus resigned himself, without a fight, to a life of captivity, some of his kinsmen were determined to rescue their Emperor from the clutches of these fair-skinned invaders. His nephew, Cacama, lord of the Tezcuco, was especially incensed at the method by which Montezuma had been stolen, and tried to stir up the Aztecs to make an attack upon the Spanish robbers. Actuated by jealousy, the other nobles refused to join Cacama, declaring themselves unwilling to do anything without the Emperor’s sanction.

Cortés heard of this, and wished to march at once upon Tezcuco, in order to stamp out the spark of rebellion, but Montezuma persuaded him to get hold of Cacama personally, and to make away with him. Cacama was enticed into a villa overhanging the lake, where he was overpowered, forced into a boat, and speedily brought to Mexico City. Here he was fettered and imprisoned. His kingdom was given to his brother,—a mere boy,—to reign in his stead.

Now Cortés felt himself powerful enough to demand that Montezuma and all his nobles should formally swear allegiance to the King and Queen of Spain. He accordingly requested the Emperor to call together his principal caciques, and, when they were gathered together, Montezuma addressed them as follows:

“You all know, O caciques, our ancient tradition, how the Great Being who once ruled over the land, declared that he would one day return and reign again. That time has now arrived. The white men have come from the land beyond the sea, sent by their master to reclaim the obedience of his ancient subjects. I am ready, for my part, to acknowledge his authority. You have been faithful vassals of mine all through the years that I have sat upon the throne of my father; I now expect that you will show me a last act of obedience, by acknowledging the great King beyond the waters to be your lord also, and that you will pay him tribute as you have hitherto done to me.”

As he spoke, the tears fell fast down his cheeks, and his nobles were deeply affected by the sight of his distress. Many of these fierce fighting-men had come from a great distance, and had no idea of what was going on in the capital. Hence they were filled with astonishment at seeing the voluntary submission of their master to this mere handful of Spanish soldiers. They had always reverenced him as their all powerful lord, and, therefore, were willing to obey him and to swear allegiance to the white men’s sovereign. Accordingly the oaths were administered, with due solemnity, and a full record of these proceedings was drawn up by the royal notary to be sent to Spain.

The Spanish explorer had now gained the greatest object of the expedition, but in the conversion of the natives to Christianity he seemed to have made little progress, and the horrible sacrifices, where human hearts were torn from the breasts of captives, were occurring every day. What could be done? With the blatant disregard for the sentiments of the natives that had always characterized his actions, Cortés determined to hold the services of the church in the temple of the great god, Huitzilopochtli, and notified Montezuma to this effect. The Emperor listened in great consternation.

“Malinche,” said he, “why will you push matters to an extremity that will surely bring down the vengeance of our gods and stir up an insurrection amongst my people? They will never endure this profanation of their temple. Do not attempt to destroy their gods, for, if you do so, you will be driven from the land by the enfuriated populace.”

In spite of what the weak-minded ruler had said, Cortés decided to hold the services of the church in one of the sanctuaries of the famous temple, which was dedicated to the fearful god of war. Consequently, the whole army moved, one day, in a solemn procession up the winding ascent to the pyramid, and mass was celebrated by Father Almedo. The Aztecs crowded around in order to view this ceremony, and looked on with repugnance plainly showing in their dark faces.

As Montezuma had prophesied, the Mexican people were greatly outraged by this profanation of their temple, and many conferences now took place between the Emperor and the nobles. After several weeks, Cortés received a summons to appear before the Aztec chief, who said, in rather apologetic tones:

“What I told you in connection with the insult to our gods has come to pass. The gods are offended and they threaten to forsake our city if you and your men are not driven from it. If you regard your safety, you will leave the country without delay. I have only to lift my finger and every Aztec in the land will rise against you.”

“I shall greatly regret to say good-bye to your capital,” Cortés answered. “I cannot leave your country, for I have no ships in which to sail. Besides, if I am driven out, I shall have to take you with me.”

Montezuma, although troubled with this last suggestion, offered to send workmen to the coast to assist the Spaniards in building ships. In the interim he assured the populace that the white men would leave in a very few weeks. Cortés, meanwhile, sent word to delay the construction of ships as long as possible, for he hoped, in the meantime, to receive reënforcements from Spain, so that he could hold his ground. The Spaniards were now thoroughly frightened, for they were surrounded by hundreds of thousands of the enemy, and, should these break loose upon them, they knew that they should have to fight for their lives.

This was the state of affairs, in May, 1520, after the Spaniards had been six months in the country of Mexico. Then came an unexpected thunderclap, for Cortés received word from the coast that the jealous Governor of Cuba, hearing of his great success, was forwarding an expedition to attack him. Think of it! To attack the one who had accomplished that which he had been sent to accomplish!

The commander of this second expedition, Narváez, sent several of his most trusted adherents to Villa Rica, where Cortés had left a body of men under one Sandoval, to demand his capitulation. But, Sandoval would hear nothing of this, and, binding the emissaries to the backs of several sturdy porters, like bales of cotton, he sent them, under guard, to Mexico City, where Cortés received them courteously. He learned that the principal object of Narváez was the finding of gold, and that the soldiers of this interloper had no particular regard for their leader, as he was arrogant and by no means liberal.

The General decided that the only thing to do was to march against this man, to defeat him, and to unite the new forces with his own. This he did. The newcomer was captured, his troops willingly joined with the followers of Cortés, and the bold Spaniard returned to Mexico City, where he had left his Lieutenant Alvarado in command. But he found that matters had gone very ill since his departure, and that insurrection and bloodshed were rampant in the once quiet capital.

The General eagerly inquired what had transpired during his absence, and found that Alvarado had acted in a manner that was not only undiplomatic but also bloodthirsty. A few days after Cortés had marched towards the coast, the Aztec festival of “The Incensing of Huitzilopochtli” was celebrated, and, having asked permission to use the teocalli, the Aztecs assembled to the number of at least six hundred. The natives wore their magnificent gala attire, with mantles of feather-work sprinkled with precious stones, and collars, bracelets, and ornaments of gold. Alvarado and his men, fully armed, attended as spectators, and, as the natives were engaged in one of their ceremonial dances, fell upon them suddenly,—sword in hand. A great and dreadful slaughter now followed, the Aztecs being hewn down without resistance. Those who attempted to escape by climbing the wall of serpents, were cut down to a man, until not a single one remained alive. The tidings of this awful massacre flew instantly through the capital, and the city rose in arms against these terrible invaders, who would do such a dastardly deed.

The Spaniards made themselves secure in their citadel, but they were attacked with the greatest fury. The works were undermined, and some of the more courageous assailants set fire to the walls. Montezuma was entreated to interfere, and, mounting the battlement, requested the howling mob of Aztecs to desist from storming the fortress, out of regard for his own safety. This they did, although a regular blockade was begun, and high walls were thrown up around the citadel in order to prevent the egress of the Spaniards. The Aztec warriors chanted defiance at Alvarado and his men, while sullenly awaiting the time when the Spaniards would be starved into submission.

Cortés was angered and ashamed at the action which his Lieutenant had taken, and, calling him to him, roundly upbraided him for attacking the natives in this brutal fashion. As an explanation for his atrocious act, Alvarado declared that he had struck this blow in order to intimidate the natives and crush an uprising which he had learned was about to occur.

“You have done badly!” cried Cortés. “You have been false to your trust and your conduct has been that of a madman!”

The Spanish commander lost his self-control for the first time, and allowed his disgust and irritation to be plainly seen. He bitterly regretted that he had entrusted so important a command to one who had such a rash and cruel nature. But the deed was done. The Aztecs were now in open revolt, and the Spaniards had to battle for their very lives. The whole city was in arms, the drawbridges were raised, and the enemy was collecting from every quarter.

As Cortés directed the troops within the citadel, to which he had had to fight his way after the destruction of Narváez, he heard a long, hoarse, sullen roar from the streets of the city. It became louder and louder, until, as he stood upon the parapet and looked into the distance, he could see dark masses of warriors rolling towards the citadel in a confused tide, while the flat roofs of the houses nearby were covered with swarms of menacing figures, who brandished their weapons, and cried out with shrill voices: “Death to the invaders! Death to the enemies of our gods! Death to the dogs from Spain!” The great war drum upon the teocalli rolled out a mournful and doleful sound of battle, while gay banners fluttered from the serried ranks of the approaching army.

On, on, came the wild Aztecs, their shrill yells sounding high above the rolling of their rude drums, and, as they came within sight of the Spanish quarters, they let loose a perfect tempest of stones, darts, and arrows. At the same time those upon the roofs let drive a blinding volley. The men under Cortés waited until the enemy were within a hundred yards of the ancient palace, in which they had barricaded themselves, and then thundered a return volley from their cannon and guns. The first few ranks of the Aztec warriors were swept to the ground, but, leaping over the prostrate bodies of the slain, the great horde of fighting men came on. Soon some of the bolder warriors succeeded in getting close enough to the wall to be sheltered by it from the fire of the Spaniards, so they made a gallant yet futile effort to scale the parapet. As soon as their heads appeared above the ramparts, they were shot down, one after another, and fell to the street below. Great piles of the slain lay heaped before the ancient palace of the Montezumas.

Burning arrows were now shot upon the buildings in the courtyard, and several of them took fire. So severe was the conflagration that a part of the wall had to be thrown down, thus laying open a formidable breach, which the Aztecs endeavored to storm. But cannon were pointed at the spot, and a file of arquebusiers kept up an incessant volley-fire through the opening, so that those who attempted to get through were killed as fast as they reached the portal. All day long the fight raged with fury, and, when night came, the Spaniards could get no sleep, for they were in hourly expectation of a new attack.

Next morning the mournful war-drum again groaned out its call to the battle, and again the serried ranks of the enfuriated Aztec warriors came on to the attack. Showers of burning arrows, darts, and heavy stones fell against the Spanish battlement, and the mass of warriors struggled with renewed fury to gain possession of the breach. Cortés ordered a sortie, hoping to drive this body of invaders away, but, when the gates were thrown open and he dashed forward with the cavalry, assisted by a large force of Tlascalans, the natives retreated behind a barricade. Heavy guns were ordered up, and the barriers were demolished; but, as he pressed the Aztecs backwards, so many came in upon the flanks that he was forced to retreat. As the Spaniards reëntered their fortress, pursued by a shower of darts and arrows, the Indians once more closed around it, with menacing cries and insults.

“The gods have delivered you into our hands at last!” they called. “Huitzilopochtli has long been crying for his victims, and the stone of sacrifice is ever ready. Our knives are sharpened. The wild beasts in the palace are roaring for their feast.”

Yet they cried piteously for Montezuma and entreated the Spaniards to deliver him up to them.

“Oh, give us back our Emperor!” said they. “You have willfully and falsely detained and imprisoned him!”

At this, Cortés determined to induce Montezuma to exert his authority, in order to allay the tumult. So he requested the captive Emperor to speak to the howling mob. Montezuma had soon arrayed himself in his finest robes, and with a guard of Spaniards around him, and preceded by an Aztec carrying a golden wand (the symbol of sovereignty) the Indian monarch ascended the central turret of the palace.

A marvelous and magical change now came over the scene. The fierce and vindictive war cries of the Aztec warriors ceased. Great rows of Indians prostrated themselves on the ground, while all eyes were turned upon the monarch whom they had been taught to venerate with slavish awe. The Spaniards were startled at the homage which was given to the cowardly Emperor, and Montezuma, himself, saw his advantage. He felt himself once again a king, and addressed the multitude with all of his former authority and confidence.

“Why do I see my people here in arms against the palace of my father?” said he. “Is it that you think your sovereign a prisoner and wish to release him? If so, you have done well; but you are mistaken. I am no prisoner. These strangers are my guests. I remain with them only by choice and I can leave them when I will. Have you come to drive them from the city? That is unnecessary; they will depart of their own accord, if you will open a way for them. Return to your homes! Lay down your arms! Show your obedience to me, whose right it is. The white men shall go back to their land, and all shall be well again within the walls of Mexico.”

A murmur of contempt ran through the multitude. Rage and desire for revenge made the Aztec warriors forget their reverence for their former beloved Emperor, and they now turned against the very man whose word had once been their law.

“Base Aztec!” they cried out in loud tones. “You are a woman and a coward! The white men have made you a female, fit only to weave and to spin! Begone! Back to your needlework and to your Spanish brothers!”

Immediately the Emperor was assailed by a cloud of rocks and arrows. A stone struck the miserable man in the head, with a sickening thud, and knocked him to the ground. A chief of high rank hurled his javelin at him, but it just missed him as he fell. The Mexicans were shocked at their own act of sacrilege and set up a dismal cry. They dispersed, panic-stricken, and not one remained in the great square before the palace.

With care and gentleness the Spaniards carried the body of Montezuma to his own apartments. As soon as he recovered from his insensibility, the full misery of his situation broke upon him. He, the once great and powerful Montezuma, had been reviled and rejected by his own people. Utterly crushed in spirit, he refused all food or assistance, even tearing off the bandages which the Spaniards applied to his wounds. He sat motionless, with eyes cast upon the ground, perpetually brooding over his humiliation, and gradually grew so weak that he could scarcely sit upright.

A body of Mexicans now took possession of the famous temple to the war god, Huitzilopochtli, which was opposite the Spanish palace, and rose to a height of nearly a hundred and fifty feet. From this vantage point the Aztecs discharged such a volley of arrows upon the garrison, that it was impossible for any soldier to show himself for an instant outside the wall of the palace, without being immediately struck. The Mexicans, meanwhile, were completely sheltered. As it was absolutely necessary that they be driven from this point of vantage, Cortés intrusted the task to his chamberlain, Escobar, giving him a hundred men for the purpose. Three desperate attempts were made, but being repulsed with considerable loss, this officer returned, and Cortés determined to lead the storming party himself. A wound in his left hand had almost disabled it, but he strapped his shield to the injured member and thus sallied forth.

Several thousand of the Tlascalan allies were with him, and, at the head of three hundred chosen cavaliers, he now dashed from the palace. In the courtyard of the temple, a body of Mexicans was drawn up to dispute his passage, but he charged them briskly, and, although the horses could not stand up and had to be returned to the Spanish quarters, the Aztecs were dispersed. The cavaliers and their Indian allies now pressed up to the flight of stone steps which led into the teocalli. The warriors were drawn up on every terrace, as well as on the topmost platform, and showered down heavy stones, beams, and burning rafters. The Spaniards kept on, in spite of the fact that many of them were badly wounded by the falling beams and arrows, and, aided by a brisk fire from the muskateers below, soon drove the Aztecs to the broad summit of the teocalli. Here a desperate hand-to-hand fight took place.

As the edge of the platform was unprotected by either battlement or parapet, many of the combatants, as they struggled together, rolled off, locked in a deadly deathgrip. Two powerful Aztecs seized upon Cortés, at one stage of the battle, and were dragging him violently toward the side of the pyramid, when, by sheer strength, he tore himself from their grasp and hurled one of them over the edge.

At the beginning of the fight for the possession of this temple, the priests ran to and fro among the contestants, with their long hair streaming out behind them. With wild gestures they encouraged and urged on the Indians, until they were all either killed or captured by the onrushing Spanish cavaliers.

One by one the Indian warriors fell dead upon the blood-drenched pavement, or were hurled from the dizzy height to the pavement below, until, at last, none were left to oppose the white men. The Spaniards, with yells of victory, now rushed into the sanctuaries. In one was the hideous image of Huitzilopochtli with an offering of human hearts before him. Possibly these were those of their own countrymen! With loud shouts of triumph the Spaniards tore the hideous idol from its niche, and, as the Aztecs watched, hurled it down the long steps of the teocalli. Then the sanctuaries were set on fire, and, descending joyfully to the courtyard, the soldiers set up a great song of thanksgiving for their victory.

Cortés now hoped that the natives were sufficiently subdued to be willing to come to terms with him, so he invited them to a parley, and addressed the principal chiefs. He talked to them from the turret previously occupied by Montezuma, and, as usual, had Marina to interpret for him.

“You have brought all this slaughter upon yourselves by your rebellion,” he said. “Yet, for the sake of the affection felt for you by the sovereign whom you have treated so unworthily, I would willingly stay my hand if you will lay down your arms and return once more to obedience to me. If you do not do this, I will make your city a heap of ruins, and will leave not a single soul alive to mourn over it.”

The Aztecs replied in a manner which was quite unexpected.

“It is quite true that you have destroyed our gods, massacred our countrymen, and broken our temple to pieces. But look out upon our streets and terraces. You see them thronged with warriors as far as your eyes can reach,” said the Indian who had been chosen spokesman. “Our numbers are scarcely diminished by our losses. Yours, on the contrary, are lessened every hour. Your provisions and your water are failing; you are perishing from hunger and from sickness; you must soon fall into our hands. The bridges are broken down and you cannot escape! There will be few of you left to glut the vengeance of our gods.”

With this tart reply, they discharged a volley of arrows, which compelled the Spaniards to beat a speedy retreat.

To retreat was hazardous, indeed, and it was mortifying to abandon the city; but, with his men daily diminishing in strength and in numbers, and with his stock of provisions so nearly exhausted that one small daily ration of bread was all that the soldiers had, there was nothing else for Cortés to do. Montezuma had lingered feebly along, after the day in which he had been struck by a stone, and now passed to another world. “The tidings of this,” says an old historian, “were received with real grief by every cavalier and soldier in the army who had access to his person, for we all loved him as a father.” The Emperor’s death was a misfortune for the Spaniards, because, while he lived, there was a slight possibility of using his influence with the natives. Now that hope had disappeared.

A council was called to decide as speedily as possible the all-important question of the retreat. It was agreed that they should leave at once, and at night, so that darkness would cloak their movements. The safe conveyance of the treasure was quite a problem, but the soldiers had converted their share into gold chains, or collars, which could be easily carried about their persons. The royal fifth, however, was in bars and wedges of solid gold. It could be carried only by horse, and a special guard had to be provided for it. But much treasure had to be abandoned, and it lay in shining heaps upon the floor of the palace.

The soldiers who had come with Cortés, being old campaigners, did not load themselves down with more than they could safely transport. The soldiers of Narváez, however, being keen for the accumulation of treasure, loaded themselves down with all that they could possibly carry off with them.

As the retreat was to be over the causeway and dykes, a portable bridge was constructed which could be laid across the open canals. This was entrusted to the care of an officer named Magarino and forty men. Cortés arranged the order of march. First was to go two hundred Spanish foot soldiers, commanded by a Captain Sandoval, with twenty other cavaliers. The rear guard was formed of infantry under Alvarado and De Leon, while the center was in charge of Cortés, himself, with some heavy guns, the baggage and the treasure. There were also the prisoners, among whom were a son and two daughters of Montezuma, Cacama, and several nobles. The Indian allies, the Tlascalans, were divided up among the three divisions. There were several thousand of these.

Midnight came and all was ready for the journey. A solemn mass was celebrated by Father Almedo, and, keeping as quiet as they possibly could, the Spaniards sallied forth from the ancient palace of the Aztecs, which had been the scene of so much suffering and fighting. The night was a dark one, and a fine, misty rain fell steadily upon the serried columns of Spanish cavaliers and brown-skinned natives.

The vast square before the palace was deserted. Through some superstitious dread, the natives had not frequented the plaza since the death of their Emperor, Montezuma, and the Spaniards crossed it as noiselessly as possible, entering the great street of Tlacopan. They peered anxiously into the gloom, expecting to be attacked at any moment by a swarm of Aztecs, but all went well with them until the first files of soldiers drew near the spot where the street opened upon the causeway, which led by the side of the lake. Here there were Mexican sentinels at their posts, and, as the bridge was being adjusted across the uncovered breach, the Aztecs fled, crying out in loud tones that the hated white men were leaving the city.

Immediately there was a commotion. The priests heard the shouting from the summits of their teocalli and beat upon the peculiar shells which were used for rousing the people. The huge drum upon the temple of the god of war was struck and gave forth a hollow, moaning roar which vibrated through every corner of the capital. The Spaniards were alarmed and worked with desperate fury to place their bridge across the causeway so that the army could escape. But, as the soldiers labored valorously, a sound was heard like a stormy wind as it rises in a forest. Nearer and nearer it came, and, from the dark waters of the lake came the splashing of many paddles. A few stones and arrows fell among the hurrying troops. More and more followed in rapid succession until they became a veritable blinding storm. Yells and shrill war-cries rent the air, and, before the Spaniards well realized their position, they found themselves surrounded by myriads of the enemy, who were swarming over land and lake.

The Aztecs ran their canoes along the sides of the causeway, climbed up, and charged the ranks of the Spaniards, with their Tlascalan allies. The soldiers shook them off as best they could, rode over them with their horses, and, with their pikes and their swords, drove them headlong down the sides of the dike. They halted and waited for the bridge to be brought up; but a terrible calamity had occurred, for the bridge had been so borne down by the weight of the artillery passing over it, that it had jammed firmly into the sides of the dike and was immovable.

The tidings spread rapidly from man to man and a cry of despair arose, for all means of advance were cut off, and the Spaniards were caught in a trap. Those behind pressed forward, trampling the weak and the wounded under foot, and forcing those in front over the gulf. Some of the cavaliers succeeded in swimming their horses across, but many rolled back into the lake when attempting to ascend the opposite bank. The infantry followed in a panic, and many of the men were pierced by the Aztec arrows, or struck down by war clubs. Some were dragged into the canoes to be later sacrificed to the great and awful stone god. Fierce battle cries rose above the tumult of war, and these were mingled with the cries of despair of the drowning Spaniards.

By degrees the opening in the causeway was filled up by the wreck of the wagons, guns, rich bales of stuffs, chests of solid ingots, and bodies of men and horses. Walking on top of this dismal ruin, those in the rear were able to reach the other side.

As the attention of the Aztec warriors now fell upon the rich spoil that strewed the ground, the pursuit of the Spaniards ceased. The troops pressed forward through the village of Popotla, where Cortés dismounted from his weary war-horse, and, sitting down upon the steps of an Indian temple, looked mournfully at his broken army, as the thin and disordered ranks filed past. It was a heartrending spectacle. He knew, however, that this was no time to give away to vain regrets, so he speedily mounted, and led his men through Tlacopan.

The broken army, disorganized and half starved, moved slowly toward the sea coast. On the seventh day it reached the mountain range which overlooks the plains of Otumba, and the scouts, climbing the steep hillside, reported that a mighty host of warriors was in the valley, ready to dispute their passage. Every chief of importance had taken the field, and, as far as the eye could reach, extended a moving mass of glittering shields and spears, mingled with the banners and the bright feather-mail of the caciques.

Cortés disposed his army to the best advantage, and prepared to cut his way through the enemy. He gave his force as broad a front as possible, protecting it on either flank by his cavalry, now reduced to but twenty horsemen. His directions to his infantrymen was that they were to thrust, not strike, with their swords, and were to make for the leaders of the enemy, whom they were to dispatch as soon as met with. After a few brave words of encouragement, the little band began to descend the hill. The enemy set up fierce war cries, as they approached, and met the Spaniards with a storm of stones and arrows.

Now occurred a bitter fight. The Spaniards, at first, beat through the crowd of natives, but, as the battle progressed, they were surrounded on every side by a swarm of warriors. Cortés received a wound in the head and his horse was killed beneath him, so that he was obliged to mount one taken from the baggage train. His men became exhausted beneath the fiery rays of the sun and began to give way. The enemy, on the other hand, was constantly being reënforced from the rear, and pressed on with redoubled fury.

Matters were critical for the Spaniards, when Cortés did a deed of daring which was quite worthy of the Chevalier Bayard, or Murat, the famous Napoleonic leader of horse. With his keen eye he discovered in the distance a chief, who, from his dress and surroundings, he knew to be the leader of the Aztec forces. Turning to his favorite henchmen, the brave Spaniard cried out, while pointing his finger at the chief:

“There is our mark! Follow and support me!”

Then, shouting his war cry, he plunged into the thickest of the press and bore towards the noble Aztec.

The enemy was taken completely by surprise and fell back. Many could not dodge aside and were trampled down by the war-horse, or pierced by the long lance which Cortés wielded with all the skill of a trained fencer. The cavalier companions of the gallant Spaniard followed him closely, and, in a few moments, they had come within striking distance of the Aztec chieftain. Cortés rode speedily at him, and, thrusting with his lance, brought him to earth, where he was stabbed to death by a young Spaniard called Juan de Salamanca. Tearing his banner from his clinched fist, the Castilian presented it to Cortés, who waved it triumphantly above his head. The caciques’ guard, surprised by this sudden onset, fled precipitously, while the panic spread to the other Indians. The Spaniards pursued them for several miles, then returned to secure the rich booty which they had left behind them. Truly the battle had been won by the daring and personal initiative of the brave Spanish leader.

The adventurers were now safely out of their grave peril. They reached Tlascala in a few days, and, with the assistance of their native allies, at once prepared to revenge themselves upon the Aztecs. Several Spaniards were at Vera Cruz and these joined them. But there was much need of gunpowder, and there was no way of getting sulphur for its manufacture, unless it was obtained from one of the many volcanoes in the neighborhood. How was this to be done?

A cavalier, named Francio Montaño, was equal to the emergency and suggested that he be allowed to descend into the terrible volcano of Popocatepetl, where sulphur, in a crude form, hung to the side of the crater. Cortés was only too willing to allow him to make the attempt, so accompanied by several others, he set out. After great hardship, and, after passing through a region of perpetual snow, the explorers reached the mouth of the fierce volcano, and, crawling cautiously to the very edge, they peered down into its gloomy depths. At the bottom of the dark abyss a lurid flame was burning, and, every now and again, arose a sulphurous stream, which, cooling as it came upward, fell again in showers upon the side of the cavity. It was necessary to descend into this crater, with the boiling lava below, in order to scrape some of the sulphur from the sides.

Montaño himself drew the longest stem of grass, when the Spaniards had prepared lots to see who should descend, and, clinging to a basket and rope, was soon four hundred feet within the horrible chasm. As he hung there, he scraped the sulphur from the sides of the crater, descending again and again, until he had procured enough for the wants of the army. Then, with great elation, the adventurous sulphur hunters returned to Tlascala, where their arrival was greeted with shouts of joy.

Cortés was fully prepared to march again to the Mexican capital and to wreak vengeance upon the Aztecs, who were now governed by Guatemozin, a young prince who had married one of Montezuma’s daughters.

The Spanish army consisted of about six hundred men, of which forty were cavalry, and eighty were arquebusiers and cross-bowmen. There were nine cannon. The men were armed with swords and with long copper-headed pikes, which had been specially constructed under the direction of the General. There were, also, the Tlascalan allies, who were still anxious and willing to fight their hated enemies, the Aztecs. Numerous other bands of Indians also flocked to the Spanish standard.

Cortés determined to march to Tezcuco, establish his headquarters upon the side of the great lake which was near the Mexican capital, and to begin a blockade of the city of the Aztecs, until some ships, which he was having constructed, could be brought to him. Then he could transport his troops to the edge of the city and begin a direct assault.

Everything went well with both ships and men. The vessels reached the lake in good order, were launched, and were filled with soldiers. The plan of action against the city was to send the cavalier, Sandoval, with one division, to take possession of Iztapalapan at the southern end of the lake, while Alvarado and Olid were to secure Tlacopan and Chapultepec upon the western shore, destroy the aqueduct, and thus cut off the city’s supply of fresh water. This was successfully done and soon the Spaniards had penetrated into the city as far as the great teocalli. The natives were driven before them, while the Tlascalans in the rear filled up the gaps and brought up the cannon.

As you remember, it was at the great teocalli that the most serious fighting occurred when the Spaniards were previously driven from the city. Now still fiercer battling took place and the Spaniards again captured this temple of the war-god. Some of them rushed to the top and there found a fresh image to Huitzilopochtli. Tearing off the gold and jewels with which it was bedecked, they hurled it, with its attendant priests, over the side, with a mighty yell of defiance. Then they hastened below to the assistance of their comrades, who were being furiously assailed by the Aztecs.

Things were going ill with the Spaniards and they were being driven down the great street of the city in hopeless confusion and panic. Luck was with them, however, for a small force of cavalry now arrived, charged into the mass of yelping Indians, and drove them back again to the teocalli. Here Cortés attacked by the flank and the natives retired in confusion and dismay. Evening was now coming on, so the Spanish troops retreated in good order, their Tlascalan allies pulling down many of the houses as they departed. The palace of Montezuma was set afire, and this sight so maddened the Aztecs, that they redoubled their efforts to head off the disappearing white men. It was of no avail. The attacking Spaniards soon reached Xoloc, where they learned that many of the native tribes, seeing the Mexicans unable to hold the city, would join with the men from Castile.

After months of siege the Aztecs still defied the conquerors and fiercely rejected all overtures of peace, although the banner of Castile floated undisturbed from the smoldering remains of the sanctuary on the teocalli of the war-god. Hundreds of famishing wretches died every day and lay where they fell, with no one to bury them. In the midst of all this brutality and misery, Guatemozin remained calm and courageous, and was as firmly resolved as ever not to capitulate.

An assault was ordered, and, although the Mexicans fought valiantly, they were weakened by starvation and could not struggle as before. After a bloody battle, the Spanish commander withdrew to his quarters, leaving behind him forty thousand corpses and a smoldering ruin. This blow seemed to utterly stun the Aztecs.

CAPTURE BY CORTÉS OF THE CITY OF MEXICO

Cortés now determined to secure the person of Guatemozin, so, upon the following day, August 13th., 1521, the Spaniards again advanced into the town and were soon battling fiercely with the Aztecs. While this was going on several canoes pushed off across the lake. The Spanish ships gave chase and sunk most of them, but a few succeeded in getting into open water. Two or three large canoes, close together, attracted the attention of a soldier, named Garci Holguin, who instantly gave chase, and, with a favorable wind, soon overtook the fugitives, although they rowed with great energy. The Spaniards leveled their guns at the Indians, when one rose, saying:

“I am Guatemozin. Lead me to Malinche. I am his prisoner. But let no harm come to my wife and to my followers.”

The Emperor was taken on board one of the ships and was ordered to call upon his people to surrender.

“There is no need of this,” he answered sadly, “for they will fight no longer when they see that their Emperor has been captured.”

He had spoken correctly, for, when the news of his capture reached the shore, the Mexicans at once ceased to defend themselves. They had put up a hard battle in order to give their Sovereign an opportunity to escape.

Cortés had been watching the affair from the flat roof of one of the houses and now sent word that Guatemozin should be brought before him. He came, escorted by Sandoval and Holguin, both of whom claimed the honor of having captured him. The Spanish conqueror came forward with dignified courtesy to receive the noble prisoner.

“I have done all that I could to defend myself and my people,” said Guatemozin. “I am now reduced to this awful state. Deal with me, Malinche, as you will.” Then, laying his hand upon a dagger which hung from the belt of the Spanish invader, he added: “Better dispatch me at once with this, and rid me of life.”

Cortés smiled.

“Fear not,” said he. “You will be treated with honor. You have defended your capital like a brave warrior, and a Spaniard knows how to respect valor, even in an enemy.”

In spite of these remarks he treated him with great cruelty, for, when the city was entered and less treasure was found there than had been expected, Cortés caused poor Guatemozin to be tortured. Fire and cord could not, however, wring the secret of the treasure from this illustrious Prince. Later on he was hanged, upon the pretense that he had conspired against the Spaniards.

The Aztec dead were now collected and burned in huge bonfires. Those who were still alive were allowed to leave the city, and for three days a mournful train of men, women, and children straggled feebly across the causeways, sick and wounded, wasted with famine and with misery. Again and again they turned to take one more look at the spot which had once been their home. When they were gone, the Spanish conquerors took possession of the place and purified it as speedily as possible, burying those who were not burned in the bonfires.

The treasures of gold and of jewels which were found fell far short of the expectations of the conquerors, for the Aztecs, no doubt, had buried their hoards, or sunk them in the lake on purpose to disappoint the avarice of their enemies.

Thus, after three months of continued fighting, the renowned capital of the Aztecs fell before Cortés and his men. The Mexicans had put up a courageous fight and had suffered much, but they had been no match for the soldiers from Cuba and from Spain.

The Aztecs would not have thus gone down to ruin, had they not ruthlessly made war upon the neighboring states, which caused them to be hated. Their human sacrifices had angered their weaker neighbors, and thus Cortés had secured the aid of the Tlascalans, without whose assistance he could never have won the fight.

Cortés and his Spaniards were now masters of Mexico. A brave man with equally brave followers had conquered an entire empire!

And what of the future days of this bold-hearted explorer? Alas! These were similar to those which came to Columbus, the Navigator. Poor, forsaken by the King of Spain, surrounded by persons who were jealous of his position and his fame, the once rich and prosperous adventurer died miserably at Castilleja, Spain, on December second, 1547, at the age of sixty-two. With him was his devoted son, Martin, a youth of fifteen.

Cortés was entombed in the land of his birth, but this was not to be his last resting place, for his remains were taken across the sea to the country which he had conquered. He was buried for the second time in the Franciscan monastery at Tezcuco; then, for a third time, in the church of St. Francis in the City of Mexico. On this occasion, which was sixty-seven years after the first entombment, all the dignitaries of Mexico marched in procession through the streets of the city. Still again, in 1794, there was another removal of the General’s moldering dust to the hospital of Jesus, where a monument of bronze was erected to his fame and glory.

In 1823 there was yet another disturbance of what remained of our hero. The previous removals of his ashes had been inspired by regard, but now a revolutionary mob of frenzied Mexicans, in order to show its hatred and detestation of the Spanish conquerors, endeavored to desecrate the tomb. To prevent this, the casket, in the dead of night, was secretly carried away by the Duke of Monteleone, a descendant of Cortés on the female line, and for more than seventy years remained in a place of safety. Monteleone, himself, was killed in one of the many Mexican revolutions, and all knowledge was lost of the spot where he had hidden the ashes of the conqueror. Yet, within a few years, the remains have been discovered and a movement has been started to have them placed in the national pantheon, a temple in the City of Mexico, erected to all those who have made great names in the history of this turbulent republic.

So at last, perhaps, the valiant Cortés will receive the honor that is due him.

FERDINAND MAGELLAN:

EXPERT MARINER, WHOSE FOLLOWERS WERE
THE FIRST TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE
THE GLOBE

(1480-1521)

FERDINAND MAGELLAN:

EXPERT MARINER, WHOSE FOLLOWERS WERE
THE FIRST TO CIRCUMNAVIGATE
THE GLOBE

(1480-1521)

“COME hither, page, I want you.”

A little boy ran through the corridors of the palace of King John of Portugal as this cry rang out, and, kneeling at the feet of the Queen, kissed her hand.

“That is a good boy,” said Queen Leonora, smiling. “Ferdinand, I wish to say that you need not accompany me this afternoon, but can go out hawking.”

“Thank you, Your Majesty,” said the little boy, and, scampering off, he was soon outside the palace, where some of the men-at-arms took him hunting. This was much more to his liking than staying near the Queen and carrying messages for her, which he was expected to do nearly every day in the week.

Little Ferdinand had been born about the year 1470 at the Villa de Sabroza, which is situated about the center of that part of Portugal which lies north of the River Douro. His family was a noble one and consequently it had been easy for the youth to obtain a position of page at Court, a position which in those days, was equivalent to going to boarding-school at the present time.

In 1470 a page was taught something of the history of his own country, and a little about the history of others. He was instructed in Latin,—enough to enable him to understand the church service,—and was also taught how to read and to write. He was shown how to use the rapier, the lance, and the arquebus; how to ride a horse; how to swim and to dance. This was supposed to constitute the education of a Portuguese gentleman, and, as there was some rivalry among the nobles in regard to their respective households, the retinues of a Count or a Baron quite resembled a modern boarding-school.

These were days when all eyes were turned upon the New World and the recent discoveries in America. Every Portuguese youth was anxious to follow the sea, perhaps to become a great explorer or navigator. The discovery of a route to the Indies by a mariner in the service of Spain had awakened a jealousy in the hearts of the Portuguese, and all patriotic sailors were anxious to coast down the African shore, and, if possible, to find a way to the Indies by the Cape of Good Hope. Young Ferdinand grew up in this atmosphere, so you can readily see that he eagerly looked for a chance when he could leave the court and could become a mariner upon the wide and surging ocean.

The ambitious Ferdinand did not have to look far, or long, before he had an opportunity to follow the sea. We find that he served an apprenticeship under a famous navigator called Albuquerque, who, although he maintained a strict military discipline over his followers, was wise, humane, and just in his dealings with them. Young Ferdinand spent much time in the Indies, where he had an excellent opportunity to study and learn by experience how to govern men, so, when Albuquerque was recalled to Portugal, he went with him, only to find that the King would give him but slight recognition for his services. This angered the high-spirited young fellow.

“I will leave the service of such a monarch,” said he, “and will go to Spain. There, I hear, they know how to treat a valiant man.”

So, accompanied by one Roy Falero, who had earned quite a reputation as a geographer and astronomer, he sought out Charles the Fifth at Seville, proposing that the King allow him men and money for a journey of exploration.

“I wish to sail westward,” said he, “and will discover a new route to the Indies. If your gracious Majesty will but help me, I will find new lands which will become the possessions of the Crown of Castile.”

Charles the Fifth, the grandson of Ferdinand and Isabella, was King of Spain, and also Monarch of Austria; one crown being his by right of his mother, the other by inheritance from his father. He was a man of large ideas, so, when this project was presented to him, he heartily approved, saying:

“Of course you shall go, and I will give you the money, the men, and the ships. But all that you discover must belong to the King of Spain.—Understand this!”

“We do.”

“Then you may sail, and God be with you!”

Five ships were soon fitted out for the expedition. Their crews numbered two hundred and thirty-seven men and Ferdinand was commissioned Admiral of the squadron, a position which pleased him mightily. The caravels turned southward, and, leaving Seville on August 10th., 1519, lazed along until they reached the Gulf of Guinea on the west coast of Africa, where the ships cast anchor. By and by a trade-wind came along, and aided by this and by the South Equatorial current, the vessels made a safe and easy passage across the Atlantic, to the shore of Brazil.

The Spaniards were delighted with what they saw, for they found a large, fresh-water river, seventeen miles across, and at its mouth were seven islands. Going ashore the sailors saw many brown-skinned natives, who ran away whenever they approached, yelling like demons. One of them “had the stature of a giant and the voice of a bull,” but even he skipped headlong into the brush as the men from Castile made after him. When the Spaniards reached the village of these Brazilians they found the remains of human beings roasting on their fires. They stood aghast, for these fellows were cannibals!

The ships were headed southward and languidly cruised along the coast to Patagonia where the explorers lingered for two full months, eagerly looking for precious stones and for human beings. But they found none of the former and only one of the latter, this fellow being a giant who came down to the shore dancing, singing, and throwing dust over his head.

He was so tall, says an old chronicler of this voyage, that the head of a middling-sized man reached only to his waist; he was well-proportioned; his visage was large and painted with different colors, principally with yellow. There were red circles about his eyes and something like a beard was pictured on either cheek. His hair was colored white and his apparel was the skin of some beast, laced together, the head of which appeared to have been very large. It had ears like a mule, the body of a camel, and the tail of a horse: the skin of it was wrapped about his feet in the manner of shoes. In his hand was a short, thick bow and a bundle of arrows, made of reeds and pointed with sharp stones.

Magellan invited the giant Patagonian on board his flagship, and, when the old fellow had mounted the rope-ladder leading over the side, presented him with hawk’s bells, a comb, some blue beads, and a looking glass, into which the dusky-hued savage took a glance.

“Hu—rruu!!” No sooner had he seen his own horrid appearance than he started backwards, with such violence, that he knocked down two sailors who were standing behind him. He slipped, fell down on the deck, and, when he arose, stood there shivering. His own face, never seen before, had terrorized him. After awhile he was rowed ashore, still quaking and rolling his eyes with unpleasant recollections of what he had seen.

The Spaniards laughed heartily at what had occurred, but the next day a man of still greater stature came to visit them. He sang some native songs, danced on the deck, and brought out some skins which he traded for glass beads and other trinkets. Then he disappeared and did not return, which led the voyagers to the belief that his countrymen had made away with him because of the friendship which they had shown towards him.

This did not deter other natives from paddling out to the ships, and four soon came on board. These were presented with beads, with bells, and similar trifles. But the Spaniards determined to trick them, so fastened iron shackles around the ankles of two of them, as if for ornaments. The ignorant Indians professed great delight with the shining bands of metal, but, when they were ready to leave the vessel, the fraud was discovered. It was certainly a cruel way to treat the poor South Americans.

As for the other two, they dove over the side of the vessel and swam to land, as soon as they perceived what had happened to their companions, who began to roar “as loud as bulls,” and implored the assistance of their God, the great devil Setebos. It was of no avail. The Spaniards would not let them go and took them with them when they sailed further south. They called them Patagonians, for their feet were covered with skins, and the Portuguese word pata means a hoof or paw.

Now trouble beset Magellan, the same kind of trouble which Columbus had with his men. His followers grew rebellious, and threatened to break into open mutiny. Winter was at hand, and the ships were laid up for the cold weather, but this forced inactivity made the sailors begin to think about home, and they grew restless and discontented. They requested their commander to set sail for Spain, but this he refused to do. The sailors talked the matter over, and their sense of oppression grew stronger and stronger. So they decided to take possession of the ships, put the Admiral to death, imprison or kill such of the superior officers as refused to acknowledge the authority of the mutineers, and to return to Spain with a story that their commander had been swept overboard in a storm.

The leader of this conspiracy was one Luis de Mendoza, who was assisted by a Roman Catholic priest, Juan de Carthagena, who had accompanied the expedition so that the Spaniards might not be without spiritual assistance during their roving trips into unknown seas. Fortunately for the Admiral this plot was disclosed to him in time to prevent its execution. He had a trial and found the mutineers guilty. Many were sentenced to be hanged, drawn, and quartered.

But the priest was allowed to have his life, for the Spaniards were too good Catholics to harm any one who had devoted his days to the Church. Carthagena was not injured; but was simply put under arrest, guarded by one of the captains. The man of God was forced into the stocks: an instrument made of two pieces of wood placed one upon the other and pierced by two holes in which were inserted the legs of the person who was to be punished.

There were many others who were less guilty than Mendoza, but who were deserving of punishment. To have retained these on board, after a short period of imprisonment, was to invite another mutiny, so Magellan determined to put the remaining mutineers on shore and leave them to the mercy of the native Patagonians. They were seated in the boats, were landed, and the ships sailed southward, never to return.

The men had now been away from Spain for about a year; the long and cold winter was drawing to a close; they were plowing towards the south with the land ever in view upon the starboard. Would they reach a point where the ships could enter the South Sea from the Atlantic?

Magellan was determined either to die or to bring the expedition to a successful conclusion, so one day he addressed his sailors as follows:

“My men,” said he, “the Emperor has assigned me to the course which I am to take, and I cannot and will not depart from it under any pretext whatsoever. If our provisions grow scarce, you can add to your rations by fishing and hunting on the land. I will not put back, under any consideration, and if any of you speak to me again of this, I will throw you overboard where the sharks can have a full meal.”

Seeing the determination of their leader the sailors said nothing more.

The vessels kept onward, and, having reached a point about fifty-two degrees south of the equator, were obliged to lay to in a harbor near the shore. The men secured an ample supply of fish, of fuel, and of fresh water, and, thus well provided, the prows were again turned in a southerly direction. Suddenly the coast seemed to turn westward. The sailors saw land on either side of them: sometimes there was scarcely a mile between coast and islands.

This began to look interesting, as if, at last, they were nearing that unknown sea for which they searched. The prows of the caravels were now turned due west, and, with sails well filled by tempestuous winds, the Spanish ships plowed onward, ever onward, until they emerged from among the rocky islands, which surrounded them, into a broad and peaceful ocean. Hurrah! Magellan had entered the gray waters of that sea which Balboa had seen from the palm-clad hills of the Isthmus of Panama.

It was a warm, still day when the caravels forged ahead through the straits which were ever afterwards to bear the name of this Spanish adventurer, and, remembering the dreary winter upon the coast of Patagonia, Magellan named the ocean the Pacific, for all seemed beauty and peace after the troublous times which had passed. His men scrambled ashore, erected a huge cross, and called the place Cape Desire, a name well suited to their hopes of finding a route to India with its treasures of gems and of spices.

There was trouble in store for them, in spite of the pacific greeting which the vast ocean had given them. Turning westward and northward, for three long months the caravels tossed upon the oily swells with no sight of land. All the provisions were finally consumed and the water casks were almost empty. Food was obtained by soaking old leather in sea-water to soften it, and so weak were many of the sailors that they could not perform their duties. Nineteen died, including the two Patagonians.

But the ocean was truly pacific, it was like glass. No storms threatened, no tempests alarmed them, and, after sailing four thousand miles, the adventurers suddenly were cheered by the sight of land. Eagerly they drew near and went ashore, only to find two small, treeless, and uninhabited islands which they called the Unfortunate Isles. Certainly these sea rovers were having a rough time of it!

The Spaniards were upon the outskirts of Polynesia, and, as they sailed onward, soon came upon a number of islands where they obtained plenty of food from the dusky-hued natives who eagerly swarmed around them in skin boats. The islanders also stole everything which they could get their hands on, including one of the long boats, which they paddled ashore and hid near their village. This angered the men from Castile exceedingly, so they determined to punish the Polynesians, and that right quickly.

Arming themselves, and putting on their steel helmets and breastplates, the Spaniards now went ashore, shot at the natives with their guns, drove them from their village, smashed their canoes, and burned their huts. After killing seven of the yelping brown-skins, they seized their lost boat, rowed it back to the ship, hoisted sail, and left for other scenes. Magellan revenged himself further by calling these islands the Insular Latronum, or “Islands of Thieves.” They are now called the Ladrones.

It was the month of March, 1521. The air was balmy and the navigators much enjoyed the sight of many beauteous islands in the South Sea. They landed upon one of them, pitched a tent for the accommodation of the sick, and killed a stout porker which they had obtained from the thieving natives. After their diet of leather, soaked in sea water, this fresh meat was appreciated. In fact they had a good, old-fashioned banquet, such as one is accustomed to on Thanksgiving day. After this they chanted the Te Deum and had a siesta beneath the shadows of the trees.

They had remained here about a week when nine men came paddling up in a canoe, and brought presents of cocoa-wine and some golden trinkets. These were eagerly accepted, and the visitors rowed away, promising by signs to return in four days with flesh, fowls, and rice. This promise they kept, and, when they arrived, offered to exchange various kinds of spices and articles made of gold, for the beads and trinkets which the Spaniards showed them. Magellan wished to impress the natives with his reserve power, so he ordered one of the cannon to be discharged, while the visitors were on board his vessel. This so frightened them that they ran to the gunwale in order to jump into the sea. The sailors interfered, and, assuring them of the friendliness of the Admiral, soon had them quieted.

Leaving this island behind them, the Spaniards now steered west and southwest, and, after a run of three days, anchored near a large body of land which was inhabited by a tribe of brown-skinned natives, who seemed to be well-disposed towards these strange foreigners. Magellan presented the King with a red and yellow garment made long and flowing, and gave his principal courtiers knives and glass beads.

The Spaniards were well received by these people, so well received, in fact, that the King of the island offered to furnish them with pilots when they wished to sail away. This offer was accepted, and, steering westward, they soon reached another island, called Zubut, where they learned that a vessel manned by a Portuguese crew, and having a cargo of gold and of slaves, had anchored opposite the capital only the day before Magellan’s arrival, and had offered tribute to the King. Rendered bold by this deference, the native proceeded to exact tribute from Magellan, informing him that all who came to his dominions were obliged to pay it.

“I cannot pursue the same course that these Portuguese have done,” answered Magellan. “For the King of Portugal is a far less powerful monarch than he whom I serve, for my Emperor has such power that his subjects pay tribute to no one. If, therefore, you persist in your claim, you may find yourself involved in a war with one who will crush you at the first conflict.”

These words made the bold native reflect, and, as a Moorish trader, who was present, informed him that what he told him was the truth, the monarch asked for a day in which to consider his answer to Magellan’s refusal. In the meantime he entertained the sailors right royally.

While deliberating how to gracefully withdraw from the arrogant position which he had assumed, the savage ruler was visited by the native monarch who had accompanied Magellan on board his ship from the island which he had recently visited. This fellow spoke so well of the Admiral that his words had great weight with the proud islander. The demand for tribute was withdrawn, and the people of the island entered eagerly into traffic with the newcomers, who became missionaries and preached the Christian faith with so much earnestness, that, within a very short time, the whole territory was converted to the religion of Jesus Christ. The native idols were destroyed and crosses were erected in many places.

After a lengthy stay at this island, the Spaniards again went on board their ships, and, sailing away, reached the Philippine Islands, which were called Mathan by the natives. Here were two native rulers, Tual and Cilapulapu, whom Magellan summoned to pay tribute to the King of Spain. The first acceded to his demand, the second refused indignantly to do so.

This roused the hot blood of the Castilian adventurer, and he determined to enforce his claim with cold steel. He, therefore, chose sixty of his bravest men, armed them with coats of mail and steel helmets, and, taking to the boats, soon landed. They marched inland in order to chastise this independent ruler.

Cilapulapu had hastily collected all of his fighting men, arranged them in three divisions, and awaited the oncoming Spaniards. His soldiers were many—there were two thousand in each division, or six thousand in all—armed with spears, lances, darts, javelins, and arrows dipped in poison. The Spaniards little knew what they were marching against, yet, like Custer at the Little Big Horn, they kept on moving. And, like Custer, there was soon to be an equally severe defeat.

The mail-clad Castilians advanced boldly through the jungle to where the enemy was lying concealed, and there a shower of arrows beat down upon them, rattling like hail upon their steel coats. Many of the barbs were turned aside, but some penetrated the joints of the armor, and, entering the skin of the Spaniards, sent the deadly poison coursing through their veins.

Magellan urged on his followers by voice and waving sword, but, as he led the advance, a sharp barb penetrated a joint of his armor, and forced the deadly poison into his blood. The enemy now rushed in on every side, in overwhelming numbers, and showered their javelins upon the sixty brave soldiers of Castile. The wounded leader bravely endeavored to direct his men, in spite of his injury, but, as he shouted his battle-cry, a cane-lance struck him full in the face. The blow was fatal and he sank dead upon the ground.

His soldiers were now almost surrounded. Eight of them were killed, the rest retreated (as best they might) to the beach, leaving the body of their dead leader in the hands of the exultant savages, who made the air hideous with their exultant battle-cries.

THE DEATH OF MAGELLAN

So died the brave Portuguese navigator, on an island which was to belong to the Spanish Crown for many, many years. He had fallen as he had always wished to do, in the front of battle, and, although his followers endeavored to secure his body from the wild Filipinos, they were unable to do so. Their emissary to the barbarous Cilapulapu was murdered by this wily monarch, and, seeing that it was impossible to remain longer in this region, the navigators sailed away, bitterly cursing their misfortune in losing such a brave and courageous leader.

Reduced to forty-six in number, the survivors of this expedition of adventure and discovery continued their journey among the various islands of Polynesia until February, 1522, when they passed the extremity of Molucca, and, keeping outside of Sumatra, sailed due west toward the eastern coast of Africa. Twenty-one of the forty-six died of hunger before they reached the Cape Verde Islands, where, sending deputies ashore to represent their pitiable condition to the Portuguese authorities, they were allowed some rice, which was quickly disposed of. Thirteen of the sailors went on shore again to secure a further supply of provisions, but the Portuguese considered that they had done quite enough for them, so seized them and threw them into prison. The others, panic-stricken, hoisted sail, and, without endeavoring to release their companions, set out for their beloved Spain.

On September the seventh, 1522, twelve miserable-looking Spanish sailors landed at the port of St. Lucar, near Seville. They were ragged, bare-foot, and gaunt from hunger. Proceeding to the Cathedral, they sank to their knees and thanked God for their preservation, for, out of the two hundred and thirty-seven who had sailed gayly away from Seville more than three years before, these were all that remained to tell the tale.

And it was a pretty good tale they had to tell, for they had been the first white men to circumnavigate the globe. But the bones of their gallant leader lay among the wild and bloodthirsty natives of the Philippine Islands, with not even a stone to mark the last resting place of the brave and energetic Portuguese mariner.

GIOVANNI VERRAZANO:

FIRST NAVIGATOR TO EXPLORE THE
COAST OF NEW JERSEY AND
NEW YORK.

(1480-1527)

GIOVANNI VERRAZANO: