If you had visited the convent of St. Sebastian in the Spanish
town of the same name at the end of the sixteenth century,
you would have found there a merry, naughty, clever little girl
called Catalina de Erauso, the torment and delight of all the
nuns. Catalina had been sent to the convent when she was
quite a baby, because her father, like many other gentlemen
in the Spain of those days, was too poor to provide for his
daughters as well as his sons. And in general the girls were
happy enough in the life into which they had been thrust
without any will of their own, and were allowed a certain
amount of pleasure and could see their relations from time to
time.
The Señor de Erauso, Catalina's father, had fixed on this
particular convent out of the many he had for choice,
because his sister-in-law was the Mother Superior. Like
the rest of the nuns she was very fond of the child who was so
ready with her tongue, so clever with her hands, so quick to
forgive an injury done her, if only the offender would say she
was sorry! Some day, no doubt, Catalina would take her place
as abbess, and her aunt felt that under her rule all would
go well, for unruly as the child often was, she had the gift of
winning love from everybody.
But if she had only known, Catalina had not the smallest
intention of spending her days in the convent overlooking
the Bay of Biscay. From her father and brothers she heard
stories of the wars which had quite lately been raging in
France between the Catholics and Huguenots; how a few
years earlier several of her own kinsmen had gone down
in the great storm which had sunk so many of the ships of the
huge Armada, sent to conquer England. Something, too, she
picked up of the wonders of the lands beyond the ocean,
discovered a hundred years ago by Christopher Columbus.
All this and much more, Catalina stored in her head, and,
though she said nothing even to her closest friends, soon
began to play in her mind at 'escaping from the convent.'
At first she was only in fun, and enjoyed, as many of us
do, making up stories about herself. Then gradually the
idea of taking part in the big world beyond the gates became
too precious to set aside, and at last it so possessed her, that
she only waited for the chance of carrying it out.
This happened when she was fifteen—a tall, strong, handsome
girl full of energy and courage, and quick to decide
whatever question came before her.
One day the nuns assembled as usual for vespers or evening
prayers, and just as they were all going into chapel the
Superior discovered that she had left her psalm-book upstairs,
locked in her writing-table. Summoning Catalina, she
handed her a key, and bade her unlock the drawer in which
the book was kept, and bring it to her as fast as possible.
The girl ran upstairs, but when she saw lying in the locked
drawer, not only the book, but the key of the convent gate,
it darted into her mind that now, if ever, was her opportunity
to quit the convent. Yet even at that moment, she did not
let her excitement get the better of her. She snatched up
some loose money from the drawer and a small work-case that
lay on a table and hid it in her dress, and without stopping
a moment ran down to the great door of the convent, which
she unlocked. She next rejoined her aunt who was waiting
for her, and asked if she might go straight to bed, as she had
a bad headache.
In this manner she secured to herself a good start, as
no one would think about her for hours to come. She
passed through the door carefully, locking it after her, and
crept cautiously along by the wall till she reached a chestnut
wood on the outskirts of the town. Here she flung herself
down on a heap of dry leaves and slept till sunrise. This,
fortunately for her, was very early, as she had much to do
before she continued her journey. Her dress would have
told any passer-by that she was a nun, or at least that she
had come from a convent, and that was the last thing they
must ever guess! Slipping off therefore her white petticoat,
Catalina began at once to turn it into trousers such as men then
wore, and in three or four hours had finished a pair which, if
not exactly fashionable, would pass unnoticed. She next managed
to change her long robe into a cloak, and satisfied that
she would do well enough, the girl started on a walk to a
town not far off, where she had resolved to try and find
shelter with an elderly cousin.
It took her two days to arrive at his house, and all that
time she had nothing but wild fruits and berries to live on.
Of course she did not tell the cousin who she was, but merely
asked if he would give hospitality to a traveller for a short
time, which the kind old man was glad to do. Here Catalina
rested after the fatigues she had undergone, but life in the
town house was far more dull than life in the convent, and the
girl had not run away for that! So in a few days she was again
missing, and a handful of dollars also. Not very many, but
just enough to take her on her way.
We meet Catalina next in the famous city of Valladolid,
where King Philip III. was holding his court. Here she
found things much more to her taste, and like what she had
pictured. Men were walking through the streets in huge
felt hats, with flowing cloaks over their fine clothes. Coaches
drawn by mules jolted along and inside she caught a glimpse
of ringleted heads and small bodies lost under hooped petticoats.
There were soldiers, too, in abundance and bands playing
music—the first Catalina had ever heard outside the convent
chapel. It so delighted her that she stopped to listen, and at
that moment some idle men began to laugh at her clumsy
garments, and even threw stones at her. This was more
than any Spanish girl could bear, even if she had been brought
up in a convent. She could—and did—throw stones too, with
a better aim than theirs, and very soon blood from cut heads
was streaming on the roads. But the Spanish police who
hurried to the spot on hearing the cries of the wounded men,
did not stop to inquire into the rights of the quarrel, and
would have straightway flung Catalina into prison, had not a
young officer who had been watching the fight from his windows
hastened to interfere, and insisted that the stranger should be
released.
'You are a brave boy,' he said, 'and if you like to be my
page, I will gladly take you into my house.'
Catalina was grateful for the offer and remained there for
three months, feeling very proud of herself in her page's dress
of dark-blue velvet. She would have stayed with the young
don for much longer, had she not been frightened out of her
wits one night at dusk by the appearance, in the dark little
ante-room where she sat, of her own father.
He did not know her, of course; how should he? But all
the same, he had come to tell of her escape to Catalina's master,
who was in a sort of way lord of the convent. Waiting in the
ante-room, the girl heard all their conversation, and in dread
lest she should fall into the hands of the Church and be
sent back to St. Sebastian she resolved to run off before there
was any risk of her being traced.
Now at that time a fleet was being fitted out for Peru, and
was to sail from a seaport in the South. The scraps of talk
on the subject which she had overheard in the house of the
young don had fired her with the wish to go with the army
in search of adventures. At the time there seemed little
chance of her doing so, but while crossing the dark streets of
Valladolid in her flight, the idea occurred to her that if she
could manage to get on board one of the ships, she would be
out of reach of capture. It was a long way to travel—almost
the whole length of Spain—but by joining first one party and
then another, Catalina at last found herself in the port of
San Lúcar. All volunteers were welcome, and convent-bred
though she was, Catalina soon managed to pick up a good deal
of seamanship, while her clever hands and her strength
combined made her quickly useful. Even with fair winds it
was months before they reached the coast of Peru for which they were bound, and when they were almost there, their
troubles began. A frightful storm arose that blew the fleet
in all directions, and the vessel in which Catalina was serving
was flung on a coral reef. The sea was running high, and the
ship had a deep hole in her side, and all on board knew that
twenty-four hours at farthest would see her sucked beneath
the water.
CATALINA RESCUED BY THE YOUNG OFFICER.
At the prospect of this awful doom the sailors grew frantic,
and hastened to lower the long-boat and scramble into it.
The captain alone refused to leave the ship, and Catalina
refused to leave him. Instead, she hurriedly lashed a few
spars together so as to form a raft which, even if it would not
support the weight of both, would at least give them something
to cling to while they swam ashore. As she was working
at the raft with all her might, a vivid flash of lightning
showed an enormous wave breaking over the distant boat
and sweeping away the crew, who disappeared for ever.
A fit of despondency had seized on the captain, and it was
in vain that the girl tried to put some of her own spirit into
him. At length she realised that she had only herself to
depend on, and left him alone. As soon as the raft was
ready, she went down to his cabin and broke open a box of
gold, out of which she took a handful of coins, tying them up
in a pillow-case and fastening them securely to the raft, for
she dare not put them on her own person lest the weight
should sink her when once she found herself in the sea.
The moment Catalina appeared again on deck, she saw
that the ship was sinking fast, and that no time was to be
lost. She lowered the raft and, calling to the captain to
follow her, plunged into the sea. He obeyed her, but did not
give the vessel a sufficiently wide berth, and, falling against
a jutting spar, was struck senseless and sucked under the
vessel. Catalina had managed better. She contrived to
get on the raft and was gently washed on shore by the rising
tide, though she was too much exhausted by all she had gone
through to have been able to swim there for herself.
For a while she lay upon the sand almost unconscious,
but the hot sun which appeared suddenly above the horizon
warmed her body and dried her clothes, and awoke her usual
energy. She soon sat up and looked about her, but the
prospect was not cheering; a desolate track stretched away
north and south, and she did not know on which side stood the
town of Paita whither the fleet had been bound. However,
she reflected she would never find it by sitting still, and got up
and climbed a rock to enable her to see farther. Great was
her joy at beholding that the raft, with the money on it, had
stuck in a cleft some way off along the beach, and after she
had placed the coins in her own pockets she perceived a
barrel of ship's biscuits at a little distance. To be sure, the
biscuits were half soaked with sea water, but even so they
tasted quite nice to a starving girl.
A walk of three days brought her to Paita, where she
bought some fresh clothes and obtained a situation as clerk to a
merchant. But she did not keep this very long, as she incurred
the jealousy of a young man who owed money to her employer.
He picked a violent quarrel with Catalina, who had
to fight a duel with him. Without intending to kill him, her
sword passed through his body, with the result that she soon
found herself in the hands of the police. By a mixture of
cunning and good fortune, Catalina managed to escape from
the prison in which she was confined, and making her way
through the narrow streets to the harbour, she got into a
small boat moored there and hoisted a sail. She was afraid
to use the oars as she had no means of muffling them. The
wind was behind her and she was quickly swept far out to sea,—in
what direction she had not the least idea. For hours she
saw nothing, and was wondering if she had escaped so many
dangers only to die of hunger and thirst, when towards sunset
she beheld a ship coming straight across her path. With her
heart in her mouth she waved her handkerchief, though it
seemed hardly possible that so small a thing should be visible
in that vast expanse of sea. But it was, and the ship lay to,
waiting for the boat to be blown up to her, which happened
just after the sun had set beneath the horizon, and the short
twilight of the tropics was over. Then it occurred to Catalina
that if the name of her boat was seen she might be traced
as having come from Paita, and be given up for murder. So
standing up she rocked it gently from side to side till it was
filled with water, then giving it a final kick to make sure
it would sink, snatched at the rope which was dangling down
the ship's side, and was hauled on board.
The vessel was on her way to Chili and was filled with
recruits for the war then raging with the Indians, and Catalina
of course at once declared her wish to throw in her lot with
them. When at length they arrived at the port for which
they were bound, a cavalry officer came to inspect the newly
enlisted soldiers before they were landed, and Catalina was
startled to hear him addressed by her own name. It was,
though he was quite unaware of it, her eldest brother,
who had last seen her when she was three years old. Yet,
though from first to last he never guessed the truth, he took
an immediate fancy to 'Pedro Diaz'—for so Catalina called
herself—and, as soon as he heard that Pedro was a native of his
own province of Biscaya, greeted him kindly and placed him
in his own regiment. But much as she longed to tell him who
she was, she dared not do so, for who could tell, if it were
once known that she was a woman and had run away from a
convent, what the consequences might be?
Years passed away and Catalina—or 'Pedro Diaz'—had
distinguished herself on many occasions as a cavalry officer.
Then a terrible thing occurred. A lieutenant in her own
regiment came to her and begged her to be his 'second' in a
duel to be fought at eleven that night under the walls of a
monastery. Catalina, though ready enough with her own
sword if her hot temper was roused, had no fancy for duelling,
and somehow felt more than usually unwilling to be mixed up
with this affair. However, the young man begged her so
earnestly not to refuse his request that at last she consented.
When the moment arrived it was so dark that the two 'principals'
were forced to tie white handkerchiefs round their arms,
in order to see where to attack; and as they were afraid of
arousing the attention of the monks, hardly a word was
spoken. The signal was given by the other second, and the
duel began—a duel 'to the death.' After a sharp struggle
both principals fell to the ground, wounded mortally, and
according to the code of honour, which lasted nearly a hundred
years longer, it was necessary for the seconds to fight in order
to avenge them. To Catalina, who had no quarrel with any
one, this custom was hateful, and she tried only to defend
herself without touching her adversary. But in the dark her
foot slipped and the point of her sword entered his side.
'Villain! You have killed me!' he cried. They were his
last words, and the voice that uttered them was the voice of
Catalina's brother!
Too much horrified to stir, the poor woman remained glued
to the spot, till she found herself suddenly seized by the monks
who had been awakened by the clash of weapons and by
de Erauso's dying shriek. The glare of their torches revealed
that out of the four men who had met on the ground half
an hour earlier only one survived, and that one was too
crushed by the dreadful fate which had befallen her to be
able to give any explanation. The monks kept her safely in
their chapel for a few days, and then, when her mind and
body had partly recovered from the shock, they provided
her with a horse and a knapsack filled with food, and bade
her farewell. But where to go she knew not. After the
awful thing that had happened she could never return to her
regiment.
After three days' riding she came suddenly upon two
soldiers who had deserted from the Spanish army, and were
almost starving. As soon as Catalina had shared her food
with them and they felt revived, they all agreed that their
best plan was to climb over the great mountain chain of the
Andes, which runs the whole length of South America, and once
on the other side they would be safe and free to go where they
would.
They little knew what they were undertaking. Many of
the peaks are over 20,000 feet high, and are covered with
perpetual snow. There was rarely to be found any material
for a fire, and if by any chance they did come on a few sticks,
they were ignorant of the Indians' secret of kindling a flame.
Soon, even the wild berries of the lower regions were left
behind; there was nothing for them to eat, and very shortly
it became evident that the day of the deserters was done.
By this time they were among masses of rocks which stood
out in black groups from the snow, and for an instant hope
rose again in their hearts at the sight of a man leaning against
a tall pillar of stone, with a gun in his hand. There was
something to shoot then in this fearful white solitude! An
eagle perhaps, or, better still, a bear; and with a cry of joy to
her companions, Catalina hastened on to greet the stranger.
At the news, fresh life seemed to pour into their veins and they
stumbled after her as fast as their weakness would allow.
They were a little surprised that the man never appeared to
see or hear them as they approached, but imagined that the
snow had deadened the sound of their footsteps. Was he
asleep? In that position? It was not likely! Certainly
there was something very odd about him, and Catalina, striding
on before the two soldiers, touched him on the shoulder.
With a clatter the gun fell to the ground beside him, but he
himself did not stir. Then the frightful truth burst upon
her. The man was frozen to death!
After this there was no more hope for the two deserters.
One sank into the snow first, the other staggered a few
yards farther, and upon both came the frozen sleep that knows
no waking and which, it is said, is painless.
So Catalina was left to pursue her way alone, wondering
all the while how soon her strength also would fail her, and
her bones be left to whiten with the rest. There was something
more dreadful to her in the solitude and stillness of the mountains
than there ever had been in the solitude of the sea, on
the lonely coast of Peru. Yet she went on blindly, almost
unconsciously, till she was awakened from her half-paralysed
state by the sight of a belt of olive trees lying below her.
Where there were trees, there was probably water; possibly,
even men! And down she went, stumbling over stones,
sliding along the edge of precipices, till she fell, senseless from
exhaustion, under their shadow.
It was hours before she came to herself again, and she
might have slept on still longer, had not the sound of horses'
hoofs aroused her. The wood was thick and the horsemen
might have passed without noticing the figure in the tall
grass, had not a ray of sunshine suddenly struck on some silver
lace of Catalina's uniform. Jumping instantly to the ground,
they examined her closely and guessed at the reasons
of her plight. Taking out a skin bottle, one poured brandy
down her throat—though it was no light matter to force her
teeth open—and another rubbed her temples. After she had
shown signs of life they placed her on a horse, supporting her
in the saddle, for she was still too weak and dazed to sit
upright.
It was a long time—or it seemed so to Catalina—before
the little company drew up at the door of a large house, and
a girl ran out to see how it was that the servants who had been
sent by her mother to the nearest town should have returned
so soon. The poor wanderer received from both ladies the
kindest welcome; and food, a warm bed, and rest soon set her
to rights, and of course nobody dreamed that she was anything
but the soldier she appeared. For a while Catalina
was thankful to remain where she was, basking in the sun
and enjoying the company of the Señora and her daughter.
It was the first time since she left Valladolid that she had
ever been inside a home.
Yet, grateful as she was for all the kindness shown her,
Catalina felt she could not remain for ever a guest of the
widowed Señora; and she was glad when the lady proposed
that they should all visit a large town lying to the south, for
purposes of business. 'And,' Catalina thought to herself,
'it will be easy for me, when I am once there, to invent some
excuse for bidding them farewell. I cannot pass my life in a
hammock under trees, thankful though I am for the rest which
has been given me.' But she did not guess that the 'excuse'
she wanted was to be obtained only at the risk of her own neck.
Wandering about the town, she fell in with some Portuguese,
and as she was fond of cards she was readily persuaded
by them to sit down and gamble. Very soon, her suspicions
were roused that they were not playing fair, and she watched
them more closely.
'Yes; I was sure of it,' she thought, and grew so angry
that she would have liked to challenge the whole twelve on
the spot. Luckily, she contrived with great difficulty to
restrain herself, and resolved only to fight the man who had
won most of her money.
When this person left the gambling saloon, Catalina kept
him in sight, but did not attempt to speak to him till she
saw him stop before one of the houses in a dark street. Then
she quickened her steps, and, tapping him on the shoulder,
remarked: 'Señor, you are a robber.'
'It is possible,' answered the Portuguese, turning coolly;
'but I don't care about being told so,' and drew his
sword.
Catalina drew hers, and, after a quick sharp fight, dealt
him a mortal blow. As he fell, she looked round hastily,
fearing that some of his friends might be at hand to avenge
him, but all was silent. Satisfied that nobody was watching
her, she tried the door, which opened instantly, and
dragged the body into the passage. This done she went
back to the Señora's house, and getting into bed slept
soundly, only awakening the following morning to find her
room filled with police.
Catalina never knew exactly how her fight with the dead
man had been discovered, and as she was instantly put in
prison to await her trial, perhaps it did not much matter.
False witnesses were easily found who trumped up a story of
vengeance, and it was useless for Catalina to swear that she
had never seen the Portuguese gentleman till that evening,
and knew nothing at all about him. The fact that the dead
man was a native of the place, while she was a stranger, told
heavily against her, and sentence was passed that she should
be hanged in the public square in eight days' time.
Wearing her lieutenant's uniform from which she steadily
declined to be parted, Catalina walked firmly up the ladder
to the gallows on the appointed day. The executioner was
new to his work, and bungled the noose which he had to place
round Catalina's neck.
'Here, let me do it,' she said at last; 'it is plain you have
never been at sea.' But all the same, the man's clumsiness
had saved her, for before he could pull the knot, an order
arrived from the Governor of the State to postpone the execution
till fresh inquiries could be made. In the end the truth
came out, and Catalina was set free, but was advised by the
Governor not to remain in that part of the country for the
present.
The advice was felt to be good by them all, but as Catalina
had no money the good Señora again came to the rescue,
and gave her enough to buy a horse and to take her to a large
town, where she might find something to do. When at length
Catalina reached the city, which bore the name of Paz or
'Peace,' some soldiers who were lounging in the streets stood
up, and stared so hard at her beautiful black horse that
Catalina began to suspect that something was the matter.
The soldiers said nothing whatever to her, but one of them,
catching sight of a gentleman a few paces off, ran up to
him and whispered something. The mayor, for such he was,
walked up to Catalina, who inquired if she could be of service
to him.
'These men,' said he, 'declare that the horse you are
riding was stolen from them.'
Catalina did not answer directly, but, leaping to the
ground, flung the loose saddle-cloth over the horse's head. 'I
bought it and paid for it in La Plata,' she replied; 'but if,
your worship, these men really own the horse, they will be
able to tell you which is its blind eye.'
'The left,' cried one.
'No; the right,' exclaimed the other.
'Well, it must be one of the two, mustn't it, your
worship?' asked she.
'No, no! we remember now,' they replied, consulting
each other by a glance and a sign; 'it is the left, of course.'
HAD IT NOT BEEN FOR THE INTERFERENCE OF THE BISHOP HIMSELF,
IT WOULD HAVE GONE HARDLY WITH CATALINA
'Are you sure?' she asked again. 'Yes—quite sure;
certain.'
Upon that Catalina whisked off the saddle-cloth, and said
gaily to the mayor:
'Now, your worship, if you will take the trouble to look,
you will see that the horse has nothing the matter with either
eye!'
Then she bowed and rode away to look for a dinner.
Catalina's last adventure in South America was a wild
ride to the town of Cuzco, carrying on her saddle a lady
whose half-mad husband was seeking to murder her. He
was following fast behind, and his horse was laden with no
double burden, so that in every way he had the advantage.
But Catalina was a better rider, and had some start, so, in
spite of a wound in her horse's flank, she won the day and
placed the lady in safety in a convent. The husband, arriving
just in time to see his victim escape him, at once unsheathed
his sword, and inflicted some severe wounds on Catalina.
Indeed, had it not been for the interference of the bishop
himself, it would have gone hardly with her.
But when, half fainting from loss of blood, she was carried
into the palace and a doctor was summoned, she knew that
the moment she had dreaded had come, and that she
must now confess that, in spite of all her exploits and all her
daring, she was only a woman. Always prompt to make up
her mind, she asked for an interview with the bishop, who
listened to her tale with amazement and sympathy. By his
advice she entered a convent till he could write to Spain
and to the Pope, and obtain forgiveness for having thrown
off her nun's habit, nearly twenty years before. As soon
as could be expected, though not till after many months, the
answer came: Catalina was to be sent back to Spain.
It was at the end of November 1624 that the ship entered
the harbour of Cadiz, and saw a gilded barge approaching,
rowed by men in royal livery. Who could it be intended for?
There was no one on board either great or famous! At least
so they thought, but it appears they were wrong, for there
was one person whose adventures had thrilled the hearts of
both king and people, and that was Catalina herself. As she
left the barge and mounted the steps she beheld the famous
Minister Olivarez waiting to receive her, and crowds thronged
the streets through which she passed on her way to the palace.
Here she was requested to tell her story to the court, and
as some reward for her courage in battle and for her loyalty
to the crown, a pension for life was settled upon her. Poor
Catalina felt very strange in the stiff uncomfortable dress of
a Spanish lady, and far more than her honours and her pension
did she value the permission of the Pope (whom she visited at
Rome a few months later) to wear on all occasions the uniform
of a cavalry officer, together with a sword and spurs.
For ten years Catalina remained in Spain, leading a quiet
life, and feeling, if the truth be told, terribly dull. She was
forty-three when she heard that an expedition to South
America was again being fitted out, and she lost no time in
joining the army. Oh, how happy she was to be back in the
old life, where, even in the slow voyages of those times, a
stirring adventure might befall you at any hour of the day or
night! They sailed first to the Gulf of Mexico and stopped
in the port of Vera Cruz, where the officers arranged to go on
shore and have a grand dinner at the best inn in the place.
Catalina was of course to go with them, and jumped into the
boat with the rest, laughing and talking in the highest spirits
as if twenty years had rolled from her. In a quarter of an
hour they reached the inn, but as they gathered round the
table, someone inquired: 'Where is Catalina?'
'Catalina? Isn't she here?' was the answer. 'Certainly
she was in the boat, for she sat by me!'
'Well, but where has she gone?' Ah! that no one knew—and
what is more, no one ever did know!