 | CHAPTER XI. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay |  |
11. CHAPTER XI.
To urge the gloomy wanderer o'er the wave?
Little reck'd he of all that men regret;
No loved-one now in feign'd lament could rave;
No friend the parting hand extended gave
Ere the cold stranger pass'd to other climes.”
Byron.
The reader is not to suppose that the eyes of Europe
were on our adventurers. Truth and falsehood, inseparable
companions, it would seem, throughout all time, were not
with mercenary diligence; and it was only the favoured
few who got early intelligence of enterprises like that in
which Columbus was engaged. Luis de Bobadilla had,
therefore, stolen from court unnoticed, and they who came
in time to miss his presence, either supposed him to be on
a visit to one of his castles, or to have gone forth on another
of those wandering tours which were supposed to be
blemishes on his chivalry and unworthy of his birth. As
for the Genoese himself, his absence was scarcely heeded,
though it was understood among the courtiers generally,
that Isabella had entered into some arrangement with him,
which gave the adventurer higher rank and greater advantages
than his future services would probably ever justify.
The other principal adventurers were too insignificant to
attract much attention, and they had severally departed for
the coast without the knowledge of their movements extending
far beyond the narrow circles of their own acquaintances.
Neither was this expedition, so bold in its
conception and so momentous in its consequences, destined
to sail from one of the more important ports of Spain; but
orders to furnish the necessary means had been sent to a
haven of altogether inferior rank, and which would seem
to have possessed no other recommendations for this particular
service, than hardy mariners, and a position without
the pass of Gibraltar, which was sometimes rendered hazardous
by the rovers of Africa. The order, however, is
said to have been issued to the place selected, in consequence
of its having incurred some legal penalty, by which
it had been condemned to serve the crown for a twelvemonth
with two armed caravels. Such punishments, it
would seem, were part of the policy of an age in which
navies were little more than levies on sea-ports, and when
fleets were usually manned by soldiers from the land.
Palos de Moguer, the place ordered to pay this tribute
for its transgression, was a town of little importance, even at
the close of the fifteenth century, and it has since dwindled
to an insignificant fishing village. Like most places that
are little favoured by nature, its population was hardy and
adventurous, as adventure was then limited by ignorance.
It possessed no stately caracks, its business and want of
the still more diminutive felucca. All the succour, indeed,
that Columbus had been able to procure from the two
crowns, by his protracted solicitations, was the order for
the equipment of the two caravels mentioned, with the
additional officers and men that always accompanied a
royal expedition. The reader, however, is not to infer from
this fact any niggardliness of spirit, or any want of faith,
on the part of Isabella. It was partly owing to the exhausted
condition of her treasury, a consequence of the
late war with the Moor, and more, perhaps, to the experience
and discretion of the great navigator himself, who
well understood that, for the purposes of discovery, vessels
of this size would be more useful and secure than those
that were larger.
On a rocky promontory, at a distance of less than a
league from the village of Palos, stood the convent of La
Rabida, since rendered so celebrated by its hospitality to
Columbus. At the gate of this building, seven years before,
the navigator, leading his youthful son by the hand,
had presented himself, a solicitor for food in behalf of the
wearied boy. The story is too well known to need repetition
here, and we will merely add that his long residence
in this convent, and the firm friends he had made of
the holy Franciscans who occupied it, as well as among
others in their vicinity, were also probably motives that
influenced him in directing the choice of the crown to this
particular place. Columbus had not only circulated his
opinions with the monks, but with the more intelligent
of the neighbourhood, and the first converts he made in
Spain were at this place.
Notwithstanding all the circumstances named, the order
of the crown to prepare the caravels in question, spread
consternation among the mariners of Palos. In that age,
it was thought a wonderful achievement to follow the land,
along the coast of Africa, and to approach the equator.
The vaguest notions existed in the popular mind, concerning
those unknown regions, and many even believed that by
journeying south it was possible to reach a portion of the
earth where animal and vegetable life must cease on account
of the intense heat of the sun. The revolutions of
of the changes in the seasons, were then profound mysteries
even to the learned; or, if glimmerings of the truth
did exist, they existed as the first rays of the dawn dimly
and hesitatingly announce the approach of day. It is not
surprising, therefore, that the simple-minded and unlettered
mariners of Palos viewed the order of the crown as a sentence
of destruction on all who might be fated to obey it.
The ocean, when certain limits were passed, was thought
to be, like the firmament, a sort of chaotic void; and the
imaginations of the ignorant had conjured up currents and
whirlpools that were believed to lead to fiery climates and
frightful scenes of natural destruction. Some even fancied
it possible to reach the uttermost boundaries of the earth,
and to slide off into vacuum, by means of swift but imperceptible
currents.
Such was the state of things, in the middle of the month
of July. Columbus was still in the convent of Rabida,
in the company of his constant friend and adherent, Fray
Juan Perez, when a lay brother came to announce that a
stranger had arrived at the gate, asking earnestly for the
Señor Christoval Colon.
“Hath he the aspect of a messenger from the court?”
demanded the navigator; “for, since the failure of the
mission of Juan de Peñalosa, there is need of further orders
from their Highnesses to enforce their gracious intentions.”
“I think not, Señor,” answered the lay brother; “these
hard-riding couriers of the queen generally appearing with
their steeds in a foam, and with hurried air and blustering
voices; whereas this young cavalier behaveth modestly,
and rideth a stout Andalusian mule.”
“Did he give thee his name, good Sancho?”
“He gave me two, Señor, styling himself Pedro de Munos,
or Pero Gutierrez, without the Don.”
“This is well,” exclaimed Columbus, turning a little
quickly towards the door, but otherwise maintaining a perfect
self-command; “I expect the youth, and he is right
welcome. Let him come in at once, good Sancho, and
that without any useless ceremony.”
“An acquaintance of the court, Señor?” observed the
prior, in the way one indirectly asks a question.
“A youth that hath the spirit, father, to adventure life
and character for the glory of God, through the advancement
of his church, by embarking in our enterprise. He
cometh of a reputable lineage, and is not without the gifts
of fortune. But for the care of guardians, and his own
youth, gold would not have been wanting in our need. As
it is, he ventureth his own person, if one can be said to risk
aught in an expedition that seemeth truly to set even the
orders of their Highnesses at defiance.”
As Columbus ceased speaking, the door opened and Luis
de Bobadilla entered. The young grandee had laid aside
all the outward evidences of his high rank, and now appeared
in the modest guise of a traveller belonging to a
class more likely to furnish a recruit for the voyage, than
one of the rank he really was. Saluting Columbus with
cordial and sincere respect, and the Franciscan with humble
deference, the first at once perceived that this gallant
and reckless spirit had truly engaged in the enterprise
with a determination to use all the means that would enable
him to go through with it.
“Thou art welcome, Pedro,” Columbus observed, as
soon as Luis had made his salutations; “thou hast reached
the coast at a moment when thy presence and support may
be exceedingly useful. The first order of Her Highness,
by which I should have received the services of the two
caravels to which the state is entitled, hath been utterly
disregarded; and a second mandate, empowering me to
seize upon any vessel that may suit our necessities, hath
fared but little better, notwithstanding the Señor de Penalosa
was sent directly from court to enforce its conditions,
under a penalty, to the port, of paying a daily tax of two
hundred maravedis, until the order should be fulfilled. The
idiots have conjured all sorts of ills with which to terrify
themselves and their neighbours, and I seem to be as far
from the completion of my hopes as I was before I procured
the friendship of this holy friar and the royal protection
of Doña Isabella. It is a weary thing, my good
Pedro, to waste a life in hopes defeated, with such an
of the church!”
“I am the bearer of good tidings, Señor,” answered the
young noble. “In coming hither from the town of Moguer,
I journeyed with one Martin Alonzo Pinzon, a mariner
with whom I have formerly voyaged, and we have had
much discourse concerning your commission and difficulties.
He tells me that he is known to you, Señor Colon,
and I should judge from his discourse that he thinketh
favourably of the chances.”
“He doth—he doth, indeed, good Pedro, and hath often
listened to my reasoning like a discreet and skilful navigator,
as, I make no question, he really is. But didst thou
say that thou wast known to him?”
“Señor, I did. We have voyaged together as far as
Cyprus, on one occasion, and, again, to the island of the
English. In such long voyages, men get to some knowledge
of each other's temperament and disposition, and, of
a sooth, I think well of both, in this Señor Pinzon.”
“Thou art young to pass an opinion on a mariner of
Martin Alonzo's years and experience, son,” put in the
friar; “a man of much repute in this vicinity, and of no
little wealth. Nevertheless, I am rejoiced to hear that he
continueth of the same mind as formerly, in relation to the
great voyage; for, of late, I did think even he had begun
to waver.”
Don Luis had expressed himself of the great man of the
vicinity, more like a Bobadilla than became his assumed
name of Muños, and a glance from the eye of Columbus
told him to forget his rank and to remember the disguise he
had assumed.
“This is truly encouraging,” observed the navigator,
“and openeth a brighter view of Cathay. Thou wast journeying
between Moguer and Palos, I think thou saidst,
when this discourse was had with our acquaintance, the
good Martin Alonzo?”
“I was, Señor, and it was he who sent me hither in quest
of the admiral. He gave you the title that the queen's
favour hath bestowed, and I consider that no small sign of
friendship, as most others with whom I have conversed in
this vicinity seem disposed to call you by any other name.”
“None need embark in this enterprise,” returned the
navigator, gravely, as if he would admonish the youth that
this was an occasion on which he might withdraw from the
adventure, if he saw fit, “who feel disposed to act differently,
or who distrust my knowledge.”
“By San Pedro, my patron! they tell another tale at
Palos, and at Moguer, Señor Amirale,” returned Luis,
laughing; “at which places, I hear, that no man whose
skin hath been a little warmed by the sun of the ocean,
dare show himself in the highways, lest he be sent to Cathay
by a road that no one ever yet travelled, except in
fancy! There is, notwithstanding, one free and willing
volunteer, Señor Colon, who is disposed to follow you to
the edge of the earth, if it be flat, and to follow you quite
round it, should it prove to be a sphere; and that is one
Pedro de Muños, who engageth with you from no sordid
love of gold, or love of aught else that men usually prize;
but from the pure love of adventure, somewhat excited and
magnified, perhaps, by love of the purest and fairest maid
of Castile.”
Fray Juan Perez gazed at the speaker, whose free manner
and open speech a good deal surprised him; for Columbus
had succeeded in awakening so much respect that
few presumed to use any levity in his presence, even before
he was dignified by the high rank so recently conferred by
the commission of Isabella. Little did the good monk suspect
that one of a still higher personal rank, though entirely
without official station, stood before him, in the guise
of Pedro de Muños; and he could not refrain from again
expressing the little relish he felt for such freedom of speech
and deportment towards those whom he himself habitually
regarded with so much respect.
“It would seem, Señor Pedro de Muños,” he said, “if
that be thy name — though Duke, or Marquis, or Count,
would be a title better becoming thy bearing — that thou
treatest His Excellency the Admiral with quite as much
freedom of thought, at least, as thou treatest the worthy
Martin Alonzo of our own neighbourhood: a follower
should be more humble, and not pass his jokes on the
opinions of his leader, in this loose style of expression.”
“I crave your pardon, holy father, and that of the admiral,
any just grounds of offence. All I wish to express is, that
I know this Martin Alonzo of your neighbourhood, as an
old fellow-voyager; that we have ridden some leagues in
company this very day, and that, after close discourse, he
hath manifested a friendly desire to put his shoulder to the
wheel, in order to lift the expedition, if not from a slough
of mud, at least from the sands of the river; and that he
hath promised to come also to this good convent of La Rabida,
for that same purpose and no other. As for myself,
I can only add, that here I am, ready to follow wheresoever
the honourable Señor Colon may see fit to lead.”
“'T is well, good Pedro—'t is well,” rejoined the admiral.
“I give thee full credit for sincerity and spirit, and that
must content thee until an opportunity offereth to convince
others. I like these tidings concerning Martin Alonzo,
father, since he might truly do us much service, and his
zeal had assuredly begun to flag.”
“That might he, and that will he, if he engageth seriously
in the affair. Martin is the greatest navigator on
all this coast, for, though I did not know that he had ever
been even to Cyprus, as would appear by the account of
this youth, I was well aware that he had frequently sailed
as far north as France and as far south as the Canaries.
Dost think Cathay much more remote than Cyprus, Señor
Almirante?”
Columbus smiled at this question, and shook his head in
the manner of one who would prepare a friend for some
sore disappointment.
“Although Cyprus be not distant from the Holy Land,
and the seat of the Infidel's power,” he answered, “Cathay
must lie much more remote. I flatter not myself, nor those
who are disposed to follow me, with the hope of reaching
the Indies short of a voyage that shall extend to some
eight hundred or a thousand leagues.”
“'T is a fearful and a weary distance!” exclaimed the
Franciscan; while Luis stood in smiling unconcern, equally
indifferent whether he had to traverse one thousand or ten
thousand leagues of ocean, so that the journey led to Mercedes
and was productive of adventure. “A fearful and
weary distance, and yet I doubt not, Señor Almirante, that
it, and to open the way for those who will succeed you,
bearing on high the cross of Christ and the promises of
his redemption!”
“Let us hope this,” returned Columbus, reverently
making the usual sign of the sacred emblem to which his
friend alluded; “as a proof that we have some worldly
foundation for the expectation, here cometh the Señor Pinzon
himself, apparently hot with haste to see us.”
Martin Alonzo Pinzon, whose name is so familiar to the
reader, as one who greatly aided the Genoese in his vast
undertaking, now entered the room, seemingly earnest and
bent on some fixed purpose, as Columbus's observant eye
had instantly detected. Fray Juan Perez was not a little
surprised to see that the first salutation of Martin Alonzo,
the great man of the neighbourhood, was directed to Pedro,
the second to the admiral, and the third to himself. There
was not time, however, for the worthy Franciscan, who
was a little apt to rebuke any dereliction of decency on
the spot, to express what he felt on this occasion, ere Martin
Alonzo opened his errand with an eagerness that showed
he had not come on a mere visit of friendship, or of ceremony.
“I am sorely vexed, Señor Almirante,” he commenced,
“at learning the obstinacy, and the disobedience to the
orders of the queen, that have been shown among our
mariners of Palos. Although a dweller of the port itself,
and one who hath always viewed your opinions of this
western voyage with respect, if not with absolute faith, I
did not know the full extent of this insubordination until I
met, by accident, an old acquaintance on the high-way, in
the person of Don Pedro—I ought to say the Señor Pedro
de Muños, here, who, coming from a distance, as he doth,
hath discovered more of our backslidings than I had
learned myself, on the spot. But, Señor, you are not now
to hear, for the first time, of what sort of stuff men are
made. They are reasoning beings, we are told; notwithstanding
which undeniable truth, as there is not one in a
hundred who is at the trouble to do his own thinking,
means may be found to change the opinions of a sufficient
it.”
“This is very true, neighbour Martin Alonzo,” put in
the friar—“so true, that it might go into a homily and do
no disservice to religion. Man is a rational animal, and an
accountable animal, but it is not meet that he should be a
thinking animal. In matters of the church, now, its interests
being entrusted to a ministry, what have the unlearned
and ignorant to say of its affairs? In matters of navigation,
it doth, indeed, seem as if one steersman were better
than a hundred! Although man be a reasoning animal,
there are quite as many occasions when he is bound to
obey without reasoning, and few when he should be permitted
to reason without obeying.”
“All true, holy friar and most excellent neighbour; so
true that you will find no one in Palos to deny that, at least.
And now we are on the subject, I may as well add that it
is the church that hath thrown more obstacles in the way
of the Señor Almirante's success, than any other cause. All
the old women of the port declare that the notion of the
earth's being round is a heresy, and contrary to the Bible;
and, if the truth must be said, there are not a few underlings
of this very convent, who uphold them in the opinion.
It doth appear unnatural to tell one who hath never quitted
the land, and who seeth himself much oftener in a valley
than on an eminence, that the globe is round, and, though
I have had many occasions to see the ocean, it would not
easily find credit with me, were it not for the fact that we
see the upper and smaller sails of a ship first, when approaching
her, as well as the vanes and crosses of towns,
albeit they are the smaller objects about vessels and
churches. We mariners have one way to inspirit our followers,
and you churchmen have another; and, now that I
intend to use my means to put wiser thoughts into the heads
of the seamen of Palos, reverend friar, I look to you to set
the church's engines at work, so as to silence the women,
and to quell the doubts of the most zealous among your
own brotherhood.”
“Am I to understand by this, Señor Pinzon,” demanded
Columbus, “that you intend to take a direct and more
“Señor, you may. That is my intention, if we can
come to as favourable an understanding about the terms,
as your worship would seem to have entered into with our
most honoured mistress Doña Isabella de Trastamara. I have
had some discourse with Señor Don—I would say with
the Señor Pedro de Muños, here,—odd's folly, an excess
of courtesy is getting to be a vice with me of late—but as
he is a youth of prudence, and manifests a desire to embark
with you, it hath stirred my fancy so far, that I would
gladly be of the party. Señor de Muños and I have voyaged
so much together, that I would fain see his worthy countenance
once more upon the ocean.”
“These are cheerful tidings, Martin Alonzo”—eagerly
put in the friar, “and thy soul, and the souls of all who
belong to you, will reap the benefits of this manly and pious
resolution. It is one thing, Señor Almirante, to have their
Highnesses of your side, in a place like Palos, and another
to have our worthy neighbour Pinzon, here; for, if they are
sovereigns in law, he is an emperor in opinion. I doubt
not that the caravels will now be speedily forthcoming.”
“Since thou seemest to have truly resolved to enter into
our enterprise, Señor Martin Alonzo,” added Columbus,
with his dignified gravity, “out of doubt, thou hast well
bethought thee of the conditions, and art come prepared to
let them be known. Do they savour of the terms that have
already been in discussion between us?”
“Señor Admiral, they do; though gold is not, just now,
as abundant in our purses, as when we last discoursed on
this subject. On that head, some obstacles may exist, but
on all others, I doubt not, a brief explanation between us,
will leave the matter free from doubt.”
“As to the eighth, for which I stand committed with their
Highnesses, Señor Pinzon, there will be less reason, now,
to raise that point between us, than when we last met, as
other means may offer to redeem that pledge”—as Columbus
spoke, his eyes involuntarily turned towards the pretended
Pero, whither those of Martin Alonzo Pinzon significantly
followed; “but there will be many difficulties to
overcome with these terrified and silly mariners, which
into this chamber, we will at once discuss the heads of our
treaty, leaving this youth, the while, to the hospitality of
our reverend friend.”
The prior raising no objection to this proposition, it
was immediately put in execution, Columbus and Pinzon
withdrawing to a more private apartment, leaving Fray
Juan Perez alone with our hero.
“Then thou thinkest seriously, son, of making one in
this great enterprise of the admiral's,” said the Franciscan,
as soon as the door was closed on those who had just left
them, eyeing Luis, for the first time, with a more strict
scrutiny than hitherto he had leisure to exercise. “Thou
carriest thyself much like the young lords of the court,
and wilt have occasion to acquire a less towering air in the
narrow limits of one of our Palos caravels.”
“I am no stranger to Nao, Carraca, Fusta, Pinaza, Carabelon,
or Felucca, holy prior, and shall carry myself
with the admiral, as I should carry myself before Don
Fernando of Aragon, were he my fellow-voyager, or in the
presence of Boabdil of Grenada, were that unhappy monarch
again seated on the throne from which he hath been
so lately hurled, urging his chivalry to charge the knights
of Christian Spain.”
“These are fine words, son, ay, and uttered with a tilting
air, if truth must be said; but they will avail thee nothing
with this Genoese, who hath that in him, that would
leave him unabashed even in the presence of our gracious
lady, Doña Isabella, herself.”
“Thou knowest the queen, holy monk?” inquired Luis,
forgetting his assumed character, in the freedom of his address.
“I ought to know her inmost heart, son, for often have
I listened to her pure and meek spirit, in the secrets of the
confessional. Much as she is beloved by us Castilians, no
one can know the true, spiritual elevation of that pious
princess, and most excellent woman, but they who have
had occasion to shrive her.”
Don Luis hemmed, played with the handle of his rapier,
and then gave utterance to the uppermost thought, as usual.
“Didst thou, by any chance of thy priestly office, father,
is much esteemed by the queen?” he inquired, “and whose
spirit, I'll answer for it, is as pure as that of Doña Isabella's
itself.”
“Son, thy question denoteth greater necessity for repairing
to Salamanca, in order to be instructed in the history,
and practices, and faith of the church, than to be entering
into an enterprise, even as commendable as this of Colon's!
Dost thou not know that we churchmen are not permitted
to betray the secrets of the confessional, or to draw comparisons
between penitents? and, moreover, that we do not
take even Doña Isabella, the blessed Maria keep her ever
in mind, as the standard of holiness to which all Christians
are expected to aim? The maiden of whom thou speakest
may be virtuous, according to worldly notions, and yet a
grievous sinner in the eyes of mother church.”
“I should like, before I quit Spain, to hear a Mendoza,
or a Guzman, who hath not a shaven crown, venture to
hint as much, most reverend prior!”
“Thou art hot and restive, and talkest idly, son; what
would one like thee find to say to a Guzman, or a Mendoza,
or a Bobadilla, even, did he affirm what thou wishest. But,
who is the maid, in whom thy feelings seem to take so deep,
although I question if it be not an unrequited, interest?”
“Nay, I did but speak in idleness. Our stations have
made such a chasm between us, that it is little likely we
should ever come to speech; nor is my merit such as would
be apt to cause her to forget her high advantages.”
“Still, she hath a name?”
“She hath, truly, prior, and a right noble one it is. I
had the Doña Maria de las Mercedes de Valverde in my
thoughts, when the light remark found utterance. Haply,
thou mayest know that illustrious heiress?”
Fray Juan Perez, a truly guileless priest, started at the
name; then he gazed intently, and with a sort of pity, at
the youth; after which he bent his head towards the tiles
beneath his feet, smiled, and shook his head like one whose
thoughts were very active.
“I do, indeed, know the lady,” he said, “and even
when last at court, on this errand of Colon's, their own
confessor being ill, I shrived her, as well as my royal mistress.
true; but thy admiration for this noble maiden, which must
be something like the distant reverence we feel for the
clouds that sail above our heads, can scarce be founded on
any rational hopes.”
“Thou canst not know that, father. If this expedition
end as we trust, all who engage in it will be honoured and
advanced; and why not I, as well as another?”
“In this, thou may'st utter truth, but as for the Doña—”
The Franciscan checked himself, for he was about to betray
the secret of the confessional. He had, in truth, listened
to the contrition of Mercedes, of which her passion
for Luis was the principal cause; and it was he, who, with
a species of pious fraud of which he was himself unconscious,
had first pointed out the means by which the
truant noble might be made to turn his propensity to rove
to the profit of his love; and his mind was full of her beautiful
exhibition of purity and natural feeling, nearly even
to overflowing. But habit and duty interfered in time, and
he did not utter the name that had been trembling on his
lips. Still, his thoughts continued in this current, and his
tongue gave utterance to that portion of them which he believed
to be harmless. “Thou hast been much about the
world, it would seem, by Master Alonzo's greeting,” he
continued, after a short pause; “didst ever meet, son,
with a certain cavalier of Castile, named Don Luis de Bobadilla
— a grandee, who also bears the title of Conde
de Llera?”
“I know little of his hopes, and care less for his titles,”
returned Luis, calmly, who thought he would manifest a
magnanimous indifference to the Franciscan's opinions,—
“but I have seen the cavalier, and a roving, mad-brained,
graceless youth it is, of whom no good can be expected.”
“I fear this is but too true”, rejoined Fray Juan Perez,
shaking his head in a melancholy manner—“and yet they
say he is a gallant knight, and the very best lance in all
Spain.”
“Ay, he may be that,” answered Luis, hemming a little
louder than was decorous, for his throat began to grow
husky—“Ay, he may be that; but of what avail is a good
of this young Conde de Llera.”
“I trust he is not the man he generally passeth for,”—
answered the simple-hearted monk, without in the least suspecting
his companion's disguise; “and I do know that
there are some who think well of him—nay, whose existence,
I might say whose very souls, are wrapped up in
him!”
“Holy Franciscan! — why wilt thou not mention the
names of one or two of these?” demanded Luis, with an
impetuosity that caused the prior to start.
“And why should I give this information to thee, young
man, more than to another?”
“Why, father—why, for several most excellent and unanswerable
reasons. In the first place, I am a youth myself,
as thou seest; and example, they say, is better than
precept. Then, too, I am somewhat given to roving, and
it may profit me to know how others of the same propensity
have sped. Moreover, it would gladden my inmost
heart to hear that — but two sufficient reasons are better
than three, and thou hast the first number already.”
Fray Juan Perez, a devout Christian, a learned churchman,
and a liberal scholar, was as simple as a child in matters
that related to the world and its passions. Nevertheless,
he was not so dull as to overlook the strange deportment
and stranger language of his companion. A direction
had been given to his thoughts by the mention of the name
of our heroine; and, as he himself had devised the very
course taken by our hero, the truth began to dawn on his
imagination.
“Young cavalier,” he exclaimed, “thou art Don Luis
de Bobadilla!”
“I shall never deny the prophetic knowledge of a churchman,
worthy father, after this detection! I am he thou
sayest, entered on this expedition to win the love of Mercedes
de Valverde.”
“'Tis as I thought — and yet, Señor, you might have
taken our poor convent less at an advantage. Suffer that
I command the lay brothers to place refreshments before
you!”
“Thy pardon, excellent prior—Pedro de Muños, or even
thou knowest me, there can be less reason for not conversing
of the Doña Mercedes?”
“Now, that I know thee, Señor Conde, there is greater
reason for silence on that head,” returned Fray Juan Perez,
smiling. “Thine aunt, the most esteemed and virtuous
lady of Moya, can give thee all occasion to urge thy suit
with this charming maiden, and it would ill become a
churchman to temper her prudence by any indiscreet interference.”
This explanation was the commencement of a long and
confidential dialogue, in which the worthy prior, now that
he was on his guard, succeeded in preserving his main secret,
though he much encouraged the young man in the
leading hope of his existence, as well as in his project to
adhere to the fortunes of Columbus. In the mean while,
the great navigator himself continued closeted with his new
counsellor; and when the two re-appeared, it was announced
to those without, that the latter had engaged in the enterprise
with so much zeal, that he actually entertained the
intention of embarking on board of one of the caravels in
person.
| CHAPTER XI. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay | |