HEART OF THE WORLD by H. RYDER HAGGARD. CHAPTER III THE SUMMONS As I walked down the street of the village, I met my friend with whom I had stayed when first I came to Kumarvo. Ah, Lord, he said, for those who are initiated among the Indians, give me this title when none are by. I was seeking you. The scroll has been found. What scroll? The picture writing about the ancient mine which brought you here. You remember that he who owned the document died and his son could not discover its whereabouts? Well, yesterday he found it by chance while he was hunting rats in the roof of his house and brought it to me. Here it is! And he gave me a roll wrapped in yellow linen.  The air was pleasant and the evening fine, so that I did not return to the house till the moon rose. As I passed up the path, a man stepped so suddenly from the shelter of a bush in front of me that I drew my machete thinking that he meant to do me mischief. Stay your hand, Lord, said the man, saluting me humbly, and at the same time giving the sign of brotherhood. It is many years since we met, so perchance you may have forgotten me. Still you will remember my name. I am Molas, your foster brother. Then I looked at him in the moonlight and knew him. Though time had changed us both, and putting my arms round him, I embraced him, seeing that he had been faithful when many deserted me, and I loved him as today I love his memory. What brings you here, Molas, I asked? When last I heard of you, you were dwelling far away in Chiapas. A strange matter. Business of the heart, O Lord of the heart, which I deem so pressing that I have journeyed over land and sea to find you.  Follow me, I said, wondering, and led him to my own chamber where I gave him food and drink, for he was weary with travel. Now, set out this business, I said. First, show me the token, Lord. I desire to see it once more for a purpose of my own. I rose and closed the shutters of the window. Then I bared my breast, revealing the ancient symbol. For a while he gazed upon it and said, It is enough. Tell me, Lord, what is the saying that has descended with this trinket? The saying is, Molas, that when this half that I wear is reunited with the half that is wanting, then the Indians shall rule again from sea to sea as they did when the heart was whole. That is the saying, Lord. We learn it in the ritual that is called opening of the heart. Do we not? And in this ritual that half which you wear is named day, since it can be seen, and the half which is lost is named night, since, though present, it is not seen, and it is told to us that day and the night together will make one perfect circle, wherefore the center is named heart of heaven, of which these things are the symbol, is it not so? It is so, Molas. Good. Now listen. That which was lost is found. The half which is named night has appeared in the land, for I have seen it with my eyes, and it is to tell you of it that I have traveled hither. Speak on, I said, Lord. Enter in Chiapas, there is a ruined temple that the Antiguos built, and to that temple have come a man and a woman, his daughter. The man is old and fierce-eyed, a terrible man, and the girl is beautiful exceedingly. There in the ruins they have dwelt these four months or more, and the man practices the art of medicine, for he is a great doctor, and has wrought many cures, though he takes no money in payment for his skill but food only. Now it chance, Lord, that my wife, whom I married but two years ago, was very sick, so sick that the village doctor could do nothing for her. Therefore the fame of the old Indian, who dwelt in the ruined temple, having reached me, I determined to visit him and seek his counsel, or if possible, to bring him to my home. When my wife heard of it, she said it was of no use, as she saw death sitting at the foot of the bed. Still I kissed her and went, leaving her in charge of the Padre of the village, and some woman, her sisters. With me I took a lock of her hair and some fowls and eggs as a present to the Lacondone, for they said that, though of our race this doctor was not a Christian. Starting before dawn I travelled all day by the river and through the forest, till at evening I came to the ruined temple, which I knew, and began to climb its broken stair. As I neared the top, a man appeared from beneath the leaning arch, that is the gateway of the stair, and stood gazing at the ball of the setting sun. He was an aged man, clad in a linen robe only, very light in colour, with long white beard and hair, a nose hooked like a hawk's beak, and fierce eyes that seemed to pierce those he looked upon, and to read their most secret thoughts. Greeting, brother, he said, speaking in our own tongue, but with a strange accent and using many words which are unknown to me. What brings you here? Then he looked at me a while and asked slowly, Say, brother, are you sick at heart? Now, Lord, when I heard those words, wherefore you know the meaning.  Then I tried him with the second sign, and the third, and the fourth, and so on up to the twelfth, and he answered them all, though not always as we use them. Then I paused. He said, you have passed the door of the sanctuary, enter, brother, and draw on to the altar. But I shook my head for I could not. Next he tried me with various signs and strange words that have to do with the inmost mysteries. But I was not able to answer them, though at times I saw their drift. You have some knowledge, he said, yet you do, but stand at the foot of the pyramid, whereas I watched the stairs from the crest, warming my hands at the eternal fire. None of my order have more, Lord, I answered, save the very highest. Then there are higher in the land, he asked eagerly. But started suddenly and looked round, went on without waiting for an answer.  First, Lord, I said, I have brought an offering, and I set down the basket at his feet. Gifts are good between brethren, he replied. Moreover, in this barren place, food is welcome. Come here, their daughter, and take what this stranger brings. As he spoke, a lady came forward through the archway dressed like her father in a white robe of fine fabric, but somewhat worn. I looked at her, and it is truth, Lord, that for the second time I went near falling, for so great was the loveliness of this girl that my heart turned to water within me. Never before had I seen or even dreamed of such beauty in a woman. To your tale, Molas, to your tale, what has the fashion of a woman's beauty to do with the business of the heart, I broke in angrily. I do not know, Lord, he answered. And yet I think that it has to do with all earthly things. Then he continued, the lady whose name was Maya looked at me carelessly and took the basket. Following her through the archway to the terrace beyond, I set out the matter of my wife's illness to the doctor, or rather to him who passes as a doctor and who is named Zibalbe, or Watcher, praying that he would come to the village and minister to her. He listened in silence, then took the lock of her hair that I had brought with me, and going to a fire that burned nearby, he laid some of the hair upon an ember and watched it as it writhed and shriveled away. It would be of little use, brother, he said sadly, seeing that your wife is now dead. I felt her spirit passes as we talk together in the gateway. Still, until I burnt the hair, I did not know whether it was she who went by or another. Here I may tell you, Lord, that as I found afterwards, my wife departed at that very hour of sunset, though whether the doctor Zibalbe guessed that she must die then from the symptoms which I described to him, or whether he has the spirit sight and saw her, I do not know. Still, it seems natural that at that moment of her passing, she should come to bid farewell to the husband whom she loved, though I think it is a bad omen for me, and I pray that I may never see that place again. At the least, when I heard him speak thus, I did not doubt his truth, for something within me confirmed it, but I hid my face and groaned aloud in the bitterness of my grief. Then, taking my hand, Zibalbe the watcher spoke great words to me in a solemn voice that seemed to soothe me as the song of a mother soothes a restless child, for he talked with certainty as one who has knowledge and vision of those who have gone beyond, telling me that this parting was not for long, and that soon I should find her whom I had lost, made glorious and folded close to the heart of heaven. Then he laid his hand upon my head, and I slept awhile, to wake, sad indeed, but filled with a strange peace. Food is ready, my brother said, Zibalbe. Eat and rest here this night. Tomorrow you can return. Now when we had eaten, Zibalbe spoke to me in the presence of his daughter, who though a woman is also of the order, saying, you are of our brotherhood, therefore the words I speak will be repeated to none who are not brethren, for I speak upon the heart. I hear with the ears, Lord, I answered. Listen, he went on. I come from far with this maiden, my daughter, and we are not what we seem, but who and what we are now is not the hour to tell. This is the purpose of our coming, to find that which is one, but divided, that which is not lost but hidden. Perchance, brother, you can point the path to it, and he paused and looked at me with his piercing eyes. Now, Lord, I understand what his words had reference for, are they not part of the ritual of the service, opening of the heart? Still, because I desired to be sure and not commit myself, I picked up a piece of burnt wood, and as though an idoless bent down, and by the light of the fire, I drew the half of the heart with a saw-like edge upon the pavement of the chamber where we sat. Then I handed the stick to Zibalbe, who took it and passed it to his daughter, saying, I have no skill at such arts. Finish it, Maya. She smiled and kneeling down, traced the half of the face within the outline that I had drawn, saying, is it enough, or do you need the writing also? It is enough, I answered. Now, Lord, what do you desire? I desire to know where that which is hidden can be brought to light, and if it dwells in this land, for I have journeyed far to seek it. It dwells here, I answered, for I have beheld it with my eyes, and he guards it, whom is its keeper. Can you lead me to him, brother? No, for I have no such commands, but perhaps I can bring him to you, though I must journey by sea and land to find him, that is, if he wills to come. Say what message shall I give, that a stranger whom I have met desires to look upon the holy symbol will scarcely bring him so far? Nay, tell him that the hour is come for night and day to be joined together, that a new sun may shine in a new sky. I can tell him this, but will he believe it, seeing that I have no proof? Will he not rather think that some cunning stranger and false brother lays a plot to trap him? Give him proofs, lords, or I do not start upon this errand. Will he believe that which you have seen with your eyes? He will believe it, for he has trusted me from childhood. Then, look, said the man, and opening his robe at his neck, he kneeled down in the light of the fire. There, lord, upon his breast hung that which has been hidden from our sight since the sons of Ketzel, the God, ruled in the land, the counterpart of the severed symbol, which is upon your breast. That is all my story, lord. Now I, Ignatio, listened amazed, for the thing was marvelous. Did the man send me no further message, I asked? None, he said, that if you were the true keeper of the mystery, you would come to learn his mission from himself, or bring him to you. And did you tell him anything of me in my history, molas? Nothing, I had no such command. On the morrow at dawn I left to bury my wife if she were dead, or to nurse her if she still were sick, saying that so soon as might be I would travel to the city of Mexico to seek out the keeper of the heart and give him this tidings, and that within eight weeks or less I trusted to report how I had feared. The old man asked me if I had money, and without waiting to be answered, he gave me two handfuls of lumps of molded gold from a hide bag, wherefore each lump was stamped with the symbol of the heart. Let me see one, I said. Alas, my lord Ignatio, I have none, not far from the ruined temple where this Zebalbe, and his daughter so adjourned, is the hacienda of Santa Cruz, and there, as you may have heard, dwell a gang of men under the leadership of one Don Pedro Moreno, who are by professions smugglers, highway robbers, and murderers, though they pretend to earn a living by the cultivation of coffee and cocoa. As it chanced and journeying homeward, I fell into the hands of some of these men. They searched me in finding the lumps of gold in my pocket, handed them over to Don Pedro himself, who rode up when he saw that they had the fish in their net. He examined the gold closely and asked me whence it came. At first I refused to answer whereupon he said that I should be confined in a dungeon at the hacienda until such time as I chose to speak. Then, being mad to get back to my village and learn the fate of my wife, I found my tongue and spoke the truth, saying that the gold was given in exchange for food by an old Indian doctor who dwelt with his daughter in the ruined temple in the forest. Mother of Heaven, said Don Pedro, I have heard of this man before, but now I know the kind of merchandise in which he trades. I think that I must pay him a visit and learn what mint it was stamped at. Then, having plucked me bare as a foul for the oven, they let me go without hurt. But often I have sorrowed, because in my hour of haste and need I told them whence the gold came, since I fear lest I should have let loose these villains upon the old wanderer and his daughter, and in that case they may well be murdered before ever you can reach them. Doubtless Heaven will protect them, I answered, though you acted foolishly. But tell me, Molas, how did you find me out and come here without money? I had some money at home, Lord, and when I had buried my wife I traveled to Frontera on the coast where I found a ship bound for Veracruz and in her I sailed giving my service as a sailor, which is a trade that I have followed. From Veracruz I made my way to Mexico and reported myself to the head of the Brotherhood in that city, who, as I expected, was able to give me tidings of you.  Tomorrow you can let me know what answer I must bear to the old man Zimbabwe. I, Ignatio, sat late that night pondering over these tidings, which filled me with a strange hope. Could it be that my hour of success was at hand after so many years of waiting? If there were truth in prophecies, it would seem so, and yet my faith wavered. This traveler whom Molas had seen might be a madman, and his symbol might be forged, I could not tell. But at least I would put the matter to the proof for tomorrow, or so soon as was possible, I would journey down to Chiapas and seek him out. Thinking thus, I threw myself upon my bed and strove to sleep, but could not. Then remembering the scroll that my friend had given me, I rose, purporting to change my thoughts, and studying it, and to win sleep. It was a hard task, but at length I mastered its meaning, and found that it dealt with a mind near Cummarvo, and described the exact position of the mouth of the tunnel. This mouth that would appear had been closed up in the reign of Guatimoc, and the scroll was written by the Cachique, who had charge of the mind in those days, in order that a record might remain, that would enable his descendants to reopen it, should a time come when the Spaniards were driven from the land, that the mind was very rich in free gold, was shown by the weights of pure metal, stated in this scroll to have been sent year by year to the court of Montezuma by this Cachique, and also by the fact that it was thought worth hiding from the Spaniards. Early on the morrow, I went to the room of the senor Strickland, and spoke to him with a heavy heart. Senor, I said, you will remember that when I entered your service, I told you that I might have to leave at any moment. Now I am here to say that that time has come for a messenger has arrived to summon me to the other end of Mexico upon business, of which I may not speak, and tomorrow I must start upon the journey. I am sorry to hear it, Ignacio, he answered. For you have been a good friend to me. Still, you do well to separate your fortune from those of an unlucky man. And you, senor, do ill to speak thus of me, I answered with indignation. Still, I forgive you because I know that at times, when the heart is sore, the mouth utters words that are not meant. Listen, senor, when you have eaten your breakfast, will you take a ride with me? Certainly, if you like, but withered you wished to ride. To another mind that is, or should be, about two hours on horseback from here, in a valley at the foot of Yonder Peak, I only heard of it last night, though I came to Cumervo to seek it, and it would seem that it is very rich in Montezuma's day. In Montezuma's day, he said, yes, it was last worked then, and I propose that if we can find it, and it looks well, that you should denounce it for yourself, giving a reward of a few dollars to the Indian from whom I had the information, who is a poor man. But, if it is so good, why don't you denounce a Dignatio, and how did you come to hear about it after all these years? For two reasons, senor, first, because I wish to do you a service, if it is in my humble power. Secondly, because I cannot look after it and must leave you, though to do so will be a true grief to me for, if you will permit me to say it, never have I met a man for whom I conceived a greater respect and affection. Perhaps if I return again you will give me a share in the profits so that we may grow rich together. Now I will show you how I came to hear of the mind. Then I fetched the scroll with the translation that I had made and read it to him. He listened eagerly, for, like yourselves in your Jones, your countryman James Strickland, loved adventure in all things that have to do with the past of this ancient land. Let us go at once, he said, when I finished. I will order the horses and a mule with the prospecting kit to get ready. Shall we take men with us? I think not, senor. The mine is not yet found, and the less talk there is about it the better. For, if the matter is noised abroad, somebody may be before you in denouncing it. The messenger who came to see me last night is a trusty man, but he is weary with journeying and rests, so we will go alone. And now and later we were riding among the mountains, I having left a message for Molas to say that I should return before dark. The trail which we were following was a difficult one and ran for some miles along the edge of a precipice till it reached the crest of the range. Indeed, so bad was it in parts that we were forced to dismount and drive the horses and mule before us while we followed, clinging to the ferns and creepers on the rocks to keep ourselves from falling. At length we came to the summit of the range and turned downwards through a forest of oak and fir trees, heading for a valley that lay at the base of a solitary mountain peak, along which ran a stream. Down the stream we rode a mile or more since I was searching for a certain pointed rock that was mentioned in the scroll, as standing by itself on the slope of a mountain, where no trees grew, beneath which should be the glen where in the days of Guatamoc was a great seba tree, that so said the writing overshadowed the mouth of the mine. Writing up through the dense grove of oaks we came presently to the glen that lay just below the slope where upon stood the tall rock. This must be the place, I said, by sea no seba tree. Oh, doubtless it has fallen and rotted since those days, answered senior Strickland. Let us tether the horses in search. This we did, and the hunt was long for here grasses and ferns grew thick, but at length I discovered a spot where the trunk of a very ancient tree had decayed in the ground, so that nothing remained except the outline of its circle and some of the larger roots. Round about these roots we saw desperately for an hour or more but without a veil. At length my companion grew weary of this sport and went to pull up a small grassy leaf palm that he had discovered proposing to take it home and set it in his garden, for he was a great lover of plants and flowers. While he was thus engaged I toiled amongst the grasses looking for the mouth of the mine, which, as I began to think, was lost forever. Suddenly he called out, Come here, Ignatio. Beneath the roots of this palm is refuse rock that has been broken with hammers. I believe this must have been the platform in front of the mine. One can see that the ground was flat here. I came to him and together we renewed our search till at length by good luck. We discovered a hole immediately beneath the rock large enough for a man to creep into. Was this made by a coyote, or is it the mouth of the mine, the senior asked? That we can only find out by entering it, I answered. Doubtless when they shut down the mine, the Antiguas would have left some such place as this to ventilate the workings. Bring the pickaxe in your and we will soon see. For ten minutes or more we labored, working in solid ground with pick and spade till we bared the side of the tunnel which I examined. There is no need to trouble farther, I said. This rock has been cut with copper chisels, and here is the green of the copper. Without doubt we have found the mouth of the mine. Now give me the hammer and candles and bring the leather bag for samples and we will enter. End of chapter 3 Heart of the World by H. Ryder Haggard This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 4 The Legend of the Heart When I had gone a few paces down the hole it widened suddenly so that we were able to stand upright and light our candles. Now there was no doubt that we were in the tunnel of an old mine. A rudely dug shaft that turned this way and that as it followed the windings of the ore body. Along this tunnel we went for 30 or 40 paces creeping over the fallen boulders and twisting ourselves between the brown stalactites that in the course of ages had formed upon the roof and the floor. Till presently we reached an obstacle that barred our further progress. A huge mass of rocks which at some time or other had fallen from the roof of the tunnel and blocked it. I looked at it and said, now, senor, I think we shall have to go back. You remember the writing tells us that this mine, although so rich, was unsafe because of the rottenness of the rock. Doubtless they propped it in the old days but the timbers have decayed long ago. Yes, he answered. We can do nothing here without help and Ignatio. I don't like the look of the roof. It is full of cracks. As these last words left his lips, a piece of stone the size of a child's head fell from above almost at his feet. Speak softly, I whispered. The ring of your voice is bringing down the roof. Then I stooped to pick up the fallen stone thinking that it might show ore and as I did so my hand touched something sharp which I lifted and held to the candle. It was the jaw bone of a man, yellow with age and corroded by damp. I showed it to the senor and kneeling down we examined the bed of the tunnel together and not uselessly for there we found the remainder of the skull and some fragments of an arm bone but the rest of the skeleton lay under the great boulder in front of us. He was coming out of the mine when the rocks fell upon him poor fellow, whispered the senor, look here and he pointed to a little heap of something that gleamed in the candlelight. It was free gold, six or seven ounces of it, almost pure and for the most part in small nuggets that once were contained in a bag which had long since rotted away. Doubtless, after the mine was clothed, some Aztec who knew that secret had made a practice of working there for his own benefit till one day as he was coming out the rock fell upon him and crushed him, leaving his spirit to haunt the place forever. There is no doubt about this mine being rich, whispered the senor, but all the same I think that we had better get out of it. I hear odd noises and rumblings which frightened me, come Ignatio, and he turned to lead the way towards the opening. Two paces farther I saw him strike his ankle against a piece of rock that stood up some six or eight inches from the floor bed of the tunnel and the pain of the blow was so sharp that, forgetting where he was, he called out loudly. The next instant there was a curious sound above me as of something being torn and low I lay upon my face on the rock and upon me rested a huge mass of stone. I say that it rested upon me, but that is not altogether true, for had it been so the stone would have killed me at once, as a beetle is killed beneath the foot of a man, instead of taking more than two and twenty years to do it. The greater part of its weight was borne by a piece of rock against which the senor had struck his leg a point of the fallen boulder only pressing into my back and grinding me against the ground. Now we were in darkness for the senor had knocked down also and his candle extinguished and in the midst of my tortures it came into my mind that he must be dead. Presently, however, I heard a voice saying, Ignacio, do you live Ignacio? Now I thought for a moment, even in my pain I remembered that more of the roof would surely give air long and that if my friend stayed here he must die with me. Nothing could save me. I was doomed to a slow death beneath the stone and yet if I told him this I knew that he would not go, therefore I answered as strongly as I could. Fly, senor, I am safe and do but stay to light a candle and I will follow you. You're lying to me, he answered. Your voice comes from the level of the floor. And as he spoke I heard the scratching sound of a match. So soon as he had found his candle and lit it he knelt down and looked at me. Then he examined the roof above and following his glance with difficulty I saw that next to the hole once the boulder had fallen hung a huge block of stone that surrounded by great cracks from which water dripped trembled like a leaf whenever he moved or spoke. For the love of God, fly, I whispered. In a few hours it will be over with me and you cannot help me. I am a dead man. Do not stop here to share my fate. For a moment he seemed to hesitate. Then his courage came back to him and he answered hoarsely. We entered this place together, friend, and we will go out together or not at all. You must be fixed by the rock and not crushed or you would not speak of living for hours. Let me look. And he lay upon his breast and examined the fallen rock by the light of his candle. Thank God there is hope, he said at last. The boulder rests on the ground and above the stone against which I struck my leg for only one point of it is fixed in your back. Do you think that anything is broken Ignatio? I cannot say, Signor, my pain is great and I am being slowly crushed to death, but I believe that as yet my bones are whole. Fly, I beg you. I will not, he answered sullenly.  Then, lifting with all his great strength, he strove to move the stone but without a veil for it was beyond the power of mortal man to stir it and all the while the black mass trembled above his head. I must go for help, he said presently. Yes, yes, Signor, I must go for help. For I knew well that before he could return with any more of the roof would have fallen, shutting me in to perish by inches or perhaps crushing the life out of me in mercy. Then I remembered and added, A stay a moment before you go. You are noble. I will give you something. Feel here round my neck. There's a little chain. Now draw it over my head so you see a token hangs to it.  Englishman, by this gift I have made you air to the empire of the Aztecs in the heart of every Indian and the master of the great brotherhood of Mexico.  Bit him lead you whither he would have led me.  Tell the Indians how I died that they may not think you have murdered me. To these words of mine the Signor made no answer, but thrust the token into his pocket without looking at it, like one who dreams. Then, taking the candle with him, he crept forward down the tunnel and vanished, and my heart sank as I saw him go, leaving me to my dreadful fate without a word of farewell. Oh, doubtless he was too frightened to speak, I thought, and it is right that he should fly as quickly as possible to save his life. Now, as I was soon to learn, I was doing the Signor bitter wrong in my mind, seeing that he never dreamed of deserting me, but went to find a means of rescue. As he told me afterwards, when he reached the mouth of the tunnel, he could think of no way by which I might be saved since these mountains were uninhabited, and it would take several hours to bring men from Comarvo. Outside the mine he sat himself down to consider what could be done, but no thought came, for it was impossible to use the strength of the horses in that narrow place. Then he sprang up and looked round him in despair. Close to him was a little ravine, hollowed by water, and on its very edge grew a small mimosa thorn, of which the long roots had been washed almost bare by flood. He saw it, and an inspiration entered into him. With the help of a lever, he might be able to do a feat to which his unaided strength was not equal. Springing at the little tree, that being of so tough a wood was the best possible for his purpose, he tore it from such root-hold as remained to it. A few strokes with his heavy hunting knife trimmed off the branches and fibers, and soon he was creeping carefully up the tunnel dragging the tree after him. When he had gone some twenty paces, he heard another fragment of the roof fall, and so he said in his story, was minded to fly. He had but just escaped from a horrible end in the end that generations ago overtook the poor Aztec, and it was awful to brave it again. He knew that his chances of being able to rescue me were few indeed, whereas those that he would perish miserably in the attempt were many. Then he remembered what my sufferings must be if I still lived, also how his own convenience would reproach him in the after-year should he leave me to my fate, and he went on. Now that he could see that the half-detached mass of roof still hung, it was a smaller fragment which had fallen one nearer to the entrance. He could see also that I lay in the same position beneath the rock, and he thought that I was dead, because I neither moved nor spoke, though in fact I had but swooned under the agony of my suffering. Are you dead? he whispered, and I heard his voice through my sleep and lifted my head, looked up at him as astonished, right never thought to see him again.  It is I, Ignatio, and I have brought a lever. Now, when I live, struggle forward if you can. Then he placed the trunk of the thorn tree and what seemed to him the best position and put all his strength upon it. It was in vain, even so he could not stir the rock. Try a little more to the right, I said faintly. There is a better hold. He shifted the lever and dragged at it till his muscles cracked, and I felt the stone tremble as its bulk began to rise. If you can help ever so little it will come, he gasped. Then in my despair, though the anguish of it nearly killed me, I set my palms upon the ground and, contracting myself like a snake that is held with a forked stick, thrust upwards with my back till the point of the stone was raised to the height of eight or ten inches from the ground. For a moment, and one only, it hung there. Next instant the lever slipped and down it came again, but I had taken my chance for, clinging to the floor with my fingers as soon as my back was free, with a quick movement I dragged myself a foot or more forward. Then the point of the rock that had been lifted from my spine fell again, but this time it struck the ground between my thighs. Now he seized me by the arms and tore me free, though I left one of my long boots beneath the stone. I strove to rise but could not because of the hurt to my back. You must carry me, Senor, I said. He glanced at the mass that trembled above us, then giving me the candle he lifted me from the ground like an infant and staggered forward down the tunnel. Perhaps we had gone some seven or eight paces, not more, when there was a dreadful crash behind us. The roof had fallen in and the spot, which we occupied some 30 seconds ago, was now piled high with rocks. On, I said, cracks are showing in the stone above us, and he rushed forward till we found ourselves outside the mine. Now I bowed my head and returned thanks for my escape. Then, lifting it, I looked my preserver in the face and said, I swear by the name of God, Senor, that he never made a man nobler than yourself. The next instant I fell forward and fainted there among the ferns. Ten days had passed since I was carried from the mouth of that accursed mine back to commarvo, in a litter, and during all this time I had suffered much pain in my back, and been very ill, so ill indeed, that I was scarcely allowed to speak with anyone. Now, however, I was much better, and one afternoon the Senor Strickland, assisted by my foster-brother Molas, lifted me from my bed into a hammock. By the way, Ignacio, said the Senor, when Molas had gone, I never gave you back that charm of yours. What a strange trinket it is, he added, taking it from his neck. And what did you mean by your talk in the tunnel about it's making me heir to the empire, the Aztecs in the heart of every Indian, and the rest of it? I suppose that you were delirious with pain and did not know what you were saying. Is the door shut, Senor, I asked? And are you sure that there is no one on the veranda? Good.  I'm not certain that I should take this talisman back again. Still, I will do so for reasons which you shall learn presently. No, Senor, that this broken gem is at once the foundation stone and the secret symbol of a great order of which, although you have not been initiated into it, you are now one of the lords, seeing that the crowning and vital ceremony of the creation of a lord of the hearts consists in the hanging of the symbol about his neck, for the space of a minute only by himself, who am the chief lord and keeper of the heart of life, and you have worn it for ten whole days. Before we part, I will call a chapter of the order for even among these mountains we have brethren, and you shall be initiated into its ritual and raised to the rank of a chief lord, as is your right. Meanwhile, I will instruct you briefly in its mysteries, as it is my bounden duty to do. Understand, Senor, that the first duty of the servant of the heart is silence, and that silence I demand of you. Men have died there now, Senor, yes, they have died on the rack in the dungeons of the Inquisition, and shriveled as wizards in the fires of the stake, sooner than reveal these things that have been told them upon the faith of the heart, against which the confessional itself cannot prevail. No, not with the best of Catholics. But suppose that a man should not keep silence Ignatio, what then, he asked. There is a land, Senor, I answered, where the most talkative grow dumb, and its borders can be crossed by all, even by the lords of the heart, for fearful is the doom of a false brother. You mean, that if I repeat anything I may hear, I shall be murdered? Oh, indeed, no, Senor. But you may happen to die. I speak on the heart. Do you hear with the ears? I hear with the ears, he answered, catching my meaning. Very well, Senor, since you have now sworn secrecy to me by the most sacred oath that can pass the lips of a man, I will speak to you openly. This is the tale of the broken heart, so far as I know it, though how much of it is truth, and how much legend I cannot say. You have heard the story of that white man, or God, sometimes called Ketzel by the Indians, and sometimes Chuchumats, who came to these lands in the far past and civilized their peoples. Afterwards he vanished away in a ship, promising that when many generations had passed, he would return again. When he had gone the empire which he had created, fell into the hands of two brothers, whose chief city was either Palenque, or in its neighborhood, and the citizens of this empire, like we Christians, worshiped one good God, the true God under the name of Heart of Heaven, and to him they offered few sacrifices, save those of fruit and flowers. Now, one of these brothers married a wife from another country, a daughter of devils, very beautiful, and a great witch. Soon this woman is in the story of the wives of Solomon and their lord, drew away the king, her husband, from the true faith to the worship of the gods of her own land, and brought it about that he offered human sacrifice to them. Then there arose a great confusion in the country, and the end of it was that the people divided themselves into two parties, the worshipers of the Heart of Heaven, and the worshipers of devils. They made war upon each other till many of their chief men were killed. Then they came to an agreement whereby the nation was sundered. Half of it, under that king who had married the woman, marched northwards and became the fathers of the Aztecs and other tribes, and half the faithful worshipers of the Heart remained in the Tabasco country. Now, from that day forward, evil overtook both these peoples, for though the Aztecs flourished for a while, in the end Spaniards despoiled them. The worshipers of the Heart were also driven from their cities by hordes of barbarians who rolled down upon them and their faith perished or seemed to perish. But what has this history to do with the charm about your neck, Ignatio? He asked, I will tell you. When Quetzal sailed away from his people, so says the legend, he left the stone that once he had worn upon his brow, of which this is the half, to be a treasure to the kings who came after him. Also he set his fate upon it, that while the heart remained unbroken, for so long should the people be one and whole. But if it came about that it was cut or shattered, they should be divided with it, and no more one people again until the fragments were one stone. Now, when these king brethren quarreled and parted, they sawed the tokeness Sunder, as you see, each of them keeping a half, this half being that of him who married the woman. For generations it was worn by his descendants, and upon their deathbeds passed on to them to another, or at times taken from their bodies after they were dead. There are many stories told about the stone in the old days, and it is certain that he who had it was the real king of the country for the time being. At length it came into the hands of the great Guatemala, last of the Aztec emperors, who before the Spaniards hung him, found means to send it to his son, from whom it has come down to me. To you? What have you to do with the Guatemala? I am his lineal descendant, the eleventh in the male line. Then you ought to be emperor of the Indians if every man has his right signatio. That is so, senior. But of my own story I will tell you presently, now of this stone. Through all the ages it has never been lost, and it is known in the land from one end to the other. He who wears it for his life being called keeper of the heart, and also hope of those who wait, since it may happen in his day that the two halves will come together again. And what if they do? Then, so says the legend, the Indians will once more be a mighty nation, and drive those who oppress them into the sea as the wind drives dust. Now the senior rose from his chair and walked up and down the room. Do you believe all this? He asked suddenly. Yes, I answered. Or the greater part of it. Indeed, if what I hear is true, the lost half of the talisman that has been missing for so many generations is in Mexico at this moment, and so soon as I am well enough, I go to seek him who bears it, and who has come from far to find me. That is why we must part, senior. Well, where has this man come from, he asked eagerly. Well, I do not know for certain, I answered. But I think he has come from the sacred city of the Indians, the hidden golden city which the Spaniards sought for but could not find, though it still exists among the mountains and deserts of the far interior, whether I hope to journey with him. That still exists, Ignatio? Oh, you must be mad. It never has existed, except in the imagination. You say so, senior, but I think differently. At least I knew a man whose grandfather had seen it. He, the grandfather, was a native of San Juan Batista in Tabasco. And when he was young, he committed some crime and fled inland to save his life. All that befell him, I do not know, but at length he found himself wandering by the shores of a great lake, somewhere in or beyond the country that is now known as Guatemala, and being exhausted, he laid himself down to die there and fell asleep. When he awoke, people were standing around him, like the Indians, to look at, but very light in color and beautifully dressed in white robes with necklaces of emeralds and feathered capes. These people put him on board a great canoe and took him to a glorious city with a high pyramid in the center of it, which was named Heart of the World. Of this city he saw little, however, for its inhabitants kept him a prisoner, only from time to time he was brought before their king and elders, who sat in a hall filled with images of dead men, fashioned in gold, and there was questioned as to the country once he came, the tribes that dwelt in it, and more especially of the white men who ruled the land. In that hall alone, so he said, there were more gold and precious stones than are to be found in all Mexico.  The end of it was that he did escape by the help of a woman, who guided him back towards the sea, though she never came there, for she died upon the road. Afterwards, this man went to live in a little village near Palenque, where he also died, having revealed nothing of what he had seen, since he feared lest the vengeance of the people of the heart should follow him. When he was dying, he told his son, who told his son, who told the tale to me, Senor, it has been the dream of my life to visit that city, and now at last I think that I have found the clue which will lead me to it. Why do you want to visit a Dignatio? To understand that, Senor, you must know my history, and I told him of the failure of the Great Plot and of the part I had played in it, all of which I have already set out, also the secret hopes and ambitions of my life. Senor, I added, though I am beaten, I am not yet crushed, and I still desire to build up a great Indian empire. I see by your face that you think me foolish. Well, you may be right, or I may be right. I may be pursuing truths or dreams.  What does it matter? I follow the light that runs before me, willow the wisp or star. It leads to one end, and for me it is the light that I am born to follow. If you believe nothing else, at least believe this, Senor, that I do not seek my own good or advancement, but rather that of my people.  But how will you help your cause by visiting the city, supposing it does exist, Ignatio? Thus, Senor, these people among whom without doubt the old man of whom I have spoken, who is named Zibalbe, is a chief or king, are the true stock and head of all the Indian races, and when they learn my plans and who I am, they will be glad to furnish me with means whereby I can bring them to their former empire. And if they take another view of the matter, Ignatio, then I fail, that is all, and among so many failures one more will scarcely matter. I am like a swimmer who sees or thinks he sees a single plank that may bear him to safety. Maybe he cannot reach that plank or a fee, reach it, maybe it will sink beneath his weight. At least, he has no other hope. Senor, I have no other hope. There in the golden city is untold wealth for the man saw it, and without money, great sums of money, I am helpless, therefore I go thither to win the money. The ship has foundered under me, and with it the cargo of my ambition and the work of my life, so being desperate I fall back upon a desperate expedience. First, I will seek this man that the two halves of the heart may come together, and the prophecy be fulfilled. Then, if it may be, I will travel with him to the city heart of the world, careless whether I live or die, but determined, if there is need to die fighting for the fulfillment of the dream of an Indian empire, Christian regenerated and stretching from sea to sea that I have followed all my days. The dream Ignatio, perhaps you name it well, yet few have such noble dreams. And now who goes with you on this journey? Who goes with me? Molas, so far as the temple where the Indian is. After that, if I proceed, no one. Who would accompany a man grown old in failure, whom even those that love him deem a visionary on such a desperate quest?  I go alone, senior, perhaps to die. As regards the dying Ignatio, of course I can say nothing, since all men must die sooner or later, and the moment and manner of their end is in the hand of providence. But for the rest you shall not make this journey alone. That is, if you care to have me for a companion, for I will accompany you. You, senior? You? Think what it means, the certainty of every sort of danger, the risk of every kind of death, and at the end the probability of failure. It is folly, senior. Ignatio, he answered, I will be frank with you, notwithstanding all the prophecies about the wonders that are to follow the reuniting of the heart and messages from the old man in the temple. I think your scheme of building up an Indian empire greater than that which Cortez destroyed, as impracticable as it is grand. The time has gone by when it could have been done, or perhaps it has not yet returned. But before the Indians can rule again, they must forget the bitter lessons and the degradation of ages. In short, they must be educated, Ignatio. Still, if you think otherwise, that is your affair. You can only fail, and there are failures more glorious than most successes. Do you understand me? Perfectly, senior. Very well. Now, as regards the search for this golden city, to me the matter seems very vague, since your hopes of finding it are based upon a traveller's tale told by a man who died 70 or 80 years ago, and the chance that a certain person whom you have not yet seen has come from there and is willing to guide you back to it. Still, the prospect of hunting for that city pleases me, for I am an adventure in my heart. If ever we get further than the forest country in Tabasco, where your friend with the token is waiting for you, our search will probably end in the leaving of our bones to decorate some wilderness or mountaintop in the unknown regions of Guatemala. But what of that? I have no chick or child. My death would matter nothing to any living soul. For years I have worked hard with small results. Why should I not follow my natural bent and become an adventurer? I can scarcely do it worse than I have done, and I think that the way of life would suit me. That mind you showed me is rich enough, no doubt, but I have no capital to deal with it. And if I had my experience of the place was such that I never wished to set foot in it again. In short, I'm ready to start for Tabasco in the sacred city or whatever else you like, as so soon as you are fit to travel. Do you swear that on the heart, senor? I asked. By all means, but I should refer to give you my hand upon it. And he stretched out his hand, which I took. Good. You swear on the heart and give me your hand. The oath is perfect. We are comrades henceforth, senor. For my part, I ask no better one. I have nothing more to say. I cannot promise that you will find this city or that if you find it it will advantage you.  This I swear, however, that I will be a true comrade to you, as you were to me in yonder in the mine. And for the rest, the adventure must be its own reward. End of chapter 4. Heart of the World by H. Ryder Haggard. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Chapter 5. The Beginning of the Quest Something more than a month from the day when the senor Strickland and I made our compact to search for the secret city of the Indians, we found ourselves together with Moloss at Veracruz, waiting for a ship to take us to Frontera, where we proposed to disembark. This port we had chosen in preference to Campeche, although the latter was nearer to the ruins where we hoped to find the Indian Zebalbe, because from it we could travel in canoes up the Grigalva and other rivers unobserved by any save the natives. Things are changed now in these parts, but in those days the white man who lived thereabouts beyond the circle of the towns were too often robbers, as Moloss had found to his cause some few weeks before. At Veracruz we purchased such articles as were necessary to our journey. Not many, for we could not be sure of finding means to carry them. Among them were hammocks, three guns that would shoot either ball or shot, with ammunition. As many muzzle-loading colts revolvers are the best that were to be had 20 years ago, some medicines, blankets, boots, and spare clothes. Also we took with us all the money that we possessed, amounting to something over $1,500 in gold, which some we divided between us, carrying it in belts about our middles. At Veracruz, where people are very curious about the business of others, we gave out that Senora Strickland was one of those strange Englishmen who loved to visit old ruins for which purpose he was traveling to Yucatan, that I, Ignatia, was his guide and companion, and that Moloss, my foster brother, was our servant. Now we proposed to leave Veracruz by a fine American vessel, a sailing ship that, after touching at the ports along the coast, traded to Havana in New York. As a chance the departure of this ship was delayed for a week, so being pressed for time and fearing lest we should catch the yellow fever that was raging in the town unhappily for ourselves, we took passage in a Mexican boat called the Santa Maria. She was an old sailing vessel of not more than 250 tons berthin' that had been converted by her owners into a paddle wheel steamer, with the result that except in favorable weather she could neither sail nor steam with any speed or safety. Her business was to trade with passengers and cargo between Veracruz and the ports of Frontera and Campache. Wherefore, asked the agent of Senora Strickland as he filled in the tickets, Frontera, he answered, your boat stops there, does she not? Oh, certainly, senor, he said, as he pocketed the dollars. Yet all the while this shameless rogue knew that she had orders to touch at Campache, which is the furthest port, first and returned to Frontera a week later, but of this more in its place. That afternoon the Santa Maria, with us on board of her, was piloted out of the harbor of Veracruz and we heard the pilot swearing because she would not answer properly to her helm. Standing by the engines we noticed also that, though they had not been working for more than half an hour, it was found necessary to keep a stream of water in constant play upon the bearings. The senor asked the reason of this of a man who was mate and engineer of the boat and he answered with a shrug that sand had got into the machinery when she was steaming over a bar of the Grigialva river. He thought, however, that the bearing should it please the saints, would last this voyage unless they had the bad luck to run into a norther, as you English call El Norte, the fearful gales that in certain seasons of the year sweep over the Gulf of Mexico. And if we run into a norther, he asked, whereupon the man made a grimace crossed himself to avert the omen and vanished down the stokehole. Now we began to feel sorry that we had not taken passage in the American ship, since of late northers had been frequent, but as for good or ill we were on board the Santa Maria, we amused ourselves by studying our fellow passengers. Of these there were several on board, perhaps 20 in all, Mexican landowners and officials returning to their haciendas and native towns after a visit to Veracruz, or the capital some of them pleasant companions, enough and others not so. Three or four of these gentlemen were accompanied by their wives, what the ladies had already retired to the bunks, opening out of the cabin where, although the sea was quite smooth, they could be heard suffering the pains of sickness. Among the passengers was one, a man of not more than 30 years of age, who particularly attracted our attention because of the gorgeousness of his dress.  While I was wondering who he might be, Molas made a sign to me to come aside and said, You see, on demand, with the silver buttons on his coat, he is Don Jose Moreno, the son of that Don Pedro Moreno, who way-laid and robbed me of the nuggets which the old Indian gave me for the cost of my journey to find you. I heard at the time that he was away from the hacienda in Veracruz or Mexico, and now doubtless he returned stither. Beware of him, Lord, and bid the Englishman to do the same, for like his father, he is a bad man. Then he told me certain things connected with him and his family. While Molas was talking, a bell had been rung for dinner, but I waited till he had finished before going down.  What do you seek, senor? he asked. My dinner, senor, I answered. It shall be sent to you on the deck, he said, not without confusion. I do not wish to be rude, senor, but you know that these Mexicans, I am a Spaniard myself and do not care, hate to sit at meet with an Indian, so if you insist on coming in, there will be trouble. Now I heard, and though the insult was deep, it was one to which I was accustomed, for in this land which belongs to them and where their fathers ruled, to be an Indian is to be an outcast. Therefore, not wishing to make a stir, I bowed and turned away. Meanwhile, it seems that the senor Strickland, missing me in the cabin, asked the captain where I was, saying that perhaps I did not know that the meal was ready. If you refer to our servant the Indian, said the captain, I met him at the door and sent him away. Surely the senor knows that we do not sit at table with these people. Captain, answered senor Strickland, if my friend is an Indian, he is as good a gentleman as you or anybody else in this cabin. Moreover, he is paid for the first-class fare and has a right to first-class accommodation.  As you wish, answered the captain, smiling, for he was a man of peace. Only if he comes there will be trouble. Then he ordered the steward to fetch me. Now this steward was an Indian who knew my rank, therefore not wishing to offend me by repeating what had passed. He said simply that the captain sent his compliments and begged that I would come down to dinner. The end of it was that I went, though doubtfully, and, seeing me in the doorway, the senor Strickland called to me in a loud voice, saying, You are late for dinner, friend, but I have kept your place here by me. Sit down quickly or the food will be cold. I bowed to the company and obeyed, and then the trouble commenced. For all present had heard this talk. As I took my seat, the Mexicans began to murmur, and the passenger who was next to me instantly moved his plate and glass away. Now, almost opposite to me, sat Don Jose Moreno, the man of whom Molas had told me. As I took my seat, he consulted hastily with a neighbor on his right, then addressing the captain, said in a loud voice, There is some mistake. It is not usual that Indian dogs should sit at the same table with gentlemen. The captain shrugged his shoulders and answered mildly. Perhaps the senor will settle the question with the English senor on my left. To me it does not matter. I am only a poor sailor and accustomed to every sort of company. Senor Strickland, said Don Jose, be so good as to order your servant to leave the cabin. Senor, he answered, for his temper was quick.  Caramba, said the Mexican, laying a hand upon the knife in his belt. You shall pay for that, Englishman. When and how you will, senor, I always pay my debts. Then the captain broke in in a strange way. First he put his hand behind him, and, drawing a large pistol from his pocket, he laid it by his plate. Senors both, he said in a soft voice, and with a gentle smile. I am loath to interfere in a quarrel of two esteemed passengers. But though I am only a poor sailor, it is my duty to see that there is no bloodshed and bore this vessel. Therefore, much as I regret it, I shall be obliged to shoot dead the first man who draws a weapon. And he cocked the pistol. Now the Mexicans scowled, and the Senors Strickland laughed outright, for it was a curious thing to hear a man with a face of a shape growl and threaten like a wolf. Meanwhile, I had risen, for this insult was more than I could bear. Senors, I said speaking in Spanish, as I see that my presence is unwelcome to the majority of those here, I hasten to withdraw myself. But before I go I wish to say something, not by way of boasting, but to justify my friend, the English gentleman, in his action on my behalf. However well-born you may be, my descent is nobler and more ancient than yours, and therefore it should be no shame to you to sit at table with me. Least of all should the Don Jose Moreno, whose father is a murderer, a highway robber, a man without shame, and whose mother was a half-breed, mestiza slut, dare to be insolent to me who, as any Indian on board this ship can tell you, am a prince among my own people. Now every eye was fixed on Don Jose. His shallow complexion turned to a whitish green as he listened to my words, and for a moment he sank back in his chair, overcome with rage, then he sprang up once more gripping at his knife.   What I have said of your father is true. More there is a man on board this ship, whom, not three months since, he robbed with violence. If the gentleman, your companions, would like to hear the story, I can tell it to them. For the rest, I am well able to defend myself. Moreover, this vessel is manned by Indians who know me, and should any harm come to me or my friend, the senor Strickland, I warn you that you will not reach your home alive. Gentlemen, I salute you, and I bowed and left the cabin. Friend, I thank you, I said to the senor, when he came upon the deck after dinner ended. Knowing who I am and seeing how, in common, with my race I am accustomed to being treated by such hounds as these, can you wonder that I am not fond of Mexicans? No, Ignatio, he answered, but all the same, I advise you to be careful of this Don Jose. He is not a man to kiss the stick that beats him, and he will make an end of you, and me too, for that matter, if he can. Do not be afraid, senor, I answered, laughing. Besides the steward and moloss, there are twenty Indians on board, most of them belonging to the tribe that dwells beyond the Campeche, the finest race in Mexico. Two of these men are associates of the heart, and all the rest know my rank, and will watch that man day and night, so he can never come near us without finding them ready for him, only we shall do well to sleep on deck and not below. That night we spent wrapped in our sorrapies upon two coils of rope on the folksal of the Santa Maria, with molas sleeping close behind us. It was a lovely night, and we wiled away the hours in telling tales to each other of our adventures in past years, and in wonderings as to those that lay before us till at length, fearing nothing, for we knew that our safety was watched over, we fell asleep, to be awakened by the sudden stoppage of the vessel. The day was on the point of dawn, a beautiful and pearly light lay upon the quiet surface of the sea, above us the stars still shone faintly in the heavens, but to the east the cloud banks were tinged with pink and violet. We sat up wondering what had happened, and saw the captain wrapped in a dirty blanket engaged in earnest conversation with the engineer, who wore a still dirtier shirt and nothing else, hearing that something was wrong, the senior James went to the captain and asked him why we had stopped. Because the engines won't go any more, and there's no wind to sail with, he answered politely. But have no fear, my comrade says, that he can mend them up. He has nursed them for years, and knows their weak points. Certainly there is not much to fear in weather like this, said the senior, except delay. Nothing, nothing, replied the captain, glancing anxiously at a narrow black band of cloud that lay on the rim of the horizon beneath the fleecy masses in which the lights of dawn were burning. Do you think that we are likely to have a norther, asked the senior in his blunt white man's way? You know, exclaimed the captain, crossing himself at the name of that evil power El Norte. But, uh, Ken Sabay, God makes the weather not we poor sailors. Then, with another glance at the threatening line of cloud, he hurried away as though to avoid further conversation. Presently the engines began to work again, though haltingly, like a lame mule, and as the morning drew on the day became clear and the thin black cloud vanished from the horizon. Towards three o'clock in the afternoon, Molas pointed to a low coastline, and a spot on the sea where the ocean swell showed tipped with white, told us that Yonder was the bar of the Grigalva River, and that behind it lay the village of Frontera, our destination.  Why do you fetch your luggage, as the captain presently? You may want it tonight. That is why I brought it up, he answered. I do not wish to land at Frontera with nothing. Land at Frontera, senor? No one will land at Frontera from this ship for another six or seven days. We pass Frontera and run straight on to Kempeche, which, by the blessing of the saints, we shall reach tomorrow evening. But I have taken tickets for Frontera, said the senor. The agent gave them to me, and I insist on being put ashore there. Oh, that is quite right, senor. All being well, we shall call it Frontera this day week, and then you can go ashore without extra charge. But before this my orders are to put into no port, except Kempeche. That is, unless a norther forces me to do so. May the norther sink you, your ship, your agents, and everything you have to do with, answered the senor, in so angry a voice, that the Mexican passengers who were listening began to laugh at the Englishman's discomforture. Though the more thoughtful of them crossed themselves to avert the evil omen. Then followed a storm for the senor, whose temper, as I have said, was not of the coolest. Raged and swore in no measured terms, the captain shrugged his shoulders and apologized. The passengers smiled, and seeing that there was no help for the matter, I looked on patiently after the manner of my race. At length the captain fled, wiping his brows and exclaiming, What manner of men are these English, that they make such trouble about a little time, mother of heaven? Why are they always in a hurry? Is not tomorrow as good a day, as today, and better? That evening we dined together upon the deck, for neither of us were in any good mood to descend to a cabin and meet Don Jose Moreno, of whom we had seen nothing since the previous night. As we were finishing our meal, the light faded, and the sky grew curiously dark, while suddenly to the north there appeared a rim of cloud, similar to that which we had seen on the horizon at dawn. But now it was an angry red, and glowed like the smoke from a smelting furnace at night. This sky looks very strange, Ignatio said the senior to me, and at that moment we heard Moloss, and an Indian sailor speaking together in brief words. El Norte, said Moloss, pointing toward the red rim of light. See, El Norte answered the sailor as he went towards the cabin. Presently the captain hurried up the companion ladder and studied the horizon, of which the aspect seemed to be frightening him. In another minute the mate joined him, appearing from the engine hatch, and the two of them began to converse or rather to dispute. I was sitting near, unobserved in the darkness, and so far as I could gather, the mate was in favor of putting the ship about, and running for frontera, from which port we were now distant some forty miles. On the other hand the captain said that if they did so, and the norther came up it would catch them before they got there and wrecked them upon the bar of the Grigialva River. He added that he did not believe there would be any norther, and if by ill luck it should come, their best course was to stand for the open sea and ride it out. The mate answered that this would be an excellent plan if the ship were staunch, and the engines could be relied on. Only he declared loudly that they might as well try to sail a boat with a mast made of cigarettes as to attempt to lie head on the norther with leaking boilers worn out engines and a strained paddle wheel.  But in the end the two sailors determined that their safest plan would be to hold on their present course and, if necessary, round point excalango, and take shelter behind Carmen Island, or if they could, in the mouth of the Uusamsinto River. Then they parted the captain abjuring the mate to say nothing of the state of the weather to the passengers, and above all to that accursed Englishman who had called this misfortune upon them because he was not put off at Frontera and whose evil eye brought bad luck. Another two hours passed without much change, except that the night grew darker and darker, and stiller and yet more still. The Senora Strickland who had been walking up and down the deck, smoking a cigar, came and sat beside me on a coil of rope and asked me if I thought the norther was coming. Yes, it is coming, I answered, and I fear that it will sink us, at least so say the Indian sailors. You take the idea of being drowned like a puppy in a sack, very coolly, Ignatio. How far are we from point excalango? About twelve miles, I believe, and I take it coolly because there is no use in making it outcry. God will protect us if he chooses, and if he chooses, he will drown us. It is childish to struggle against destiny. A true Indian creed, Ignatio, he answered. You people sit down and say it is fate, let us accept it, but one that I and the men of my nation do not believe in. If they had done so, instead of being the first country in the world today, England long ago would have ceased to exist, for many a time she has stood face to face with fate and beaten her. For my part, if I must die, I prefer to die fighting. Tell me, are any of these people to be relied on if it comes to a pinch? The Indian sailors are competitive and brave. Also, they know the coast, and if need be, they will do anything that I tell them. For the rest, I cannot say, but the captain seems to understand something of his business. Look and listen. As I spoke, a vivid flash of lightning pierced the heavens above us, followed by a deafening peel of thunder. In its fierce and sudden glare, we could see the coast some three or four miles away, and almost ahead of us, of the bolder outline of Point Excalango. The water about our ship was dead calm, and slipped past her sides like oil. The smoke in the funnel rose almost straight into the air, where at a certain height it twisted round and round, and a sail that had been hoisted flap to and fro for lack of wind to draw it. A mile or so to windward, however, was a different sight, for there came the norther, rushing upon us like a thing alive.  Now the captain who was on deck saw his danger, for if those billows caught us broadside, we would surely found her. In the strange silence that followed, the boom of thunder, he shouted to the helmsman to bring the ship head on to the sea, and to the sailors to batten down the after-hatch, the only one that remained open, shutting the passengers except ourselves, and moloss into the cabin. His orders were obeyed well and quickly. The Santa Maria came around and began to paddle towards the open water, and the advancing line of foam. It was terrible to see her so small a thing, driving on thus into what appeared to be the very jaws of death. Now the unnatural quiet was broken, a low moaning noise, thrilled through the air. The what is about the ship's side began to seed and hiss, and spray flying ahead of the wind, cut our faces like the lash of a whip. A few more seconds and something white and enormous could be seen, looming above our bows, and the sight of it caused the captain, whose face looked pale as death in the gleam of the lightning, to shriek another order to his crew. Lie down and hold on tight to the rope! I said to Sen. Strickland and moloss who were beside me, here comes El Norte, and he brings death for many of us on board this ship.