Part 4

Heavily beset from the rear, and by thousands of men in canoes, they found that the weight of their transport had jammed the bridge which could not be removed. They filled the second gap with rocks, with their artillery and transport, with chests of gold, horses, and dead men. So they came to the third gap, no longer an army but as a flying mob of Spaniards and Tlascalan warriors bewildered in the rain and the darkness by the headlong desperation of the attacking host. They were compelled to swim, and at least fifty of the recruits were drowned by the weight of gold they refused to leave, while many were captured to be sacrificed upon the Aztec altars. Montezuma’s children were drowned, and hundreds more, while Cortes and his cavaliers, swimming their horses back and forth convoyed the column, and Alvarado with his rear guard held the causeway.

Last in the retreat, grounding his spear butt, he leaped the chasm, a feat of daring which has given a name forever to this place as Alvarado’s Leap. And just beyond, upon the mainland there is an ancient tree beneath which Cortes, as the dawn broke out, sat on the ground and cried. He had lost four hundred fifty Spaniards, and thousands of Tlascalans, his records, artillery, muskets, stores and treasure in that lost battle of the Dreadful Night.

A week later the starved and wounded force was beset by an army of two hundred thousand Aztecs. They had only their swords now, but, after long hours of fighting, Cortes himself killed the Aztec general, so by his matchless valor and leadership gaining a victory.

The rest is a tale of horror beyond telling, for, rested and reinforced, the Spaniards went back. They invested, besieged, stormed and burned the famine-stricken, pestilence-ridden capital, a city choked and heaped with the unburied dead of a most valiant nation.

Afterward, under the Spanish viceroys, Mexico was extended and enlarged to the edge of Alaska, a Christian civilized state renowned for mighty works of engineering, the splendor of her architecture, and for such inventions as the national pawn-shop, as a bank to help the poor. One of the so-called native “slaves” of the mines once wrote to the king of Spain, begging his majesty to visit Mexico and offering to make a royal road for him, paving the two hundred fifty miles from Vera Cruz to the capital with ingots of pure silver as a gift to Spain.

VII

A. D. 1532

THE CONQUEST OF PERU

Pizarro was reared for a swineherd; long years of soldiering made him no more than a captain, and when at the age of fifty he turned explorer, he discovered nothing but failure.

For seven years he and his followers suffered on trails beset by snakes and alligators, in feverish jungles haunted by man-eating savages, to be thrown at last battered, ragged and starving on the Isle of Hell. Then a ship offered them passage, but old Pizarro drew a line in the dust with his sword. “Friends,” said he, “and comrades, on that side are toil, hunger, nakedness, the drenching storm, desertion and death; on this side ease and pleasure. There lies Peru with its riches; here Panama and its poverty. Choose each man, what best becomes a brave Castilian. For my part, I go to the south.”

Thirteen of all his people crossed the line with Pizarro, the rest deserting him, and he was seven months marooned on his desert isle in the Pacific. When the explorer’s partners at last were able to send a ship from Panama, it brought him orders to return, a failure. He did not return but took the ship to the southward, his guide the great white Andes, along a coast no longer of horrible swamps but now more populous, more civilized than Spain, by hundreds of miles on end of well-tilled farms, fair villages and rich cities where the temples were sheathed with plates of pure red gold. As in the Mexico of eight years ago, the Spaniards were welcomed as superhuman, their ship, their battered armor and their muskets accounted as possessions of strayed gods. They dined in the palaces of courtly nobles, rested in gardens curiously enriched with foliage and flowers of beaten gold and silver, and found native gentlemen eager to join them in their ship as guests. So with a shipload of wonders to illustrate this discovery they went back to Panama, and Pizarro returned home to seek in Spain the help of Charles V. There, at the emperor’s court, he met Cortes, who came to lay the wealth of conquered Mexico at his sovereign’s feet, and Charles, with a lively sense of more to come, despatched Pizarro to overthrow Peru.

Between the Eastern and the Western Andes lies a series of lofty plains and valleys, in those days irrigated and farmed by an immense civilized population. A highway, in length 1,100 miles, threaded the settlements together. The whole empire was ruled by a foreign dynasty, called the Incas, a race of fighting despots by whom the people had been more or less enslaved. The last Inca had left the northern kingdom of Quito to his younger son, the ferocious Atahuallpa, and the southern realm of Cuzco to his heir, the gentle Huascar.

These brothers fought until Atahuallpa subdued the southern kingdom, imprisoned Huascar, and reigned so far as he knew over the whole world. It was then that from outside the world came one hundred sixty-eight men of an unknown race possessed of ships, horses, armor and muskets--things very marvelous, and useful to have. The emperor invited these strangers to cross the Andes, intending, when they came, to take such blessings as the Sun might send him. The city of Caxamalca was cleared of its people, and the buildings enclosing the market place were furnished for the reception of the Spaniards.

The emperor’s main army was seven hundred miles to the southward, but the white men were appalled by the enormous host attending him in his camp, where he had halted to bathe at the hot springs, three miles from their new quarters. The Peruvian watch fires on the mountain sides were as thick as the stars of heaven.

The sun was setting next day when a procession entered the Plaza of Caxamalca, a retinue of six thousand guards, nobles, courtiers, dignitaries, surrounding the litter on which was placed the gently swaying golden throne of the young emperor.

Of all the Spaniards, only one came forward, a priest who, through an interpreter, preached, explaining from the commencement of the world the story of his faith, Saint Peter’s sovereignty, the papal office, and Pizarro’s mission to receive the homage of this barbarian. The emperor listened, amused at first, then bored, at last affronted, throwing down the book he was asked to kiss. On that a scarf waved and the Spaniards swept from their ambush, blocking the exits, charging as a wolf-pack on a sheepfold, riding the people down while they slaughtered. So great was the pressure that a wall of the courtyard fell, releasing thousands whose panic flight stampeded the Incas’ army. But the nobles had rallied about their sovereign, unarmed but with desperate valor clinging to the legs of the horses and breaking the charge of cavalry. They threw themselves in the way of the fusillades, their bodies piled in mounds, their blood flooding the pavement. Then, as the bearers fell, the golden throne was overturned, and the emperor hurried away a prisoner. Two thousand people had perished in the attempt to save him.

The history of the Mexican conquest was repeated here, and once more a captive emperor reigned under Spanish dictation.

This Atahuallpa was made of sterner stuff than Montezuma, and had his defeated brother Huascar drowned, lest the Spaniards should make use of his rival claim to the throne. The Peruvian prince had no illusions as to the divinity of the white men, saw clearly that their real religion was the adoration of gold, and in contempt offered a bribe for his freedom. Reaching the full extent of his arm to a height of nine feet, he boasted that to that level he would fill the throne room with gold as the price of his liberty, and twice he would fill the anteroom with silver. So he sent orders to every city of his empire commanding that the shrines, the temples, palaces and gardens be stripped of their gold and silver ornaments, save only the bodies of the dead kings, his fathers. Of course, the priests made haste to bury their treasures, but the Spaniards went to see the plunder collected and when they had finished no treasures were left in sight save a course of solid golden ingots in the walls of the Temple of the Sun at Cuzco, and certain massive beams of silver too heavy for shipment. Still the plunder of an empire failed to reach the nine-foot line on the walls of the throne room at Caxamalca, but the soldiers were tired of waiting, especially when the goldsmiths took a month to melt the gold into ingots. So the royal fifth was shipped to the king of Spain, Pizarro’s share was set apart, a tithe was dedicated to the Church, and the remainder divided among the soldiers according to their rank, in all three and a half millions sterling by modern measurement, the greatest king’s ransom known to history. Then the emperor was tried by a mock court-martial, sentenced to death and murdered. It is comforting to note that of all who took part in that infamy not one escaped an early and a violent death.

Pizarro had been in a business partnership with the schoolmaster Luque of Panama cathedral, and with Almagro, a little fat, one-eyed adventurer, who now arrived on the scene with reinforcements. Pizarro’s brothers also came from Spain. So when the emperor’s death lashed the Peruvians to desperation, there were Spaniards enough to face odds of a hundred to one in a long series of battles, ending with the siege of the adventurers who held Cuzco against the Inca Manco for five months. The city, vast in extent, was thatched, and burned for seven days with the Spaniards in the midst. They fought in sheer despair, and the Indians with heroism, their best weapon the lasso, their main hope that of starving the garrison to death. No valor could possibly save these heroic robbers, shut off from escape or from rescue by the impenetrable rampart of the Andes. They owed their salvation to the fact that the Indians must disperse to reap their crops lest the entire nation perish of hunger, and the last of the Incas ended his life a fugitive lost in the recesses of the mountains.

Then came a civil war between the Pizarros, and Almagro, whose share of the plunder turned out to be a snowy desolation to the southward. It was not until after this squalid feud had been ended by Almagro’s execution and Pizarro’s murder, that the desolate snows were uncovered, revealing the incomparable treasures of silver Potosi, Spain’s share of the plunder.

VIII

A. D. 1534

THE CORSAIRS

In 1453 Constantinople was besieged and stormed by the Turks, the Christian emperor fell with sixty thousand of his men in battle, and the Caliph Mahomet II raised the standard of Islam over the last ruins of the Roman empire.

Four years later a sailorman, a Christian from the Balkan States, turned Moslem and was banished from the city. He married a Christian widow in Mitylene and raised two sons to his trade. At a very tender age, Uruj, the elder son, went into business as a pirate, and on his maiden cruise was chased and captured by a galley of the Knights of Saint John who threw him into the hold to be a slave at the oars. That night a slave upon the nearest oar-bench disturbed the crew by groaning, and to keep him quiet was thrown overboard. Not liking his situation or prospects, Uruj slipped his shackles, crept out and swam ashore. On his next voyage, being still extremely young, he was captured and swam ashore again. Then the sultan’s brother fitted him out as a corsair at the cost of five thousand ducats, to be paid by the basha of Egypt, and so, thanks to this act of princely generosity, Uruj was able to open a general practise. His young brother Khizr, also a pirate, joined him; the firm was protected by the sultan of Tunis who got a commission of twenty per cent. on the loot; and being steady, industrious and thrifty, by strict application to business, they made a reputation throughout the Middle Sea. Indeed the Grand Turk bestowed upon Khizr the title “Protector of Religion,” a distinction never granted before or since to any professional robber. Once after a bitter hard fight the brothers captured a first-rate ship of war, _The Galley of Naples_, and six lady passengers besides three hundred men were marched ashore into slavery. “See,” said the sultan of Tunis, “how Heaven recompenses the brave!” Uruj, by the way, was laid up some months for repairs, and in his next engagement, a silly attack on a fortress, happened to lose an arm as part of his recompense.

By this time the brothers were weary of that twenty per cent. commission to the unctuous sultan of Tunis, and by way of cheating him, took to besieging fortresses, or sacking towns, Christian or Moslem as the case might be, until they had base camps of their own, Uruj as king of Tlemcen, and Khizr as king of Algiers. Then Uruj fell in battle, and Khizr Barbarossa began to do business as a wholesale pirate with a branch kingdom of Tunis, and fleets to destroy all commerce, to wreck and burn settlements of the Christian powers until he had command of the sea as a first-class nuisance. The gentle Moors, most civilized of peoples, expelled from Spain (1493) by the callous ill-faith of Ferdinand and Isabella, and stranded upon North Africa to starve, manned Barbarossa’s fleets for a bloody vengeance upon Christian Europe. Then Charles V brought the strength of Spain, Germany and Italy to bear in an expedition against Barbarossa, but his fleet was wrecked by a storm, clear proof that Allah had taken sides with the strong pirate king. Barbarossa then despatched his lieutenant Hassan to ravage the coast of Valencia.

It was upon this venture that Hassan met a transport merchantman with a hundred veteran Spanish infantry, too strong to attack; so when this lieutenant returned to Algiers deep-laden with spoil and captives from his raid, he found King Barbarossa far from pleased. The prisoners were butchered, and Hassan was flogged in public for having shirked an engagement. That is why Hassan joined with Venalcadi, a brother officer who was also in disgrace, and together they drove Barbarossa out of Algeria. Presently the king came back with a whole fleet of his fellow corsairs, brother craftsmen, the Jew, and Hunt-the-Devil, Salærrez and Tabas, all moved to grief and rage by the tears of a sorely ill-treated hero. With the aid of sixty captive Spanish soldiers, who won their freedom, they captured Algiers, wiped out the mutineers, and restored the most perfect harmony. Indeed, by way of proof that there really was no trouble among the corsairs, King Barbarossa sent off Hunt-the-Devil with seventeen ships to burn Spain. Ever in blood and tears, their homes in flames, their women ravished, their very children enslaved, the Spaniards had to pay for breaking faith with the Moors of Granada.

Barbarossa was not yet altogether king of Algiers. For twenty years the Peñon, a fortress fronting that city, had been held by Martin de Vargas and his garrison. Worn out with disease and famine these Spaniards now fought Barbarossa to the last breath, but their walls went down in ruin, the breach was stormed, and all were put to the sword. De Vargas, taken prisoner, demanded the death of a Spaniard who had betrayed him. The traitor was promptly beheaded, but Barbarossa turned upon De Vargas. “You and yours,” he said, “have caused me too much trouble,” and he again signed to the headsman. So De Vargas fell.

Terrible was the rage of Charles V, emperor of half Europe, thus defied and insulted by the atrocious corsair. It was then that he engaged the services of Andrea Doria, the greatest Christian admiral of that age, for war against Barbarossa. And at the same time the commander of the faithful, Suleiman the Magnificent, sent for King Barbarossa to command the Turkish fleet.

He came, with gifts for the calif: two hundred women bearing presents of gold or silver; one hundred camels laden with silks and gold; then lions and other strange beasts; and more loads of brocades, or rich garments, all in procession through Constantinople, preceding the pirate king on his road to the palace. The sultan gave him not only a big fleet, but also vice-regal powers to make war or peace. Next summer (1534) eleven thousand Christian slaves, and a long procession of ships loaded with the plunder of smoking Italy were sent to the Golden Horn. Incidentally, Barbarossa seized the kingdom of Tunis for himself, and slaughtered three thousand of the faithful, just to encourage the rest.

It was to avenge the banished King Hassan, and these poor slaughtered citizens that the Emperor Charles V, attended by his admiral, Andrea Doria, came with an army and a mighty fleet to Tunis.

He drove out Barbarossa, a penniless, discredited fugitive; and his soldiers slaughtered thirty thousand citizens of Tunis to console them for the pirate’s late atrocities.

Poor old Barbarossa, past seventy years of age, had lost a horde of fifty thousand men, his kingdom of Tunis, fleet and arsenal; but he still had fifteen galleys left at Bona, his kingdom of Algiers to fall back upon, and his Moorish seamen, who had no trade to win them honest bread except as pirates. “Cheer up,” said he, to these broken starving men, and after a little holiday they sacked the Balearic Isles taking five thousand, seven hundred slaves, and any amount of shipping. Then came the building of a Turkish fleet; and with one hundred twenty sail, Barbarossa went to his last culminating triumph, the defeat of Andrea Doria, who had at Prevesa one hundred ninety-five ships, sixty thousand men, and two thousand, five hundred ninety-four guns. With that victory he retired, and after eight years of peace, he died in his bed, full of years and honors. For centuries to come all Turkish ships saluted with their guns, and dipped their colors whenever they passed the grave of the King of the Sea.

_Sea Wolves of the Mediterranean_, Commander E. Hamilton Currey, R.N. John Murray.

IX

A. D. 1542

PORTUGAL IN THE INDIES

It was Italian trade that bought and paid for the designs of Raphael, the temples of Michelangelo, the sculptures of Cellini, the inventions of Da Vinci, for all the wonders, the glories, the splendors of inspired Italy. And it was not good for the Italian trade that Barbarossa, and the corsairs of three centuries in his wake, beggared the merchants and enslaved their seamen. But Italian commerce had its source in the Indian Seas, and the ruin of Italy began when the sea adventures of Portugal rounded the Cape of Good Hope to rob, to trade, to govern and convert at the old centers of Arabian business.

Poverty is the mother of labor, labor the parent of wealth and genius. It is the poverty of Attica, and the Roman swamps, of sterile Scotland, boggy Ireland, swampy Holland, stony New England, which drove them to high endeavor and great reward. Portugal, too, had that advantage of being small and poor, without resources, or any motive to keep the folk at home. So the fishermen took to trading and exploration led by Cao who found the Cape of Good Hope, Vasco da Gama who smelt out the way to India, Almeida who gained command of the Indian Seas, Cabral who discovered Brazil, Albuquerque who, seizing Goa and Malacca, established a Christian empire in the Indies, and Magellan, who showed Spain the way to the Pacific.

Of these the typical man was Da Gama, a noble with the motives of a crusader and the habits of a pirate, who once set fire to a shipload of Arab pilgrims, and watched unmoved while the women on her blazing deck held out little babies in the vain hope of mercy. On his first voyage he came to Calicut, a center of Hindu civilization, a seat of Arab commerce, and to the rajah sent a present of washing basins, casks of oil, a few strings of coral, fit illustration of the poverty of his brave country, accepted as a joke in polished, wealthy, weary India. The king gave him leave to trade, but seized the poor trade goods until the Portuguese ships had been ransacked for two hundred twenty-three pounds in gold to pay the customs duties. The point of the joke was only realized when on his second voyage Da Gama came with a fleet, bombarded Calicut, and loaded his ships with spices, leaving a trail of blood and ashes along the Indian coast. Twenty years later he came a third time, but now as viceroy to the Portuguese Indies. Portugal was no longer poor, but the richest state in Europe, bleeding herself to death to find the men for her ventures.

Now these arrogant and ferocious officials, military robbers, fishermen turned corsairs, and ravenous traders taught the whole East to hate and fear the Christ. And then came a tiny little monk no more than five feet high, a white-haired, blue-eyed mendicant, who begged the rice he lived on. Yet so sweet was his temper, so magical the charm, so supernatural the valor of this barefoot monk that the children worshiped him, the lepers came to him to be healed, and the pirates were proud to have him as their guest. He was a gentleman, a Spanish Basque, by name Francis de Xavier, and in the University of Paris had been a fellow student with the reformer Calvin, then a friend and follower of Ignatius de Loyola, helping him to found the Society of Jesus. Xavier came to the Indies in 1542 as a Jesuit priest.

Once on a sea voyage Xavier stood for some time watching a soldier at cards, who gambled away all his money and then a large sum which had been entrusted to his care. When the soldier was in tears and threatening suicide, Xavier borrowed for him the sum of one shilling twopence, shuffled and dealt for him, and watched him win back all that he had lost. At that point Saint Francis set to work to save the soldier’s soul, but this disreputable story is not shown in the official record of his miracles.

From his own letters one sees how the heathen puzzled this little saint, “‘Was God black or white?’ For as there is so great variety of color among man, and the Indians are themselves black, they esteem their own color most highly, and hold that their gods are also black.”

He does not say how he answered, indeed it was hardly by words that this hidalgo of Spain preached in the many languages he could never learn. Once when his converts were threatened by a hostile army he went alone to challenge the invaders, and with uplifted crucifix rebuked them in the name of God. The front ranks wavered and halted. Their comrades and leaders vainly pressed them to advance, but no man dared pass the black-robed figure which barred the way, and presently the whole force retreated.

Once in the Spice Islands while he was saying mass on the feast of the Archangel Saint Michael a tremendous earthquake scattered the congregation. The priest held up the shaking altar and went on with mass, while, as he says, “Perhaps Saint Michael, by his heavenly power, was driving into the depths of hell all the wicked spirits of the country who were opposing the worship of the true God.”

Such was the apostle of the Indies, and it is a pleasant thing to trace the story of his mission in Japan in the _Peregrination_, a book by a thorough rogue.