It is asserted by a pious Spanish Bishop, who in the middle of the seventeenth century wrote the history of the discovery and conquest of the Chibcha kingdom, that the said Bochica was none other than the Apostle St. Bartholomew, as to whose final work and preachings there is (not to overstate the case) some obscurity. The good old Bishop states that, as the Christian faith, according to the Divine decree, was to be preached in every corner of the earth, it must have also been preached amongst the Chibchas, and that, as nothing was known with certainty about the final whereabouts of the Apostle Bartholomew, and he was not unlike the description made of Bochica by the Chibchas (which, by-the-by, was such that it might have fitted any white man with a long blonde beard), it is evident that the saint must have visited those Andine regions. Furthermore, he adds, there is a stone on one of the mountains, situated between the plateau of BogotÁ and the eastern plains, which bears the footprints of the saint. This, to many people, is decisive, and I, for my part, am not going to gainsay it, since it serves two important ends. It explains the saint’s whereabouts in a most creditable and appropriate fashion, and it puts a definite end to all doubts concerning Bochica’s identity. We cannot be too grateful to those who thus afford pleasant explanations of matters which would otherwise be intricate and difficult, perhaps even impossible, of solution.

The legend went on to say that the god of the Chibchas (Chibchacum), becoming irate at their excesses and vices, flooded the plain where they lived, by turning into it several neighbouring rivers. The inhabitants, or such of them as were not drowned, took refuge on the neighbouring mountain-tops, where, animated by that fervour and love of the Deity which takes possession of every true believer when he finds himself thoroughly cornered, they prayed abundantly to the Bochica, whose precepts they had utterly forgotten. He, of course, took pity on them, and, appearing amidst them on the mountain-top one afternoon in all the glory of the setting sun, which covered him as with a sort of royal mantle, he dashed his golden sceptre against the mighty granite wall of the nearest mountain, which opened at the blow into the gap through which the waters poured, draining the lake, and leaving as a memorial of his power and his love for his chosen people those waterfalls whose thunder goes up like a perennial hymn to heaven high above the trees that crown the mountain-tops, and whose sprays are as incense for ever, wreathing on high at the foot of a stupendous altar.

The cataract takes two leaps, first striking a protruding ledge at a distance of about 75 feet from the starting-point, a sort of spring-board from which the other mighty leap is taken. Close to the shore, at a distance of about 6 feet, on the very brim of the abyss, there is a rock about 10 feet square, which, when the waters are low, breaks the river, and appears like a sinking island in the mass of foaming waters. The rock is slippery, being covered with moss, which the waters and the mists keep constantly wet. Bolivar, the soldier to whose tenacity and genius Colombia and four other South American republics owe their political independence, once visited the cataracts, and stood on the very edge of the abyss; glancing fitfully at the small round island of stone that stood in the very centre of the waters, fascinated by the danger, he jumped, booted and spurred as he was, upon the stone, thus standing in the very vortex of the boiling current. After remaining there for a few minutes he jumped back. The tale is interesting, for few men indeed have the courage and nerve required, once upon the rock, not to fall from it and disappear in a shroud fit for any man, however great.

After the little scene of the foundation of BogotÁ, in what later on became the public square of the city, Quesada devoted himself to establishing a government. I cannot help thinking that challenges like that which he flung down for the purpose of establishing the right of property are, to say the least, peculiar. True it is that no one contradicted, and, according to the old proverb, silence gives consent. A comfortable little tag this, especially when you can gag the other side! And a most serviceable maxim to burglars, conquerors, and, in fact, all such as practise the art of invading somebody else’s premises, and taking violent possession of the premises and all that may be found on them. What I cannot for the life of me understand is, how it is that, the process being identical in essence, so many worthy men and so many worthy nations punish the misunderstood burglar, and bestow honours, praise, and, so far as it lies in their power, glory, upon the conqueror. It seems a pity that the gentle moralists who act in this puzzling fashion have not found time to indicate the point, in the process of acquiring somebody else’s property by violence and bloodshed, when the vastness of the undertaking transfigures crime into virtue. The average man would hold it for a boon if those competent to do it were to fix the limit, just as in chemistry a freezing or a boiling point is marked by a certain number of degrees of heat. What a blessing it would be for the rest of us poor mortals, who find ourselves beset by many doubts, and who through ignorance are prone to fall into grave errors! but as these hopes are certainly beyond fulfilment, and are possibly out of place, it is better to drop them.

Quesada, after vanquishing the Chibchas and becoming lord of the land, did not have it all his own way. The fame of El Dorado existed all over the continent. Though peopled by numerous tribes, mostly hostile to each other, some knowledge of the power of the Chibcha Empire, covering over 5,000 square miles and including a population estimated at over a million and a half of inhabitants, had in the course of centuries slowly permeated to very remote parts of what is now known as South America. In the land of Quito, situated below the equator, it is said that the conquerors who had invaded it heard from an Indian of the wonderful El Dorado. The Indian’s tale must have been enhanced with all the charms invented by a vivid imagination, playing safely at a distance. This set many of the conquerors on the road to BogotÁ. Don Sebastian de BelalcÁzar, who had entered the continent by the Pacific, led his troops—not over 200 in number at the end of the journey—to the BogotÁ plateau, thus making a march of several hundred leagues across forest and mountains, attracted by the renown of the land of El Dorado. Another expedition which had entered the continent by the north-east coast of the Atlantic, and had wandered along the Orinoco Valley for over two years, eventually found itself near the plateau, and entered it, so that, shortly after his arrival into the country and his conquest of it, Quesada found himself confronted with two powerful rivals. For the moment there was great danger that the conquerors might come to blows amongst themselves, but Quesada’s political ability matched his military gifts, and arrangements were soon made by which the three expeditions were merged into one, gold and emeralds distributed amongst the soldiers, numerous offices created, taxes established, the Indians and their belongings distributed amongst the Christian conquerors, and the reign of civilization established to the greater glory of God, and that of his beloved monarch, the King of all the Spains.

One detail deserves mention as an instance of tenacious though unpretending heroism. The men who had come along the Orinoco had wandered for many weary months, and at times had been on the point of starvation, so that all their leather equipment had been devoured. With the expedition marched a friar who carried with him a fine Spanish cock and four hens. During that long journey, which cost the lives of so many men, the murderous attempts made against this feathered family were past counting; yet the useful birds were saved, and formed the basis of an innumerable progeny in the land of Colombia. The incident seems trivial, but, if well weighed, the friar’s sustained effort against others, and doubtless against himself, to save the precious germ, deserves the highest praise.

After months of hunger, when the plenty found on the plateau had restored equanimity to the hearts of the conquerors, they must have felt how much they owed to the good friar, who, even if his sermons—about which I know nothing—may not have been of the best, had left behind him the hens to lay the egg so dear to civilized man, and the chanticleer to sing the praises of the Almighty and to remind everyone in this instance of the humble beings who serve Him and their fellow-creatures in such a practical way.

It is not at all strange that the Spanish conquerors swallowed the wonderful tales of incalculable treasure to be found in different parts of the continent which they had just discovered. Columbus himself, in his second voyage, landed at Veraguas on the mainland, and reaped a most bountiful harvest of gold. Never before in the history of Spanish wars had such booty fallen to the lot of the common soldier as in that instance. Other expeditions in various parts of the continent were equally fortunate, so that they supported the belief that gold was inexhaustible. The ostensible object of the conquest was the conversion of the infidels to the true faith; officially the Government of the Metropolis proclaimed first and foremost its intense desire to save the souls of so many million men who groped in the darkness of heathenism. Doubtless many of the conquerors really thought that they were doing the work of God, but the great majority of them were certainly moved by more worldly ends and attractions.

The Indians, on their side, not only in Colombia but everywhere else, received the Spaniards in a friendly and hospitable way. Some warlike tribes there were, but it does not appear that their hostilities against the Spaniards began before these had shown their cruel greed and insatiable thirst for gold. The precious metals and jewels that had been accumulated amongst the tribes in the course of many generations were given freely to the Spaniards, who, believing that greater treasures were kept back from them, did not hesitate to recur to the cruellest methods of extortion, burning, pillaging, killing, and destroying everything in their way.

After a struggle which did not last long, the Indians—even those of riper civilization and better organized—were completely subdued, and the sway of the Spaniard established all over the land, whose former lords became the slaves of the conquerors.

Those who know the Indian of to-day in certain parts of the South American continent can hardly understand how at one time that same race possessed the qualities indispensable to the civilization which it had attained at the time of the Spanish conquest. Boiling the whole thing down to hard facts, we find that the Spaniards discovered a land wherein they found a people with civilization inferior to that of the old world; that this people, divided and subdivided in many tribes, received the conquerors hospitably, treated them generously, and in their ignorance considered them as superior beings; that they gave over to the Spaniards all the gold and treasures which the latter coveted, and that it would have been feasible for those superior beings to establish the civilization and the religion which they longed to propagate amongst the infidels, by methods worthy of the Christian faith which they professed. Instead of this, violence and bloodshed were the only methods employed, not to civilize, but to despoil the natives; and the right of force, brutal and sanguinary, was the law of the land. To this and its accompaniments the poets lifted up pÆans of praise, the Church gave its blessing, history its acceptance, and, barring a handful of the just, no one gave a thought to the oppressed and helpless Indians whose sole crime was they were weaker than their aggressors.

Let us be thankful for what we have. Quintana, the great Spanish lyrical poet, pondering on these misdeeds and crimes, exclaims that they were crimes of the epoch, not of Spain. Fortunately it is, as we like to think, our privilege to live in an epoch when such things are impossible, when the mere thirst for gold, or its equivalent, cannot impel powerful nations to forget right and justice and to proclaim hypocritically that in so doing they are fulfilling the law of Him who said, ‘Love ye one another,’ and proclaimed charity amongst men as the supreme rule of life. Nowadays such wrongs as those perpetrated by the Spanish conquerors could not happen. Wars we have, and violence and destruction, and malcontents complain of them, saying that the same old burglarious spirit of brutal greed is the real cause of those wars; but those malcontents should not be (and, in fact, are not) listened to. I myself do not understand or pretend to explain where the justice of many wars comes in, but certainly they must be waged for good and honest ends, because the great and the powerful say that the ends are good and honest, that civilization and Christianity are served thereby; and it must be so since they say it, for they, like Brutus, are ‘honourable men.’ Let us be thankful, then, that we live in an age of justice and universal fairness amongst men!