CHAPTER 14
Ah, that return to the forest where Rima dwelt,
after so anxious day, when the declining sun shone hotly still, and the green
woodland shadows were so grateful! The coolness, the sense of security, allayed
the fever and excitement I had suffered on the open savanna; I walked
leisurely, pausing often to listen to some bird voice or to admire some rare
insect or parasitic flower shining star-like in the shade. There was a
strangely delightful sensation in me. I likened myself to a child that,
startled at something it had seen while out playing in the sun, flies to its
mother to feel her caressing hand on its cheek and forget its tremors. And
describing what I felt in that way, I was a little ashamed and laughed at myself;
nevertheless the feeling was very sweet.
At that moment Mother and Nature seemed one and
the same thing. As I kept to the more open part of the wood, on its
southernmost border, the red flame of the sinking sun was seen at intervals
through the deep humid green of the higher foliage. How every object it touched
took from it a new wonderful glory! At one spot, high up where the foliage was
scanty, and slender bush ropes and moss depended like broken cordage from a
dead limb—just there, bathing itself in that glory-giving light, I noticed a
fluttering bird, and stood still to watch its antics. Now it would cling, head
downwards, to the slender twigs, wings and tail open; then, righting itself, it
would flit from waving line to line, dropping lower and lower; and anon soar
upwards a distance of twenty feet and alight to recommence the flitting and
swaying and dropping towards the earth.
It was one of those birds that have a polished
plumage, and as it moved this way and that, flirting its feathers, they caught
the beams and shone at moments like glass or burnished metal. Suddenly another
bird of the same kind dropped down to it as if from the sky, straight and swift
as a falling stone; and the first bird sprang up to meet the comer, and after
rapidly wheeling round each other for a moment, they fled away in company,
screaming shrilly through the wood, and were instantly lost to sight, while
their jubilant cries came back fainter and fainter at each repetition.
I envied them not their wings: at that moment earth
did not seem fixed and solid beneath me, nor I bound by gravity to it. The
faint, floating clouds, the blue infinite heaven itself, seemed not more
ethereal and free than I, or the ground I walked on. The low, stony hills on my
right hand, of which I caught occasional glimpses through the trees, looking
now blue and delicate in the level rays, were no more than the billowy
projections on the moving cloud of earth: the trees of unnumbered kinds—great
more, cecropia, and greenheart, bush and fern and suspended lianas, and tall
palms balancing their feathery foliage on slender stems—all was but a fantastic
mist embroidery covering the surface of that floating cloud on which my feet
were set, and which floated with me near the sun.
The red evening flame had vanished from the
summits of the trees, the sun was setting, the woods in shadow, when I got to
the end of my walk. I did not approach the house on the side of the door, yet
by some means those within became aware of my presence, for out they came in a
great hurry, Rima leading the way, Nuflo behind her, waving his arms and
shouting. But as I drew near, the girl dropped behind and stood motionless
regarding me, her face pallid and showing strong excitement. I could scarcely
remove my eyes from her eloquent countenance: I seemed to read in it relief and
gladness mingled with surprise and something like vexation. She was piqued
perhaps that I had taken her by surprise, that after much watching for me in
the wood I had come through it undetected when she was indoors.
"Happy the eyes that see you!" shouted
the old man, laughing boisterously.
"Happy are mine that look on Rima
again," I answered. "I have been long absent."
"Long—you may say so," returned Nuflo.
"We had given you up. We said that, alarmed at the thought of the journey
to Riolama, you had abandoned us."
"WE said!" exclaimed Rima, her pallid
face suddenly flushing.
"I spoke differently."
"Yes, I know—I know!" he said airily,
waving his hand. "You said that he was in danger, that he was kept against
his will from coming. He is present now—let him speak."
"She was right," I said. "Ah,
Nuflo, old man, you have lived long, and got much experience, but not
insight—not that inner vision that sees further than the eyes."
"No, not that—I know what you mean," he
answered. Then, tossing his hand towards the sky, he added: "The knowledge
you speak of comes from there."
The girl had been listening with keen interest,
glancing from one to the other. "What!" she spoke suddenly. as if
unable to keep silence, "do you think, grandfather, that SHE tells me—when
there is danger—when the rain will cease—when the wind will blow—everything? Do
I not ask and listen, lying awake at night? She is always silent, like the
stars."
Then, pointing to me with her finger, she
finished:
"HE knows so many things! Who tells them to
HIM?"
"But distinguish, Rima. You do not
distinguish the great from the little," he answered loftily. "WE know
a thousand things, but they are things that any man with a forehead can learn.
The knowledge that comes from the blue is not like that—it is more important
and miraculous. Is it not so, senior?" he ended, appealing to me.
"Is it, then, left for me to decide?" said
I, addressing the girl.
But though her face was towards me, she refused to
meet my look and was silent. Silent, but not satisfied: she doubted still, and
had perhaps caught something in my tone that strengthened her doubt.
Old Nuflo understood the expression. "Look at
me, Rima," he said, drawing himself up. "I am old, and he is young—do
I not know best? I have spoken and have decided it."
Still that unconvinced expression, and her face
turned expectant to me.
"Am I to decide?" I repeated.
"Who, then?" she said at last, her voice
scarcely more than a murmur; yet there was reproach in the tone, as if she had
made a long speech and I had tyrannously driven her to it.
"Thus, then, I decide," said I. "To
each of us, as to every kind of animal, even to small birds and insects, and to
every kind of plant, there is given something peculiar—a fragrance, a melody, a
special instinct, an art, a knowledge, which no other has. And to Rima has been
given this quickness of mind and power to divine distant things; it is hers,
just as swiftness and grace and changeful, brilliant color are the
hummingbird's; therefore she need not that anyone dwelling in the blue should
instruct her."
The old man frowned and shook his head; while she,
after one swift, shy glance at my face, and with something like a smile
flitting over her delicate lips, turned and re-entered the house.
I felt convinced from that parting look that she
had understood me, that my words had in some sort given her relief; for, strong
as was her faith in the supernatural, she appeared as ready to escape from it,
when a way of escape offered, as from the limp cotton gown and constrained
manner worn in the house. The religion and cotton dress were evidently remains
of her early training at the settlement of Voa.
Old Nuflo, strange to say, had proved better than
his word. Instead of inventing new causes for delay, as I had imagined would be
the case, he now informed me that his preparations for the journey were all but
complete, that he had only waited for my return to set out.
Rima soon left us in her customary way, and then,
talking by the fire, I gave an account of my detention by the Indians and of
the loss of my revolver, which I thought very serious.
"You seem to think little of it," I
said, observing that he took it very coolly. "Yet I know not how I shall
defend myself in case of an attack."
"I have no fear of an attack," he
answered. "It seems to me the same thing whether you have a revolver or
many revolvers and carbines and swords, or no revolver—no weapon at all. And
for a very simple reason. While Rima is with us, so long as we are on her
business, we are protected from above. The angels, senior, will watch over us
by day and night. What need of weapons, then, except to procure food?"
"Why should not the angels provide us with
food also?" said I.
"No, no, that is a different thing," he
returned. "That is a small and low thing, a necessity common to all
creatures, which all know how to meet. You would not expect an angel to drive
away a cloud of mosquitoes, or to remove a bush-tick from your person. No, sir,
you may talk of natural gifts, and try to make Rima believe that she is what
she is, and knows what she knows, because, like a humming-bird or some plants
with a peculiar fragrance, she has been made so. It is wrong, senior, and,
pardon me for saying it, it ill becomes you to put such fables into her
head."
I answered, with a smile: "She herself seems
to doubt what you believe."
"But, senior, what can you expect from an
ignorant girl like Rima? She knows nothing, or very little, and will not listen
to reason. If she would only remain quietly indoors, with her hair braided, and
pray and read her Catechism, instead of running about after flowers and birds
and butterflies and such unsubstantial things, it would be better for both of
us."
"In what way, old man?"
"Why, it is plain that if she would cultivate
the acquaintance of the people that surround her—I mean those that come to her
from her sainted mother—and are ready to do her bidding in everything, she
could make it more safe for us in this place. For example, there is Runi and
his people; why should they remain living so near us as to be a constant danger
when a pestilence of small-pox or some other fever might easily be sent to kill
them off?"
"And have you ever suggested such a thing to
your grandchild?"
He looked surprised and grieved at the question.
"Yes, many times, senior," he said. "I should have been a poor
Christian had I not mentioned it. But when I speak of it she gives me a look
and is gone, and I see no more of her all day, and when I see her she refuses
even to answer me—so perverse, so foolish is she in her ignorance; for, as you
can see for yourself, she has no more sense or concern about what is most
important than some little painted fly that flits about all day long without
any object."
CHAPTER 15
The next day we were early at work. Nuflo had
already gathered, dried, and conveyed to a place of concealment the greater
portion of his garden produce. He was determined to leave nothing to be taken
by any wandering party of savages that might call at the house during our
absence. He had no fear of a visit from his neighbors; they would not know, he
said, that he and Rima were out of the wood. A few large earthen pots, filled
with shelled maize, beans, and sun-dried strips of pumpkin, still remained to
be disposed of. Taking up one of these vessels and asking me to follow with
another, he started off through the wood. We went a distance of five or six
hundred yards, then made our way down a very steep incline, close to the border
of the forest on the western side. Arrived at the bottom, we followed the bank
a little further, and I then found myself once more at the foot of the
precipice over which I had desperately thrown myself on the stormy evening
after the snake had bitten me.
Nuflo, stealing silently and softly before me
through the bushes, had observed a caution and secrecy in approaching this spot
resembling that of a wise old hen when she visits her hidden nest to lay an
egg. And here was his nest, his most secret treasure-house, which he had
probably not revealed even to me without a sharp inward conflict,
notwithstanding that our fates were now linked together. The lower portion of
the bank was of rock; and in it, about ten or twelve feet above the ground, but
easily reached from below, there was a natural cavity large enough to contain
all his portable property. Here, besides the food-stuff, he had already stored
a quantity of dried tobacco leaf, his rude weapons, cooking utensils, ropes,
mats, and other objects. Two or three more journeys were made for the remaining
pots, after which we adjusted a slab of sandstone to the opening, which was
fortunately narrow, plastered up the crevices with clay, and covered them over
with moss to hide all traces of our work.
Towards evening, after we had refreshed ourselves
with a long siesta, Nuflo brought out from some other hiding-place two sacks;
one weighing about twenty pounds and containing smoke-dried meat, also grease
and gum for lighting-purposes, and a few other small objects. This was his
load; the other sack, which was smaller and contained parched corn and raw
beans, was for me to carry.
The old man, cautious in all his movements, always
acting as if surrounded by invisible spies, delayed setting out until an hour
after dark. Then, skirting the forest on its west side, we left Ytaioa on our
right hand, and after travelling over rough, difficult ground, with only the
stars to light us, we saw the waning moon rise not long before dawn. Our course
had been a northeasterly one at first; now it was due east, with broad, dry
savannas and patches of open forest as far as we could see before us. It was
weary walking on that first night, and weary waiting on the first day when we
sat in the shade during the long, hot hours, persecuted by small stinging
flies; but the days and nights that succeeded were far worse, when the weather
became bad with intense heat and frequent heavy falls of rain. The one
compensation I had looked for, which would have outweighed all the extreme
discomforts we suffered, was denied me.
Rima was no more to me or with me now than she had
been during those wild days in her native woods, when every bush and bole and
tangled creeper or fern frond had joined in a conspiracy to keep her out of my
sight. It is true that at intervals in the daytime she was visible, sometimes
within speaking distance, so that I could address a few words to her, but there
was no companionship, and we were fellow travelers only like birds flying
independently in the same direction, not so widely separated but that they can
occasionally hear and see each other. The pilgrim in the desert is sometimes
attended by a bird, and the bird, with its freer motions, will often leave him
a league behind and seem lost to him, but only to return and show its form
again; for it has never lost sight nor recollection of the traveler toiling
slowly over the surface. Rima kept us company in some such wild erratic way as
that. A word, a sign from Nuflo was enough for her to know the direction to
take—the distant forest or still more distant mountain near which we should have
to pass. She would hasten on and be lost to our sight, and when there was a
forest in the way she would explore it, resting in the shade and finding her
own food; but invariably she was before us at each resting- or camping-place.
Indian villages were seen during the journey, but
only to be avoided; and in like manner, if we caught sight of Indians
travelling or camping at a distance, we would alter our course, or conceal
ourselves to escape observation. Only on one occasion, two days after setting
out, were we compelled to speak with strangers. We were going round a hill, and
all at once came face to face with three persons travelling in an opposite
direction—two men and a woman, and, by a strange fatality, Rima at that moment
happened to be with us. We stood for some time talking to these people, who
were evidently surprised at our appearance, and wished to learn who we were;
but Nuflo, who spoke their language like one of themselves, was too cunning to
give any true answer. They, on their side, told us that they had been to visit
a relative at Chani, the name of a river three days ahead of us, and were now
returning to their own village at Baila-baila, two days beyond Parahuari.
After parting from them Nuflo was much troubled in
his mind for the rest of that day. These people, he said, would probably rest
at some Parahuari village, where they would be sure to give a description of
us, and so it might eventually come to the knowledge of our unneighborly
neighbor Runi that we had left Ytaioa.
Other incidents of our long and wearisome journey
need not be related. Sitting under some shady tree during the sultry hours,
with Rima only too far out of earshot, or by the nightly fire, the old man told
me little by little and with much digression, chiefly on sacred subjects, the
strange story of the girl's origin.
About seventeen years back—Nuflo had no sure
method to compute time by—when he was already verging on old age, he was one of
a company of nine men, living a kind of roving life in the very part of Guyana
through which we were now travelling; the others, much younger than himself,
were all equally offenders against the laws of Venezuela, and fugitives from
justice. Nuflo was the leader of this gang, for it happened that he had passed
a great portion of his life outside the pale of civilization, and could talk
the Indian language, and knew this part of Guyana intimately. But according to
his own account he was not in harmony with them. They were bold, desperate men,
whose evil appetites had so far only been whetted by the crimes they had
committed; while he, with passions worn out, recalling his many bad acts, and
with a vivid conviction of the truth of all he had been taught in early
life—for Nuflo was nothing if not religious—was now grown timid and desirous only
of making his peace with Heaven.
This difference of disposition made him morose and
quarrelsome with his companions; and they would, he said, have murdered him
without remorse if he had not been so useful to them. Their favorite plan was
to hang about the neighborhood of some small isolated settlement, keeping a
watch on it, and, when most of the male inhabitants were absent, to swoop down
on it and work their will. Now, shortly after one of these raids it happened
that a woman they had carried off, becoming a burden to them, was flung into a
river to the alligators; but when being dragged down to the waterside she cast
up her eyes, and in a loud voice cried to God to execute vengeance on her
murderers.
Nuflo affirmed that he took no part in this black
deed; nevertheless, the woman's dying appeal to Heaven preyed on his mind; he
feared that it might have won a hearing, and the "person" eventually
commissioned to execute vengeance—after the usual days, of course might act on
the principle of the old proverb: Tell me whom you are with, and I will tell
you what you are—and punish the innocent (himself to wit) along with the
guilty. But while thus anxious about his spiritual interests, he was not yet
prepared to break with his companions. He thought it best to temporize, and
succeeded in persuading them that it would be unsafe to attack another
Christian settlement for some time to come; that in the interval they might
find some pleasure, if no great credit, by turning their attention to the
Indians. The infidels, he said, were God's natural enemies and fair game to the
Christian. To make a long story short, Nuflo's Christian band, after some
successful adventures, met with a reverse which reduced their number from nine
to five. Flying from their enemies, they sought safety at Riolama, an
uninhabited place, where they found it possible to exist for some weeks on
game, which was abundant, and wild fruits.
One day at noon, while ascending a mountain at the
southern extremity of the Riolama range in order to get a view of the country
beyond the summit, Nuflo and his companions discovered a cave; and finding it
dry, without animal occupants, and with a level floor, they at once determined
to make it their dwelling-place for a season. Wood for firing and water were to
be had close by; they were also well provided with smoked flesh of a tapir they
had slaughtered a day or two before, so that they could afford to rest for a
time in so comfortable a shelter.
At a short distance from the cave they made a fire
on the rock to toast some slices of meat for their dinner; and while thus
engaged all at once one of the men uttered a cry of astonishment, and casting
up his eyes Nuflo beheld, standing near and regarding them with surprise and
fear in-her wide-open eyes, a woman of a most wonderful appearance. The one
slight garment she had on was silky and white as the snow on the summit of some
great mountain, but of the snow when the sinking sun touches and gives it some
delicate changing color which is like fire. Her dark hair was like a cloud from
which her face looked out, and her head was surrounded by an aureole like that
of a saint in a picture, only more beautiful. For, said Nuflo, a picture is a
picture, and the other was a reality, which is finer. Seeing her he fell on his
knees and crossed himself; and all the time her eyes, full of amazement and
shining with such a strange splendor that he could not meet them, were fixed on
him and not on the others; and he felt that she had come to save his soul, in
danger of perdition owing to his companionship with men who were at war with
God and wholly bad.
But at this moment his comrades, recovering from
their astonishment, sprang to their feet, and the heavenly woman vanished. Just
behind where she had stood, and not twelve yards from them, there was a huge
chasm in the mountain, its jagged precipitous sides clothed with thorny bushes;
the men now cried out that she had made her escape that way, and down after her
they rushed, pell-mell.
Nuflo cried out after them that they had seen a
saint and that some horrible thing would befall them if they allowed any evil
thought to enter their hearts; but they scoffed at his words, and were soon far
down out of hearing, while he, trembling with fear, remained praying to the
woman that had appeared to them and had looked with such strange eyes at him,
not to punish him for the sins of the others.
Before long the men returned, disappointed and
sullen, for they had failed in their search for the woman; and perhaps Nuflo's
warning words had made them give up the chase too soon. At all events, they
seemed ill at ease, and made up their minds to abandon the cave; in a short
time they left the place to camp that night at a considerable distance from the
mountain. But they were not satisfied: they had now recovered from their fear,
but not from the excitement of an evil passion; and finally, after comparing
notes, they came to the conclusion that they had missed a great prize through
Nuflo's cowardice; and when he reproved them they blasphemed all the saints in
the calendar and even threatened him with violence. Fearing to remain longer in
the company of such godless men, he only waited until they slept, then rose up
cautiously, helped himself to most of the provisions, and made his escape,
devoutly hoping that after losing their guide they would all speedily perish.
Finding himself alone now and master of his own
actions, Nuflo was in terrible distress, for while his heart was in the utmost
fear, it yet urged him imperiously to go back to the mountain, to seek again
for that sacred being who had appeared to him and had been driven away by his
brutal companions. If he obeyed that inner voice, he would be saved; if he
resisted it, then there would be no hope for him, and along with those who had
cast the woman to the alligators he would be lost eternally. Finally, on the
following day, he went back, although not without fear and trembling, and sat
down on a stone just where he had sat toasting his tapir meat on the previous
day. But he waited in vain, and at length that voice within him, which he had
so far obeyed, began urging him to descend into the valley-like chasm down
which the woman had escaped from his comrades, and to seek for her there.
Accordingly he rose and began cautiously and slowly climbing down over the
broken jagged rocks and through a dense mass of thorny bushes and creepers.
At the bottom of the chasm a clear, swift stream
of water rushed with foam and noise along its rocky bed; but before reaching
it, and when it was still twenty yards lower down, he was startled by hearing a
low moan among the bushes, and looking about for the cause, he found the
wonderful woman—his savior, as he expressed it. She was not now standing nor
able to stand, but half reclining among the rough stones, one foot, which she
had sprained in that headlong flight down the ragged slope, wedged immovably
between the rocks; and in this painful position she had remained a prisoner
since noon on the previous day. She now gazed on her visitor in silent
consternation; while he, casting himself prostrate on the ground, implored her
forgiveness and begged to know her will. But she made no reply; and at length,
finding that she was powerless to move, he concluded that, though a saint and
one of the beings that men worship, she was also flesh and liable to accidents
while sojourning on earth; and perhaps, he thought, that accident which had
befallen her had been specially designed by the powers above to prove him. With
great labor, and not without causing her much pain, he succeeded in extricating
her from her position; and then finding that the injured foot was half crushed
and blue and swollen, he took her up in his arms and carried her to the stream.
There, making a cup of a broad green leaf, he offered her water, which she drank
eagerly; and he also raved her injured foot in the cold stream and bandaged it
with fresh aquatic leaves; finally he made her a soft bed of moss and dry grass
and placed her on it. That night he spent keeping watch over her, at intervals
applying fresh wet leaves to her foot as the old ones became dry and wilted
from the heat of the inflammation.
The effect of all he did was that the terror with
which she regarded him gradually wore off; and next day, when she seemed to be
recovering her strength, he proposed by signs to remove her to the cave higher
up, where she would be sheltered in case of rain. She appeared to understand
him, and allowed herself to be taken up in his arms and carried with much labor
to the top of the chasm. In the cave he made her a second couch, and tended her
assiduously. He made a fire on the floor and kept it burning night and day, and
supplied her with water to drink and fresh leaves for her foot. There was
little more that he could do. From the choicest and fattest bits of toasted
tapir flesh he offered her she turned away with disgust. A little cassava bread
soaked in water she would take, but seemed not to like it. After a time,
fearing that she would starve, he took to hunting after wild fruits, edible
bulbs and gums, and on these small things she subsisted during the whole time
of their sojourn together in the desert.
The woman, although lamed for life, was now so far
recovered as to be able to limp about without assistance, and she spent a
portion of each day out among the rocks and trees on the mountains. Nuflo at
first feared that she would now leave him, but before long he became convinced
that she had no such intentions. And yet she was profoundly unhappy. He was
accustomed to see her seated on a rock, as if brooding over some secret grief,
her head bowed, and great tears falling from half-closed eyes.
From the first he had conceived the idea that she
was in the way of becoming a mother at no distant date—an idea which seemed to
accord badly with the suppositions as to the nature of this heavenly being he
was privileged to minister to and so win salvation; but he was now convinced of
its truth, and he imagined that in her condition he had discovered the cause of
that sorrow and anxiety which preyed continually on her. By means of that dumb
language of signs which enabled them to converse together a little, he made it
known to her that at a great distance from the mountains there existed a place
where there were beings like herself, women, and mothers of children, who would
comfort and tenderly care for her. When she had understood, she seemed pleased
and willing to accompany him to that distant place; and so it came to pass that
they left their rocky shelter and the mountains of Riolama far behind. But for
several days, as they slowly journeyed over the plain, she would pause at
intervals in her limping walk to gaze back on those blue summits, shedding
abundant tears.Fortunately the village Voa, on the river of the same name,
which was the nearest Christian settlement to Riolama, whither his course was
directed, was well known to him; he had lived there in former years, and, what
was of great advantage, the inhabitants were ignorant of his worst crimes, or,
to put it in his own subtle way, of the crimes committed by the men he had
acted with. Great was the astonishment and curiosity of the people of Voa when,
after many weeks' travelling, Nuflo arrived at last with his companion. But he
was not going to tell the truth, nor even the least particle of the truth, to a
gaping crowd of inferior persons. For these, ingenious lies; only to the priest
he told the whole story, dwelling minutely on all he had done to rescue and
protect her; all of which was approved by the holy man, whose first act was to
baptize the woman for fear that she was not a Christian. Let it be said to
Nuflo's credit that he objected to this ceremony, arguing that she could not be
a saint, with an aureole in token of her sainthood, yet stand in need of being
baptized by a priest. A priest—he added, with a little chuckle of malicious
pleasure—who was often seen drunk, who cheated at cards, and was sometimes
suspected of putting poison on his fighting-cock's spur to make sure of the
victory!
Doubtless the priest had his faults; but he was
not without humanity, and for the whole seven years of that unhappy stranger's
sojourn at Voa he did everything in his power to make her existence tolerable.
Some weeks after arriving she gave birth to a female child, and then the priest
insisted on naming it Riolama, in order, he said, to keep in remembrance the
strange story of the mother's discovery at that place.
Rima's mother could not be taught to speak either
Spanish or Indian; and when she found that the mysterious and melodious sounds
that fell from her own lips were understood by none, she ceased to utter them,
and thereafter preserved an unbroken silence among the people she lived with.
But from the presence of others she shrank, as if in disgust or fear, excepting
only Nuflo and the priest, whose kindly intentions she appeared to understand
and appreciate. So far her life in the village was silent and sorrowful. With
her child it was different; and every day that was not wet, taking the little
thing by the hand, she would limp painfully out into the forest, and there,
sitting on the ground, the two would commune with each other by the hour in
their wonderful language.
At length she began to grow perceptibly paler and
feebler week by week, day by day, until she could no longer go out into the
wood, but sat or reclined, panting for breath in the dull hot room, waiting for
death to release her. At the same time little Rima, who had always appeared
frail, as if from sympathy, now began to fade and look more shadowy, so that it
was expected she would not long survive her parent. To the mother death came
slowly, but at last it seemed so near that Nuflo and the priest were together
at her side waiting to see the end. It was then that little Rima, who had
learnt from infancy to speak in Spanish, rose from the couch where her mother
had been whispering to her, and began with some difficulty to express what was
in the dying woman's mind. Her child, she had said, could not continue to live
in that hot wet place, but if taken away to a distance where there were
mountains and a cooler air she would survive and grow strong again.
Hearing this, old Nuflo declared that the child
should not perish; that he himself would take her away to Parahuari, a distant
place where there were mountains and dry plains and open woods; that he would
watch over her and care for her there as he had cared for her mother at
Riolama.
When the substance of this speech had been made
known by Rima to the dying woman, she suddenly rose up from her couch, which
she had not risen from for many days, and stood erect on the floor, her wasted
face shining with joy. Then Nuflo knew that God's angels had come for her, and
put out his arms to save her from falling; and even while he held her that
sudden glory went out from her face, now of a dead white like burnt-out ashes;
and murmuring something soft and melodious, her spirit passed away.
Once more Nuflo became a wanderer, now with the
fragile-looking little Rima for companion, the sacred child who had inherited
the position of his intercessor from a sacred mother. The priest, who had
probably become infected with Nuflo's superstitions, did not allow them to
leave Voa empty-handed, but gave the old man as much calico as would serve to
buy hospitality and whatsoever he might require from the Indians for many a day
to come.
At Parahuari, where they arrived safely at last,
they lived for some little time at one of the villages. But the child had an
instinctive aversion to all savages, or possibly the feeling was derived from
her mother, for it had shown itself early at Voa, where she had refused to
learn their language; and this eventually led Nuflo to go away and live apart
from them, in the forest by Ytaioa, where he made himself a house and garden.
The Indians, however, continued friendly with him and visited him with
frequency. But when Rima grew up, developing into that mysterious woodland girl
I found her, they became suspicious, and in the end regarded her with
dangerously hostile feeling. She, poor child, detested them because they were
incessantly at war with the wild animals she loved, her companions; and having
no fear of them, for she did not know that they had it in their minds to turn
their little poisonous arrows against herself, she was constantly in the woods
frustrating them; and the animals, in league with her, seemed to understand her
note of warning and hid themselves or took to flight at the approach of danger.
At length their hatred and fear grew to such a
degree that they determined to make away with her, and one day, having matured
a plan, they went to the wood and spread themselves two and two about it. The
couples did not keep together, but moved about or remained concealed at a
distance of forty or fifty yards apart, lest she should be missed. Two of the
savages, armed with blow-pipes, were near the border of the forest on the side
nearest to the village, and one of them, observing a motion in the foliage of a
tree, ran swiftly and cautiously towards it to try and catch a glimpse of the
enemy. And he did see her no doubt, as she was there watching both him and his
companions, and blew an arrow at her, but even while in the act of blowing it
he was himself struck by a dart that buried itself deep in his flesh just over
the heart. He ran some distance with the fatal barbed point in his flesh and
met his comrade, who had mistaken him for the girl and shot him.
The wounded man threw himself down to die, and
dying related that he had fired at the girl sitting up in a tree and that she
had caught the arrow in her hand only to hurl it instantly back with such force
and precision that it pierced his flesh just over the heart. He had seen it all
with his own eyes, and his friend who had accidentally slain him believed his
story and repeated it to the others. Rima had seen one Indian shoot the other,
and when she told her grandfather he explained to her that it was an accident,
but he guessed why the arrow had been fired.
From that day the Indians hunted no more in the
wood; and at length one day Nuflo, meeting an Indian who did not know him and
with whom he had some talk, heard the strange story of the arrow, and that the
mysterious girl who could not be shot was the offspring of an old man and a
Didi who had become enamoured of him; that, growing tired of her consort, the
Didi had returned to her river, leaving her half-human child to play her
malicious pranks in the wood.
This, then, was Nuflo's story, told not in Nuflo's
manner, which was infinitely prolix; and think not that it failed to move
me—that I failed to bless him for what he had done, in spite of his selfish
motives.
