The Second G.A. Henty

by G. A. Henty

  “You will get over this, in time,” the noble said gravely, but with a slight smile. “This effect is only experienced when the herb is first used.”

  Much as Roger had been astonished by the effect of the powder, he was still more surprised at the use to which the broken leaf and the little sticks were put. Two of the Mexicans filled the small bowls with the leaf, while the other took one of the tubes holding a small stick. An attendant then approached with a small piece of wood, on fire. This was applied first to the stick, and then to the small bowls; and, to Roger’s stupefaction, great clouds of smoke at once issued from the mouths of the three Mexicans. Had it not been that, from the tranquil expression of their faces, he saw that this was the regular course of events, he would have thought that some accident had occurred, and that the Mexicans had, in some mysterious way, taken fire in the interior.

  He remained silent for a minute or two, and then asked:

  “Do you like it? Is it really pleasant to you?”

  “It is, indeed,” the governor said. “This herb is largely used. Its effect is to produce a feeling of repose and contentment. You will get to like it, in time.”

  “Possibly I may,” Roger replied; “although at present, that hardly seems probable.”

  The music now struck up a more lively air. Presently a number of young men and women, who had been feasting in another apartment, came in and performed several graceful dances, to the accompaniment of the music; singing, as they did so, a sort of chant, which reminded Roger of those he had so often heard in the churches at home.

  When all was over the ambassadors withdrew, saying that, doubtless, their guests would wish to enjoy a siesta during the heat of the day. Some slaves led the way into another apartment, in which was a couch heaped with soft rugs, and here Roger threw himself down.

  “Was there ever an English boy in so strange a strait as mine?” he said to himself. “What an extraordinary people! Gold seems as plentiful with them as common pottery with us; and as to the magnificence of their dresses, I verily believe that the court of King Harry would make but a poor show beside them. If I could land at Plymouth tomorrow, with all the presents I have received today, I should be a rich man. Here they are valueless.

  “I received presents at first at Tabasco, and yet, had I remained there a month longer, I should have been sacrificed to those cruel gods of theirs. These presents mean really nothing to me. They seem magnificent, but gold is so common, here, that it is no more than if, at home, one presented a man with necklaces of glass, and some woolen cloths. It is a mark of civility, but that is all.

  “When I get there, the priest will be inquiring into my religion, and when they see that I pay no honor to their gods, they will be sure to raise a cry against me.

  “Malinche was telling me that, every year, some special prisoner is chosen for sacrifice, and is treated with great honor, and has every luxury until the time comes, and then they put him to death. Brutes! I have no doubt they will consider that, from my very rarity, I shall make a specially acceptable sacrifice.

  “I wish I was back on the Hoe again. Cousin Diggory, and Mistress Mercy, and the girls little think into what a horrible fix I have fallen—alone among a strange people, who breathe smoke out of their mouths, and load me with rich presents one day, and may kill me on the next. Well, when the day comes I shall try not to disgrace my country, and religion, and color; but it is very hard, being all alone here. If I had but two or three of my companions of the Swan with me, I should feel that I could face whatever came; but it is hard to stand quite alone, and I am only a boy.

  “Still, they shall find that I can strike a rough blow or two, before I die. They shall not find that it is a lamb that they are going to sacrifice, but a Devonshire lad, with such bone and muscle as one gets from a life on the sea.

  “It is strange that these people should be so cruel. They seem so mild and so gentle, and yet Malinche says they sacrifice tens of thousands of captives, every year, to their gods. They never kill in battle if they can avoid it, striving only to take their enemies prisoners, for this horrible service.

  “I must try, if I can, to make friends among them. The old cazique of Tabasco stood by me well, and it may be that here I may find some like him; but it will need a powerful protector, indeed, to stand against the priests, who, Malinche says, are far more powerful here than in Tabasco.”

  Three hours later an attendant came in, and said that the governor invited his guest to walk with him through the town, and survey the temples and other edifices.

  “Now for it,” Roger said, clenching his fist. “Now, Roger Hawkshaw, you have got to show yourself a true man, whatever comes of it.”

  He fastened the sword, which was one of the weapons with which he had been presented, to his girdle; and then went out into the great hall, from which all the other apartments opened. The governor and the two nobles from Tezcuco were awaiting him.

  Upon sallying out, Roger found that the streets were as crowded as when he entered. He was received with a long quavering cry of welcome by the women, and by a deeper hum of applause by the men. All bent to the ground before him and his companions, before whom a party of soldiers moved to clear the way.

  “Now, we will go first to the Great Temple,” the governor said. “It is but small in comparison with those of the great cities of the valley, but it is a very holy shrine; and numbers come, from all the cities round, to pay their devotion there on the days of festival. There are forty temples in the town, on all of which fire burns night and day; but this is the largest and holiest of them.”

  After passing through several streets, Roger saw a great hill rising in front of him. Whether it was the work of man, or had a natural hill for its foundation, he knew not. It was four sided and pyramidal in form. There were terraces rising, one above the other, supported by stone walls. Steps at the angles led from one terrace to another, but these were so placed that anyone mounting had to pass right along the terrace round the pyramid, before he arrived at the steps leading to that above. The top of the pyramid seemed to be cut off, leaving an area of, as far as he could judge, some fifty feet square. Smoke ascended from the summit, where, as Malinche had told him, fire always burns before the altar in its center.

  Just before reaching the foot of the pyramid, the governor pointed to a building of considerable size.

  “Here you will see,” he said, leading Roger towards a great gateway, “how well the god has been honored.”

  As he neared the gateway, Roger saw that the building was well-nigh filled with an immense pile, carefully built up, of what at first appeared to him cannon balls, only of larger size than any he had seen piled in the batteries of Plymouth, and of a white color. Then the thought struck him they were great turnips, or some such root, which might be held sacred to the god. But as he entered the building the truth flashed across him—the great pile was composed entirely of human skulls.

  Roger had made up his mind that, although he would not give way in the slightest in the matter of his faith, he would yet abstain from shocking the religious feeling of the natives. After the first involuntary start at the discovery, he silenced his feelings, and asked how many skulls there were in the heap. He could not, however, understand the reply, as he had not yet mastered the Aztec method of enumeration, which was a very complicated one.

  Roger walked along one side of the pile, counted the number of skulls in a line, and the number of rows, and then tried to reckon how many skulls there were. Roger was not quick at figures, although his father had tried hard to teach him to calculate rapidly, as it was necessary for one who traded, and bought and sold goods of all descriptions, to be able to keep his own figures; or he would otherwise be forced always to carry a supercargo, as was indeed the custom in almost all trading ships, for there were few masters who could read and write, far less keep accounts. However, as he found there were a hundred skulls in each line, and ten rows, and as the heap was nearly square, it was not a difficult task t
o arrive at the conclusion that there must be a hundred thousand skulls in the pile.

  This seemed to him beyond belief, and yet he could arrive at no other conclusion. If a hundred thousand victims had been offered up, in one temple of this comparatively small city, what must be the total of men killed throughout the country? The pile had, no doubt, been a long time in growing, perhaps a hundred years; but even then it would give a thousand victims, yearly, in this one temple.

  Although it seemed well-nigh impossible to Roger, it was yet by no means excessive, for according to the accounts of all historians, Mexican and Spanish, the number of victims slain, annually, on the altars of Mexico amounted to from twenty-five to fifty thousand.

  “The god has good reason to be pleased?” the Aztec ambassador, who was watching Roger’s face closely, remarked.

  “If he is fond of blood and sacrifices, he should indeed be pleased,” Roger said quietly; “but all gods do not love slaughter. Quetzalcoatl, your god of the air, he who loved men and taught them what they know—such a god would abhor sacrifices of blood. Offerings of fruit and flowers, which he taught men to grow, of the arts in which he instructed them, would be vastly more pleasing to him than human victims.”

  Roger spoke in a tone of authority, as if he were sure of what he stated.

  “When the white god left your shores, there were no human sacrifices offered to the gods”—this fact Roger had learned from Malinche, who had told him that the custom had been introduced in comparatively late years. She said ten generations, which he supposed would mean about two hundred years—“and such a custom would be abhorrent to him.”

  The Aztec governor looked very grave. It was to the god of war that these sacrifices were offered, but the idea that the kindly white god, who stood next to him in public estimation, might not only object to be so worshiped himself, but might object altogether to human sacrifices being offered, was unpleasant to him; and yet this white stranger clearly spoke as if he were acquainted with the mind of Quetzalcoatl.

  The Tezcucan envoys, on the other hand, looked pleased. Tezcuco had maintained for a long time a milder form of worship. Her people were more gentle than the Aztecs, and had only reluctantly, and in part, adopted the terrible rites of their formidable neighbors.

  “Will you ascend the temple?” the governor asked.

  “No,” Roger said firmly. “I say not aught against the god of battles. Let those who will make offerings to him. The God of the Air,” and Roger raised his hand towards the sky, “loves flowers and fruit and peace and goodwill. When He came down to earth He preached peace, and would have had all men as brothers; and I, who follow Him, will not bow down at altars where human beings have been sacrificed.”

  The Mexican naturally thought that Roger was speaking of Quetzalcoatl, and this strange knowledge he possessed of the god, and his ways and wishes, struck him with deep awe. Without making any further attempt to induce him to ascend the teocalli, which was the name they gave to their pyramidal temples, the governor led the way back to the palace.

  The next morning Roger started with the Tezcucan envoys on his journey. They informed him on the way that the Aztec governor had, on the previous evening, dispatched an officer of high rank to Mexico, to give the emperor the full details of the conversation and sayings of the strange visitor; for the dispatches were available only for sending news of facts and occurrences, but could not be used as mediums for conveying thought.

  “Montezuma is mild and gentle in his disposition, and quite unlike his two predecessors, who were mighty warriors; and doubtless, in his heart, he will welcome the words you said yesterday concerning Quetzalcoatl. But he is swayed wholly by the priests, and such sentiments will not be agreeable to them, for sacrifices are forever going on at the teocalli. At the dedication of the great temple for Huitzilopotchli, just thirty years ago, seventy thousand captives were put to death.”

  “They must have been miserable creatures,” Roger said indignantly, “to have submitted tamely to such a fate. They might, at least, have rushed upon their guards, however numerous, and died fighting.”

  Roger said little more during that day’s journey. The admiration he had at first felt, for the arts and civilization of these people, had been succeeded by a feeling of abhorrence. He had heard, from Malinche, that all victims sacrificed to the gods were afterwards cooked and eaten; and although he had scarcely believed the girl, in spite of her solemn assurances, he could now, after seeing the vast pile of human skulls, quite believe that it was true.

  BY RIGHT OF CONQUEST [Part 2]

  CHAPTER 8

  At Tezcuco

  In each city through which they passed, and several of these were of vastly greater size and importance than Tepeaca, Roger was received with the same welcome and rejoicings that had greeted him there. The houses were decorated with flowers and garlands, dense crowds lined the streets, processions came out to meet him; banquets were given in his honor, and everything seemed gay and joyous. But Roger was low and depressed. To him the whole thing appeared a mockery. He seemed to see blood everywhere, and the fact that, as he learned from the casual remark of one of the envoys, numbers of victims were offered upon the altars on the evening before his arrival at each town, in order to please the gods and bring about favorable omens, added to his depression; and he thought that he had better, a thousand times, have been drowned with his father and friends, than be the cause of men being thus put to death.

  It was true that, as he was told, these captives were reserved for this purpose, and had they not been slain on that night might have been sacrificed on the next; but this was a small consolation. It seemed to him that above the joyful cries of greeting he could hear the screams of agony of the victims, and to such a pitch was he wrought up that, had he seen any whom he could have recognized as priests, he would have fallen upon them with his sword.

  But the priests held aloof from the gatherings. They knew not, as yet, how their chiefs would regard this stranger, and it was not their policy to join in welcoming one who might, afterwards, be denounced and sacrificed as an enemy of their religion; nor, upon the other hand, would they commit themselves to hostility to one who might be held to be a god.

  From the summits of the teocallis they looked down upon the great gatherings; angry that instead of, as usual, figuring in the chief places in the procession, they were forced to stand aloof. As in Egypt, the Aztec priests embraced within their order all the science and learning of the nation. They were skilled in the sciences of astrology and divination, and were divided into numerous ranks and classes. Those best instructed in music took the management of the choirs, others arranged the festivals conformably to the calendar, some superintended the education of the young of both sexes, others had charge of the hieroglyphic paintings and records and of the oral traditions, while the rites of sacrifice were practiced by the chief dignitaries of the order. They were each devoted to the service of some particular deity, and had quarters provided within the spacious precincts of his temple.

  Here a certain number were always on duty, and men living there practiced the stern severity of conventual discipline. Thrice during the day, and once at night, they were called to prayers. They mortified the flesh by fasting and cruel penance, drawing blood from their bodies by flagellation or by piercing themselves with the thorns of the aloe. When their turn of duty was over, they resided with their wives and families outside the temples.

  The great cities were divided into districts, placed under the charge of a sort of parochial clergy. These administered the rites of baptism, confession, and absolution, each of which strongly resembled that of the Christian religion. In baptism the lips and bosom of the infant were sprinkled with water, and the Lord was implored to permit the holy drops to wash away the sin that was given to it, before the foundation of the world, so that the child might be born anew. The secrets of confession were held inviolable, and penances were laid upon the penitents. There was one peculiarity in the Aztec ceremony of con
fession—namely, that the repetition of an offense, once atoned for, was deemed inexpiable—and confession was therefore made but once in a man’s life, and generally deferred until a late period of it.

  One of the most important duties of the priesthood was that of education, to which certain buildings were appropriated, within the enclosure of the principal temple of each city. Here the youth of both sexes, of the middle and higher classes, were placed when very young; the girls being entrusted to the care of priestesses, for women exercised all sacerdotal functions except those of sacrifice. In these institutions the boys were drilled in monastic discipline. They decorated the shrines of the gods with flowers, fed the sacred fires, and took part in the religious chants and festivals. Those in the higher schools were initiated in the traditionary law, the mysteries of hieroglyphics, the principles of government, and in astronomical and natural science. The girls were instructed in all feminine employments, especially in weaving and embroidery. The discipline, both in male and female schools, was stern and rigid.

  The temples were supported by the revenue from lands bestowed upon them by successive princes. These were managed by the priests, who were considered as excellent masters, treating their tenants with liberality and indulgence. Besides this they were entitled to the first fruits of all produce, and were constantly receiving rich offerings from the pious. The surplus, beyond what was required for the support of the priests, was distributed in alms among the poor, charity being strongly prescribed by the moral code of the nation.

  Thus the Aztec religion was a strange mixture of good and evil. The moral discipline enforced by it was excellent. Many of its precepts resembled very closely those of Christianity, and yet the whole was contaminated by the wholesale sacrifices. It is supposed that this dual religion was the result of the mixture of two peoples, the mild and gentle tenets of the Toltecs being adopted by the fierce Aztec invaders, who added to them their own superstitious and bloody rites.