 | CHAPTER XV. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay |  |
15. CHAPTER XV.
To warn, to comfort, and command;
And yet a spirit still, and bright
With something of an angel light.”
Wordsworth.
The lustre that was thrown around the voyage of Columbus,
brought the seas into favour. It was no longer
deemed an inferior occupation, or unsuited to nobles, to engage
in enterprises on its bosom; and that very propensity
of our hero, which had so often been mentioned to his
prejudice, in former years, was now frequently named to
published, for the first time, in these pages, the circumstance
having escaped the superficial investigations of the
historians, it was an advantage to him to be known as
having manifested what might be termed a maritime disposition,
in an age when most of his rank and expectations
were satisfied with the adventures of the land. A sort of
fashion was got up on behalf of the ocean; and the cavalier
who had gazed upon its vast and unbroken expanse,
beyond the view of his mother earth, regarded him who
had not, much as he who had won his spurs looked down
upon him who had suffered the proper period of life to pass
without making the effort. Many of the nobles whose
estates touched the Mediterranean or the Atlantic, fitted out
small coasters — the yachts of the fifteenth century —
and were met following the sinuosities of the glorious
coasts of that part of the world, endeavouring to derive a
satisfaction from a pursuit that it seemed meritorious to
emulate. That all succeeded, who attempted thus to transfer
the habits of courts and castles to the narrow limits of
xebecs and felucca it would be hazarding too much to
assert; but there is little doubt that the spirit of the period
was sustained by the experiments, and that men were
ashamed to condemn that, which it was equally the policy
and the affectation of the day to extol. The rivalry between
Spain and Portugal, too, contributed to the feeling
of the times; and there was soon greater danger of the
youth who had never quitted his native shores, being
pointed out for his want of spirit, than that the adventurer
should be marked for his eccentric and vagrant instability.
In the meanwhile, the seasons advanced, and events followed,
in their usual course, from cause to effect. About
the close of the month of September, the ocean, just without
that narrow and romantic pass that separates Europe
from Africa, while it connects the transcendent Mediterranean
with the broader wastes of the Atlantic, was glittering
with the rays of the rising sun, which, at the same time,
was gilding the objects that rose above the surface of the
blue waters. The latter were not numerous, though a
dozen different sails were moving slowly on their several
courses, impelled by the soft breezes of the season. Of
to describe in a few general terms.
The rig of the vessel in question, was latine, perhaps
the most picturesque of all that the ingenuity of man has
invented as the accessory of a view, whether given to the
eye by means of the canvass, or in its real dimensions and
substance. Its position, too, was precisely that which a
painter would have chosen as the most favourable to his
pencil, the little felucca running before the wind, with one
of its high pointed sails extended on each side, resembling
the pinions of some enormous bird that was contracting
its wings as it settled towards its nest. Unusual symmetry
was apparent in the spars and rigging; while the hull,
which was distinguished by lines of the fairest proportions,
had a neatness and finish that denoted the yacht of a
noble.
The name of this vessel was the “Ozema,” and she carried
the Count of Llera with his youthful bride. Luis, who
had acquired much of the mariner's skill, in his many
voyages, directed the movements in person, though Sancho
Mundo strutted around her decks with an air of authority,
being the titular, if not the real patron of the craft.
“Ay — ay — good Bartolemeo, lash that anchor well,”
said the last, as he inspected the forecastle, in his hourly
rounds; “for fair as may be the breezes, and mild as is
the season, no one can know what humour the Atlantic
may be in, when it fairly waketh up. In the great voyage
to Cathay, nothing could have been more propitious than
our outward passage, and nothing savour more of devils
incarnate, than the homeward. Doña Mercedes maketh an
excellent sailor, as ye all may see; and no one can tell
which way, or how far, the humour of the Conde may
carry him, when he hath once taken his departure. I tell
ye, fellows, that glory and gold may alight upon ye all,
any minute, in the service of such a noble; and I hope
none of ye have forgotten to come provided with hawk'sbells,
which are as remarkable for assembling doblas, as
the bells of the Seville cathedral are for assembling Christians.”
“Master Mundo—” called out our hero from the quarter-deck,
“let there be a man sent to the extremity of the foreyard,
of us.”
This command interrupted one of Sancho's self-glorifying
discourses, and compelled him to see the order executed.
When the seaman who was sent aloft, had “shinned” his
way to the airy and seemingly perilous position he had
been told to occupy, an inquiry went up from the deck, to
demand what he beheld.
“Señor Conde,” answered the fellow, “the ocean is
studded with sails, in the quarter your Excellency hath
named, looking like the mouth of the Tagus, at the first of
a westerly wind.”
“Canst thou tell them, and let me know their numbers?”
called out Luis.
“By the mass, Señor,” returned the man, after taking
time to make his count—“I see no less than sixteen—nay,
now I see another, a smaller just opening from behind a
carrack of size—seventeen, I make them in all.”
“Then are we in season, love!” exclaimed Luis, turning
towards Mercedes with delight—“once more shall I grasp
the hand of the admiral, ere he quitteth us again for
Cathay. Thou seemest glad as myself, that our effort
hath not failed.”
“That which gladdeneth thee, Luis, is sure to gladden
me,” returned the bride; “where there is but one interest,
there ought to be but one wish.”
“Beloved—beloved Mercedes—thou wilt make me every
thing thou canst desire. This heavenly disposition of
thine, and this ready consenting to voyage with me, will be
sure to mould me in such a way that I shall be less myself
than thee.”
“As yet, Luis,” returned the young wife, smiling, “the
change promiseth to be the other way, since thou art
much likelier to make me a rover, than I to make thee a
fixture of the castle of Llera.”
“Thou comest not out upon the sea, Mercedes, contrary
to thine own wishes?” demanded Luis, with the earnest
quickness of one who was fearful he might unconsciously
have done an act of indiscretion.
“No, dearest Luis; so far from it, that I have come with
satisfaction, apart from the pleasure I have had in obliging
of the felucca, and the novelty is of the most agreeable
and exciting kind.”
To say that Louis rejoiced to hear this on more accounts
than one, is but to add that he still found a pleasure in the
scenes of the ocean.
In half an hour the vessel of the admiral was visible
from the Ozema's deck, and ere the sun had reached the
meridian, the little felucca was gliding into the centre of
the fleet, holding her course towards the carrack of Columbus.
The usual hailing passed, when, apprised of the
presence of Mercedes, the admiral gallantly repaired on
board the Ozema, to pay his respects in person. The
scenes through which they had passed together, had created
in Columbus a species of paternal regard for Luis, in
which Mercedes shared, through the influence of her noble
conduct during the events that occurred at Barcelona. He
met the happy pair, therefore, with dignified affection, and
his reception partook of the feelings that the Count and
Countess so fully reciprocated.
Nothing could be more striking to one who had an
opportunity of witnessing both, than the contrast between
the means with which the Genoese sailed on this, and on
his former voyage. Then he had set forth neglected,
almost forgotten, in three vessels, ill-found, and worse-manned,
whilst now, the ocean was whitened with his canvass,
and he was surrounded by no inconsiderable portion
of the chivalry of Spain. As soon as it was known that
the Countess of Llera was in the felucca that had stopped
the fleet, boats put off from most of the vessels, and Mercedes
held a sort of court on the broad Atlantic; her own
female attendants, among whom were two or three of the
rank of ladies, assisting her in doing proper honour to the
cavaliers who thronged the deck. The balmy influence of
the pure air of the ocean, contributed to the happiness of
the moment; and, for an hour, the Ozema presented a
scene of gaiety and splendour, such as had never before
been witnessed by any person present.
“Beautiful countess,” cried one, who had been a rejected
suitor of our heroine, “you see to what acts of desperation
your cruelty hath driven me, who am going forth on an
I did not make this venture before he won your favour;
as no damsel in Spain is expected, henceforth, to withstand
the suit of one of the admiral's followers.”
“It may be as you say, Señor,” returned Mercedes, her
heart swelling with the consciousness that he whom she
had chosen had made this same boasted adventure, whilst
others shrunk from its hazard, and when its result was still
a mystery in the unknown future — “It may be as you
say; but one of moderate wishes, like myself, must be content
with these unambitious voyages along the coast, in
which, happily, a wife may be her husband's companion.”
“Lady,” cried the gallant and reckless Alonzo de Ojeda,
in his turn, “Don Luis caused me to roll upon the earth,
in the tourney, by a fair and manly effort, that hath left no
rancour behind it; but I shall outdo him now, since he is
content to keep the shores of Spain in view, leaving to us
the glory of seeking the Indies, and of reducing the Infidels
to the sway of the two sovereigns!”
“It is a sufficient honour to my husband, Señor, that he
can boast of the success you name, and he must rest satisfied
with the reputation acquired in that one deed.”
“Countess, a year hence, you would love him better, did
he come forth with us, and show his spirit among the people
of the Grand Khan!”
“Thou seest, Don Alonzo, that the illustrious admiral
doth not altogether despise him as it is. They seek a private
interview in my cabin together; an attention Don
Christopher would not be apt to pay a recreant, or a laggard.”
“'T is surprising!” resumed the rejected suitor; “the
favour of the Conde with our noble admiral hath surprised
us all, at Barcelona. Can it be, de Ojeda, that they have
met in some of their earlier nautical wanderings?”
“By the mass! Señor,” cried Alonzo, laughing, “if Don
Luis ever met the admiral, as he met me in the lists, I
should think one interview would answer for the rest of
their days!”
In this manner did the discourse proceed, some speaking
in levity, some in more sober mood, and all in amity.
to a cabin with our hero.
“Don Luis,” said the admiral, when they were seated
near each other, and alone, “thou knowest the regard I
bear thee, and I feel certain that thou returnest it with an
equal degree of esteem. I now go forth from Spain, on a
far more perilous adventure than that in which thou wert
my companion. Then I sailed concealed in contempt, and
veiled from human eyes by ignorance and pity; now, have
I left the old world, followed by malignancy and envy.
These facts am I too old not to have seen, and foreseen.
In my absence, many will be busy with my name. Even
they who now shout at my heels, will become my calumniators,
revenging themselves for past adulation by present
detraction. The sovereigns will be beset with lies, and any
disappointment in the degree of success will be distorted
into crimes. I leave friends behind me, too—friends, such
as Juan Perez, de St. Angel, Quintanilla, and thyself. On
ye, then, do I greatly rely, not for favours, but for the interest
of truth and justice.”
“Señor, you may count upon my small influence under
all circumstances. I have seen you in the day of trial,
and it exceedeth ordinary misrepresentations to weaken my
faith in you.”
“This did I believe, Luis, even before it was so warmly
and sincerely said,” returned the admiral, squeezing the
young man's hand with fervour. “I doubt if Fonseca,
who hath now so much power in the affairs of India, is
truly my friend. Then, there is one of thy blood and name,
who hath already regarded me with unfavourable eyes,
and whom I distrust exceedingly, should an occasion offer
in which he might do me injury.”
“I know him well, Don Christopher, and account him
as doing no credit to the house of Bobadilla.”
“He hath credit, nevertheless, with the king, which is
of more importance, just now!”
“Ah! Señor, to that wily and double-faced monarch,
you must look for nothing generous. So long as Doña
Isabella's ear can be kept open to the truth, there is nothing
to fear, but Don Ferdinand groweth each day more worldly
and temporizing. Mass!—that one who, in youth, was so
of the meannesses that would disgrace a Moor! My noble
aunt, however, is a host in herself, and will ever remain
true to you, as she commenced.”
“God overruleth all, and it were sinful to distrust either
his wisdom or justice. And now, Luis, one word touching
thyself. Providence hath made thee the guardian of the
happiness of such a being as is seldom found this side the
gates of heaven. The man who is blessed with a virtuous
and amiable wife, like her thou hast wedded, should erect
an altar in his heart, on which he ought to make daily, nay,
hourly, sacrifices of gratitude to God for the boon; since,
of all earthly blessings, he enjoyeth the richest, the purest,
and the most lasting, should he not be unmindful of his own
riches. But a woman like Doña Mercedes is a creature as
delicate as she is rare. Let her equanimity check thy impetuosity;
her purity rebuke the less-refined elements of
thy composition; her virtue stimulate thine own; her love
keep thine in an unceasing flame, and her tenderness be a
constant appeal to thy manly indulgence and protection.
Fulfil all thy duties as a Spanish grandee, son, and seek
felicity in the partner of thy bosom, and in love to God.”
The admiral now gave Luis his blessing, and taking
leave of Mercedes in the same solemn manner, he hastened
to his carrack. Boat after boat quitted the felucca, many
calling out their leave-takings even after they were at a
distance. In a few minutes, the heavy yards swung round,
and the fleet was again sweeping off towards the south-west,
holding its way, as was then fancied, towards the
distant shore of India. For an hour the Ozema lay where
she had been left by Columbus, as if gazing at her retiring
friends; then her canvass filled, and she hauled up towards
that bight of the coast, at the bottom of which lay the port
of Palos de Moguer.
The afternoon was deliciously balmy, and when the
felucca drew in with the land, the surface of the sea was
as smooth as that of an inland lake. There was just
wind enough to cool the air, and to propel the little vessel
three or four knots through the water. The day apartment,
occupied by our hero and heroine, was on the quarter-deck.
It was formed, on the exterior, by a tarpawlin,
with a lining of precious stuffs that converted it
into a beautiful little saloon. In front, a canvass bulkhead
protected it from the gaze of the crew; and, towards the stern,
a rich curtain fell, when it became necessary to shut out
the view. The latter was now carelessly festooned, permitting
the eye to range over a broad expanse of the ocean,
and to watch the glories of the setting sun.
Mercedes reclined on a luxurious couch, gazing on the
ocean, and Luis touched a guitar, seated on a stool at her
feet. He had just played a favourite national air, which he
had accompanied with his voice, and had laid aside the
instrument, when he perceived that his young wife did not
listen, with her usual fondness and admiration, to his
music.
“Thou art thoughtful, Mercedes,” he said, leaning forward
to read the melancholy expression of those eyes that
were so often glowing with enthusiasm.
“The sun is setting in the direction of the land of poor
Ozema, Luis,” Mercedes answered, a slight tremour pervading
her voice; “the circumstance, in connexion with
the sight of this boundless ocean, that so much resembleth
eternity, hath led me to think of her end. Surely—surely
—a creature so innocent can never be consigned to eternal
misery, because her unenlightened mind and impassioned
feelings were unable to comprehend all the church's mysteries!”
“I would that thou thought'st less on this subject, love;
thy prayers, and the masses that have been said for her
soul, should content thee; or, if thou wilt, the last can
be repeated, again and again.”
“We will offer still more,” returned the young wife,
scarce speaking above her breath, while the tears fell down
her cheeks. “The best of us will need masses, and we owe
this to poor Ozema. Didst thou bethink thee, to intercede
again with the admiral, to do all service to Mattinao, on
reaching Española?”
“That hath been attended to, and so dismiss the subject
from thy mind. The monument is already erected at Llera,
and, we may feel regret for the loss of the sweet girl, but
can scarce mourn for her. Were I not Luis de Bobadilla,
rather than of pity.”
“Ah! Luis, thy flattery is too pleasing to bring reproof,
but it is scarce seemly. Even the happiness I feel, in being
assured of thy love—that our fortunes, fate, name, interests
are one — is, in truth, but misery, compared with the seraphic
joys of the blessed; and to such joys I could wish
Ozema's spirit might be elevated.”
“Doubt it not, Mercedes; she hath all that her goodness
and innocence can claim. Mass! If she even have half that
I feel, in holding thee thus to my heart, she is no subject for
grief, and thou say'st she hath, or wilt have, tenfold more.”
“Luis—Luis—speak not thus! We will have other
masses said at Seville, as well as at Burgos and Salamanca.”
“As thou wilt, love. Let them be said yearly, monthly,
weekly, for ever, or as long as the churchmen think they
may have virtue.”
Mercedes smiled her gratitude, and the conversation became
less painful, though it continued to be melancholy.
An hour passed in this manner, during which, the communion
was of the sweet character that pervades the intercourse
of those who love tenderly. Mercedes had already
acquired a powerful command over the headlong propensities
and impetuous feelings of her husband, and was gradually
moulding him, unknown to herself, to be the man that
was necessary to her own feelings. In this change, which
was the result of influence, and not of calculation or design,
she was aided by the manly qualities of our hero, which
were secretly persuading him that he had now the happiness
of another in his keeping, as well as his own. This
is an appeal that a really generous mind seldom withstands,
and far oftener produces the correction of minor faults, than
any direct management, or open rebukes. Perhaps Mercedes's
strongest arm, however, was her own implicit confidence
in her husband's excellence, Luis feeling a desire to
be that which she so evidently thought him; an opinion
that his own conscience did not, in the fullest extent, corroborate.
Just as the sun had set, Sancho came to announce that
he had let go the anchor.
“Here we are, Señor Conde, — here we are, at last, Senora
within a hundred yards of the very spot where Don Christopher
and his gallant companions departed for the discovery
of the Indies—God bless him a hundred-fold, and all
who went with him. The boat is ready to take you to the
shore, Señora; and there, if you do not find Seville, or
Barcelona, cathedrals and palaces, you will find Palos, and
Santa Clara, and the Ship-Yard Gate—three places that are,
henceforth, to be more renowned than either: Palos, as
having sent forth the expedition; Santa Clara, as having
saved it from destruction, by vows fulfilled at its altars;
and the Gate, for having had the ship of the admiral built
within it.”
“And other great events, good Sancho!” put in the
count.
“Just so, your Excellency; and for other great events.
Am I to land you, lady?”
Mercedes assented, and in ten minutes she and her husband
were walking on the beach, within ten yards of the
very spot where Columbus and Luis had embarked the
previous year. The firm sands were now covered with
people, walking in the cool of the evening. Most of them
were of the humbler classes, this being the only land, we
believe, in which the population of countries that possess a
favourable climate, do not thus mingle in their public promenades,
at that witching hour.
Luis and his beautiful wife had landed merely for exercise
and relaxation, well knowing that the felucca possessed
better accommodations than any hosteria of Palos;
and they fell into the current of the walkers. Before them
was a group of young matrons, who were conversing
eagerly, and sufficiently loud to be overheard. Our hero
and heroine instantly ceased their own discourse, when they
found that the subject was the voyage to Cathay.
“This day,” said one of the party, in a tone of authority,
“did Don Christopher sail from Cadiz; the sovereigns
deeming Palos too small a port for the equipment of so
great an enterprise. You may depend on what I tell ye,
good neighbours; my husband, as you all well know, holding
an appointment in the admiral's own ship.”
“You are to be envied, neighbour, that he is in so good
repute with so great a man!”
“How could he be otherwise, seeing that he was with
him before, when few had courage to be his companions,
and was ever faithful to his orders. `Monica'—nay, it was
`good Monica' — said the admiral to me, with his own
mouth, `thy Pepe is a true-hearted mariner, and hath conducted
to my entire satisfaction. He shall be made the
boatswain of my own carrack, and thou, and thy posterity,
to the latest antiquity, may boast that you belong to so
good a man.' These were his words; and what he said,
he did,—Pepe being now a boatswain. But the paters and
aves that I said to reach this good fortune, would pave this
beach!”
Luis now stepped forward and saluted the party, making
curiosity to know the particulars of the first departure, his
excuse. As he expected, Monica did not recognize him in
his present rich attire, and she willingly related all she
knew, and not a little more. The interview showed how
completely this woman had passed from despair to exultation,
reducing the general and more public change of sentiment,
down to the individual example of a particular case.
“I have heard much of one Pinzon,” added Luis, “who
went forth as pilot of a caravel in the voyage; what hath
become of him?”
“Señor, he is dead!” answered a dozen voices, Monica's,
however, so far getting the ascendency, as to tell the story.
“He was once a great man in this quarter; but now his
name is lost, like his life. He was untrue, and died of
grief, it is said, when he found the Niña lying in the river,
when he expected to have had all the glory to himself.”
Luis had been too much engrossed with his own feelings
to have heard this news before, and he continued his
walk, musing and sad.
“So much for unlawful hopes, and designs that God
doth not favour!” he exclaimed, when they had walked a
considerable distance. “Providence hath, I think, been of
the admiral's side; and certainly, my love, it hath been of
mine.”
“This is Santa Clara,” observed Mercedes. “Luis, I
would enter, and return a thanksgiving at its altars for thy
of Don Christopher.”
They both entered the church, and they knelt together
at the principal altar; for, in that age, the bravest warriors
were not as much ashamed, as in our own times, of publicly
acknowledging their gratitude to, and their dependence on,
God. This duty performed, the happy pair returned silently
to the beach, and went off to the felucca.
Early in the morning, the Ozema sailed for Malaga,
again, Luis being fearful he might be recognized if he continued
at Palos. Their port was reached in safety; and
shortly after the party arrived at Valverde, the principal
estate of Mercedes, where we shall leave our hero and
heroine in the enjoyment of a felicity that was as great
as could be produced by the connexion between manly tenderness
on one side, and purity of feeling and disinterested
womanly love on the other.
At a late day, there were other Luis de Bobadillas in
Spain, among her gallant and noble, and other Mercedes',
to cause the hearts of the gay and aspiring to ache; but
there was only one Ozema. She appeared at court, in
the succeeding reign, and, for a time, blazed like a star that
had just risen in a pure atmosphere. Her career, however,
was short, dying young and lamented; since which time, the
name itself has perished. It is, in part, owing to these circumstances,
that we have been obliged to drag so much of
our legend from the lost records of that eventful period.
| CHAPTER XV. Mercedes of Castile, or, The voyage to Cathay | |