amount. Then they ran away, and were hunted with dogs,
brought back, and compelled to wash the gravel under surveillance,
subject to the pricks of a sword if they were not active enough. But,
even with all this, the returns were not equal to what was expected, and
the tribute had ultimately to be abandoned. However, it was stated
that as much as the value of a million crowns per annum was extracted
during the best years, at a cost of pain and suffering awful to
contemplate.

[Illustration: SUICIDES.

(_From Gottfried's "Reisen."_)]

The cotton tribute had also to be abandoned, and even the
_repartimientos_ were not a success. If they had been willing, the
natives could hardly have performed steady work, and as slaves they were
almost valueless. In their natural condition they laboured when they
chose, wasting time as we should say with little good result. Now their
masters demanded heavy tasks which prevented their working on their own
provision grounds, and yet provided little or nothing in the way of
rations. Hundreds died of starvation; thousands committed suicide. Some
jumped from high precipices; they hanged, stabbed, drowned, and poisoned
themselves; mothers destroyed their babes to save them from the misery
of living. If caught in such attempts they were flogged, had boiling
water or melted lead poured over them, and were otherwise tortured until
death came to their relief. Their cruel masters, however, rarely wished
to kill them outright--they were too valuable. No, they must break down
this dogged, stubborn spirit--treat them as horses and mules, until they
bent themselves to the yoke.

It was left for bands of soldiers on foraging expeditions to kill in
mere wantonness. A company would be travelling through the island and
come upon a village, where perhaps they stopped for a short rest. The
people looked on, admiring their shining armour and weapons, wondering
what sort of creatures these were that so quietly cropped the grass and
shrubs. One of the soldiers would take out his sword, feel its keen
edge, and think what a pity it was that the weapon should be used so
little. Behind him comes a little boy. The temptation is great; in a
moment the sharp weapon flashes and the child lies dead. The Indians
fly, and the whole party follows, chasing and slaughtering to their
heart's content, not knowing nor caring why. In a few minutes fifty are
killed, the soldiers return to their bivouac, and if they inquire in