 | CHAPTER IV. Tales of the Spanish seas |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
Morning had dawned already, when Hernando
returned to the fortress of his countrymen,
and all was noise and bustle; two companies
were under arms without the gates, and
the whole esplanade between the walls and the
sea was alive with men rolling down casks of
ammunition or provisions to a tall caravella,
which lay in the little basin at the wharf, with
her foretopsail loose, in readiness to sail, as it
seemed, at a moment's notice.
As Hernando dismounted, two or three officers,
who were inspecting the arquebusers and
pikemen, stepped forward to salute him.
“How soon will the tide serve, Señor Gomez?”
asked the young cavalier, addressing
the personage who had accompanied Herreiro
on the previous day.
“Not for two hours, at the earliest, Don
Hernando,” replied the sailor; “but I am waiting
only to have the soldiers put on board, before
I shove off into the stream.”
“I will give orders—I will give orders.
How soon shall you want me on board?”
“My boat shall wait you in an hour at the
port stairs.”
“I will be ready, senor. Don Luis Mandragone,
get your men on board instantly.
Steadily, sir! steadily! no hurry! Forward,
march!”
And for a few moments he stood still, observing
the movements of the troops, who,
with that steadiness of severe discipline which
rendered the Spanish infantry the most famous
in the world, went through the requisite manœuvres
with equal speed and facility.
This done, Hernando turned to the sentinels
on duty, and inquired if Don Guzman de Herreiro
was within the walls, but, greatly to his
disappointment, he was answered in the negative;
and, on making further inquiries, still
more to his vexation, he was informed that,
although he had not returned home till a late
hour on the previous evening, he had set out,
alone, to hunt before daybreak.
Not a word did De Leon utter in reply, but
his brow grew as black as night, and he strode
away, hastily, to his own barrack, and locking
himself in, to avoid interruption, took pen and
paper, and addressed a long letter to his whilom
friend and comrade.
For he was not deceived in the least by the
pretext of hunting; knowing, as he did, that
Herreiro was by no means so ardent an admirer
of field sports, as to get up before the sun
two following mornings, to ride after the stanchest
hounds that ever opened upon game.
He doubted not, therefore, that, whatever the
pretence, his Guarica, his own betrothed, was
the true object of pursuit to a man, whom he
knew bold, resolute, voluptuous, unscrupulous,
and persevering. It was a moment of strange
agony! For though he never so much dreamed
of doubting Guarica's purity of soul, or
power to resist more potent fascinations than
were like to be brought against her—though he
imagined not that Herreiro would dare resort
to violence—still it was anguish to believe
that she, his soul's idol, would have to endure
the solicitations, to brook the insolent addresses
of this bold libertise.
It was now that he felt bitterly the folly of
his conduct, in so estranging himself from his
comrades: for he had no one to whom he
could confide his anxieties, of whom he could
ask comfort and advice. The rather that the
very man to whom it would have been most
natural that he should apply, was he against
whom he was now called upon to take counsel.
Short was the space which was left to him,
either for action or deliberation, and perhaps it
was well for him that it was so; for assuredly,
under the spur of instant necessity, he took a
course which, if the boldest, was the wisest he
could have adopted.
He sat down and wrote a long, frank letter
to Herreiro, as one devoted friend to another.
He apologized in some sort for his late strangeness
and allenation, by accounting for it;
which he did—ingenuously, frankly, truly.
He wrote to him of Guarica, as if he were ignorant
that Herreiro knew of her existence: he
told him of his first fascination, of his deep
love arising thence, of his intention to make
her his wife, immediately on the return of Columbus;
and then, touching on his compulsory
absence from Isabella, he commended his mistress
to the care of his friend, in all loyalty and
honor; conjuring him to watch over her, to
protect her in case of any peril, to be to her,
in short, if necessity should arise, as a brother.
This packet finished, and confided to the
charge of Don Guzman's confidential servant,
—which was not done until the hour of embarkation
was at hand,—Hernando's mind was
more composed and tranquillized than it had
been since his discovery of Herreiro's conduct.
“He cannot,” thought he, within himself,
“after receiving this—he cannot dream of prosecuting
any dishonorable suit towards my
destined wife First, I cannot believe his heart
so treacherously base and evil: second, he dare
not; for he knows that, did he so, within six
hours of my return, he would have ceased to
draw the breath of life: and third, as gentleman
and belted knight, he dare not meet the
obloquy and scorn of every honorable man,
which would burst on his head should he despise
this frank and loyal trust.”
And in this renewed confidence, he stepped
on board the boat that was to bear him to the
stately caravella; and as he climbed her castellated
prow, and stood upon her guarded
deck, with the free, fair breeze laughing in her
shrouds and halyards, and the blue waves of
round her bows, sorrow, and care, and sad
anticipation passed from his heart, as a cloud
is swept away by the autumnal wind from the
face of some rich champaign, and in their
place the sunshine of ambition, and blithe energetic
action, possessed the spirit of the adventurous
soldier.
So true it is, that for man, however deeply
and devotedly he love, that love is still but the
amusement, the luxury, if you will, of his
existence; while, on the contrary, to a woman
it is the necessity of life—nay, it is life itself.
It certainly is not possible that any man on
earth could have loved more sincerely, more
fervently, than Hernando; and yet, from the
instant when the brave frigate left her moorings,
spreading sheet after sheet of snowy canvas
to the favoring breeze, and dashing the
small seas asunder in jets of flashing spray,
not a thought of anxiety or sadness came to
disturb him, or, if it did, it was banished by an
effort of strong will, as being, if not unmanly,
at least inconsistent with his bolder duties.
Fair blew the breezes, and rapidly the good
ship sped before it, and the cheer of the stout
mariners, and the jest and song of the idle soldiery,
to whom this summer voyage was a gay
holiday of rest from the monotonous routine of
the garrison, made merry, though rough music
Action and bustle, and perhaps strife—enthusiastic,
thrilling strife before them—the walls of
Isabella ere long sunk on their lee, and they,
and all that they contained, were soon forgotten.
But in the forest-home of poor Guarica there
was no keen excitement, no hurried action, to
banish heavy shadows from the heart—no
change of scene to divert the weary eyes from
thoughts forgotten by the sight of familiar objects.
No new, strange sounds to distract the
ear, filled as it were with old memories, recalled
at every moment by old, accustomed noises.
There she sat in her wonted chamber, where
he had so lately sat beside her, gazing upon the
same sweet landscape which so often they had
admired together—now turning to the books
which he had given her, now trying to distract
her sorrows by singing, to his mandolin, the
Spanish airs which he had taught her. But
all would not do; the one dread thought, the
one dread terror, sat on her heart, haunted her
as with a real presence—the fixed presentiment
of evil—evil from that dark, terrible Don
Guzman.
And, as if to increase the weight of that
terror, it chanced that Orozimbo, who, fearful
as herself of some deep laid and treacherous
stratagem, had resolved to devote the whole
time of Hernando's absence to watching over
Guarica—was called away at dawn that very
morning, with every vassal he could muster, to
attend a general council of the tribe, convened
by Caonabo, whose mandate, as his uncle and
his chief, he neither dared dispute nor could
resist.
Again, therefore, was she left alone with
her maidens, to whom, knowing the inutility
of awakening their terrors fruitlessly, she had
confided nothing of her apprehensions.
The day, however, passed, until the sun had
buried his lower limb in the green summit of
the tall forest which encompassed the savanuah;
and no alarm had occurred, nor any
sound come from the neighboring woodlands,
to denote the vicinity of any stranger. The
lapse of time, as it ever will, bred something of
security, and she began to reprove herself with
cowardly and shameful weakness, and to endeavor
to convince herself that, as Hernando
had assured her, Don Guzman's visit must have
been purely accidental.
It wanted, perhaps, two hours, or nearly
three of the true sunset, although the shadows
of the woods were already cast in level lines of
purple over the smooth savannah, when her
girls came in to announce to her that they were
going down to bear the cotton cloths they had
been spinning to the bleach ground beside the
brook. Once, for a moment, it occurred to her
to retain one of the girls near her person, but
with a smile at her own cowardice, she changed
her mind, and suffered them to leave her all
alone, reflecting, as she did so, that if danger
should arise, they could afford her little or no
protection; and again, that should she be
alarmed, a moment would carry her to the spot
where they were assembled.
She sat still, therefore, for a space, listening
to the gay sound of their laughing voices, until
they wre lost in the distance: and then, although
she held a volume of some high Spanish
poet in her hand, she fell into a reverie,
which lasted till the purple hues of evening
were gradually stealing towards the zenith.
She had just, partially aroused from her meditation,
begun to marvel at the long tarrying of
the girls, when she felt, rather than saw, for
her eyes were lowered to the ground, that some
one had passed the window near which she
was sitting.
At the next moment a footstep, which her
quick Indian ear told her was a man's, and a
European's, fell heavily upon the portico.
Instinctively her hand glanced down to the
hilt of the stiletto which she wore, as she had
said she would, next to her heart, within her
muslin and robe, and as she loosened the keen
weapon in the sheath, a high and flashing smile
illuminated her dark features.
At the same moment, the tall form of Dou
Guzman de Herreiro stood on the threshold of
the door.
He was dressed in a full suit of black cloth,
with hat, plumes, mantle of the same color,
that he was heavily, almost, indeed, ostentatiously
armed—for in addition to the long Toledo
blade which hung at his left side, and the
heavy dagger which counterbalanced it, he
had a pair of horseman's pistols at his belt, so
large and cumbrous that they would appear
almost out of place in holsters at the saddle-bow.
He did not speak a word, but, removing the
hat from his high, pale brow, stood gazing at
her with an eye so fixed and baleful, that it
seemed almost as if he believed he could fascinate
her.
And she rose instantly, and faced him, tranquil
and calm, and, though paler than usual,
firm and untrembling.
Then stepping one pace forward, and extending
his hand, as if to take hers, which
hung by her side motionless, he said in tones
of affected softness—
“Well, my sweet princess of the forest,
happy am I, again, to find you all alone.”
“Don Guzman de Herreiro,” she replied,
still confronting him with a quiet eye, and rejecting
his hand, as though she bad not perceived
that he offered it—“Don Guzman de
Herreiro will perhaps condescend to explain
the motives that have led him to this intrusion.
There is no storm to-night, nor has the chase,
I think, this time led him hither?”
“You know me, then—you know me,” exclaimed
the Spaniard, a bright color for a moment
kindling his sallow features. “Fortunate that,
my sweet Guarica; for it will save the awkwardness
of introductions.”
“I do know you, senor,” the young girl answered
steadily, “and when you have answered
me my question, you shall know me,
which I now perceive you do not.”
“Your question,” said Herreiro, with an air
half forgetful and half supercilious; “Aye!
why I have come hither, is it not?—to see
you, then, my beauty. It is your grace, your
charms, that have brought me hither—”
“And for what end, I pray you, or to what
purpose?”
“These things, sweet one,” he answered,
carelessly, “are, perhaps, explained better by
deeds than by words; some little time, and a
few soft attentions, make all that clear and
simple, which, if told bluntly, might alarm
your sex's charming sensibility.”
“I prayed you yesterday, senor, to spare
yourself the trouble of paying me these fine
compliments, as they are merely thrown away
I will now add, that if they be meant as serious
gallantry, they are, if possible, more useless
than when regarded as mere figurative flourishes,
employed to keep your tongue in tune.”
“So scornful—ah! so young and beautiful,
and so contemptuous withal.”
“How should I be other than scornful?”
answered Guarica, still perfectly unmoved,
“when your addresses can be regarded only as
mockery or as insult.”
“Insult—you err—sweet Guarica. What
if I come to lay my heart in all honor at your
feet—to say to you frankly—”
“Were that the case—which it is not,” she
answered, “as frankly would I tell you, that
I cannot accept your heart, having none to bestow
on you in return.”
“Again, what if I were to say that it is not
your heart, but your beauty—”
“Senor!”
“That overlooking all past frailties, all
tenderness of the heart towards one—”
“To put a stop to all this matter at once,”
she interrupted him, speaking very rapidly,
and with a marked and thrilling emphasis, “I
will fill up your sentence. To one, you say—
to Don Hernando de Leon, say I, whose promised
bride I am. You will see now the propriety
of urging me no further. Don Guzman,
you are answered. If that you be a gentleman,
you will leave me.”
“And do you really think, my angel, that I
believe such nonsense—that I even suppose
you to believe it? De Leon's paramour, if you
love the title, and much honor you do to his
good taste—but his wife—his wife—ha! ha!
you make me laugh. By heavens! you make
me laugh, Guarica!”
And with the word he advanced a little way
towards her; but she exclaimed in a clear high
note, that pierced his ear like the blast of a
silver trumpet—
“Stand back! stand back! I say not if
you be a gentleman—you, who are recreant
to every law of Spanish chivalry or knightly
honor! You, who are false to your noble
comrade's trust! you, traitor and knave and
liar!—I say not, if you be a man, for nothing
worthy the name of man would so insult and
outrage a helpless solitary girl! But still, I
say, stand back! Back! not for shame, or
honesty, or honor! but for fear! Back! lest,
when he return, Hernando scourge you like a
vile cur as you are, scourge you before the
face of your chivalric countrymen!”
“A fair defiance, lovely Guarica, a fair but
dangerous defiance. Never, if you will be advised
by me, taunt a man on his personal courage.
You are a brave girl to defy me thus,
when you are at my mercy, when you are
alone.”
“I am not at your mercy. I am not alone!”
“Not at my mercy? not alone? But you
know not that I have watched my time—that
I am thoroughly aware, that, save we two,
there is no living creature within earshot!”
“I care not how you may have watched, I
care not what you know—I am not at your
mercy? I am not alone!”
“As how, sweet beauty? By heaven!
“I am the mistress of myself, and God is
with me.”
“See, then,” said Herreiro, sneeringly, “if
God will aid you. Come, girl, wilt grant to
love, what thou perforce must yield to violence?”
Her lips moved rapidly, but no sound reached
his ear. Her eyes were turned upward.
But her right hand was firmly clasped within
the bosom of her robe.
“Come, Guarica, be wise—resistance is in
vain—submit me—”
“Beware thou! I will not submit thee!”
And she stood pale and motionless as marble,
but as firm at the same time, and almost as
fearless. Maddened by passion, and excited
almost to frenzy by her scornful bearing, he
sprang to seize her; his right hand had already
clutched her left arm, as it hung by her side,
his left was flung about her waist, when, in an
instant, in the twinkling of an eye, the spell
was broken—the blood rushed in a torrent, to
brow, cheek, neck, and bosom of the pale
statue, her eye flashed fiery indignation, her
right hand sprang into the air, the keen blade
of Hernando's dagger glittering through the
dusky twilight.
“Die!” she cried; “ravisher and villain—
die in thy sin and shame!”
And with a quick and fiery energy that made
up for the want of strength, she smote him
three times in the bosom with the speed of
light, that the strong man let go his hold, and
staggered back a pace or two, like one who
has received a mortal wound.
Yet Guarica knew that the villain was unwounded,
for every blow that she dealt him
had jarred her slight arm to the shoulder, as the
point of her weapon glanced from the secret
chain mail which Herreiro wore beneath his
doublet. Had the blade been of less perfect
temper it had been shivered to the hilt. As it
was, it had not lost one iota of its trenchant
keenness, and, as she started back, she coolly
tried its point with her finger.
“Best leave me, senor!” she exclaimed.
“From me you can gain nothing, even on terms
more shameful to your manhood!”
“You are mistaken, girl!” he replied, fiercely,
for he was no coward, and his blood was
up. “Your God will no more aid you, than
will your foolish bodkin pierce my good Spanish
mail. Prepare yourself for the worst. It
is now pride and vengeance. Look to yourself—your
will find no mercy!”
“I expect none,” she answered, and as he
rushed towards her, his eyes glowing and his
cheeks flushed with fiendish passion, she added,
looking up towards heaven—“Yet I am mistress
of myself! come one step nearer, and by
the God whom thou dost not believe, and who
shall yet smite thee in thy unbelief—in my
own heart I plunge this dagger, and on thy
head be the blood and the curse!”
And with the word she tore away the cotton
robe that scarce restrained her panting bosom,
and raised the long keen blade aloft with proud
determination.
“My flesh will hardly turn the point, which
thy mail armor scarce resisted!”
He read it in her firm and compressed lip, he
noted it in the steadfast gaze of her earnest eye,
he heard it in every note of her clear, composed,
and unfaltering voice—that resolution,
fixed and sure as death. He knew by the concentrated
energy and force with which she had
stricken him, that no weakness of her woman
arm would mar her purpose in the execution.
He was foiled, and he knew it—foiled and defeated
by a girl—a savage!”
Unable to persist in his base intent, unwilling
to retreat, he stood infirm of purpose, speechless,
and vacillating. At length he faltered
forth—
“Bravely played! bravely played, on my
soul! Guarica, it could not have been done
better had we been both in earnest, which—ha!
ha! ha! it makes me laugh! ha! ha! it does,
by St. Jago! which I believe you really thought
I was. Come, confess—confess, noble Guarica,
didst thou not think that I was in earnest?”
“Didst thou think that I was?” replied
Guarica, with a smile of contempt and loathing.
“Well is it for thee that thou wearest a coat of
proof when thou playest these merry jests—
else had my dagger and thy heart's blood been
acquainted. Yes! senor,” she continued,
changing her tone of bitter scorn into an accent
of deliberate and firm assertion. “Yes, senor,
I do believe, or rather I do know that you were
in earnest, and on this night, seven days hence,
we will see what Hernando de Leon will believe
touching it. And now, senor, you offered
me some advice awhile since, which I
will repay by offering some to you in turn.
Betake yourself to your horse as quickly as
you may; I hear my maidens' voices coming
hitherward, it may be there are men with
them.”
“To hell with your counsel, minion!”
cried Herreiro, perceiving himself now thoroughly
detected, and yielding to his furious
hate and disappointed malice. “You think
yourself invincible, because this time you have
baffled me—but patience! patience! and the
time will come! and hark you, girl! on that
same day whereon Hernando learns what has
passed this night, on that same day he dies!
Ha! do I touch you? Tell him, fool, tell him,
and you seal his death-warrant!”
“Ha! ha!” shrilly laughed Guarica, and
sneeringly. “It is my time, now—my time to
laugh!” she cried. “Nay, 'twould make dumb
him!”
Enraged beyond endurance by her taunts, he
had half drawn a pistol from his belt—would
he have had the baseness to aim it at a woman's
life?—when the quick tread of many
men was heard without—then! then, for the
first time, when aid was close at hand, and
terror causeless, Guarica's courage failed her—
she uttered one long shriek—the revulsion of
her feelings was too much for her, she fell to
the ground fainting.
One bound carried Herreiro clear through
the open window—his horse stood close at
hand—he was upon his back, the spur in his
side, the bridle lifted, when the loud charib
war-cry pealed around him, and a long arrow,
shot in haste and aimlessly, whistled close by
his ear.
The good horse stretched into his gallop—
another and another shaft just grazed him harmless—he
was safe—safe by a few short yards
alone, so furiously did the revengeful Charibs,
headed by Orozimbo, press the chase. And so
long and so stanchly did they keep it up, that
when he crossed the echoing drawbridge, and
stood in safety within the battlemented walls
of Isabella, the dark forms of the Indian runners
were visible on the savannah, at a short
half mile's distance; and their loud yells and
whoops were heard fearfully distinct in the
quiet night.
| CHAPTER IV. Tales of the Spanish seas | |