Heart of the World | Page 8

set upon a bank overhanging a beautiful rushing river with water

that was always clear as glass, however much it rained, which river ran
a hundred feet or more below the windows.
About Tiapa there is little to say, except that in those days the people
were for the most part thieves, and such great sinners that my cousin,
the /padre/ would not shrive some of them, even on their death-beds.
There was a church, however, whereof the roof was overgrown with the
most beautiful orchids. Also the roads were so bad that, except in the
dry season, it was difficult to travel either to or from the town.
Here in this forgotten place I grew up, but not without education, as
might have been expected, seeing that my cousin was a good scholar,
and did all he could to keep me out of mischief.
When I was about fifteen years of age, of a sudden a desire took hold of
me to become a priest. It was in this wise: One Sunday evening I sat in
the church at Tiapa, looking now at the sprays of orchid flowers that
swung to and fro in the breeze outside the window, and now at the
votive pictures on the walls, offerings made by men and women who
had called upon their patron saints in the hour of danger and had been
rescued by them--here from fire, there from murderers, and here again
from drowning; rude and superstitious daubs, but doubtless acceptable
to God, who could see in them the piety and gratitude of those that out
of their penury had caused them to be painted.
As I sat thus idly, my godfather, the good priest, began to preach. Now,
it chanced that two nights before there had been a dreadful murder in
Tiapa. Three travellers and a boy, the son of one of them, passing from
San Christobel to the coast, stopped to spend the night at a house near
our own. With them they brought a mule-load of dollars, the price of
the merchandise that they had sold at San Christobel, which some of
our fellow-townsmen, half-breeds of wicked life, determined to steal.
Accordingly, to the number of ten, these assassins broke into the house
where the travellers lodged, and, meeting with resistance, they cut
down the three of them with /machetes/, and possessed themselves of
the silver. Just as they were leaving, one of the thieves perceived the
boy hiding beneath a bed, and, dragging him out, they killed him also,

lest he should bear witness against them.
Now, those who had done this deed of shame were well known in the
town; still none were arrested, for they bribed the officers with part of
their booty. But my godfather, seeing some of them present in the
church, took for his text the commandment--"Thou shalt do no
murder."
Never have I heard a finer sermon; indeed, before it was finished, two
of the men rose and crept from the church conscience-stricken, and
when the preacher described the slaughter of the lad whom their wicked
hands had of a sudden hurled into eternity, many of the congregation
burst into tears.
I tell this story because it was then for the first time, as I thought of the
murdered boy, who some few days before had been as full of life as I
was myself, that I came to know what death meant, and to understand
that I also must die and depart for ever either into heaven or hell. I
shook as the thought struck me, and it seemed to me that I saw Death
standing at my elbow, as he stands to-day, and then and there I
determined that I would be a priest and do good all my life, in order
that I might find peace at the last and escape the fate of the evil.
On the morrow I went into my godfather's room and told him of my
desire. He listened to me attentively, and answered; "I would that it
might be so, my son, holding as I do that the things of the world to
come outweigh those of this present earth ten thousandfold, but it
cannot be, for reasons that you shall learn when you are older. Then,
when my trust is ended, you may make your choice, and, if you still
wish it, become a priest."
* * * * *
Five more years passed away, during which time I grew strong and
active, and skilled in all manly exercises. Also I studied much under the
teaching of my godfather, who sent even to Spain to buy me books.
Among these books were many histories of my own race, the Indians,

and of their conquest by the Spaniards, all that had been published
indeed. Of such