 | CHAPTER X. Tales of the Spanish seas |  |
10. CHAPTER X.
The day passed over, as all days must, in its
appointed time, whether of joy or sorrow, and
the great sun went down upon the pirate's
hold, as peacefully as on the shepherd's hut,
all bright and blessing, and one by one the
stars came out in their set places, and the
broad moon arose—a ball of liquid silver.
The day passed over—but through its weary
hours, though trembling at each distant footstep,
and shuddering at every voice, Teresa
heard no more, saw no more, of the dreaded
Rover; and as she learned by slow degrees to
forget—if not to forgive—the frailty of her
lovely hostess in her compassionate kindness;
and as hour after hour glided by, and naught
occurred to wake new apprehension, the tension
of her nerves, strong preternaturally by
the intense and terrible excitement of the scenes
in which she had so lately borne a part so
prominent, was gradually softened down; her
tears flowed, not convulsively, but in a tranquil
stream which ever seemed to relieve her
burning brain from one half of its fiery burden
—she now wept not for herself alone—and
even that rather from nervous agitation, than
that she had appreciated her position—but for
her tortured, butchered brother—for her unhappy
parent—for, more than all beside—her
true, her own dear Amadis! Nor did she only
weep!—she prayed—prayed purely, fervently,
with strong affectionate unwavering faith, for
strength—that only real strength—the strength
which cometh from on high—to bear in calm
humility, in Christian fortitude, whatever might
be sent to her by Him, who sendeth all his
gifts, whether of joy or sorrow, wisely and
well, and—though we, thoughtless and hardhearted,
believe it not to be so—for our eternal
good! She prayed—and rose up from her
bended knees—as all will rise who do pray
fervently, and purely, and with faith—refreshed
and comforted in spirit, and strengthened
with an inward hope, surpassing any confidence
of earth, in a strong Rescuer on high.
She rose up, braver than she had knelt down,
and with a better courage; for it was not
based on her own vain confidence of heart,
and stubborn purpose, but in the love of Him
who slumbereth not, nor sleepeth, nor overlooketh
of his most humble worshipper.
She rose up, as we have said, comforted and
strengthened—she washed, and braided her
disordered locks, and clad herself in the most
modest garments of her fair entertainer; she
ate and drank, and laid her down in her pure
unsunned innocence, beside that bright hut
erring being, whose very virtues had been
melted down by the uncurbed indulgence of-ungovernable
passions, into voluptuous vice,
and slept as soundly and as sweetly as the
young happy infant cradled upon its mother's
bosom. While long, long after she had sunk
to rest, the fair-haired beauty watched every
long drawn breath, and almost wept, she knew
not why, over the calm unconscious sleeper—
till when the night had far advanced towards
morning, she started, as if into remembrance,
from a sudden dream; and rising from Teresa's
side, thrust her small snowy feet into a pair of
fairy slippers, drew a large robe of velvet
about her shapely limbs, and stole away, nor
returned any more to her own bower, until the
tropical sun was high already in the clear
firmament.
That day the Rover came not nigh Teresa,
for in the fort without, and in the circular
basin, all was now bustle and hot haste. During
the night two more feluccas, which had
been detached from the rest upon some distant
cruise, had been warped into the harbor and
found berths beside their consorts, and all the
morning long all hands were actively employed
refitting them for instant service—water casks
were rolled out, and filled, and hoisted in again;
and biscuit, and rich meats, and fragrant wines,
and arms, and ammunition, and fresh men,
embarked with emulous haste. At noon, as
the two girls might see from Bella's bower—
for having, though half reluctant, and half
doubtful of her own liberty to do so, become
in some degree conciliated to that kind although
guilty creature, Teresa would no more consent
to quit her private chamber; nor to seek any
more intercourse with those who, although in
truth no more guilty than the English girl, yet
seemed so to her eyes, already influenced—
alas! weak mortals!—by some small show of
kindness; at noon as the two girls might see
from Bella's
bower, a council was held within
the ramparts of the keep of all the pirate
leaders; and shortly after the drum beat to
arms, and all the buccaneers assembled, and
fell into their ranks, a gay and gorgeous host,
numbering at least twelve hundred practised
warriors.
After a brief inspection by the great buccaneer
himself, eight hundred were detailed,
and instantly embarked in the two last arrived
feluccas, and all the vessels of the other
squadron, saving alone the largest bark—Ringwood's
own flagship—and the small sloop or
tender which lay moored by the water-gate.
Within an hour at furthest, the last of this
gallant squadron, detached, as it was evident,
on some peculiar duty, disappeared behind a
dense mass of trees which veiled the outlet of
the harbor; and so strong was the current of
the river which leaped up there at once, a
giant from its birth, that in less than two hours
more, they were well out to sea, with their
sails set to the stiff breeze, ploughing the billows
merrily.
With them, however, we go not on their
path of rapine—their sails were spread, and
their masts bent to the morning blast, and their
lean bows cleft with a sound of laughter the
blue waves. But no eye from the pirate's hold
could mark them, though many a heart beat
eager with anticipation. When they were out
of sight, after some short parade and manning
of the guns, Ringwood dismissed his men; and
with his arms folded upon his bosom, and his
proud head depressed as though in melancholy
thought, strolled for some time in a listless
mood about the esplanade of the fort, and then
withdrew quietly to his own turret chamber,
where none—not his most intimate associates
—not his most trusted officers—ever presumed
to break upon his solitude; and there remained
all moody and alone, till the sun had already
plunged his lower limb into the deep and tufted
foliage of the surrounding forest. Just at that
time, however, as the land-breeze began to die
away, and a faint languid calm succeeded, before
the setting in of the fresher breath of the
free ocean—a dull, deep, heavy sound—a sort
of rumbling and continuous roar was heard by
the watchers on the bastions; and while they
were yet wondering what those hoarse notes
might mean, the Rover stood among them—
“Ordnance!” he cried—“and heavy ordnance!—man
all the batteries, load, and run
out the guns; see you have linstocks ready,
and fire at hand to light them.”
And, although many doubted that those far
sounds were indeed guns—none disobeyed his
orders; none hesitated for a moment—and ere
long it was proved how perfect was the ear,
how accurate the judgment of the great English
Rover—for as the sea breeze freshened,
and blew strong, it bore upon its dewy breath
the sharp reports of many a single cannon, of
many a long continuous volley. At last the
sounds died off, and seemed to melt into the
distance, and pass entirely away—but again,
just as it grew quite dark, before the moon had
risen, or the stars yet come out, the cannonading
was renewed, closer, as it seemed, than
before; and after a brief furious battle, a crimson
glare rushed up the deep blue sky; and so
continued, wavering now—now flashing fiery
bright, for nigh an hour of time; then a keen
stream, or column rather, of white light shot
up towards the zenith with a dull heavy shock;
dark and silent. All that night long torches
were blazing, and guards pacing the stone bastions,
and blue lights dimly burning in all the
trenches of the outer works. Nay, more, the
guns were manned even in the citadel itself,
and in the Rover's keep—and all those tedious
hours with ear, heart, eye on the alert, Teresa
watched and prayed in the strong hope of coming
succor. Both vessels in the harbor were
full manned, and all in battle order—but,
though all hearts were burning, all arms high
strung against the foe, though Reginald himself
waked to devise means of desperate defence,
half doubting that his consorts were cut
off, and two-thirds of his men destroyed, for
well he knew no one would yield him captive
—no foe appeared—nor friend. The chirpings
and hummings of the innumerable insect tribes
—the croak of the countless reptiles, mixed
with the chatter of the night-hawk and the
rich melody of an occasional mocking-bird,
were the only sounds that waked the night
echoes of the Florida forest, except the watchword
and the tramp of the stern sentinel.
Just as day dawned, commanding the small
sloop to slip her cable, and with a picked and
veteran crew of twenty English sailors, to drop
down cautiously and reconnoitre, Ringwood
departed from the busy ramparts; and, for the
first time since the stormy scene which had
ensued on Teresa's introduction, turned towards
the bower. He lingered not, however, there;
when he found none within its gorgeous precincts,
save the Italian girl and the soft Persian
dancer, though each tried her choicest allurements
to detain him; but passed, after a
few short moments, into the bower of his English
favorite.
“Ha! Bella,” he said, as he entered, “my
sweet Bella,” and a touch of real fondness
was audible in its rich accents—“and thou,
Teresa, nay! nay! start not, nor look so wildly,
lady—I come not to alarm, much less to
harm you; sit, fair one, and fear nothing.
Now, Bella, dearest, I have watched all night
long, and am fatigued and faint, bid your slave
girls bring forth their dainties, I come to break
my fast in your sweet company, and spend a
tranquil hour,” and with the words he cast his
splendid figure at length upon a satin ottoman
on the side of the chamber furthest from Teresa,
in an attitude of the most perfect grace and
majesty, and remained for some seconds without
speaking, a grave and even sorrowful expression
prevading his expressive lineaments.
After a few moments, raising his eyes to Teresa's
face, he perceived that the blank air of
dismay, almost despair, still sat upon her pallid
features; and that with lips apart, nostrils
dilated, and eyes rigidly set and glaring, she
gazed upon his features as if she therein
thought to read her doom.
“Fear nothing now from me,” he again
said, in a voice singularly mild and witching.
“Fear nothing now from me, Teresa. The
fire has gone out here,” and he laid his broad
hand on his brow, “and if you fan it not by
any heedless folly, will sleep, perchance, for
ever. The fiend of memory is for a while at
rest; see that you wake it not to phrensy!
nay, wonder not, nor start at my words, either.
If I have sinned much I have suffered much,
and many of my sins have been the rank fruit
of those very sufferings. But a truce now to
this; my word is pledged to you, that you
shall undergo no violence. My word, girl, inviolate
yet—see that you stir me not to any
reckless fit—when reason yields the reins to
memory, to weakness, and revenge! Teresa,
fear me not!”
“I fear you not,” she answered, half timidly,
half reassured by his strangely altered manner,
“though I have mighty cause to fear you,
yet I do not!”
“So you shall have no cause—daring myself,
I love the daring and undaunted, even when
they defy me! sin-stained myself and passion-blighted,
I yet admire the innocent and pure.
Dauntless I do know you, Teresa!—for had
you not been so, long hence had your dishonored
carcase glutted the dog-fish and the
shark, and pure I do believe you! Were it
not, I say, for memory and pride, I might even
now release you.”
“Oh! do! do!” she exclaimed, “do so;
and God will bless you; your sins, though red
as scarlet, shall become white as snow; your
rapines and your crimes shall all be pardoned
you; a grateful virgin's prayers shall rise up
nightly for your weal, shall win the grace of
the Eternal, shall shield your head in battle,
that not a hair of it shall perish, and more, far
more, than with a self-approving conscience,
shall crown your days with bliss, and steep
your nights in quiet. Do so, and on your bed
of death a weak girl's voice of gratitude shall
smoothe your thorny pillow—her father's—”
“Ha!—no more!—Peace on your life, no
more!” cried Ringwood, fiercely interrupting
her, as he half started from the couch whereon
he was reclining, at the mere mention of the
man whom he indeed had so deep cause to
execrate; though but a little while before he
had seemed on the point of yielding to her
prayers. Teresa, nerved with the hope of
winning him, would have replied; and by so
doing would probably have once more roused
him into a burst of savage and ungovernable
fury, but as her lips moved to answer, Bella,
who had been absent for a moment with her
handmaids, fortunately returned, and laying
her hand on Teresa's shoulder, pressed it so
strongly, that she looked up, and then she laid
her fingers to her own mouth with a grave
smile, and changed the subject by addressing
Meantime the board was opened with dainties,
choice fruits, and savory meats, and snowy
bread, and the enchanting wines of Southern
Europe, in bowls of porcelain and crystal,
dishes embossed with gold, and flasks engraved
by the unequalled chisel of Cellini
and Ringwood led, strange guests! the fair-haired
Bella, and that stern innocent Spanish
virgin, to seats beside him; and played the
host with such unrivalled courtesy, such proud
humility in every accent of his rich, deep,
manly voice, such dignity and grace in every
free unstudied gesture, that even Teresa was
won for a space from her gloomy abstraction,
and to her own astonishment—when she reflected
on it afterwards—found herself wondering
at—almost admiring—the chivalric and
dignified demeanor of the fierce pirate.
Before the meal was concluded, one of the
slave girls who attended, came with a hasty
step from the armory, announcing that Pluto
and another black awaited the Rover's leisure.
“What other black—my midnight beauty?”
exclaimed the Rover, laughing, “His fellow
Charon, is it?”
“His name Antonio, massa—who sell us
fruit and fish from his pirogue.”
“Ha!” cried the Rover, “Ha!—” and
mused a moment, and stepped out into the
gorgeous vestibule, decked with its glittering
arms, leaving the door behind him open, so
that the girls could hear every word that
passed.
“What! is it you, Antonio—what brings
you here, and whence?”
“From Key West, massa, last, with plenty
fine fresh turtle—they in the pirogue, down
below, so heavy we can't warp him up!”
“Key West—what of our squadron then?
you must have met it?”
“Certain!” replied the negro, “I met 'em,
and told massa Cunninghame of Spanish fleet
in the offing—seven merchant galliots and one
caravel! Then massa Cunninghame set sail
till he fell in with them, and hoisted English
color, and then ran!”
“Ran?” cried the Rover, “ran?”
“Yes, he ran, massa Ringwood, till they all
chased him, and got scattered, then he turned
round and fought; and when the caravel took
ground not fifty fathom from the inlet, he left
her hard and fast, and chased the galliots, and
took two; and then his squadron all came
back, and battered the war-ship and burned her
quite, and sacked the galliots, and then scuttled
them, and then went off in chase again
after five others: long chase, but still I guess
he catch 'em!”
“Ha! well done, Cunninghame! brave Cunninghame!
brave Cunninghame!” exclaimed
the Rover, “take that for thy news, fellow,”
giving him as he spoke two or three Spanish
dollars. “I must away and call the men from
the felucca and the batteries; they list not service
unless it be strictly needed. What wouldst
thou more, my good fellow?”
“So please you, send four hands in his
canoe, help poor Antonio up with big pirogue;
have plenty fat turtle and fresh fruit to-night.”
“Well, see to it, Pluto!” and with the words
entirely deceived by the intelligence he had
received, and lulled into confidence that his
crews were victorious, the Rover hurried down,
and called off all his men save the two wonted
sentinels upon the bastions, and the two watchmen
in his own felucca; revoked his orders to
the sloop which had already moved towards the
outlet; and ordering an extra supply of wines,
in compensation of their recent toils, to all the
buccaneers, gave himself up to dreams of complete
triumph. An hour or two elapsed, and
Antonio's pirogue came up, manned in addition
to its usual crew by four of the Rover's trustiest
men, who reported all still and peaceful in
the outlet, and was moored inside the large
felucca, close by the shingly beach below the
batteries. Her deck load of fruit and fish was
soon got ashore, her hatches battened down,
and herself, as it seemed, left vacant and unguarded,
while her black crew, consisting only
of two boys in addition to Antonio, went ashore
with the Rover's men to join in their accustomed
revellings and riots.
Night fell; and though for a little while
licentious songs, loud shouts of mirthful laughter,
and many a sound of wild ungoverned
mirth rang through the guarded esplanade, long
before midnight not an eye was awake in the
ships, on the ramparts, in the dwellings, or in
the Rover's keep, so heavily were the buccaneers
exhausted by the strange mixture of fatigue
and feasting which had characterized the
last four days—save those of the four sentinels,
two in the barque and one on either bastion,
and of the sad Teresa, who, waking from a
perturbed and dreamy sleep, had missed her
fair companion—for she, as on the former
night, had stolen from her couch unnoticed—
and now stood gazing from her high lattice
over the lovely scene below, which lay all
glimmering out in the indistinct light of the
happy moon, half lustre and half shadow.
| CHAPTER X. Tales of the Spanish seas | |