XLIV.
Old England Again.
Once more we revisit the old manor-house in Kent. It is the evening hour. The great hall no longer looks gloomy and cheerless, for a noble wood-fire blazes and crackles on the hearth, lamps are lighted, and servants are passing to and fro, placing bread and meat and ale upon a board spread with snowy drapery. And soon the family take their seats around it. A tall fair-haired man presides, wearing a cassock and Geneva bands—the Reverend Walter Grey, known far and near as a faithful shepherd of souls and true servant of his divine Master. Opposite sits his pretty, useful, loving wife, Dame Lilias—after the fashion of those times still often called Dame Lilias Noble. There are two fair children, glowing with health and happiness, and just now clinging lovingly to a gray-haired lady, whose thoughtful chastened face wears that look, rarely seen, but unmistakable, of one who has passed through suffering into peace,—who has trod the great water-floods upheld by a Saviour’s hand, and ever afterwards retains the memory of that touch. Lastly, there sits beside Walter Grey a man whom certainly “no one could have passed without remark.” His dress is plain, and might be taken for that of an English merchant or yeoman; but southern suns have browned his cheek and kindled the fire that burns in his dark eye. His frame is worn; health has never quite returned since that long agony in the hold of the Spanish ship, yet enough is left to him for much labour in the cause dearest to his heart. Here he is only an honoured guest; his home lies far away, amidst the din and smoke of that great city whither come the exiles from foreign lands to whose wants of soul and body he delights to minister.
On this occasion Fray Fernando has come down to Kent to be present at the baptism of Walter’s third and youngest child, for whom he has promised to answer at the font.
One absorbing topic fills all hearts to-night, and would have filled all mouths, but for tender consideration for the feelings of the Spanish guest. It was the year 1588—the glorious year of “England’s Salamis.” Scarcely has one moon run her course since “the great Armada, boastfully called ‘Invincible,’ was, by thirty of Her Majesty’s ships of war and a few of our own merchants, beaten and jostled together, even from the Lizard in Cornwall—first to Portland, from Portland to Calais, and from Calais driven with squibs from their anchors, were chased out of sight of England, round about Scotland and Ireland.”[56] Even now, as then, England has good reason to give thanks for the result of that conflict. And even now, as then, England ascribes the glory, not to her gallant navy or her stout merchantmen, not to the brave hearts and hands of her dauntless sons, but to Him, and Him alone, who was unto her “a strong tower from the face of her enemies,” and who “blew with His wind, and they were scattered.”
Just then the great nation’s heart was thrilling with the joy of deliverance from a near and terrible danger. There were many private as well as public causes of rejoicing. The gentle heart of Lilias was very glad, since her three brave brothers, Harry, George, and James, were safe and well, and honoured for signal gallantry in the hour of danger. Nor was Fray Fernando without his interest in the great event, though he did not allude to it until, the pleasant social meal and the family worship that succeeded it being over, all had retired to their places of rest, except himself and Walter Grey.
As they sat together by the fire, Walter addressed his friend in Spanish. “We are determined to keep possession of you this time,” he said; “I hope you are prepared.”
Fray Fernando shook his head, and answered in the same language. “But for your letter, and the pressing message sent me through your good uncle, I should not have left London at all. Those crowds of miserable soldiers and seamen, my poor unhappy countrymen, who are now in the city, waiting for the means of transport beyond the seas, need all, and more than all, that one man can do for them.”
“You must own, at all events,” said Walter, “that our gracious Queen is behaving with a large-hearted generosity that beseems her well, in sending these her enemies, who came to destroy her and her people, freely to their homes again.”
“True,” said Fray Fernando. “And your uncle and others contribute in a noble and Christian spirit to the relief and comfort of the prisoners; thus returning good for evil. Nor am I without hope that some of these poor captives may take home with them, instead of the English spoils they thought to gain, a treasure of which they never dreamed,—even the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ. God grant it! He only knows how my heart yearns over those my brethren according to the flesh.”
“I have some thoughts,” Walter answered, “of going back with you, and helping for a season in your good work; that is, if I can provide for my duties here.” And then he talked a little of his own parish with its cares and interests, of Lilias, and of the children.
“You have not yet told me,” Fray Fernando said, “what name you have chosen for my god-son.”
“We are all agreed,” Walter replied with a smile, “in giving him the English form of a dear friend’s honoured name—Ferdinand.”
“Nay, my friend, not so,” returned Fray Fernando. “Do not choose that name.”
“And why not, my friend and father?”
“For many reasons. In the first place, it is no name of mine. My true baptismal name, unused for half a lifetime, would be strange to your ears, and indeed to my own now. But if, indeed, you list to please the wayward fancy of a lonely man, then call your boy for me by the name of the patriarch’s best loved son—the separate from his brethren, upon whom the blessing came—‘Joseph is a fruitful bough, a fruitful bough by a well, whose branches run over the wall. The archers have sorely grieved him, and shot at him, and hated him: but his bow abode in strength, and the arms of his hands were made strong by the hands of the mighty God of Jacob.’”
“So be it then, with all my heart,” said Walter Grey; “and God add his blessing to the child. It is a name that I too have cause to remember with grateful love.” After a pause, he asked rather suddenly, “Father, do you ever revisit in dreams that far-distant land where you and I first saw each other’s faces?”
“Indeed, Walter,” Fray Fernando answered, with a smile half bright, half sorrowful, “I dream of little else. Night after night I seem to gaze upon the snowy line of the Andes as we used to see them from Callao, or the grand peaks of crystal that pierce the sky of Cerro Blanco; or perchance I look down from the height on the lovely vale of Nasca winding far beneath. Sometimes I wander through those marvellous tropical forests, pushing my way amongst the thick shrubs and the tangled lianas, and gathering great white and purple flowers—dream-flowers, yet not more wonderful than those I have actually seen and touched. Anon we are floating over crystal seas, with the mild light of the Southern Cross shining in the far heavens above us. All is so real, so present, that I cannot choose but take it for a pledge that these eyes shall yet behold again that new, familiar world beyond the western wave. Yes, Walter, when the King comes, and this beautiful ruined earth is cleansed and renovated, and made fit for His throne and habitation, I dare to cherish a hope that my foot shall press those shores once more—that I shall walk there with—with—” But here his voice failed,—died away into that silence which is more eloquent than many words, and often like a fragrant balm preserves and consecrates our dearest names.
After a pause of sympathy, Walter resumed—“There is much for the King to do when He comes.”
“There is much for us to do while we wait and watch for His coming,” Fray Fernando answered with cheerful earnestness. “We have to hasten that coming by our holy conversation and godliness, our prayers and our efforts to spread abroad the knowledge of His name. And amidst all the sin and all the sorrow that we see around us, we have to keep fast hold of our faith in Him, and to rejoice in sure and steadfast hope of that blessed day when the kingdoms of this world shall have become the kingdoms of our Lord, and of His Christ, and He shall reign for ever and ever. And ‘the earth shall be filled with the knowledge of the glory of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.’”
“Amen!” said Walter Grey. “Thy Kingdom come.”
FOOTNOTES
[1] Sweet bread.
[2] No sound corresponding to the letter D is found in Quichua. Its place is supplied by T.
[3] Empress.
[4] Alas!
[5] Tribe, descendants.
[6] Yahuar-Huaccuc.
[7] Prince.
[8] The same word serves for both in Quichua.
[9] This is given as a specimen of the Inca legends and traditions.
[10] Tunic.
[11] The anecdote told above is related, by different historians, of several of the Incas. Other remarkable acknowledgments of the One True Invisible God are attributed to these heathen princes.
[12] Flowery meadow.
[13] Luna.
[14] The Deluge, of which most of the American nations preserved traditions.
[15] From a Quichua cradle-song.
[16] Trenches.
[17] The Moon.
[18] It is a Spaniard who tells us this—Don Marcio Serra de Leguisano, in his “Last Will and Testament”—a very noble testimony to the conquered race.
[19] Factories.
[20] Slaves.
[21] All the details given above are, of course, strictly true. The most harrowing instances of cruelty and oppression are, however, purposely omitted.
[22] Sweet-william.
[23] Poet.
[24] Songs.
[25] Allotment of land.
[26] “What is most wonderful is that all the labour and toil they used for their kings was their greatest delight and recreation; and such was the good rule and order observed in it that no labour was tedious, but rather of contentment and satisfaction.”—Joseph de Acosta. (Other Spanish testimonies might be quoted, to the same effect.)
[27] Atahualpa, nevertheless, had some redeeming features of character: and it is almost certain that his cruelties were greatly exaggerated.
[28] This riot actually took place, and from the cause assigned in the text.
[29] This hereditary guild of doctors still exists among the Peruvian Indians, and they still pursue their calling as described in the text.
[30] The ease with which the Spaniards made their vast conquests in the New World was owing, in great measure, to the awe and terror inspired by their horses, animals entirely unknown to the aborigines; it has been even said that it was the horse, not the man, that conquered America.
[31] The “last of the Incas,” Tupac Amaru, who died as above related in 1571, must not be confounded with a far more remarkable character, the heroic and unfortunate Inca chieftain, José Gabriel Condercanqui, who assumed the name of Tupac Amaru, and led his people in their last gallant struggle for independence towards the close of the eighteenth century.
[32] Literally, you shall count; but used to mean virtuous, excellent.
[33] In Quichua, Coyllur means a star; Sumac, beautiful.
[34] Temple of the Sun.
[35] The Peruvians were as successful as the ancient Egyptians in the art of embalming the dead. The bodies of all the Incas, from Manco Capac downwards, were placed in the great Temple of the Sun at Cuzco. There each sat in state, in his royal robes, the llautu on his head and the sceptre in his hand; his Coya being seated opposite. At the approach of the conquerors the natives removed and concealed them; but the bodies of the three greatest Incas—Viracocha, Yupanqui, and Huayna Capac—with those of their Coyas, were afterwards found, and honourably interred, even the haughty conquerors baring their heads in silent reverence as they were borne past.
[36] Slave.
[37] The Peruvians paid extreme regard to omens, and were very superstitious about them.
[38] Sarmiento.
[39] Garçilasso de la Vega.
[40] Lily.
[41] Yes, yes.
[42] Humboldt.
[43] Officer whose duty it was to preserve and interpret the Quipus.
[44] Narrative of Job Hortop, in “Hakluyt’s Voyages.”
[45] The Spaniards called all the Indian princesses Pallas, though the title properly belonged only to the married ones amongst them.
[46] This fidelity of the Peruvians to any master to whom they had once yielded themselves, is described in very striking terms by Garçilasso de la Vega.
[47] The precious metals were very plentiful in those regions, and prices, of course, proportionably high.
[48] A hundred such stories could easily be gathered out of the blood-stained records of the Spanish conquests in America.
[49] The Incas believed that “Pacha-camac had appointed the same care to be taken of the wild as of the tame flocks;” for this reason they would not hurt or destroy them, except so far as was necessary for the food, the clothing, or the safety of man.
[50] See “Ollantā, an Ancient Ynca Drama, Translated from the Original Quichua by Clements R. Markham. C.B.”
[51] Out of thirty-six persons who were thus banished at one time, no less than thirty-five died within the space of two years.
[52] The arms granted by Charles V. to the Inca family.
[53] Garçilasso de la Vega.
[54] Alluding to a graceful custom of his royal forefathers. When they desired to honour any man, they would send him a cup exactly the same as that from which they drank themselves with the message.—“The Inca drinks with thee in this cup.”
[55] Humboldt.
[56] Sir Walter Raleigh.