Roger the Bold: A Tale of the Conquest of Mexico

by F. S. Brereton

"That is so," admitted Tamba "In my country, far off in the forests and in the interior, a Spaniard dared not go; for he knew that a cruel death awaited him. Yes, we had become cruel in our turn, though we had formerly been quiet and peaceful. We were driven to desperation, or rather to despair."

"Some here may be desperate. They may see us, and then they will think that I am a Spaniard."

Roger saw Tamba shrink at the idea. His face went pale, even beneath the dusk, while he looked at his master with frightened eyes.

"You could say that you were not Spanish, my lord. You would tell them that you belong to England."

"What did you know about England?" asked Roger, calmly. "Nothing. Then, how will these natives? But I am imagining a difficulty. Let us push on, and trust to good fortune."

That night found the two on the edge of the broad plain which they had traversed, and approaching the range of mountains, which they could now see were broken into many chains, and into separate pinnacles. They looked for a suitable bivouac, and selecting a huge overhanging rock, which promised to keep the heavy dew away, they lit their fire and ate their meal. Three hours later, while they slept, for they were both worn out by a long day's march, a hundred dark figures surrounded them, and skilful fingers drew their weapons away. Then they were pounced upon, beaten heavily, and dragged away into the darkness. A bandage was tied firmly round their eyes, so that they could see nothing, and their limbs secured with soft cords. Then Roger felt himself lifted on to the shoulders of four tall men—at least, he thought that they were tall—and was carried off at a pace which must have taxed the strength of his bearers. Indeed, he heard their heavy breathing, and remarks which he thought referred to his length and weight.

"Prisoners," he thought, with a shudder. "These fellows will do as I said, and take me for a Spaniard. I can expect little mercy from them, for if we are in the neighbourhood of Mexico many of the inhabitants will have been killed. But there is no use in bothering. As well prepare for the worst, and rest, so as to be fresh to bear what comes on the morrow."

With this philosophic determination, he lay flat on the palanquin on which he had been thrown, and presently, in spite of his dread of the future, fell fast asleep; for the bandage about his eyes seemed to make him drowsy. And, then, he was as yet not fully recovered from his wound, and from the weakness consequent therefrom, and the march had been long and fatiguing. How long he slept he never knew, but he was awakened by a blast of cold air, which fanned his face, and by a movement of his bearers. They lowered him to the ground, not roughly, or as if they desired to harm him, but with every care, as if he were some person of importance. Then one of them removed the bandage, while the others stood him upon his feet. It was day; the dawn had broken but a few minutes before, and the crest of the sun was just risen over a mountain range. A cry escaped from Roger—a cry of amazement; for down below him, at the end of the long straggling track which led down from the pass over which the party had been travelling, was a huge lake, nestling amongst broken mountain chains which did not run to its shores, but which stood back from them, giving the lake ample space. And attached to this lake was another, to the right and a little nearer, while at different points along the shores of both were towns, huge clusters of houses, with towers as high as St. Paul's in London, which he knew so well, towers which glistened and sparkled in the sun. But that was not all. The rugged mountain track descended to the plain in which lay the lakes, and crossed it direct to a viaduct, a straight line some two leagues in length, which pushed its granite walls out into the larger lake, to a huge city, standing white in the sun, and showing a hundred and more towers. Other viaducts cut off from it here and there, while he could see dots moving on the water. What a scene! Who could paint it? For the walls of the houses reflected the rays, while a dazzling light played upon the sides of the numerous towers, and upon their summits. But all was not white, for on nearly every flat roof the red and blue and dazzling pink of gorgeous flowers was given back, while gardens lay on either side of this lake city, seeming, as was actually the fact, to float on the water. In a flash it came to Roger's mind that this city, those viaducts, and those tiny boats were true to the plan which was engraved on the golden disc, now in the possession of Alvarez. The scene was stupendous. The wonder of it took his breath away, while he was amazed at the thought that he was so soon within sight of the goal for which the brigantine had sailed.

"Mexico! Mexico!" he almost shouted. "The city for which we were bound."

There was no answer. For a few minutes the natives allowed him to feast his eyes upon the sight. Then they put the bandage about his head again, and lifted him on to the litter. He was raised on to their shoulders, and they set off at a run down the slope. Presently they were crossing the viaduct, and when at length Roger was permitted to look again, he found that his bonds were being removed, and that he and Tamba sat side by side in an enormous wooden cage, placed in the centre of a square of huge dimensions, and close alongside another cage of similar arrangement, in which were some two hundred other prisoners.