 | CHAPTER VII. Tales of the Spanish seas |  |
7. CHAPTER VII.
The whole of the day on which Hernando
de Leon returned from his nocturnal chase,
passed gloomily; no eye of sentinel or
warder beheld Don Guzman de Herreiro, nor
was he at the hall wherein his comrades
feasted. Hernando, on the contrary, far
from his wonted temper, was there the gayest
of the gay; his repartee the keenest yet
most polished; his laugh the merriest; his
song the most entrancing. Men who had
known him for long years—who had fought
by his side in the wild forays with the Saracens
of bright Grenada, and in the scarce
less desperate encounters of the tameless
Charib—men who had borne all perils of the
sea, the wilderness, and worse than all, the
lazar-house, with him; men who had feasted
at the jovial board, and drained the wassail
cup for years with him, now marvelled; they
felt as though there were something in his
manner which they had never known before;
a melancholy in the merriment, yet
mingled with a recklessness which baffled
their sagacity; a deep romantic sentiment,
an all-pervading tone of profound thought
in his lightest converse, blent with an air of
strange abstraction—a breaking off from
graver subjects, and plunging into bursts of
wild and furious mirth; and then again a
softening of the mirth into the sweetest and
the saddest touches of imagination that poet
ever dreamed, or minstrel sang. Thus passed
the evening meal; and when the comrades
parted, the souls of many who had felt
estranged, they scarce knew why, from the
young cavalier, yearned to partake again his
high and generous friendship, grasped his
hand more warmly than they had done for
months, although their present mood of
kindliness was in no less degree unmeaning,
than had been their suspicion and distrust
Gaily they parted, with many merry comments
on the unwonted absence of Don
Guzman, and many a jocular conjecture as
to the cause of his feigned illness; for when
the trumpets had rung forth their gladsome
peals of invitation to the festive board, the
seneschal had borne to the presiding officer
his courteous greetings, and regrets that he
was ill at ease, and might not, for that day,
participate in their accustomed revelries.
They parted—and night fell dim and silent
over the Spanish fortress. Throughout that
long and weary night the lamp was still replenished
and still from hour to hour the solitary
inmate paced to and fro the floor, his long
spurs clanking with a dull and heavy sound
on the rude pavement; and now pausing to
mutter, with clenched hands and writhing
lip, fierce imprecations on his own head—on
the head of his detested comrade, and on the
weak hand which had failed to execute his
deadly purpose; now hurrying onward with
unequal but swift strides, as though he
would have fled the torture of his own
guilty thoughts. Thus did he pass that
night, in agony more bitter than the direst
tortures that ever tyrant wreaked on mortal
body; and when the first grey light of dawning
morn fell cold and chill through the uncurtained
casements of his barrack-room, it
found him haggard and feverish, yet pale
withal, shivering as though he were an
ague-stricken sufferer. The morning gun
pealed sharp and sudden from the ramparts,
and far and long its echoes were repeated
from the dark forests which girt in, on every
side, with their interminable walls of deathless
verdure, the battlements of Isabella.
At the sound Guzman started, as does the
miserable guilty wretch who hears the sullen
bell toll the dread signal for his execution!
Manning himself, however, with a
start, while the blood rushed, as though indignant
at his former weakness, to lip and
cheek and brow, he instantly resumed his
agitated walk, nor did he break it off, nor
give the smallest symptom of perception,
when a quick, hurried blow was struck upon
the panel of the door; a second and a third
time was that low tap repeated, but still Don
Guzman heard it not, or if he did hear,
heeded not; then the door slowly opened,
and a grey-headed veteran, clothed in the
liveries of that noble house to which, perchance,
his master was the first scion who
had brought no lustre, thrust in his time-blanched
locks and war-worn visage.
“Your charger waits, senor,” he whispered;
“the hour has long gone by.”
“Hurry, then, hurry,” shouted Herreiro,
fiercely, and belting on his long Toledo, and
casting his broad-leafed sombrero on his disordered
locks, he rushed out with wild haste,
no less to the dismay than the astonishment
of his stanch servitor, whom he had summoned,
almost savagely, to follow him.
Far otherwise had passed the hours of
darkness to Hernando de Leon. The banquet
ended, he had withdrawn to his chamber,
as though he had no further object than
to lie down upon a peaceful bed, that he
might thence arise with the succeeding morn
to go about his wonted avocations. He had
sat down before his little escrutoire, and,
having finished several letters, sealed and
directed them—cast off his vest and doublet,
and drawn from his feet his falling leathern
buskins—then throwing himself upon his
knees beside his pallet-bed, buried his head
between his hands, and for some time prayed,
as it would seem, in deep though silent
fervor. Rising at length erect, he spread his
arms abroad, and in a clear high voice, unconscious,
evidently, that he spoke aloud,
“and above all, bear witness Thou,” he
cried, “bear witness Thou who knowest and
seest all things, that not in any mortal wrath
—not in the mood of blind and senseless
anger, nor in that selfish strain of vengeance
which thinks of private injury, do I go forth
unto this strife, but as unto a high and
solemn duty! Not as mine own avenger—
for to Thee, and to Thee only, doth belong
the right of vengeance—but as the vindicator
of society, the punisher of crime,
which else must go unpunished—the righter
of the wronged—the champion of the weak
—the faithful, although frail defender of
thine holy law. If this be not so, forsake
me thou, oh Lord! Give me up to the mercies
of my direst foe—suffer me to fall unavenged,
unwept, and unhonored! But if
in truth and honor, and in right I do go forth,
strike Thou, as is thy wont, for the right,
likewise.”
This said, he lay down quietly upon his
couch, and, ere five minutes had passed over
him, slept peaceably and sweetly as an infant,
until the self-same gun which had
aroused Don Guzman from the perturbed
visions of his guilty conscience, broke his
refreshing slumbers. Arising instantly, he,
too, girt on his sword, buckled his mantle
over his broad chest, fixed his hat firmly on
his head, and strode forth, all unsummoned,
to the water-gate. There stood four noble
chargers; his own proud Andalusian, with a
less high-bred charger at his side, backed by
the page Alonzo, who, with a merlin on his
wrist, and the two powerful blood-hounds,
without which never did Hernando ride forth
into the wilderness, crouching before him,
sat patiently awaiting the arrival of his lord.
A little way aloof a menial, clad in the rich
liveries of Isabel and silver, held the bay
coursers of Herreiro and his old squire.
No foot did Don Hernando set in stirrup,
but seizing the reins firmly in his left hand,
while with his right he grasped the cantle
of his demi-pique, he swung himself at once
with a light leap to his charger's back. Flinging
the reins free to the impulse of the fiery
horse, while he stood yet erect, he curbed
him tightly up as his feet struck the sod, and
slightly pricking him with his long gilded
spurs, dashed off at a hand gallop into the
wild glades of the forest.
A short mile's distance from the walls of
there was a small savanna, scarcely a hundred
yards across, clothed with short mossy
grass, which, in that lovely climate, never,
at any season, lost the rich freshness of its
emerald verdure; for, in its furthest curve,
lurking beneath the shelter of a group of
tall and feathery palm-trees, where lay the
basin of a tiny crystal spring, whence welling
forth, in copious and perennial beauty,
a silver streamlet issued—and, compassing
two-thirds of that small plain with its refreshing
waters, stole away silently among
the devious wilds through which it flowed,
unmarked, into the neighboring sea. Here
it was—here, in this lovely and secluded
spot, far—far as it would seem removed from
the fierce turmoils, the stern bitterness, the
angry hatreds of the world, that the two foe-men
were to meet. For half an hour, at
least, Hernando had sat there, motionless as
a statue, upon his docile charger, awaiting,
in the centre of that sylvan solitude, the
coming of his antagonist.
Just as he had begun to marvel at the
protracted absence of his intended slayer,
the sharp and rattling clatter of a horse's
gallop, tearing his route through the dense
saplings of the tangled wood, was heard approaching;
and in another moment, his reins,
and neck, and chest embossed with flakes of
snow-white form, and his flanks bleeding
from incessant spurring, Herreiro's charger
bore him, at the top of his speed, into the
scene of action. As he approached, Hernando
raised his hat, with the stern courtesy
exacted by the strict punctilio of the duel
from every honorable cavalier; yet well
schooled as he was to suppress each outward
token of every inward sentiment, the noble
cavalier half started as he beheld the ravages
worked by a single night of anguish on the
proud mien and comely features of his antagonist.
His hair, which on the previous morning
had been as dark and glossy as the black
raven's wing, was now not merely tangled
most disorderly in hideous elf-locks, but actually
streaked with many a lock of grey;
while his whole visage, which, though swart
and somewhat stern, had yet been smooth and
seemly, was scored by many a line and furrow,
ploughed deep into the flesh during
those few fleet hours, by the hot plough-shares
of remorse and scorching anguish.
No salutation did he make in answer to the
bow of his brave young opponent; but whirling
his long rapier from its sheath—“Draw!”
he cried, “draw, sir! Look on the sun for
the last time and die!” and, as he spoke,
plunging his spurs even more furiously than
he had done before into the bleeding flanks
of his good horse, he dashed at once upon
him sword in hand, hoping, it was most evident,
to take him at advantage, and bear him,
unprepared, to earth. If such, however,
were his ungenerous and foul intent, most
grievously was he frustrated by the calm skill
and perfect resolution of Hernando; who
merely gathering his reins a little tighter,
unsheathed his keen Toledo; and—without
moving one yard from the spot whereon his
Andalusian stood, watching with fiery eye
and broad expanded nostrils, the motions of
the other charger, yet showing by no symptom,
save the quivering of his erected ears,
that he was conscious of the coming strife,
extended it with the point towards Herreiro's
face. On came the fierce assailant; on! with
the speed of light; his left hand clasping the
reins firmly; his right drawn back, in preparation
for the deadly thrust, far past his hip;
while the bright point of the long two edged
blade was ghttering in advance of the bay
charger's frontlet! Now they are within
half-sword's length—and now!—see! see
that quick, straight flash, bright as the stream
of the electric fluid, and scarce, if anything,
less rapid! it was the thrust of Guzman, well
aimed, and sped with strength, that, had it
reached the mark, must have propelled it
through the stoutest corslet that ever bucklered
breast; much more through the slight
silken jerkin which was the only armor that
would have opposed its brunt. Midway,
however, in its glancing course it was met
by the calm, firm parry of Hernando's sword;
and thus, diverted from its true direction,
passed harmless, slightly grazing the bridle
arm of the young cavalier. On came Herreiro
still; and for an instant's space it seemed
as though the shock of his charger at full
speed must have born down the slighter
Andalusian; but scarcely had he parried that
home thrust before, with a quick motion of
the bridle hand; so quick, indeed, that it was
scarce perceptible; and a slight corresponding
pressure of the spur on the flank opposite,
Hernando wheeled his charger to the
left; feinted a thrust at his foe's face; and,
circling quite around him, delivered a full
sweeping cut against the back part of his
neck. With perfect mastery of steed and
weapon, Don Guzman met this perilous and
unexpected movement. Pulling so hard on
his long Moorish curb, that his horse, checked
at once, stood upright and almost fell
backward on his haunches, he swung his
sword round to the guard so actively, that the
strong blow fell harmless. Then they closed
hand to hand; fragments of the short mossy
turf flew high into the air, spurned by the
iron heels of the excited chargers; sparks
flew from the collision of the well-tempered
blades; feathers were shorn, blood flowed
on either side! Yet neither failed nor faltered.
aimed by Don Guzman full at Hernando's
head, glanced from his guard, and falling on
the ear of the high-blooded Andalusian, almost
dissevered it! Maddened with torture,
the brave brute obeyed the bit no longer, but,
with a yell of agony, bolted, despite the utmost
efforts of the rider. Herreiro marked
his advantage, and as the horse uncontrollably
dashed by him, cut, by a second rapid
lunge, his adversary's rein asunder. Frantic
although his horse was with pain, and
freed from the direct restraint of the half useless
bridle, Hernando was not carried far
before he recovered mastery enough to wheel
him round once more to the encounter. Perceiving,
instantly, that all chance of success
by rapid turns or quick manœuvring was at
an end, he now, adopting his opponent's system,
dashed straight upon him, and when
within arm's length, throwing his own reins
loose, caught, with his left hand, the long
silver cheek-piece of Herreiro's bit, wheeling
his own horse counter to flank upon him, by
the mere dint of spur without the slightest
exercise of bit or bridle; and shortened, at
the same time, his sword to plunge it from
above into the throat of the assassin.
It seems as though no earthly power could
have availed to rescue Guzman from his desperate
situation. His horse, exhausted by
his own exertions, reeled visibly beneath the
shock; his rapier, far extended and abroad,
could by no means have parried the down.
thrust, which hung above him:—But in that
very point of time, that very second, long as
a thousand ages, in which he saw the dark
glance of his injured comrade's eye fixed
banefully upon him; in which he noted the
grim smile mantling upon his scornful lip; in
which he shuddered at the gleaming point of
the suspended rapier, which no effort of his
own could possibly avert; in that dread point
of time, a yelling shout arose from all the
circumjacent woodlands; a howl, as though
the fiends had all broken loose, to rend the
upper air with their discordant voices, and,
with the yell, a volley of flint-headed arrows
came hurtling through the air; another, and
another! but, with the first, Hernando's half-won
triumph ended! For, as he brandished
his avenging sword aloft, clear through his
elevated wrist drove the long Charib shaft;
a second grazed his plume; a third, most
fatal of the flight, pierced through the very
heart of his proud Andalusian, and hurled
him lifeless to the earth. Herreiro turned,
turned for base flight; but not long did his
forfeit life remain to him, for, with the second
volley, down went both horse and man,
transfixed by fifty shafts, gory and lifeless!
And the last words that smote upon his deafening
ear, among the yells and whoops of
the wild Charibs, were those shouted in his
own sonorous tongue—“This arrow for
Guarica!”
“And, in good truth, it was that arrow,
winged from the bow of Orozimbo, that did,
as he had sworn so deeply, drown the flames
of his lust in his heart's blackest blood.
“Mount! mount, Alonzo, mount, boy, and
fly,” shouted the dauntless cavalier, as he lay
wounded, and encumbered by his slaughtered
horse.
The bold boy heard, but obeyed him not!
Forth he rushed, sword in hand, forth to the
rescue of his lord; and forth, at the same instant,
from the forest, forth sped the Charib
Caonabo and his unconquered horde, with
spear, and mace, and bow, and barbarous
war-cry! “Down with your sword, 'tis
madness to resist,” cried the young Spaniard:
and the next second had not passed, before
the servant and the master were both the fettered
captives of the invincible cacique.
| CHAPTER VII. Tales of the Spanish seas | |