 | CHAPTER II. Tales of the Spanish seas |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
Days, months, and seasons held their course,
yet there was no change in the deep azure of
the glowing skies—no alteration in the green
luxuriance of the forest—no falling of the
woods “into the sear, the yellow leaf”—no
fast succeeding variation from the young
floweriness of spring-tide to the deep flush of
gorgeous summer, and thence to the mature
but melancholy autumn—to the grim tyrant,
winter. In that delicious island nature had lavished
on the earth, in her most generous
mood, the mingled attributes of every clime
and region. The tender greenery of the young
budding leaf was blent at one and the same
moment, and that moment, as it seemed, eternal,
with the broad verdant foliage; the smiling
bud, the odoriferous and full-blown flower, the
rich fruit might be seen side by side on the
same tree—on the same bough. Nothing was
there to mark the flight of time—the gradual
advance of the destroyer over the lovely land;
nothing to warn the charmed spectator, that
for him, too, as for the glowing landscape,
maturity but leads to decay—decay which ends
in death! Verily but it is a paradise for the
unthinking!
And who were more unthinking than the
young Spaniard and his Indian love? Who
were more happy? Morn after morn beheld
Hernando de Leon threading the pathless forest
—now with horse, horn, and hound, sweeping
the tangled thickets—now skirring in pursuit
of his falcon over the watery vegas; and now,
with keen observant eye, and cat-like pace,
wandering, arbalast in hand, in silent search
after the timid deer; but still in one direction,
and still with one intent to join the fair Guarica!
Day after day they loitered, side by side,
among the cool shades of the mighty woods,
while the fierce sun was scourging the clear
champaign with intolerable heat—or sat reclined
by the cold head of some streamlet, fuller
to them of inspiration and of love than were
those fabled founts of Gadura, whence Eros
rose of yore, twinborn with the dark Anteros,
to greet the rapt eyes of Iamblichus.
The powerful mind of the young soldier had
been cultured, from his earliest youth, to skill
in all those liberal arts and high accomplishments
by which the gallant cavaliers of Spain
had gained such honorable eminence above
the ruder aristocracy of every other land. To
his hands no less familiar were the harp and
gittern than the Toledo or the lance. To his
well-tutored voice, the high heroic ballads of
his native land, the plaintive elegies of Moorish
Spain, the wildly musical areytos of the
Indian tongue, were equally adapted. Nor
did its accents sound less joyously in the clear
hunting halloa, or less fearfully in the shrill
war shout, that it was oft attuned to the peaceful
cadence of a lady's lute. His foot, firm in
the stirrup, whether in the warlike tilt, in the
swift race, or in the perilous leap, was no less
graceful in the rapid dance, or agile in the
wrestler's struggle on the greensward. He
was, in short, a gentleman of singular accomplishment—of
a mind well and deeply trained;
shrewd, polished, courteous, yet keen and energetical
withal, and brave as his own trusty
weapon. Like every dweller of a mountain
land, he possessed that high and romantic adoration
of the charms of nature, that exquisite
appreciation of the picturesque and beautiful—
whether embodied in the mute creations of
wood, wild, and water, or in the animated
dwellers of earth's surface—which, in the
breasts of others, is rather an acquired taste,
nurtured by delicate and liberal education, than
an intuitive and innate sense. Handsome,
moreover, eloquent, and young, it would have
been no great marvel had the brightest lady of
the proudest European court selected Don Hernando
as the ennobled object of a fresh heart's
holiest aspirations. What wonder, then, that
the untutored Indian girl, princess although she
was, revered almost to adoration by her own
simple people, secluded, from her earliest childhood,
from aught of mean or low association,
influences of the corrupt and contaminating
world, secured from any need of grovelling and
sordid labor—voluptuous and luxurious as the
soft climate of her native isle, yet pure as the
bright skies that overhang it—romantic and poetical,
as it would seem by necessity, arising
from her lonely musing—what wonder that
Guarica should have surrendered, almost on
the instant, to one who seemed to her artless
fancy, not merely one of a superior mortal
race, but as a god in wisdom, worth, and beauty
—a heart which had been sought in vain by
the most valiant and most proud of her nation's
young nobility. His grace, his delicate
and courteous bearing, so different from the
coarse wooing of the Charib lovers, who seemed
to fancy that they were conferring, rather
than imploring an honor, when they sought
her hand; his eloquent and glowing conversation—these
would alone have been sufficient to
secure the wondering admiration of the forest
maiden; but when to these was added the
deep claim which he now possessed on her
gratitude, for the swift aid which he had borne
to her when in extremity of peril, and the respectful
earnestness of pure, self-denying love
which he displayed towards her, it wonld in
truth have been well nigh miraculous had she
resisted the impression of her youthful fancy.
Nor were such unions between the dusky
maidens of the west, and the hidalgos of Spain,
by any means unfrequent or surprising,
among the earliest of those bold adventurers
who had been sharers, in his first and second
voyages, of the great toils and mighty perils
which had been undergone by that wise navigator
who, in the quaint parlance of the day,
gave a new world to Leon and Castile. On
the contrary, it was rather the policy of that
great and good discoverer, who, in almost all his
dealings with the rude natives, showed higher
sentiments of justice and of honor than could
have been expected from the fierce and turbulent
age in which he lived, to encourage such
permanent and indissoluble alliances between
the best and bravest of his own followers, and
the daughters of the Caciques and nobles of the
land, as would assuredly tend, more than any
other means, to bind in real amity the jarring
races brought into close and intimate contact
by his discoveries and conquests.
There was not anything, therefore, to deter
Guarica from lavishing her heart's gem on the
handsome cavalier who had so singularly introduced
himself to her favor, and who so
eagerly—nay, devotedly—followed up that
chance-formed acquaintance. For several
months, despite the ancient adage, the course
of true love did, in their case, run smooth. No
day, however stormy—for heavy falls of rain,
accompanied by sudden gusts of wind, with
thunder claps, and the broad fearful lightning
of the tropics, were by no means unfrequent—
prevented the adventurous lover from threading
the tangled brake, scaling the steep, precipitous
ascent, fording the swollen river—straight as
the bird flies to his distant nest. No turn of duty
hindered him—the imposed task performed—
from hurrying through the hot glare of noon, or
through the moonless night, to visit his beloved.
At first, his well-known ardor in the
chase accounted to his comrades for his protracted
and continual absences from their assemblies,
whether convened for woodland
sports or wild adventure; but when it was observed
that, though he never went abroad, save
with the hawk and hound, or arbalast and the
bird bolts, he brooked no longer any comrade
in his sportive labors; that, though renowned
above his compeers for skill and courage
in the mimicry of war, he often now returned
jaded indeed, and overspent with toil,
but either altogether empty-handed, or at least so
ill-provided with the objects of his unwearying
pursuits, that it was utterly impossible to suppose
that a hunter so renowned could have indeed
spent so much toil and time, all to so little
a purpose. This, for a short space, was
the point of many a light jest—many a merry
surmise gradually grew to be the subject of
grave wonder and deliberation; for it was now
remarked by all, even by his superiors, that
Hernando—though he had been of yore the
keenest volunteer to offer, nay, to urge his services,
when any foray was proposed against
the daring tribe of Caonabo, the bold Cacique
of the Charibs, who now alone, of the five
hereditary monarchs that erst held sway in
Hispaniola, dared to wage war against the
white invaders of his native fastnesses—no
longer sought to be employed on such occasions—nay,
that he even had refused, as it appeared,
to those who had solicited aid, on slight
and feigned excuses, to join their perilous excursions.
Whispers increased among his comrades,
and ere long grew to be dark murmurs
—rumor said that no hunter ever saw the
form of Don Hernando backing his fiery Andalusian,
or heard the furious bay of his
stanch bloodhounds in any of those haunts
where strayed most frequently, and in the
greatest plenty, the quarry which he feigned to
chase; fame said, and for once truly, that
though the best scouts of the Spaniards had
been urged by curiosity to play the spy upon
his movements, their utmost skill had availed
nothing; that whether in broad day or in the
noon of night, they never could keep him in
view beyond the margin of one belt of forest
land, or track the foot-prints of his charger, although
the soil was deep and loamy, into its
dark recesses; that, in whatever course he
turned his horse's head, or bent his footsteps,
on departing from the fortress of his friends,
he ever reached by devious turns, and secret
and there vanished. It was an age of credulous
fear—of dark, fanatical superstitions. He
who, a few short months before, had been the
idol of his countrymen, the soul of their convivial
meetings, the foremost and the blithest
in their bold hunting matches, was now the
object of distrust, of doubt, of actual fear, and
almost actual hatred. Some said that he had
cast by his allegiance to his country and his
king—that he had wedded with an Indian girl,
and joined himself to her people, heart and
hand—that he kept up this hollow show of
amity with his betrayed forsaken countrymen
only that he might gain some sure and fatal
opportunity of yielding them, at once, to the
implacable resentment of the Charib Caonabo.
Others, more credulous still, averred, in secret,
that he had leagued himself, more desperately
yet, and yet more guiltily, with creatures of
another world! that mystic sounds, and voices
not of human beings, had been heard by the
neighbors of his barrack-chamber! and one,
he who had scouted him furthest and most
closely, swore that, on more than one occasion,
he had beheld a grim and dusky form rise suddenly,
as if from out the earth, and join him in
the wildest of those woodlands through which
he loved to wander.
Thus did the time pass onward—Hernando
and Guarica becoming every day more fond and
more confiding, and, if that could be, more inseparable;
and, at the same time, suspicion,
enmity, distrust, becoming more and more apparent
at every hour between him and his
Spanish kinsmen.
Thus did the time pass onward, without the
occurrence of anything of moment either to
disturb the blissful dreams of the young lovers,
or to awaken a suspicion in their breasts, that
they were themselves the objects of distrust or
of espial.
Yet every day closer and closer were the
toils contracting round them; strong enmities
were at work, weaponed by puissant energies
and quick intelligences; and, though they knew
it not, they were even now on the brink of an
abyss.
Thus did the time pass onward; till, on a
close and sultry afternoon, in the latter part of
autumn, when the thunder clouds were mustering
thick over the azure vault, and now and
then a pale flash on the far horizon, succeeded
by a distant rumble, told of the coming hurricane,
three or four horsemen, whose dress
and accoutrements proclaimed them at once to
be Spaniards from the fortress, were seen to
issue from the forest, and ride rapidly across
the little plain towards Guarica's dwelling.
At first a blithe smile lighted up the features
of the young princess, as the sound of the
hoofs came to her ears, while, occupied in
light feminine labor, she was standing in the
inner chamber of her cottage—for, horses being
as yet the exclusive property of the invaders,
and no other Spaniard than her own Hernando
having as yet visited that sequestered spot, she
doubted not that it was her lover, who, in the
eagerness of his unwaning passion, had thus
anticipated the hour of his coming.
Full of this sweet idea, her lovely features
gaining a deeper and more feeling charm, from
the inspiration which seemed to infuse them at
the mere thought of him she loved so passing
well, she bounded forth to meet him. But, before
even her foot had crossed the threshold,
she repented her precipitation: although it was
already too late to remedy it.
Her ear, quicker by nature than that of any
European, and sharpened now beyond its wonted
keenness by the strange powers of overruling
passion, had detected, even as she sprang forth
to meet the comers, first, that instead of one there
were several horses, and next, that her lover's
Andalusian was not of the number. Strange it
may seem that that lovely girl, who, perhaps,
never in her life had seen ten horses, nor listened
to the tread of any save Hernando's charger,
could have sworn to his springy tramp out of
ten thousand—strange it may seem, and incredible
to us, whose instincts are quenched by
dwelling amid the monotonous occurrences of a
life spent in the midst of busy crowds, whose
ears are deadened and eyes dimmed unto the
sounds and sights of nature; but it is true—she
knew it in an instant, and half paused upon
the door-sill, wondering what chance could
have brought strangers thither; and apprehending,
she knew not what, of coming evil.
And all of us know—at least all of us who
have known sorrow, or anxiety, or even
strong and overmastering passion—how rapidly
thought flits at times through the spirit—
how that, which to the body is but a point of
time, but a fleet second, may to the mind be an
age of ages.
In the mere instant that Guarica, bounding
forth towards the portico, paused half alarmed
upon the threshold, a hundred flitting fancies
passed through her brain—fancies of joy, and
hope, and agony, almost despair—but with the
instant which had given them birth they ended.
Knowing instinctively that she must have been
seen already, and having, though more than
a little frightened, no motive for concealment,
she stepped forth quietly; and found herself in
the presence of two persons, whom her quick
intelligence discovered instantly to be cavaliers
of rank and birth; and as many more whom
she recognised as servants, with hounds in
leashes, and hawks on their fists, who had
just pulled up their horses at the door.
He, who appeared the principal personage of
the two, was a tall, powerful, gaunt man, not
in reality above a year or two De Leon's
senior, but in exterior show far more advanced
of the hardships he had undergone, or
it might have arisen from the predominance of
those fierce and fiery passions which wear
away the body, even as a keen blade frets and
in time destroys its scabbard—but, whether
from one cause or the other, his brow, instead
of presenting the fair bread expanse which
was so striking in Hernando's noble countenance,
was furrowed by three wrinkles, as deep
as are usually seen in men of sixty years; and
these were again cut at right angles by the
strong indentation of an habitual frown. The
features were all in themselves well formed
and handsome, although the aquiline nose was
so thin as to seem almost fleshless, the cheeks
hollow, and the eyes sunken. The general
expression, too, was grave and dignified, and
far from unpleasing; although the heaviness
of the brow cast over it a sort of melancholy
gloom; and at times a dark sneering smile distorted
the thin lips, altering for the worse the
entire character of the face, and giving it, so
long as it lasted, a singular and intense air of
malignity and contempt.
The figure of this gentleman was, it is true,
gaunt and thin, almost to meagreness; but not
so much as to impair, in any degree, his muscular
and sinewy strength, which appeared to
be prodigious. His demeanor, though somewhat
formal and stately, was full of the grace
of dignity, if not of ease; and his whole aspect,
set off by his dark, rich hunting-dress and
his magnificent bay charger, was striking and
impressive.
His companion was an older man, yet bearing
in his round and jovial face, although his hair
and beard were grizzled, far fewer marks of
age than his fellow-hunter. This was a broad
and square-set person, with a quick merry eye,
a bronzed face, and a constant smile about his
full, arched lips; his countenance, too, was as
strongly marked with bold and daring frankness,
as was the other's with dark and suspicious
gloom; and his bearing as abrupt and
impulsive, as his friend's was self-restrained
and formal.
Any one at all used to judge of men's professions
by their aspect or their manners,
might have pronounced this gentleman a sailor,
without fear of contradiction—nor did his seat
or hand upon his horse, which were both artless
and ungainly, contradict the surmise. He,
too, was richly dressed, though far more gaudily
than his companion, and he bestrode a
strong and active horse, quite equal to his
weight, though lacking the high, blood-like
type, and spirited action, of the bay charger by
his side.
It was the former of the two cavaliers who,
with an air half-insolent, half-condescending,
addressed Guarica, as she came forth upon the
portico, in a few words, imperfectly pronounc
ed and ungrammatically put together, of the
Indian dialect of that province; requesting permission
to take shelter, until the storm, which
was threatening so nearly, should pass over,
and alleging, as a further cause for their intrusion,
that they had seen the building from the
edge of the forest, wherein they had been
hunting all the morning, just as they were deliberating
whither they should fly for refuge
from the tornado.
Guarica replied instantly, in pure Castilian,
to which the most critical ear could have taken
but slight objection; begging them to alight
from their horses, and accept such accommodation
as her poor dwelling could afford them.
“Stables,” she added, “we, of course, have
none to offer you; but there is a hut yonder,
which we use as a store-house, empty now,
wherein your serving-men can tie their horses.
I beseech you enter.”
Neither of the cavaliers, both of whom dismounted
instantly, showed the least surprise,
or made any comment on her speaking the
Spanish tongue so fluently; although the
younger cast a quick, keen glance, accompanied
by the peculiar smile which has been
mentioned, to his comrade, as they followed
her, after giving directions to their servants,
into the building. For she paused not to show
them the way humbly, but led them, with the
air and gesture of a princess, into her dwelling.
Again a look of intelligence was interchanged
between the Spaniards; and the sailor licked
his lips with the affectation of a liquorish
air, as she swept forward; but there was nothing
in the look that betokened astonishment,
though there was much that spoke of admiration,
and perhaps something of self-gratulation
at their own shrewdness.
Could they have read, however, all that was
passing in Guarica's mind, they would perhaps
have found less reason for the latter sentiment
than they imaginned; so accurately had
the wild Indian girl already judged the cause
and the motives which had brought them to
her lonely dwelling.
Her quick eye, running over the whole
group, even in the short time while the cavalier
was speaking to her, had taken in, without
seeming to note anything at all, the closest and
most minute details. Thus, among other things,
she observed that both the gentlemen and their
followers were armed far more heavily than
was usual for hunters; both the latter having
the short, heavy arquebuses of the day slung
at their backs, and both the former carrying
huge wheel-lock pistols at their holsters.
She saw, moreover, that although the horses
were somewhat heated, as must be the case in
a day so singularly sultry, they were not
splashed with mud, or embossed with foam—
that the hounds were as sleek as when they
had not been uncoupled—and that the dresses of
the riders were in too orderly array, with their
plumes trim and unbroken, and their spurs
bright and bloodless, to allow it to be imagined,
even by a novice, that they had been engaged,
for hours, in so rude a pastime as the chase,
and that, too, in so wild a forest region.
A slight smile of contempt flitted across her
lovely face, as she thought within herself—
“They are but poor deceivers, after all—perhaps,
in their self-opinion, they fancy that it
needs no exertion of their high European faculties
to dupe a savage. But this time they are
mistaken. They are no hunters, that is clear.
I wonder what has brought them hither?—No
good!—no good! I fancy. I do not like the
tall man's looks; but I will watch, I will find
out, before they go.” And even while she was
pondering these things with herself, she called
three or four Indian maidens from an inner
room, and having spoken a few words in a low
tone to one, who darted out of the house immediately,
and made her way, without being
seen by the Spaniards, into the forest, she gave
directions to the others to prepare refreshments
for the strangers; and though she spoke in
her own language, she used phrases so purposely
simple, that they were readily understood
by her unwelcome guests, who had just
entered. Their instructions to the servants
ended,
“It is fortunate,” she then said, quite naturally,
and as if she believed their story perfectly—“it
is very fortunate that you should
have seen our cottage, for there is no village
or house very near us; and I think we shall
have a heavy storm. I almost wonder you
should have ventured so far from Isabella.
We have seen the clouds gathering here all the
morning.”
“It is fortunate, indeed,” said the younger
cavalier, “and I believe we must confess ourselves
but artless woodmen, Sanchez and I—
for we had no suspicion of the storm at all, till
we heard the thunder. Yes, thanks to Heaven!
we are wondrous fortunate.”
“You will think so, should it prove such a
tornado as I look for,” she answered, simply,
looking out of the open door towards the storm-clouds,
which were gathering thicker every moment.
“I meant that we are fortunate in finding so
sweet and beautiful a hostess, here all alone,
in the wild forest, and speaking our own
tongue, too, like a Castilian princess! Are you
the lady of the castle, fair one? and do you
queen it here alone, without court, or guards,
or courtiers?”
“Oh!” she replied, with a light laugh, “I
have heard of your grand Spanish compliments,
which you cavaliers deem it right to bestow on
every woman, if she be old even, and wrinkled.
And, as for speaking your language, I must
have been dull indeed had I not learned it from
aunt Anacaona; and more—”
“Anaçaona! And have we indeed the happiness
to kiss the hands of a niece of that peerless
queen and lady, the friend and protectress
of our people?” exclaimed the same gentleman
who had spoken before; while his ruder companion
broke out into a loud whistle of astonishment,
which he expressed yet further by a
loud sea-faring oath, and a repetition of the
name, Anaçaona!
“The queen Anaçaona is my aunt, and has
ever been the Spaniards' friend—may they
prove grateful to her. But I was about to say
that I do not live alone; my brother, Orozimbo,
dwells with me, and will be here anon; he,
like yourselves, is hunting with his vassals.
I would he were here to receive you more befittingly.”
“That were impossible, most peerless flower,”
began the cavalier, but Guarica quietly interrupted
him.
“I pray you pardon me, Senor,” she said,
“but if we have learned your language in order
to converse the better with our masters,”
and she laid rather a bitter emphasis on the last
word, “we have not yet adopted, nor do we
wish to do so, your gallant modes of speech,
which seem to us mere falsehood and hypocrisy.
My name is Guarica, a simple Indian girl,
and neither flower nor pearl—as such I am
glad to shelter and to serve you. Will you not
walk into the inner chamber? you will find
seats there to repose you; and my maidens will
bring some wine of the palm and some fresh
water; you must be parched with thirst.
Pray enter—make no ceremony—and excuse
me.”
And with the words she raised a many-colored
mat of rushes, which hung across a
low doorway, and waving them towards the
large airy chamber wherein she was sitting
when their horses' tread apprised her of their
coming, she retired from the hall, where they
had as yet been standing, and left them alone
to their own devices.
“By Heaven! but this is a strange business,
Guzman,” exclaimed the sailor, now speaking
for the first time. “I do not wonder at Hernando
passing his time here, nor do I blame him
for it, by St. Jago! I would I were in his
shoes. She is the perfection of a bona roba.
I wonder has he married her, or does she love
him paramour? But what the devil are we to
do next?”
“You are to hold your tongue—that is to
say if you can, by any means, and not to spoil
everything by your absurd and ill-timed jesting;
and, above all, you are not to keep calling
me Guzman and Herreiro,” he added, sinking
last words. “I vow to God, if you do it again
I will put my dagger into you.”
“Your dagger, will you?” answered the
other, bursting into a rough laugh. “No you
won't! no you won't, Guz—plague on it! there
I go again. Who the devil can think of such
things? but you will put no dagger into me, I
can tell you.”
“And why not? why not, I pray you, when
you plague me so—when you would plague
the archangel Gabriel out of patience with
your buffoonery and folly? why should I not?”
“In the first place, because I would not let
you—why two can play at dagger-work as
well as one, man! and I think I am as good as
you, any day. But if I were not, I wear a
secret, when I ride with you—for I have heard
a thing or two, and I don't forget what I hear,
either—”
“What have you heard? what have you
heard?” exclaimed the other, furiously, but
turning very pale as he spoke. “Say on—I
insist on your saying on! You have said too
much, or not enough; speak! out with it, what
have you heard?”
“Nay,” said the sailor, “never mind—I do
not want to quarrel; and if I did, this is no
place for it. Let us go in, as the girl told us.
I would not have said aught, but you spoke of
stabbing me. Come, come—forget it! let us
go in.”
And, with the words, he stalked on with a
sturdy step, and a quiet fearless smile, into the
room Guarica had indicated; but the other
paused behind, and muttered through his teeth,
“He knows too much! he knows too much!
He is dangerous; but what a fool he was to let
me find it out. In one thing he is right, however,
this is no place, and no time, either;
and we have other cards to play, too, for the
nonce! but patience—patience!”
And, with a grim smile, he too walked in
after his companion, and throwing himself
down on a pile of soft cotton cushions,
smoothed his disordered features, and took a
careful observation of the room, and every article
which it contained. And there were many
things most unusual to behold in an Indian's
dwelling, and such as must naturally have excited
both comment and surprise in any persen
not prepared fully to encounter them. Upon a
centre table of some variegated wood, elaborately
carved and polished, lay several Spanish
books of romance and poetry, a mandolin of
exquisite workmanship, and several sheets of
music, marked with the rude notation of the
day. There was a standish, too, with several
pens, both of reed and quills, and several rolls
of parchment. Upon the walls were five or
six bold and masterly sketches of combats with
the Moors of Granada, and one or two views
and sea pieces. In one corner of the room
stood a long arquebuse, which both the
strangers recognised in a moment; while, from
the antlers of a stag, which adorned the wall,
there hung a powder-horn, a set of bandoleers,
a pair of gilt Spanish spurs, and a hunting-bugle.
Upon a long divan or couch under the
window was a black velvet cloak and a plumed
hat.
At these things, when Herreiro entered, the
man he had called Sanchez was gaping with a
fixed wondering stare, and when he perceived
that the other had come in, he pointed to them
with his finger, and was about to speak, when
Guzman cut him short in a quick whisper.
“I see, I see—it is just as I thought; but
do not seem to notice them—for God's sake do
not speak; I am sure that girl is watching us.
I do beseech you, do not seem to see, and yet
see everything.”
“Tush! you are always so suspicious;
now, I think—”
“Of course you do,” Herreiro again interrupted
him—“of course you think it is going
to rain; why it is raining over there already.”
Sanchez stared at him, but before he could
reply, Guarica, who had entered unperceived
by him, as he sat with his back towards the
door, though Herreiro had perceived her, invited
him to take some wine which a girl was
just bringing, with tropical fruits and cool
water.
In a few moments afterwards Orozimbo entered,
carrying in his hand a couple of long
javelins, the head of one of which was wet
with fresh blood; and followed by several Indians,
two of whom bore a deer, slung by its
legs to a pole resting on their shoulders.
These threw themselves down to rest under
the portico, but Orozimbo walked straight into
his sister's guest-chamber; and though he expressed
no surprise, but greeted his visitors
hospitably, it was evident to his sister that he
partook of her astonishment, if not of her
apprehension.
Meanwhile the storm burst with a degree of
intense and concentrated fury that cannot be
conceived till it is seen, and can be seen only
within the tropics; the thunder rolled in one
continuous and incessant roar—the whole expanse
of heaven was one broad glare of blue
and livid lightning—the wind raved horribly,
sweeping the largest trees away as if they
were mere straws in its path. At length the
rain poured down in torrents, the wind sank,
the thunder died away—the danger was at an
end; and, within two hours, the setting sun
beamed out again serenely, and not a token of
the storm was to be felt or seen, save in the
fallen trees, and in the freshness of the air,
cooled and reanimated by the thunder-gust.
During the storm the strangers had conversed
on many subjects, endeavoring, evidently,
and the younger man more particularly, to
above all, to appear perfectly at ease and offhanded.
But in neither one nor the other of
these ends were they at all successful; and
that, too, as it often happens, in consequence
of the very means they took to promote them.
In the first place, the courtly air, overstrained
compliments, and yet more than these, the
ominous and sneering smile of Guzman, impressed
Guarica with feelings of anything
rather than favorable; and, in the second, the
very care which the strangers took to avoid
all allusion to the articles betokening, as clearly
as spoken words, the habitual intercourse
of the inhabitants with some gentleman of
Spanish blood, convinced her—not that they
did not see them—for that would have argued
them blind, or at least stupidly unobservant—
but that they were prepared to see them there;
and that their visit was, in some sort, connected
with Hernando de Leon.
As the storm had now cleared off, and as
night was drawing near, they had no excuse
for remaining longer; and, with many courteous
speeches, and many formalities of thanks
and leave-taking, they mounted their horses
and departed—having declined Orozimbo's offer
to send a guide to show them the nearest way
to the fortress of Isabella.
Among the last words he uttered, Guzman
had, with great adroitness, as he thought, contrived
to let out very naturally that his own
name was Sylva de Fronteiro, while he continually
addressed the sailor as Juan Sanchez;
thereby convincing Guarica, beyond a peradventure,
that both these titles were unreal; for
she had overheard the latter call Herreiro Guzman,
and had caught some words of the rebuke
which the blunder had called forth.
In a word, neither the brother nor sister
was deceived, for scarcely had they ridden ten
yards from the door before Orozimbo said—
“Who are they, Guarica; who are they;
and what brought them hither?”
“Nay, brother,” answered the lovely girl,
“I never saw either of them before; they
said they were out hunting, but that is not
true, for they had never let their hounds loose,
nor even soiled their boots.”
“They are spies,” said the boy, “spies on
Hernando, and I fancy they gave us false
names.”
“I am sure they did,” answered Guarica,
“I heard the little man call the other `Guzman,'
when they thought me out of hearing;
but De Leon will be here anon, and then we
shall know all about it.”
“I will know all about it sooner. What
ho! give me my bow and arrows there.
What time comes Hernando?”
“Not till the moon is above the forest-tops;
he was on guard all day,” answered Guarica,
simply.
“And that they knew right well,” said Orozimbo,
“but I will find them out! And now
one word, Guarica—be thou sure that De Leon
means thee honor. These Spaniards—aye,
the best of them, are but false knaves and
liars; and by the sun and moon, and all the
hosts of heaven! if he be the villain to deceive
thee, and thou the dupe to be deceived, this
hand—this very hand of mine—dost understand,
Guarica? Girl! girl! I would rather
see thee dead—dead by my own hand, than
guilty with a Spaniard!”
“And I would rather be so dead,” replied
the girl, very firmly; “but you wrong both
him and me.”
“Look to it, thou, that it be so! Fare thee
well; remember who thou art, and who were
they before thee. Ere the moon set will I
learn something of these fellows.”
And snatching his long bow and four shafts
from the tall Indian who had brought them at
his bidding he waved a farewell to his sister,
bounded across the lawn, and entered the forest
at the point where, a little while before, the
cavaliers had struck it on their route for
Isabella.
| CHAPTER II. Tales of the Spanish seas | |