University of Virginia Library

3. CHAPTER III.

At the signal of the admiral, an officer made his
appearance, received certain commands, the most
agreeable of which to the young cavalier were those
in reference to his own liberation, and then immediately
withdrew.

“Thou wilt now see, worthy cousin,” said Cavallero,
“a man, whom, although a base Moor and
infidel, thou shouldst regard with some sort of admiration;
since, from the reports of those who brought
him hither, he is endowed with a spirit and pugnacity
worthy even of a Christian.”

While the admiral spoke, the door of the cabin
was darkened by the bodies of several men, who, at
his beck, advanced, and stood full in the view of the
neophyte. He perceived in these, besides two or
three officers of the ship, nothing more, with a single
exception, than the rough figures of ordinary sailors.
This exception presented itself in the bronzed visage
and wildly attired person of the Moor; and Amador
almost started, when the bright eyes of the pagan
rolled from the admiral to himself in a brief but most
penetrating stare. In person, the Moor was somewhat
above the ordinary stature, but his limbs, though
hardy and active enough, were much attenuated.
His face was emaciated and bony, and the long black
locks falling wildly over it, gave it an appearance exceedingly
haggard,—a character greatly augmented
by the white eyeballs flashing like stars in its almost
Nubian blackness. Something perhaps was to be allowed
for the effect of his uncouth and savage attire,
which was composed almost entirely of skins, seemingly
of dogs or wolves, a portion of which encircled
his loins as a tunic, while the remainder lay, like a
cape or short cloak, about his shoulders. Under this
latter garment, however, was a shirt of cotton, stained
with bright colours; and kerchief of similar material

glittered, not so much like a turban as a fillet,
round his head. Rude sandals, strapped as high as
the midleg with shreds cut from his cloak, completed
the primitive costume of the barbarian.

“This fellow,” said the admiral, turning from him
to one who seemed as chief of the seamen,—“this
fellow is then the commander of that Sallee pirate,
you took among the Canaries?”

“Commander or not, I cannot say,” said the sailor,
with a shrug; “but chief varlet at the gun, as I am
free to maintain; and freer was he at that same ordnance
than was like to be safe for the good snow, La
Encarnacion, as her ribs may yet testify. But the
knave speaks Spanish; and if your excellency chooses
to ask him, can tell you his rank and condition.”

“No commander—no pirate!” said the Moor, with
a voice whose soft and harmonious accents contrasted
strangely with his rude appearance. “No commander—no
pirate,” he repeated in good Castilian;
“but a poor Morisco of Fez, voyaging in a harmless
trader to the Gibbel-al-Tarik.”

“The Gibbel-al-Tarik,” said the admiral, dryly,
“would have been much beholden for the new visit
of an infidel.”

“No commander, no pirate, no infidel!” said the
Moor, earnestly; “but a poor shepherd of Fez,
brought to a knowledge of the true faith, and driven
from the home of his fathers for the exercise of it, to
the land of his fathers' enemies.”

“Moor,” said the admiral, composedly, “there are
three reasons why I should not believe thee: First,
because thou art a Moor, and therefore born to be a
liar and deceiver; secondly, because, unless God
should have worked a greater miracle for the good of
a besotted heathen than he often vouchsafes to prayerful
Christians, there is no possibility thou couldst be
converted to the faith among the sands of Barbary;
and thirdly, because the fact that thou art skilful in
the management of ordnance, is sufficient proof thou
canst not be an ignorant shepherd of Fez, whose

hands are more commonly trained to the spear and
arrow, than to the quoin and linstock.”

“He manages them,” said the sailor, “as if he had
been born with them in his hands; as I have made
proof, sometimes, for my amusement, during the tedium
of the voyage.”

“If my lord will listen to me,” said the Moor
eagerly, though humbly, “I will make it apparent
that I speak nothing but the truth.—My father drew
his first breath among the Almogavars of the desert;
his son opened his eyes among the hills of Granada.”

“Ha!” cried the admiral; “thou art then one of
the accursed tribe of mine own land!”

“A Morisco of the Alpujarras,” said the Moor,
submissively; “whom, in my very early youth, it
pleased my father to have baptized in the holy faith,
as was the command of his most faithful and everblessed
majesty, the king Fernando, the conqueror of
the kings of Granada. This will show, my lord, that
I speak the words of a Christian. As an Almogavar,
I was born to be a soldier, and so trained to all arms
of an Almogavar, the knife and dart, the spear and
axe, the cross-bow and musket, as well as other weapons
of Christians. This will show my lord how it
came that I was found skilful at the cannon.”

“Thou speakest like a cunning and most honest
man,” said the admiral, gravely; “but all this revelation
does not show me how an Almogavar of Granada
became a herdsman of the desert; and, after that, how
the herdsman of the desert was transformed into the
gunner of a Sallee corsair, or, as thou callest her, a
harmless trader, on her innocent voyage to Gibraltar.”

“May it please my lord,” said the Almogavar,
bending for a moment his troubled eyes on the admiral,
as if to resolve himself whether or not these
questions were put to him in mockery, and then casting
them instantly on the floor; “may it please my
lord to remember that after the fall of Granada and
the subjugation of the Alpujarras, many Moors,
Christian as well as pagan, preferring rather to lament

their miseries at a distance than in their own enslaved
country, chose to accept the merciful permission of
the king, and withdrew from the land altogether.
This did I, my lord's servant and slave. I fled to
the country of my father; and although, there, I suffered
many indignities and hardships, as well as constant
peril, as being suspected to be an apostate to
the faith of the land, I had been content to drag out
a wearisome life, but for one grief that was sharper
than others.”

“I will shrive thee as patiently as thy confessor,”
said the admiral; “but while thou art speaking the
sharpest of thy calamities, it will be much proof to me
of the sincerity of thy religion, if thou use language
somewhat of the briefest.”

“My son,” said the Moor, hurriedly, “my son,
that was the lamp of my eyesight, the perfume of my
nostrils, the song and music of my soul, was in great
danger to be led astray, and converted back to infidelity.
To save him from the contagion of heathenism,
I resolved to return to Granada, where, though
he might grow up to bondage, he should be free from
the thrall of darkness: it was better he should be a
slave than an infidel. With these thoughts and these
hopes in my heart, I embarked in the Sallee trader;
when it was my hard fate to be arrested in my course
by these men of the Canaries.”

“Thy course,” said the admiral, “was none of the
straightest; and how thou couldst find thy way to
Gibraltar by way of the Fortunate Isles, is much
more than my nautical experience can teach me to
understand.”

“A great storm,” said the Moor, with the deepest
humility, “drove us from our course; and it was the
will of God that when the tempest subsided, we should
find ourselves beset by two strong ships, which nothing
but the fears and desperation of our captain
could have tempted him to think of resisting. We
fought, and were subdued; the lives of my son and
myself were preserved out of the horrors of that combat.

The ships were traders of the Isles, bound to
these new lands; they brought us hither; where there
is nothing left us but to claim the privileges of our
faith, acknowledge ourselves the thrall and bondmen
of his majesty the king, and entreat of my lord to
send us, when it may suit his good pleasure, to our
homes and our altars in Granada.”

The Moor concluded his speech with a degree of
eagerness approaching almost to vehemence. The
admiral indifferently rejoined:—

“Thy name is Abdalla—?”

“Abdoul al Sidi,” said the Moor, hastily. “When
my father gave me up to be baptized, he called me,
in token of his true devotion and humility, Esclavo
de la Cruz; but in my days of darkness I was known
as Abdoul al Sidi, a poor Almogavar, but descended
from the ancient lords of Fez.”

“Sidi Abdalla, or sir Slave of the Cross, whichever
it may please you to be called,” said the admiral,
coolly, “in respect to your lordly descent and
most dignified title, which I think no Christian has
dared to assume since the days of the Cid Rodrigo,
I will, before determining how far I can make your
fate agreeable to your wishes, condescend to compare
your story with that of the brave sailor, master
of the Encarnacion, who captured you.”

“If I am to say any thing,” said the master, gruffly,
“it will be first to pronounce this same Abdalla, or
Esclavo, as he calls himself, a hypocrite and knave
not to be trusted. It is true there was a great storm,
which might have driven his piratical galley into the
neighbourhood of the Canaries; but that he showed
any extraordinary ardour to escape, as long as my
consort was out of sight, is a matter not to be believed.
Trusting to his skill in the management of
the great mangonneau, with which the galley was
armed, and not doubting to cripple me with some
lucky ball, before I could approach him, he fell to
with right good will; and it was not until my consort
joined in the melée that I was able to lay him

aboard. Even then, when our crews were springing
on his decks, and his fellow-pirates had fled in dismay
below, I saw him, this very knave Abdalla, with
mine own eyes, lay match to the last charge which
thundered against us; immediately after which, with
a most devilish spirit of desperation, he snatched up
his boy, as one would a kitten, and springing to the
opposite side, was in the act of dashing himself into
the sea, when he was brought down by a pistol-shot.”

“I thought they would have murdered my poor
Jacinto,” said the Almogavar, in a low voice; “and,
in my desperation, desired he should rather die the
easy death of the deep, than be mangled by cruel
daggers.”

“There was much fear of that,” said the master;
“for my sailors had marked him at the linstock with
no great love. In faith, there were some five or six
cutlasses aimed at his prostrate body; but I could
not bear they should slay the boy, who lay on his
breast; and therefore I commanded them to hold.”

“Thou art a right worthy and noble heart!” said
Amador ardently, interrupting him; “for there is no
reason a brave soldier, even in the heat of blood,
and with a pagan under his foot, should strike at
the life of a boy: and hadst thou done otherwise, I
swear to thee, I was so much moved by the relation,
I should have gone nigh to slay thee for thy
barbarity!”

“And besides, señor,” said the master complacently,
“I was beset with the idea, that if I preserved
his life, and brought him to this land of Mexico,
I might sell him at a good price as an able cannonier;
such a man, as I had good reason to know,
being worth the value of a dozen bloodhounds. And
besides,” he continued, without regarding the expression
of disgust and contempt which drove the look
of benevolence from the visage of the cavalier, “I
had greater reason to applaud my clemency, when
I discovered that the boy Jacinto, besides being a
comely and very dexterous stripling, was so great

a master of the Moorish lute, singing withal in a
most agreeable manner, that I was well assured
some noble cavalier among the invaders would not
scruple, at any price, to have him for a page.”

“I am a Christian! the boy is a Christian!” cried
the Moor, hurriedly; “and neither of us can be
sold to bondage, except at the command of his most
faithful and merciful majesty, the emperor and king;
to whose gracious will and pleasure I desire, with
my boy, to be rendered.”

“Good Cid,” said the admiral, “that is a matter
wherein, if his majesty's will were certainly known,
thou shouldst not have to complain of our negligence;
but, under present circumstances, we must make our
own judgment the representative of the royal wisdom,
and dispose of thee in such manner as we may
think most conducive to his majesty's interest. We
are resolute thou wilt serve him better by directing
the thunders of his cannon against the heathen hordes
of Mexico, than by cultivating his vines and fig-trees
on the hills of Granada. We must send thee to the
commander Narvaez, whom if thou please, he will
doubtless advance thee to the command of a falconet,
wherewith thou mayst divert many of thy Almogavar
propensities for battle and bloodshed. As for the
boy, it not appearing to me that the strumming of his
strings, or the uplifting of his voice in ballad and redondilla,
are, in any wise, necessary to the conquest
of this barbarous empire, I may be able, if thou insistest
upon that, to send him to Spain.”

“I take my lord at his word!” said Abdoul, trembling
with eagerness and anxiety; “let the boy be
sent to Spain—to Granada—to either of the ports
Algeciras, Malaga, or Almeria; and he will find
some friends there, to protect his youth and inexperience;
while I submit to my harder fate in Mexico.”

“To Almeria?” said Amador quickly. “I have
myself some acquaintance with that town; and it
may perhaps advantage thee to make me thy confidant,
if there be any secret friend there thou wouldst

send the boy to; or to take my counsel as to what
Christians may be persuaded to show him kindness.”

The Moor regarded Amador for an instant with
a disturbed but piercing eye. His answer was, however,
prevented, by the admiral saying,

“Sir Slave of the Cross, (With the consent of my
very noble kinsman:) to cut short all needless discussion
on this subject, I may as well inform thee, first,
that if thy boy be sent to Spain, it will not be to any
port of thy choosing, but to such an one as may seem
most fit to other persons, and which will most probably
be the port of Seville; wherefrom thou canst
better imagine than myself, how thy boy will be
helped to Granada. In the second place, as I deem
it but honesty to acquaint thee, if the youth be taken
from this land, he will first be sent to the excellent
señor, the honourable Don Diego Velasquez, governor
of Cuba, to be disposed of by him as may seem
most agreeable to his judgment; and I warn thee, if
the lad be an adept at the lute, as is asserted, Don
Diego will find him such employment in twangling to
the ladies of our brave cavaliers, as will leave it uncertain
how much sooner than doomsday he will bethink
him to advance the poor youth on his voyage.”

“It is enough!” said the Moor with a gloomy
countenance. “God is with us; and it may be better
to have the boy among the perils of death than
the seductions of pleasure. Let my boy stay with
me, and I am content to follow my lord's bidding.”—

He bowed his head upon his breast, and, at the signal
of the admiral, was led away.

“Señor Capitan,” continued Cavallero, adressing
the master, who still lingered in the cabin, “I will
satisfy thee for the armament thou hast brought, by
acknowledgments, which thou must present to the
governor. What more Moors hast thou brought with
thee from the galley, capable of doing service in these
exigencies?”

“The father and son are all,” replied the master.
“The others, as I told your excellency, had fled below

from the fury of my sailors. To make all sure,
while rummaging about their cabin, we had fastened
down the hatches. We had not picked up many
things of value, before there was a sudden cry that
the pirate was sinking. Whether this happened from
a shot she may have received, or because the accursed
runagates below had knocked a hole in her
bottom, was more than was ever determined. The
alarm sent us scampering to our own vessel; and in
our hurry, as was natural enough, we forgot the infidels
in the hold; so that, when she went down,
which she did as soon as we were well clear of her,
her crew went along with her.—But your excellency
has not told me whether I am to receive pay for Sidi
and the boy?”

“I swear to heaven,” said the admiral, “thou hast
no more heart than thine anchor! Thou shockest me
with the detail of a catastrophe, which, though affecting
the lives of nothing but heathen Moors, is nevertheless
both dreadful and pitiable; and yet thou dost
abruptly demand me, `Shall I have payment for the
two lives I saved?' Thou wilt have payment, if it
please the governor; and not otherwise. Betake
thee to thy ship: I will send thee thy warranties, and
the sooner thou leavest with them the better.”

The master departed, and again Amador found
himself alone with the admiral.

“Cousin,” said Cavallero, “I am now able to comply
with your wishes. I should have been rejoiced
to keep you a prisoner on board the Capitana for a
few days; but I will not invite you, when I perceive
you are so impatient for freedom. Your horses are
doubtless at this moment rolling on the beach; your
grooms are with them, either combing the sand from
their manes, or scraping the sea-spots from your armour.
A company of artisans, with a military escort,
is on the eve of marching to the camp of Narvaez.
I have given such commands as will secure you the
company and friendly aidance of that escort; in addition

to which, I will immediately send after you a
trusty officer with despatches concerning yourself, to
the general, and recommendations to him to assist
you in joining your kinsman, the knight Calavar,
without delay. You will easily reach Zempoala by
night-fall. I beseech you to salute the general with
courtesy; and to-morrow you will be in the arms of
your leader.”

“I am so overjoyed,” said the Cavalier, “at the
thought of once more bestriding my poor Fogoso,
and exchanging the stupid pitching of a ship for the
bound of his gallop and curvet, that I know not how
I can do otherwise than treat the Biscayan with urbanity.”

“A barge is ready to conduct you to the shore,”
continued the admiral, leading the young soldier to
the side of the vessel. “I pray heaven to give you
a prosperous journey, and to carry you with as much
safety as honour through the weapons of the heathen
multitude. Make my devoirs to his noble valour, the
good knight of Rhodes; and say to the señor Cortes,
that though fate has arrayed me against him as an
enemy, I cannot forget the friendship of our past
lives. Nay,” continued Cavallero, with emphasis,
“tell him, that though it does not become me, as an
officer commissioned by Velasquez, to hold any communications
with him excepting those of simple form
and civility, I shall be well pleased when heaven
has removed the obstruction, and left me at liberty to
meet him with full friendship and confidence. This
salutation,” said the admiral significantly, “there is
no reason thou shouldst impart to Narvaez; for he is
distrustful and suspicious to that degree, that, I do not
doubt, he would torture its harmlessness into a matured
treason.”

“I will do your bidding,” said Amador blithely,
“both to the Biscayan, and the cavalier of Medellin.
And now, with a thousand acknowledgments for your
favour and assistance, and as many wishes for your

weal and comfort, I bid you the farewell of a kinsman
and true friend.”

And so saying, and heartily shaking the hand of
his excellency, the young cavalier sprang into the
boat, and was soon wafted to the beach.