Chapter Chapter 32 · Chapter XXXII

The Derrick

The yellowish individual had kept his word, for it was no simple

derrick that he had erected above the open trench to let the heavy

block of granite down into its place. It was not the simple tripod

that Ñor Juan had wanted for suspending a pulley from its top, but

was much more, being at once a machine and an ornament, a grand and

imposing ornament. Over eight meters in height rose the confused

and complicated scaffolding. Four thick posts sunk in the ground

served as a frame, fastened to each other by huge timbers crossing

diagonally and joined by large nails driven in only half-way, perhaps

for the reason that the apparatus was simply for temporary use and

thus might easily be taken down again. Huge cables stretched from all

sides gave an appearance of solidity and grandeur to the whole. At

the top it was crowned with many-colored banners, streaming pennants,

and enormous garlands of flowers and leaves artistically interwoven.

There at the top in the shadow made by the posts, the garlands, and

the banners, hung fastened with cords and iron hooks an unusually

large three-wheeled pulley over the polished sides of which passed

in a crotch three cables even larger than the others. These held

suspended the smooth, massive stone hollowed out in the center

to form with a similar hole in the lower stone, already in place,

the little space intended to contain the records of contemporaneous

history, such as newspapers, manuscripts, money, medals, and the like,

and perhaps to transmit them to very remote generations. The cables

extended downward and connected with another equally large pulley

at the bottom of the apparatus, whence they passed to the drum of

a windlass held in place by means of heavy timbers. This windlass,

which could be turned with two cranks, increased the strength of a

man a hundredfold by the movement of notched wheels, although it is

true that what was gained in force was lost in velocity.

"Look," said the yellowish individual, turning the crank, "look,

Ñor Juan, how with merely my own strength I can raise and lower the

great stone. It's so well arranged that at will I can regulate the

rise or fall inch by inch, so that a man in the trench can easily

fit the stones together while I manage it from here."

Ñor Juan could not but gaze in admiration at the speaker, who was

smiling in his peculiar way. Curious bystanders made remarks praising

the yellowish individual.

"Who taught you mechanics?" asked Ñor Juan.

"My father, my dead father," was the answer, accompanied by his

peculiar smile.

"Who taught your father?"

"Don Saturnino, the grandfather of Don Crisostomo."

"I didn't know that Don Saturnino--"

"Oh, he knew a lot of things! He not only beat his laborers well and

exposed them out in the sun, but he also knew how to wake the sleepers

and put the waking to sleep. You'll see in time what my father taught

me, you'll see!"

Here the yellowish individual smiled again, but in a strange way.

On a tame covered with a piece of Persian tapestry rested a leaden

cylinder containing the objects that were to be kept in the tomb-like

receptacle and a glass case with thick sides, which would hold that

mummy of an epoch and preserve for the future the records of a past.

Tasio, the Sage, who was walking about there thoughtfully, murmured:

"Perchance some day when this edifice, which is today begun, has grown

old and after many vicissitudes has fallen into ruins, either from

the visitations of Nature or the destructive hand of man, and above

the ruins grow the ivy and the moss,--then when Time has destroyed the

moss and ivy, and scattered the ashes of the ruins themselves to the

winds, wiping from the pages of History the recollection of it and

of those who destroyed it, long since lost from the memory of man:

perchance when the races have been buried in their mantle of earth or

have disappeared, only by accident the pick of some miner striking a

spark from this rock will dig up mysteries and enigmas from the depths

of the soil. Perchance the learned men of the nation that dwells in

these regions will labor, as do the present Egyptologists, with the

remains of a great civilization which occupied itself with eternity,

little dreaming that upon it was descending so long a night. Perchance

some learned professor will say to his students of five or six years of

age, in a language spoken by all mankind, 'Gentlemen, after studying

and examining carefully the objects found in the depths of our soil,

after deciphering some symbols and translating a few words, we can

without the shadow of a doubt conclude that these objects belonged to

the barbaric age of man, to that obscure era which we are accustomed

to speak of as fabulous. In short, gentlemen, in order that you may

form an approximate idea of the backwardness of our ancestors, it will

be sufficient that I point out to you the fact that those who lived

here not only recognized kings, but also for the purpose of settling

questions of local government they had to go to the other side of the

earth, just as if we should say that a body in order to move itself

would need to consult a head existing in another part of the globe,

perhaps in regions now sunk under the waves. This incredible defect,

however improbable it may seem to us now, must have existed, if we

take into consideration the circumstances surrounding those beings,

whom I scarcely dare to call human! In those primitive times men were

still (or at least so they believed) in direct communication with their

Creator, since they had ministers from Him, beings different from the

rest, designated always with the mysterious letters "M. R. P.", [93]

concerning the meaning of which our learned men do not agree. According

to the professor of languages whom we have here, rather mediocre, since

he does not speak more than a hundred of the imperfect languages of

the past, "M. R. P." may signify "_Muy Rico Propietario_." [94] These

ministers were a species of demigods, very virtuous and enlightened,

and were very eloquent orators, who, in spite of their great power and

prestige, never committed the slightest fault, which fact strengthens

my belief in supposing that they were of a nature distinct from the

rest. If this were not sufficient to sustain my belief, there yet

remains the argument, disputed by no one and day by day confirmed,

that these mysterious beings could make God descend to earth merely

by saying a few words, that God could speak only through their mouths,

that they ate His flesh and drank His blood, and even at times allowed

the common folk to do the same.'"

These and other opinions the skeptical Sage put into the mouths of

all the corrupt men of the future. Perhaps, as may easily be the case,

old Tasio was mistaken, but we must return to our story.

In the kiosks which we saw two days ago occupied by the schoolmaster

and his pupils, there was now spread out a toothsome and abundant

meal. Noteworthy is the fact that on the table prepared for the school

children there was not a single bottle of wine but an abundance of

fruits. In the arbors joining the two kiosks were the seats for the

musicians and a table covered with sweetmeats and confections, with

bottles of water for the thirsty public, all decorated with leaves

and flowers. The schoolmaster had erected near by a greased pole and

hurdles, and had hung up pots and pans for a number of games.

The crowd, resplendent in bright-colored garments, gathered as people

fled from the burning sun, some into the shade of the trees, others

under the arbor. The boys climbed up into the branches or on the stones

in order to see the ceremony better, making up in this way for their

short stature. They looked with envy at the clean and well-dressed

school children, who occupied a place especially assigned to them and

whose parents were overjoyed, as they, poor country folk, would see

their children eat from a white tablecloth, almost the same as the

curate or the alcalde. Thinking of this alone was enough to drive

away hunger, and such an event would be recounted from father to son.

Soon were heard the distant strains of the band, which was preceded

by a motley throng made up of persons of all ages, in clothing of

all colors. The yellowish individual became uneasy and with a glance

examined his whole apparatus. A curious countryman followed his glance

and watched all his movements; this was Elias, who had also come to

witness the ceremony, but in his salakot and rough attire he was almost

unrecognizable. He had secured a very good position almost at the side

of the windlass, on the edge of the excavation. With the music came

the alcalde, the municipal officials, the friars, with the exception

of Padre Damaso, and the Spanish employees. Ibarra was conversing with

the alcalde, of whom he had made quite a friend since he had addressed

to him some well-turned compliments over his decorations and ribbons,

for aristocratic pretensions were the weakness of his Honor. Capitan

Tiago, the alferez, and some other wealthy personages came in the

gilded cluster of maidens displaying their silken parasols. Padre

Salvi followed, silent and thoughtful as ever.

"Count upon my support always in any worthy enterprise," the alcalde

was saying to Ibarra. "I will give you whatever appropriation you

need or else see that it is furnished by others."

As they drew nearer the youth felt his heart beat faster. Instinctively

he glanced at the strange scaffolding raised there. He saw the

yellowish individual salute him respectfully and gaze at him fixedly

for a moment. With surprise he noticed Elias, who with a significant

wink gave him to understand that he should remember the warning in

the church.

The curate put on his sacerdotal robes and commenced the ceremony,

while the one-eyed sacristan held the book and an acolyte the

hyssop and jar of holy water. The rest stood about him uncovered,

and maintained such a profound silence that, in spite of his reading

in a low tone, it was apparent that Padre Salvi's voice was trembling.

Meanwhile, there had been placed in the glass case the manuscripts,

newspapers, medals, coins, and the like, and the whole enclosed in

the leaden cylinder, which was then hermetically sealed.

"Señor Ibarra, will you put the box in its place? The curate is

waiting," murmured the alcalde into the young man's ear.

"I would with great pleasure," answered the latter, "but that would

be usurping the honorable duty of the escribano. The escribano must

make affidavit of the act."

So the escribano gravely took the box, descended the carpeted stairway

leading to the bottom of the excavation and with due solemnity placed

it in the hole in the stone. The curate then took the hyssop and

sprinkled the stones with holy water.

Now the moment had arrived for each one to place his trowelful of

mortar on the face of the large stone lying in the trench, in order

that the other might be fitted and fastened to it. Ibarra handed

the alcalde a mason's trowel, on the wide silver Made of which was

engraved the date. But the alcalde first gave a harangue in Spanish:

"People of San Diego! We have the honor to preside over a ceremony

whose importance you will not understand unless We tell you of it. A

school is being founded, and the school is the basis of society, the

school is the book in which is written the future of the nations! Show

us the schools of a people and We will show you what that people is.

"People of San Diego! Thank God, who has given you holy priests,

and the government of the mother country, which untiringly spreads

civilization through these fertile isles, protected beneath her

glorious mantle! Thank God, who has taken pity on you and sent you

these humble priests who enlighten you and teach you the divine

word! Thank the government, which has made, is making, and will

continue to make, so many sacrifices for you and your children!

"And now that the first stone of this important edifice is consecrated,

We, alcalde-mayor of this province, in the name of his Majesty the

King, whom God preserve, King of the Spains, in the name of the

illustrious Spanish government and under the protection of its

spotless and ever-victorious banner, We consecrate this act and

begin the construction of this schoolhouse! People of San Diego,

long live the King! Long live Spain! Long live the friars! Long live

the Catholic Religion!"

Many voices were raised in answer, adding, "Long live the Señor

Alcalde!"

He then majestically descended to the strains of the band, which

began to play, deposited several trowelfuls of mortar on the stone,

and with equal majesty reascended. The employees applauded.

Ibarra offered another trowel to the curate, who, after fixing his

eyes on him for a moment, descended slowly. Half-way down the steps he

raised his eyes to look at the stone, which hung fastened by the stout

cables, but this was only for a second, and he then went on down. He

did the same as the alcalde, but this time more applause was heard,

for to the employees were added some friars and Capitan Tiago.

Padre Salvi then seemed to seek for some one to whom he might give the

trowel. He looked doubtfully at Maria Clara, but changing his mind,

offered it to the escribano. The latter in gallantry offered it to

Maria Clara, who smilingly refused it. The friars, the employees,

and the alferez went down one after another, nor was Capitan Tiago

forgotten. Ibarra only was left, and the order was about to be given

for the yellowish individual to lower the stone when the curate

remembered the youth and said to him in a joking tone, with affected

familiarity:

"Aren't you going to put on your trowelful, Señor Ibarra?"

"I should be a Juan Palomo, to prepare the meal and eat it myself,"

answered the latter in the same tone.

"Go on!" said the alcalde, shoving him forward gently. "Otherwise,

I'll order that the stone be not lowered at all and we'll be here

until doomsday."

Before such a terrible threat Ibarra had to obey. He exchanged the

small silver trowel for a large iron one, an act which caused some of

the spectators to smile, and went forward tranquilly. Elias gazed at

him with such an indefinable expression that on seeing it one might

have said that his whole life was concentrated in his eyes. The

yellowish individual stared into the trench, which opened at his

feet. After directing a rapid glance at the heavy stone hanging over

his head and another at Elias and the yellowish individual, Ibarra

said to Ñor Juan in a somewhat unsteady voice, "Give me the mortar

and get me another trowel up there."

The youth remained alone. Elias no longer looked at him, for his

eyes were fastened on the hand of the yellowish individual, who,

leaning over the trench, was anxiously following the movements of

Ibarra. There was heard the noise of the trowel scraping on the

stone in the midst of a feeble murmur among the employees, who were

congratulating the alcalde on his speech.

Suddenly a crash was heard. The pulley tied at the base of the derrick

jumped up and after it the windlass, which struck the heavy posts like

a battering-ram. The timbers shook, the fastenings flew apart, and

the whole apparatus fell in a second with a frightful crash. A cloud

of dust arose, while a cry of horror from a thousand voices filled

the air. Nearly all fled; only a few dashed toward the trench. Maria

Clara and Padre Salvi remained in their places, pale, motionless,

and speechless.

When the dust had cleared away a little, they saw Ibarra standing among

beams, posts, and cables, between the windlass and the heavy stone,

which in its rapid descent had shaken and crushed everything. The youth

still held the trowel in his hand and was staring with frightened

eyes at the body of a man which lay at his feet half-buried among

the timbers.

"You're not killed! You're still alive! For God's sake, speak!" cried

several employees, full of terror and solicitude.

"A miracle! A miracle!" shouted some.

"Come and extricate the body of this poor devil!" exclaimed Ibarra

like one arousing himself from sleep.

On hearing his voice Maria Clara felt her strength leave her and fell

half-fainting into the arms of her friends.

Great confusion prevailed. All were talking, gesticulating, running

about, descending into the trench, coming up again, all amazed and

terrified.

"Who is the dead man? Is he still alive?" asked the alferez.

The corpse was identified as that of the yellowish individual who

had been operating the windlass.

"Arrest the foreman on the work!" was the first thing that the alcalde

was able to say.

They examined the corpse, placing their hands on the chest, but the

heart had ceased to beat. The blow had struck him on the head, and

blood was flowing from his nose, mouth, and ears. On his neck were

to be noticed some peculiar marks, four deep depressions toward the

back and one more somewhat larger on the other side, which induced

the belief that a hand of steel had caught him as in a pair of pincers.

The priests felicitated the youth warmly and shook his hand. The

Franciscan of humble aspect who had served as holy ghost for Padre

Damaso exclaimed with tearful eyes, "God is just, God is good!"

"When I think that a few moments before I was down there!" said one

of the employees to Ibarra. "What if I had happened to be the last!"

"It makes my hair stand on end!" remarked another partly bald

individual.

"I'm glad that it happened to you and not to me," murmured an old

man tremblingly.

"Don Pascual!" exclaimed some of the Spaniards.

"I say that because the young man is not dead. If I had not been

crushed, I should have died afterwards merely from thinking about it."

But Ibarra was already at a distance informing himself as to Maria

Clara's condition.

"Don't let this stop the fiesta, Señor Ibarra," said the

alcalde. "Praise God, the dead man is neither a priest nor a

Spaniard! We must rejoice over your escape! Think if the stone had

caught you!"

"There are presentiments, there are presentiments!" exclaimed

the escribano. "I've said so before! Señor Ibarra didn't go down

willingly. I saw it!"

"The dead man is only an Indian!"

"Let the fiesta go on! Music! Sadness will never resuscitate the dead!"

"An investigation shall be made right here!"

"Send for the directorcillo!"

"Arrest the foreman on the work! To the stocks with him!"

"To the stocks! Music! To the stocks with the foreman!"

"Señor Alcalde," said Ibarra gravely, "if mourning will not resuscitate

the dead, much less will arresting this man about whose guilt we know

nothing. I will be security for his person and so I ask his liberty

for these days at least."

"Very well! But don't let him do it again!"

All kinds of rumors began to circulate. The idea of a miracle was soon

an accepted fact, although Fray Salvi seemed to rejoice but little over

a miracle attributed to a saint of his Order and in his parish. There

were not lacking those who added that they had seen descending into

the trench, when everything was tumbling down, a figure in a dark robe

like that of the Franciscans. There was no doubt about it; it was San

Diego himself! It was also noted that Ibarra had attended mass and

that the yellowish individual had not--it was all as clear as the sun!

"You see! You didn't want to go to mass!" said a mother to her son. "If

I hadn't whipped you to make you go you would now be on your way to

the town hall, like him, in a cart!"

The yellowish individual, or rather his corpse, wrapped up in a mat,

was in fact being carried to the town hall. Ibarra hurried home to

change his clothes.

"A bad beginning, huh!" commented old Tasio, as he moved away.