“Light for the forest child!
An outcast though he be
From the haunts where the sun of his childhood smiled,
And the country of the free.
Pour the hope of heaven o'er his desert wild;
For what home on earth hath he?”
SIGOURNEY.
SOON after daybreak next morning. Fray Fernando repaired to the little church—which was only a hut, larger and loftier than the rest, and adorned with a bell. He was in the habit of leaving the door open day and night; so he passed in without any delay, and walked quickly to the rough wooden box which he had caused to be erected by way of a confessional. But on attempting to enter it, he stumbled over something that lay beneath. In a moment, the Indian boy noticed on the preceding night sprang up and stood before him, with frame quivering, and cheek crimsoned beneath its olive hue. There was an evident struggle in the child's mind. Should he turn and flee, or should he dare to stay, and cast himself on the mercy of the tall dark man in gray?
Fray Fernando ended his hesitation. He did not know his language, it is true, but he knew a much more ancient language, that of nature. At least, he had known it once, and had not quite forgotten it. He drew the child towards him, and sought to reassure him by gentle and caressing gestures, patting his shoulder and stroking his long glossy black hair. And he had, well-nigh succeeded in soothing him, when suddenly the boy's expression changed to one of intense and irrepressible terror; and he tried with all his might to break away from the monk. Don Ramon's figure darkened the doorway.
“Good morning, padre!" said the soldier of fortune. "Santa Maria! what wind has blown that unlucky boy here? No doubt he has been trying to run away again. Little plague! But it shall be kill or cure with him this time.”
The monk had thrown his arm round the boy's waist, partly to hold him fast, partly to keep him safe. And after a moment the child ceased to struggle, either because that grasp was so strong, or more probably because it was so gentle. But a thought flashed through Fray Fernando's mind, giving instant birth to a purpose. "The boy has placed himself, though unconsciously, under the protection of Holy Church, and it shall not fail him." He said aloud, "But what can you want with such a child, señor? He is too young to be worth much to you.”
“True. But I promised to send a present of a little Indian, for a page, to a lady in the Old Country, whom I hold in great esteem. And this boy, whom fortune has placed in my power, is just fit for the purpose, with his handsome face and his bright intelligent ways. You heard me tell last night the story of his capture? No? I forgot—you retired early. Pues, with your good leave, holy father, I have another story to tell now. But let me first call one of my men to take that child away.”
“Nay, rather permit me to keep him here for the present," said Fray Fernando, who shrank from seeing the child used with harshness, and, moreover, had further thoughts which he did not care to divulge just yet.
He tried to make the boy understand by signs that he must remain where he was. Nor was this difficult; for the 'Indian seemed already to associate some idea of protection with his presence. He lay down tranquilly behind the confessional, choosing a spot whence he could see his new friend the monk, but not his enemy Don Ramon. And then the business of the morning proceeded.
We are not going to unveil the mysteries of confession, or to violate that secrecy which the Church of Rome requires her minister to guard even at the cost of life. Nor was there anything peculiar or exceptional in the tale that Don Ramon poured into the ears of Fray Fernando. It was only the story of a young man of great energy and strong passions, sent early to seek his fortune beyond the seas, removed from every restraining influence, and with the untold riches of the New World spread out before him; all that could gratify the lust of the flesh and the lust of the eye to be had for the taking.
And yet the tale of wrong and robbery impressed Fray Fernando painfully. The monk was not hard by nature; though he might have been called a man hardened by the circumstances of his life. He had human sympathy; but it was like the drop of water sometimes found embedded in a stone. It was difficult to reach. Unknown to himself, however, a softening power was at work with him that morning. He imposed upon Don Ramon as severe a penance as he dared, for the unprovoked and treacherous slaughter of a little settlement of independent Indians, surprised in one of the oases of the great desert he had been traversing. It could not, indeed, have been much more severe, had the penitent insulted a friar, destroyed an image of our Lady, or maintained one of Luther's heretical opinions. And he told him plainly that unless he changed his present course of life, he would one day find himself face to face with certain just judgments of God against them that do such things, which neither priestly absolution, prayers, penances nor sacraments could avert.
When the rite was over, it wanted some time yet to the hour appointed for mass. Fray Fernando turned, pointed to the little captive, and said boldly, "You will gain neither honor nor profit by a prisoner taken as you took that child, Don Ramon.”
“St. Jago! after all you have said, I am nearly of the same mind myself. But what can a man do? When a fair lady breathes a wish to a loyal caballero and her devoted slave, it behooves him to go even through blood and fire to fulfill it.”
“Not through the blood of women and babes, and the fire of their burning homes," said Fray Fernando, perhaps a little too boldly.
Don Ramon was somewhat chafed. "I am not worse than others, holy father," he said. "I do wrong to no christened man; and I am always careful to give the Church her due. Even now, I intend to consecrate to our Lady of Atocha gold enough out of my spoils to make a pair of candlesticks for her altar.”
“In the compassionate eyes of our Lady, mercy and pity are more precious than gold," returned the monk. "And believe me, Señor Don Ramon," he continued with increasing earnestness, "your suit with the fair lady you speak of will prosper all the better if you consult the will of God and the health of your own soul in the disposition of your captives. That boy seems so much attached to his freedom, that he will either succeed in escaping you, in spite of all your precautions, or you will have to use such harsh measures to restrain him, that he may escape you in another way.”
“Yet 'twere pity to lose him. He is the handsomest of his race that I have seen.”
“True. And I do not care to hide from you that my heart is drawn to the child. I would gladly keep him myself, and bring him up.”
Don Ramon laughed. "Commend me to the holy fathers, the sons of St. Francis," he said. "They know how to order their affairs with discretion. You have taken a fancy to my captive, padre, and you want him yourself. So you try to persuade me that I will mightily serve my soul's interests by giving him up to you. But you forget his propensities for running away.”
“I do not. But I shall make a Christian of him; then if he goes, I cannot help it; if he stays, I shall instruct him carefully in the verities of our holy Faith, that he may instruct his brethren.”
“A course of action like to prove very beneficial—suppose you persevere in it—to the Indians, and perhaps to your own soul also. But I know not how it is to benefit me, who have had all the toil and the fighting, not to speak of an arrow in my left leg, which might have been poisoned, for aught I knew to the contrary.”
“I have not forgotten your interests in the matter, nor am I so unreasonable as to ask you to give me your prisoner for nothing. I have something to offer you in exchange worth a dozen Indian captives. Moreover, I do not insist, though I might, upon the fact that you will be doing a good work, very useful to yourself, in giving up the child to me for the purpose I have named.”
“Well, well, holy father, let us hear what you have to offer. Nevertheless, the good work is the main thing. A man ought to think of his soul's salvation.”
The monk drew from beneath his robe a little box of amber, with hinges and rims of gold, and with much reverence and solemnity of manner showed it to the soldier.
“A holy relic?" inquired the latter, with bowed head and voice decorously lowered, as in the presence of majesty.
“A tooth of the blessed St. Joseph, whose festival we celebrate today," said Fray Fernando reverently.
A pause followed this solemn and impressive announcement. Then the monk opened the little box, and displayed the relic to the admiring gaze of Don Ramon. “It is of most undoubted authenticity, and of very powerful virtue," he said. "And the motive which could induce me to part with it must needs be a strong one. I have kept it for many years—indeed, since my early childhood. It was given me by—" But here he broke off hastily, leaving his sentence incomplete. His eyes turned from the little amber box to the eager face of the Indian boy, who was watching them with an evident suspicion that their conversation concerned himself.
“Such a thing as that would do a man no harm in a fight or a shipwreck!" said Don Ramon. And the assertion, as he put it, was indisputable.
“It will do you good and not harm wherever you are; in the field or in the house, in the land or on the sea," returned Fray Fernando. "Always supposing"—common sense and candor obliged him to add— "that you are not engaged in any business of which the holy saint would disapprove.”
“I intend to pay more regard to these considerations in future," said Don Ramon. "Well then, Holy Father, since such is your pleasure, take the boy, and I take the relic. Perhaps you would have no objection to throw me a mass or two into the bargain? Ours is a wild life—though we do good service to holy Church in fighting the infidels. And as we take care of her interests, it may not be too much to hope that she will look to ours.”
Fray Fernando satisfied him on the subject of the masses; and as Pepe, who acted the part of acolyte, had by this time begun to ring the bell, he led the little Indian boy to his own cell, where he took the precaution of shutting him up, having first supplied him with food.
After mass, Don Ramon and his companions partook of a liberal breakfast, and then resumed their journey. Just before his departure, however, the soldier of fortune drew the monk aside. "Here," he said with the air of one conferring no inconsiderable favor—"here is a golden ornament which belonged to the mother of that child. I may as well give it you; perhaps it may serve hereafter to identify him. At all events, you will favor me by accepting it as an acknowledgment of your valuable spiritual ministrations. I took it, with my own hands, from her mantle, when I found her lying dead the morning after we made her and the boy our prisoners.”
Something about robbery for burnt-offering flashed through Fray Fernando's mind, but he took the jewel without any other comment than a brief "Thank you." It was a large golden pin, somewhat resembling a spoon in shape, and with figures ingeniously cut all over its surface.
Shortly afterward, Fray Fernando visited his little prisoner. The child was looking out of the window of the cell when he entered; but he turned quickly round, took a mat from the floor, rolled it up to resemble a burden, placed it on his head, and then walking gravely towards his new master, deposited it at his feet.
Fray Fernando could not imagine what he meant by this pantomime; but anxious...to soothe him and to reconcile him to his situation, he drew his arm round him, and began to stroke and caress him, as he had done in the morning. Then recollecting one of the very few phrases he happened to know of the child's native tongue, the Quechua, he asked, "Yma sutinque?" ("What is your name?")
The boy, disengaging himself gently from his caressing arm, stood before him, with head erect, and dark eyes kindling with evident pride, as he answered, "Viracocha Yntip Churl.”
"God and our Lady bless thee, poor heathen child. Thou shalt have a better name than that, a Christian name, ere this sun goes down," said Fray Fernando.
That very day, accordingly, he baptized the child in the presence of the whole colony. He gave him the name of Jose, which he thought singularly appropriate, both because the boy was baptized on St. Joseph's day, and because his freedom was purchased with a relic of that saint.
Both the Spaniards and the Black people were edified by the evident willingness with which the little heathen submitted to the rite. It was not until long afterward that Fray Fernando discovered that the neophyte had put a meaning of his own upon what was otherwise meaningless to him. He imagined that this was a ceremony by which his kind protector was publicly asserting his claim to him.
But that claim had already been asserted, and confirmed by a pledge stronger than many ceremonies—by love given and returned. And it was allowed in the child's heart.