He described the dress of the Spaniards, their weapons and
their manner of life without having seen them at all, and the Indians,
when asked, said it was so.
Taxmar's acute mind was adjusting itself to this event, which was not
altogether unexpected. He had heard more than Aguilar had about the
previous visits of the Spaniards to that coast. He asked Aguilar if he
thought that the strange warriors would accept him, their countryman, as
ambassador, and deal mildly with Taxmar and his people, if they let him
go. Aguilar answered that he thought they would.
Now freedom was within his grasp, and only one thing delayed him. He
could not leave his comrade Guerrero behind. The sailor had married the
daughter of a chief and become a great man in his adopted country.
Aguilar sent Indian messengers with the letter and a verbal message, and
waited.
Guerrero had never known much about reading, and he had forgotten nearly
all he knew. He understood, however, that he could now return to Spain.
Before his eyes rose a picture of the lofty austere sierras, the sunny
vineyards, the wine, so unlike pulque, the bread, so unlike flat cakes
of maize, the maidens of Barcelona and Malaga, so very different from
tattooed Indian girls. And then he surveyed his own brawny arms and
legs, and felt of his own grotesquely ornamented countenance.
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