Here they were made
slaves, to cut wood, carry water and bear burdens. Water was scarce in
that region. There had been reservoirs, built in an earlier day, but
these were ruined, and water had to be carried in earthern jars. The
cacique died, and another named Taxmar succeeded him. Year after year
passed. The soul of one worn-out white man slipped away, followed by
another, and another, until only Aguilar and Guerrero were left alive.
Taxmar sent the sailor as a present to a friend, cacique of Chatemal,
but kept Aguilar for himself, watching his ways.
The cacique was a sagacious heathen of considerable experience, but he
had never seen a man like this one. Jeronimo was now almost as dark as
an Indian and had not a scrap of civilized clothing, yet he was unlike
the other white men, unlike any other slave. He had a string of dried
berries with a cross made of reeds hung from it, which he sometimes
appeared to be counting, talking to himself in his own language. Taxmar
had once seen a slave from the north who had been a priest in his own
country and knew how to remember things by string-talk, knotting a
string in a peculiar fashion; but he was not like this man. When the
white slave saw the crosses carved on their old walls he had eagerly
asked how they came there, and Taxmar gathered that the cross had some
meaning in the captive's own religion.
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