THE LEGEND.
Doña Esperanza exchanged a look with the sachem, and after reflecting a moment, as if recalling her ideas, she said to Doña Marianna, in her gentle, sympathising voice—"My dear girl, before beginning my narrative, I must inform you that I belong to the Aztec race, and am descended in a direct line from the kings of that people. Hence, the story you are about to hear, though simple in its form, is completely exact, and has dwelt among us intact for generations. I trust," she added, with a stress, "that it will interest you."
Then turning to one of the criados who stood motionless behind the guests, she said—"The quipos."
The criado went out, and almost immediately returned with a bag of perfumed tapir skin, which he handed his mistress with a bow. The latter opened it, and drew out several cords plaited of different coloured threads, divided at regular distances by knots mingled with shells and beads. These cords are called quipos, and are employed by the Indians to keep up the memory of events that have occurred during a long course of years, and thus represent books. Still, it requires a special study to understand these quipos, and few people are capable of deciphering them, the more so as the Indians, who are very jealous about keeping their historical secrets, only permit a small number of adepts to learn the explanation, which renders any knowledge of Indian history almost impossible for white men. Doña Esperanza, after attentively examining the quipos, selected one, replaced the others in the bag, and letting the knots of the rope glide through her fingers, much as a monk does with his beads when telling his rosary, she began her narrative.
For fear of injuring this story, whose truth cannot be doubted, and which we ourselves heard told in an atepetl of the Papazos, we will leave it in all its native rudeness, without attempting to adorn it with flowers of European metaphors, which, in our opinion, would deprive it of its peculiar character. Doña Esperanza spoke as follows:—"At a certain period of the year," she said, while beginning to feel the quipos, which served her, as it were, as a book, "long before the appearance of white men on the red territory, a numerous band of Chichimeques and Toltequez, who originally dwelt at the lakes, becoming dissatisfied, resolved to emigrate to the south-west in pursuit of the buffaloes, and carried out their resolve."
"At Salt Lake they divided, and those who remained continued to bear their primitive name; while the others, for an unknown motive, assumed that of Comanches. These Comanches, more enterprising than their brothers, continued their journey till they reached the banks of the Rio Gila, where they encamped and divided again. One band, which resolved not to go farther, was christened by the others, who determined to press on, the 'Great Ears;' but the whites who first discovered them called them 'Opatas.' The remainder of the band continued to march in the same direction, and found the Rio Bravo del Norte at the mouth of the Rio Puerco. They had only two principal chiefs left, and gave themselves the name of Neu-ta-che, which means, 'those who reach the river's mouth.' One of the chiefs had an only son, and the other a lovely daughter, and the young people loved each other. But this raised the anger of the father of the unhappy girl to such a height, that he made his band arm and prepare to fight. But the father and the young man crossed the Rio Gila, and buried themselves with their band in the territory afterwards called by the white man Señora or Sonora, where they settled, and continued to reside peacefully until the period when the whites, ever in search of new lands, arrived there in their turn, and after many cruel wars, succeeded in gaining possession of the country."
"The Comanches had founded several towns in Sonora, and, in accordance with their constant habit, in the neighbourhood of the gold and silver mines they discovered, and begun to work. One of their towns, perhaps the richest and most populous, had for its chief a warrior justly renowned for his wisdom in council, and valour in the combat. This chief was called Quetzalmalin—that is to say, the 'Twisted Feather.' His nobility was great, and very ancient; he justly declared that he was descended in a direct line from Acamapichtzin, first king of Mexico, whose hieroglyphic he retained on the totem of his tribe, through that veneration which our fathers displayed for their ancestors. This hieroglyphic, which his descendants have preciously retained, is composed of a hand grasping a number of reeds, which is the literal translation of the name of the noble chief of the race. Twisted Feather had a daughter, eighteen summers old, lovely and graceful: her name was Ova, and she ran over the prairie grass without bending it; gentle, pensive, and timid as the virgin of the first loves, her black eyes had not yet been fixed on one of the warriors of the tribe, who all sought to please her."
"Ova wore a tunic of water-green colour, fastened round her waist by a wampum belt, with a large golden buckle. When she danced before her father, the old man's forehead became unwrinkled, and a sunbeam passed into his eyes. Her father had often told her that it was time for her to marry, but Ova shook her head with a smile; she was happy, and the little bird that speaks to the heart of maidens had not yet sung to her the gentle strains of love."
"Still a moment arrived when Ova lost all her careless gaiety. The young girl, so laughing and so wild, became suddenly pensive and dreamy—she loved."
"Ova went to find her father. The chief at this moment was presiding over the great council of the nation in the great medicine calli. The maiden advanced, and knelt respectfully before her father."
"'What is it, my daughter?' the chief said, as he passed his hand gently through her long hair, which was fine as aloe threads."
"'My father,' she replied, looking down modestly, 'I love, and am beloved.'"
"'My daughter, what is the name of the chief who is so happy that your choice should have fallen on him?'"
"'He is not a chief, my father; he is, perchance, one of the most obscure warriors of the tribe, although he is one of the bravest. He works in the gold mine that belongs to you.'"
"The chief frowned, and a flash of anger sparkled in his glance."
"'My father,' the maiden continued, as she embraced his legs, 'if I did not marry him, I should die.'"
"The chief gazed at his daughter for a moment, and saw her so sad and resigned, that pity entered his heart. He, too, loved his daughter—his only child; for the Master of Life had called away the others to the happy hunting grounds. The aged man did not wish his daughter to die."
"'You shall marry the man you love,' he said to her."
"'Do you promise it to me on the sacred totem of the nation, father?'"
"'On the sacred totem of the nation I promise it; speak, therefore, without fear. What is the name of the man you love?'"
"'He is called the Clouded Snake, father.'"
"The old man sighed."
"'He is very poor,' he muttered."
"'I am rich enough for both.'"
"'Be it so. You shall marry him, my daughter.'"
"Ova rose, sparkling with joy and happiness, bowed to the assembly, and left the medicine lodge."
"Clouded Snake was poor, it is true—even very poor, since he was constrained to work in the gold mine; but he was young, he was brave, and was considered the handsomest of all the warriors of his age."
"Tall, robust, and muscular, Clouded Snake formed as complete a contrast with Ova, who was pale and frail, as a noble buffalo does with a graceful antelope. Perhaps their love emanated from this contrast."
"The young man, though he was so poor, found means to give his betrothed perfumes of grizzly bears' grease, necklaces of alligators' teeth, and wampum girdles."
"The young people Were happy. On the eve of the marriage, Clouded Snake laid at Ova's feet buckles of gold and two bracelets of shells, mingled with beads of pure gold."
"Ova accepted these presents with a smile, and said to her betrothed, as she left him,—"
"'Farewell; we part today to see each other tomorrow, and tomorrow we shall be united for ever.'"
"On the next day Clouded Snake did not come. Ova waited for several months; Clouded Snake did not reappear."
"In vain, by the chief's orders, was the young man sought for throughout the country; no one had seen him, no one had heard speak of him."
"Clouded Snake no longer existed, except in the heart of Ova."
"She wept for him, and people tried to make her believe that he had gone to fight the white men; but Ova shook her head, and wiped away her tears."
"Forty times did the snow cover the summit of the mountains, and yet it had been impossible to clear up the mystery of Clouded Snake's disappearance."
"One day some labourers at work in the gold mine, which had belonged to Ova's father, and was now her property, while going far down an old gallery which had been abandoned for a long time, exhumed a corpse as miraculously preserved as the mummies of the teocallis are in their bandages."
"The warriors flocked up to see this strange corpse, clothed in a dress belonging to another age, and no one recognised it."
"Ova, who was then old, and who, to please her father had married the great chief of his nation when her last hope expired, went with her husband to the spot where the corpse was exposed to the sight of visitors."
"Suddenly she started, and tears darted from her eyes; she had recognised Clouded Snake, as handsome as on the day when she left him with the hope of a speedy reunion. She, on the other hand, aged and bowed down more by grief than years, was weak and tottering."
"Ova wished that the corpse of the man whom she had been on the point of marrying, and whom the evil spirit had torn from her, should be restored to the mine from which it had been removed after forty years. The mine, by the orders of the chief's wife, although extremely rich, was abandoned and shut up."
"Ova ordered a hieroglyphic to be carved on the stone that covers the body of her betrothed, which may be thus translated:—'This sepulchre is without a body; this body is without a sepulchre; but by itself it is a sepulchre and a body.'"
"Such," Doña Esperanza added, as she finished the legend, and laid down the quipos, "is the story of the lovely Ova, daughter of the great chief Twisted Feather, and of Clouded Snake the miner, just as it occurred, and just as Ova herself ordered it to be preserved by a special quipos for future ages."
Doña Esperanza stopped, and there was a moment's silence.
"Well, señorita," the sachem asked, "has the legend interested you?"
"Through its simplicity it is most touching, señor," the young lady answered; "still, there is something vague and unsettled about the whole story, which impairs its effect."
Thunderbolt smiled gently.
"You find, do you not, that we are not told the precise spot where the events of the narrative occurred, that Sonora is very large, and that the town in which Twisted Feather commanded is not sufficiently indicated?"
"Pardon me, señor," the young lady remarked, with a blush, "such geographical notions, though doubtless very useful in settling the spot where events have occurred, interest me personally very slightly. What I find incomplete is the story itself; the rest does not concern me."
"More so than you suppose, perhaps, señorita," the sachem remarked; "but pray be good enough to state your objections more fully."
"Excuse me, señor, but I have not yet recovered from the surprise which the events that have occurred during the last few hours have occasioned me, and I explain myself badly, in spite of my efforts."
"What do you mean, señorita, and to what events are you referring?"
"To those which are taking place at this very moment. Having started from home to ask an interview of a wood ranger, whom I naturally supposed encamped in the open air, and shared the life of privations of his fellows, I meet, on the contrary, persons who overwhelm me with attentions, and, under an Indian appearance, conceal all the refinements of the most advanced civilization. You can understand how this strange contrast with what surrounds me must surprise, almost frighten me, who am a young girl, ignorant of the world, and have undertaken a step which many persons would disapprove if they knew it."
"You are going too far, my dear child," Doña Esperanza replied, as she tenderly embraced her; "what you have seen here ought not to surprise you. My husband is one of the principal chiefs of the great Confederation of the Papazos; but he and I, in other times, lived the life of white men. When we withdrew to the desert, we took with us our civilized habits, and that is the entire mystery. As for the step you have taken, it has nothing that is not most honourable to you."
"I thank you for these kind remarks, and the interpretation you are pleased to give to a step conceived, perhaps, a little too giddily, and executed more giddily still."
"Do not regret it, señorita," said Thunderbolt; "perhaps it has helped your father's affairs more than you suppose."
"As for the story of Ova," Doña Esperanza continued, with a gentle smile, "this is how it ended:—the poor woman died of despair a few days after the discovery of the man she ought to have married, and whom she had held in such tender memory for so long a time. At her last hour she expressed a desire to be united in death to the man from whom she had been separated in life. This last wish was carried out. The two betrothed repose side by side in the mine, which was at once closed again, and no one has dreamed of opening it up to the present day."
"I thank you, señora, for completing your narrative. Still," Marianna said, with a sigh, "this gold mine must, in my opinion, be very poor, since the Spaniards, when they seized the country, did not attempt to work it."
"Not at all, my dear child; on the contrary, it is excessively rich. But Ova's secret has been so well kept that the Spaniards remained in ignorance of its existence."
The two ladies were by this time alone, as the sachem and his son had left the tent.
"It is strange," the maiden murmured, answering her own thoughts rather than Doña Esperanza's remark.
The earnestness with which the lady insisted on referring to the legend astounded and interested her. A secret foreboding warned her that the story had a hidden object, whose importance still escaped her, though she was burning to discover it. Doña Esperanza attentively followed in her face the various feelings that agitated her, and were reflected in her expressive face as in a mirror. She continued—"This is why the mine was not discovered when the Spaniards seized the town where it was situated. It had been stopped up for a very long time. The old inhabitants were killed or expelled by the conquerors; and those who escaped were careful not to reveal this secret to their oppressors. The latter destroyed the town, and built an immense hacienda over its mines."
"But—pardon me for questioning you thus, señora—how have all these facts come to your knowledge?"
"For a very simple reason, my dear child. Ova was my ancestress, and the knowledge of this mine is consequently a family secret for us. I am, perhaps, the only person in the world who at the present day knows its exact position."
"Yes, I understand you," the young lady said, becoming very pensive.
"Still you are trying to discover, are you not, my dear child?" the old lady continued, kindly interrogating her, "Why, instead of letting you speak of the important matters that brought you here, my son urged you to ask this story of me; and why, without pity for your filial sorrow, I consented to do so; and why, now that it is ended, I am anxious for you to learn the minutest details."
The girl hid her face in the old lady's bosom, and burst into tears.
"Yes," she said, "you have understood me, madam, and pray pardon me."
"Pardon you for what, my dear child? For loving your father? On the contrary, you are quite right. But yours is no common nature, my child; though we have only been acquainted for a few hours, you have sufficiently appreciated my character, I think, to recognise the interest I take in you."
"Yes, yes, I believe you, madam; I must believe you."
"Well, console yourself, my dear girl; do not weep thus, or I shall be forced to follow your example; and I have still some details to add to this interminable story."
The maiden smiled through her tears. "Oh, you are so kind, madam," she answered.
"No, I love you, that is all, and," she added, with a sigh, "I have done so for a long time."
Doña Marianna gazed at her with amazement.
"Yes, that surprises you," she continued, "and I can well understand it. But enough of this subject for the present, my darling, and let us return to what I wanted to say to you."
"Oh, I am listening to you, madam."
"I will now tell you where Ova's town stood, and its name. It was called Cibola."
"Cibola!" the girl exclaimed.
"Yes, dear child, the very spot where the Hacienda del Toro was afterwards built by your ancestor, the Marquis de Moguer. Now do you understand me?"
Without replying, Doña Marianna threw herself into the old lady's arms, who pressed her tenderly to her bosom.