The Sun Virgin
before desertion. Say this to the governor. We demand only that you
leave us one of your ships in which to pursue our voyage.”
“God’s light!” shouted Tafur, “I like your impudence. Leave you a ship?
Not a shred of a single sail. Stay here and rot in your damned folly if
you will. I’ll have no part in it.”
The only concession Pizarro could wring from him was to land a limited
supply of the food which he had brought to their rescue.
And then the adventurer with eleven of his followers stood on the
shore and watched the ships spread their wings and disappear beyond
the northern horizon. A dozen men, with scant food, without clothing,
almost unarmed, with no knowledge of the land to which they were bound,
without tools, without shelter, without a vessel for transport, took
their place on a lonely island in the ocean--resolved to find and
conquer a mighty empire. They might fail; but their failure would be
attended by no governor’s rebuke: they would win, or die.
To Pizarro it was the supreme crisis. And he exulted. Had he faltered,
compromised, or returned, it would have been the end of his dreams.
These dreams had now ceased to be dreams--they had become the living
realities of life. There could be no turning back from to-day; every
bridge was burnt behind--before lay glory or death.
He immediately decided to abandon the Island of Gallo. Twenty-five
leagues to the north lay the little island of Gorgona, but five leagues
from the mainland and uninhabited. But it was an advantageous spot.
It was high and heavily timbered. The woods abounded in pheasants and
the plains with rabbits. With their crossbows the men could get a fair
supply of game without loss of powder, and cool streams supplied good
water.
By Pizarro’s orders the men constructed a raft on which they managed on
a fair day to float with favorable currents to this island. They built
rude huts and began the long siege of waiting for Molina’s return.
The one horror from which they suffered most was the bite of swarming
mosquitoes. So desperate was the pests’ attack that at times it was
necessary for the sufferers to bury their bodies completely in the sand
until a breeze brought relief.
Through months of desolate waiting, Pizarro’s stout spirit was the
inspiration of every follower. Freebooters and adventurers though they
were, in this time of trial they watched the stars, tried once more to
find the face of God, and in the night winds to hear His voice. Pizarro
encouraged them in religious devotions. Without fail they said their
morning prayers, and as the twilight deepened, chanted their hymns to
the Virgin. And they celebrated punctually each festival of the Church.
Pizarro was using every means at his command and every ounce of his
indomitable character to make his enterprise a holy crusade under the
banners of Castile.
CHAPTER II
On the arrival at Panama, Ruiz and Molina found Almagro and Father
Luque and a council of war was called in the library of their financial
backer, Espinosa, the alcalde mayor.
Molina arrived before the hour fixed to report in person to Teresa. She
had been a girl of reserve, her high-strung, sensitive nature firmly
held in check by a strong mentality, and her lover had called her cold.
But to-night he watched her eyes kindle with tenderness and enthusiasm
as he told the story of Pizarro and his men. And when he told of
crossing the line with the handful who had volunteered, she threw her
arms around his neck and kissed his lips with unwonted fervor. Her
exquisite body trembled against his own and with passion and tenderness
he returned her kiss.
“My knight! My knight of beautiful chivalry!” she breathed.
“Hardly that, sweet,” he smiled. “There’s nothing about Francisco
Pizarro to suggest tilting knights. He brings a man back to earth--to
things stern and real; to things that mean life and death. But there’s
more than gold lust in the hearts of the dozen men with him. They are
the conquerors of a new world. They are the builders of empire. Men
may call them mad, but theirs is the madness that makes history.”
“I am proud of you, my Alonso,” she interrupted. She studied a moment,
gazing out the window at the open sea. Then, “I’m going back with you.
I shall join his army when he marches.”
“You?”
“Yes.”
“Nonsense, child. Your place is in the shelter of your brother’s home
until I can take you to our own.”
“I go!” she stated fiercely. “I too feel the stir of a new world--”
“But you’re a woman--the woman of my many dreams. I’ll hear no such
madness!”
“I’ve as much right to madness as any man. If good Queen Isabel rode
beside Ferdinand into battle, surely I may act as page to my knight in
his adventure.”
Molina laughed outright at her talk. The silly idea would pass. He
chose to ignore it. He looked at her tenderly.
“And now, my Teresa, I confess. I fought the enterprise of Pizarro
because to join him meant a long wait for you. My weakness shames me,
but I may breathe it now--”
She watched him through tears and once more embraced him fiercely. He
responded, and they stood in trembling ecstasy. And then through her
tears she whispered:
“I shall _not_ be separated from you. I’m going.”
Once more he laughed at her whim and released her as he turned sharply
at the clank of Almagro’s sword at the door. Bidding her farewell, he
hastened to join Espinosa in welcome to Ruiz, Father Luque and Almagro.
The little man with one eye fairly danced as he walked. He was in high
fettle. Francisco Pizarro had done what Almagro had urged him to do. He
had hung on. But he had done more. He had made of his act a ceremony
that fired the imagination.
“Sometimes,” Almagro confided to Molina, “I suspect and hate that man.
But it’s joy to follow Pizarro. He _leads_!”
The conference fell to work without delay. The case was desperate, but
Pizarro’s daring deed had aided it mightily. It was not a question of
fighting the governor to the last ditch; the only problem was how to
do it. At Father Luque’s suggestion they resolved to go at once to his
house and find the official mind. They would fix no formal hearing to
be packed with cowards. They would go at once and beard the lion in his
den. Pizarro’s spirit reached even across intervening sea.
They were not long in finding the governor’s mind. His Excellency wore
it on his sleeve and his sleeve was rolled up for the fight.
“You are wasting your breath,” he fairly shouted as they pressed about
him. “I’ve sacrificed the last ship and the last man to Francisco
Pizarro’s insane obstinacy. I need these ships and I need these men,
and I need them here.”
“But Your Excellency must remember,” Father Luque interrupted, “that
you were specifically instructed by the Crown, in taking office, to
aid Pizarro’s enterprise.”
“Not specifically, _padre_,” Rios corrected, “but merely
incidentally. I was specifically instructed to reorganize this colony
in harmony with the ideals and principles of Spanish civilization. I
was specifically instructed to bring the former governor, Pedrarias,
to justice and put an end to his career. The old devil had money and
influence enough to win in his trial. How much he paid into the pockets
of the judges, I know not, but he was allowed to go free and unscathed.
He was not only acquitted at his trial here, but he has so corrupted
the council of Panama that they have given him a license to establish
a slave market in the city under my very nose, where he is selling at
public auction thousands of helpless natives of Nicaragua. To carry out
effectively my royal commands I must equip an army, invade Nicaragua,
arrest him and put a stop to his infamies. And I’ll not be hampered by
madmen’s ambitions.”
“I approve Your Excellency’s intentions towards Pedrarias,” Father
Luque suavely replied, “but we must not forget that Francisco Pizarro
and his brave followers are soldiers of Castile. They are carrying the
banners of Spain and the Cross of Christ. However mad their enterprise,
it is for the glory of the Crown.”
Father Luque then paused, drew himself erect and added in solemn tones:
“I warn Your Excellency, Don Pedro de los Rios, that if you dare to
leave Pizarro and his men to die on a lonely isle in the Southern Sea,
I’ll see to it that you answer to the Court of Spain for this act!”
“Dare! _Dare_ did you say?” roared the governor.
“I have said it,” was the sober answer.
Rios mopped his brow and sank low in his chair, his face a black mask
of helpless rage. Molina, Almagro, and Ruiz pressed him in the name of
God and King for a ship of rescue.
He held a stubborn silence and allowed his tormentors to exhaust their
arguments before he spoke. He shot a fiery glance at Father Luque.
“The only concession I will make to your clamor,” he growled at last,
“is to allow you to equip, at your own expense, a single ship of
rescue, with barely hands enough to work her sails. I’ll give positive
orders to Francisco Pizarro to report to me in Panama within six
months.”
Molina heard the verdict with deep emotion. It was given with ugly
reluctance. He drew the group of his associates into a hurried
conference outside the governor’s house.
“There is not a moment to be lost, my friends. He may change his mind
to-morrow.”
“I agree with you,” Espinosa answered. “The money is ready. We must
build a small vessel, equip her with stores and a supply of arms and
ammunition and start at the earliest possible moment.”
* * * * *
At last the little ship tugged at her anchor ready for the rescue.
Ruiz, her pilot, was in high spirits.
“Our captain will be heartsick for a moment,” he whispered to Molina,
“at this poor response to his challenge of service for the King, but
he will find a way to win.”
Ruiz’s sharp voice rang out in command to his sailors to lift the
anchor. The chains began to rattle into the locker when Molina saw to
his amazement a canoe swing alongside. A package of clothing was flung
on deck and in a moment he confronted a slender figure in a dark cloak.
Behind the upheld folds the white teeth of Teresa flashed a smile.
“I told you, my Alonso, that I would go!”
The cavalier lifted his hand and Ruiz ordered the anchor dropped.
“And I told you, sweet, that it could not be.”
For half an hour the quarrel raged. At the end Molina lifted Teresa in
his arms, lowered her into the canoe and ordered the oarsmen to the
landing. At the door of her brother’s house, he opened his arms for
their farewell.
The girl’s figure stiffened.
“So, I am your slave to be ordered about at your will. We shall see.”
“Your blessing, sweet; the ship is ready.”
Again he opened his arms, but she only stormed in anger, and turned to
enter the house.
“Go if you will,” she snapped, “and the devil go with you. You will not
dare speak to me again!”
The red slowly mounted the young cavalier’s face. He turned on his heel
and took three quick steps before he felt her arms about his neck.
“Forgive, my Alonso, I love you. I love you more than life. This
parting is as death. Promise that my image only shall be in your heart
until we meet again.”
“I promise, my own.”
He pressed her in a long tender embrace, kissed her lips and ran to the
water’s edge.
CHAPTER III
Through seven dragging months Pizarro and his dauntless little band had
watched and waited for a sail on the northern horizon. Seven months
that passed as seven years, and never were brave men put to harder
test. In spite of every effort of their leader to fan the flames of
faith in God, their hearts at times grew cold with the sickening sense
of failure. Could they meet their foes in battle, it had been easy to
fight and win or die; but this loneliness of a living death, this fight