 | CHAPTER VI. Ringwood the rover |  |
6. CHAPTER VI.
Broadly and brightly dawned the morning,
which followed the departure of the buccaneers,
upon the forest-girdled walls of St. Augustine.
blew. The small waves, crisped by the lightsome
air, danced glittering in the sunlight; while thousands
of white gulls were on the wing, fanning
the wavelets with their silver pinions. Jocund
and merry was the scene; and heavy must that
heart have been, which yielded not to the sweet
soothing influences of the time and seasons.
Heavy was every heart, and downcast every eye,
of those who were abroad on that fair morning.
The bells of many a church and convent were
ringing.
“With a deep sound to and fro—
Heavily to the heart they go!”
moored in shore, under the covering guns of battery
and bastion, the colors waved at half-mast in
honor to the dead, whose obsequies were even
now in process.
And now the city gates flew open, and a long
train of monks and friars chanting the mournful
miserere, with crosslet and with crosier, censor,
and pix, and crucifix, swept forth from the wide
portals. Then upborne on the stalwart shoulders
of four great Spanish captains, whose plumes and
sword knots of pure white betokened the brief
years of him they mourned, followed the coffin of
the young Melendez! Words cannot paint the
agony which overshadowed the bold lineaments,
and bowed to earth the manly frame of Juan, following
to his last home the last male scion of his
immemorial race. Bravely, however, manfully
he struggled with his tortures, and subdued them.
Steadfastly did he gaze, with a fixed, tearless eye
upon the disappearing coffin; as with heart-sickening
sound the dull clods of unconsecrated earth
—for unanointed he had fallen, unhouseled, and
unshriven—rattled upon its hollow lid; one quick
spasm shook his every limb—distorted every feature;
as the last sod was flattened down over that
cherished head, which now perceived, felt, suffered
nothing. The soldiers gathered round the grave
—flash after flash—roar after roar—the volleyed
honors of their musketry burst over the dull ears,
that heard them not, nor heeded. But with the
rattling din the high soul of the father lightened
forth from the cloud of grief, which had oppressed
it—he drew his long bright rapier from its scabbard,
stretched it forth slowly above his son's low
bed, and then uplifting it, with his eyes glaring
upward, flung his left hand abroad; and with distended
chest, bent brows and head erect, stood for
a second's space motionless, stern and silent,
though his lips quivered as with inward prayer,
sublime and awful in the might of self-controlling
energy and pride. Then with a loud clear voice—
“Hear!”—he exclaimed,—“Hear thou! Maker
of all things, Judge of all men, hear! I, Juan de
Melendez de Aviles, noble of Spain, and knight of
Calatrava, swear!—here on the grave of the last
male of the proud name I bear—Here, with my
foot upon the sod that covers that young head—
with my sword in my hand, I swear: never while
life is left me, never by day nor by night, fasting
or feasting, mirthful or in the hour of wo, to cease
from plotting, from pursuing, from revenging!—
never until this sword is crimson to the hilt with
the heart-blood of him who slew thee—thee, innocent
and helpless that thou wert, mine own and
only one. If ever I unbelt the brand, if ever I
withdraw me from the chase, if ever I relent, or
spare, or pardon, till that the sword, the faggot,
and the gallows have, each and all, been glutted
with the lives of thy destroyers—if ever, oh! my
son, I forget to avenge thee—may my flesh feed
the vulture and the wolf—my soul be yielded to
man's everlasting foe!”
He paused, and as the sounds of his last accents
died away—moved by one common impulse, a
dozen of the cavaliers who had accompanied the
funeral train, and who bareheaded, but with flashing
eyes and inflamed visages, had listened to the
father's imprecation, unsheathed at once their
swords, and pointing them to heaven, chorused
that awful oath by one deep, heartfelt, and unanimous
“amen!” “For us—for us, and our sons
after us,” they cried, “be thine oath binding!—
never to spare, nor pardon, nor relent!—never to
cease from hunting to destruction the murderers
of thy dead son—the ravishers of thy living daughtea—never,
so help us God, St. Jago, and our
honor!”
The mournful ceremonial was concluded; a
massive cross of stone was pitched into the sand
at that grave's head, marking the spot where he
slumbers now so soundly, that hapless but high-hearted
boy—the spot, where yesterday he bore
so soldierly and well the tortures which had slain
him. The military music of the garrison struck
up—the very trumpeters, inflamed by the sympathetic
indignation which blazed forth so vividly
from these untamed and fearless cavaliers, struck
up, unbidden, that famous tune of old, the “War
song of the Cid”—the soldiers clashing their arms
in unison, and the wild cadences of the shrill brass
piercing each ear and stirring every heart, they
marched back to the city full of exulting valor,
parched with the thirst of vengeance.
A few hours later in the day, a dozen horses
led to and fro before the doors of a large building,
with a considerable crowd of grooms and servitors
and several sentinels on duty, betokened something
of more than ordinary import to be in process
of enactment. It was the government house,
assembled; and in an upper chamber, the governor,
with his chief officers, was sitting in high
council. Melendez, as became his station no
more than his skill and mature wisdom, presided
at the board; Pedro, Gutierrez, and the veteran
Diego were seated the nearest to his person; the
captains of the four caravellas now at anchor in
the bay lent their co-operating aid, and the bold
youth, Don Amadis Ferrajo, though scarce entitled
by his years to such proud eminence, had
earned, by the brilliant reputation of his impetuous
valor, a place there which he filled with as
much of dignity as did the stateliest veteran of
them all. At the lower end of the long table
were placed two secretaries fully engaged in
minuting the orders of the council; while just below
a sort of bar, that ran across the council
chamber, two Spanish veterans, well armed with
sword and halbert, watched over a young stalwart
negro, who stood between them, entirely naked,
except a cloth about his loins, and a pair of Indian
moccasins upon his feet, with manacles of steel
upon his hands, but with a high free port and bold
demeanor. In a recess, likewise, below the bar,
usually covered by a curtain, which was now
drawn up, a fearful looking instrument, composed
of many wheels and springs of steel, over which
leaned a truculent dark-visaged ruffian, showed
the full means to which the council had recourse
to elicit truth from stubborn prisoners or unwilling
witnesses.
Pointing to these recess, with its appalling contents,
Don Juan was in act of speaking to the prisoner,
when he was interrupted by his saying, in
very tolerable Spanish,
“There is no need of that, your Excellency!—
without compulsion I am ready to declare all that
I know of these buccaneers—for that I do know
something of them, it were quite needless to deny.
I have dealt with them often—sold them my fish
and vegetables; and very liberal buyers are they
too—somewhat rough handed at odd times, but
what of that—if they did slice off my old comrade
Xavier's ears for selling a raw Englishman a lot
of gulls for wildfowl, they gave him gold enough
to buy his freedom afterward. Yes! yes! I know
all their haunts—and I will tell the truth—yes! I
will betray them all—lead you up to their very
hold—now they have carried off the fair young
Senora, who had ever a sweet smile and a kind
word for the poor blacks. As for the proud
young Don, they might have tortured him to all
eternity, ere I would have told aught against them
—but now that they have carried off Teresa—”
“This to me, dog?”—Melendez interrupted him,
in tones that revealed the violence of his feelings
—“Know you to whom you speak? This to me,
to me, villain? Seize him, you halberdiers, strip
him, and drag him to the rack. By the bones of
St. James of Compostella, he shall taste straightway
of these tortures, he prates about so glibly!
—yes! by the sacred souls of all the martyrs—he
shall die under them!”
“For heaven's sake, hold, your Excellency,”—
Diego whispered in his ear—“or we shall get no
word from him. I know the knave of old? He
is as stubborn as an old mule of Arragon, and has,
I believe, no more feeling than a fish. Suffer his
insolence, for God's sake—so by his guidance we
may save your daughter.”
“You say very well, Sir Don Diego”—interrupted
the free black, who had overheard him—
“You say very well and wisely. For if he gave
me one wrench on that cursed rack I would not
speak one word to him; and if he were to kill
me, you know, that would bring him no nearer
to recovering his daughter. No! no! it is no use
to hurt me—not the least in the world. Besides,
I did not mean to vex him when I spoke—I was
thinking aloud only, and would n't have said it, if
I'd thought—not but what it was quite true. I
won't deny that it was quite true. But lord!
it would be no use racking me—you'd just as
well get Spanish words out of the big old alligator
down in the castle ditch, as you'd get any
thing but curses out of me by all your torturing.
But as I said before—I'll tell you all the truth,
and bring you right upon them, now that they've
carried off Teresa. Yes! yes! I know where
they're gone, and I'll carry all of you after them
—but not with those big caravellas—they draw
quite too much water. But you can take the ship
boats in, and mount some heavy guns in the long
fishing pirogues—and then—yes! yes! then you
can catch the rogues, and kill them—and eat them
if you like, too, for that matter—but I suppose
you don't care so much about that—and save the
pretty Senora—for I don't think they've done her
much harm yet—he's an honest chap, is that Ringwood
to be such an infernal thief—and pay them
for screwing the young Don, down there. Yes!
yes! that will be better much than racking me;
now won't it?” and he burst into a yell of most
obstreperous laughter.
“May we trust—think you, good Diego—in this
knowledge that he boasts of?” whispered Melendez
to his veteran counsellor.
“Unquestionably may we”—answered the
other, in the same low tones. “There's not a
bayou or lagoon, a river or salt creek in all Florida,
he does not know as well as his own hut—
nor a sand key, or solitary rock along the coast,
but he has once and again explored it. Besides
wild Seminoles; and if he chooses he can bring
out the warriors of their tribe to aid us. He is a
faithful knave too, and a valiant; though somewhat
bold of speech, and to the windward not a
little of due reverence for his superiors—yet no
man ever heard him tell a lie, or break a promise!
Best place full trust in him! Heard you not what
he said of Senora? since she was but a child he
loved her—and he knows, as I hear, right well the
character of the great English Rover.”
“Well, fellow, you can guide us, as you say,
and will. Well then, suppose we trust you, shall
we set forth, and how?”
“You shall set sail to-night—directly”—answered
the negro promptly—“with your four caravellas;
and make all speed quite round Cape
Florida—and then run sixty miles up, close along
the coast—then get out all the boats, and man
them full; and take along with you fifteen or
twenty big pirogues—the fishermen came in this
morning after the storm, filled full of soldiers,
and with heavy guns. There is a narrow—oh
very narrow—creek, not ten yards quite across,
puts in there from the sea, covered with manchinell
and mangroves so no eye can discover it—up
that you shall row twenty, aye, nigh thirty miles;
and there you will find a big clear lake, with fort,
and village, and feluccas—there live the pirates!
their strong hold.”
“And you can pilot us? So be it, then!”
“No! no!” replied the black, “pilot you I
could very well; but that won't do!—no! no! if
you go up alone, the pirates fire on you from the
bush, cut you up quite, beat you all to the devil
—no! no! my comrade Xavier, he best must pilot
you. I must get out old Tiger-tail—the great
chief of the Seminoles, with his red warriors, and
go quite quiet through the forest—so when you
take them front, we fall upon their back, and
shoot them every way—destroy them altogether.
Don Amadis go along with us—he'll go along
with black Antonio, he'll go—he fears not any
thing!—take fifty musket men, and with the Indians
we'll do—yes! yes! we'll do quite well,
and save Teresa!”
“He's right—your Excellency—black Antonio
is right,” exclaimed the eager Amadis, “I'll go
with him by St. Jago! He shames us all for wisdom!—and
hark, Antonio, I'll take a hundred
men, not fifty—a hundred of my own old Castilians.
Where will you find the Indians?—where's
Xavier?—quick! quick speak.”
“Xavier's below, Don Amadis, he was along
with me when these kind gentlemen,” looking
toward the halberdiers, “laid hold of me, and he
won't stir, till he sees me! And for the Indians,
never fear but I can find them—get you your men
into marching trim, with lots of ball and ammunition;
and let each soldier bring a spare firelock
with him, so can we arm a hundred of the Seminoles,
and meet me at the land gate by sunset, and
we'll get under way at once!”
“Hold! hold!” replied Melendez, evidently
speaking in great agitation and much doubt, “this
will not do—I fear—no! no! It will be quite
impossible to act in concert; we shall fall on at
different times, and so be beaten in detail.”
“Not so, fair sir,” the negro answered eagerly,
“the Indian runners will watch all your movements
from the shore, and bring us world into the
bush, when you have pulled up into the stream,
and how you prosper!—no fear but we can act in
concert!”
For a few moments the stern governor mused
deeply, the dark expression and hard lines of his
bold visage showing no tokens of incertitude or
agitation; yet the broad hand, which he had laid
upon the board, quivered perceptibly, and he kept
beating his heel with a quick nervous action
against the footstool, which was placed before his
honorary chair.
“Remove the negro,” he said at length, raising
his eyes slowly from the floor on which they had
been riveted—“treat him with kindness, but
keep strict ward on him—begone!”
A little bustle took place, while the halberdiers
were leading off Antonio, and the secretaries, in
obedience to a signal from Don Juan, were withdrawing
from the chamber. The moment it
ceased, however, Melendez rose from his seat;
and casting his eyes round the circle as if to read
the thoughts of each of his advisers, addressed
them firmly, with a voice, low-pitched indeed,
and perhaps somewhat subdued, but steady withal
and unfaltering.”
“Gentlemen,” he began, “and comrades. I
am a father, as ye know; and, as a father, must
feel deeply the appalling situation of my most
wretched child—must burn to rescue her from the
pollution which, if it have not tainted, surrounds
at least, and threatens her. I am a soldier likewise,
and governor of this fair town; and, as
such, am in honor bound and duty, to fetter down
all private sentiments obedient to my military devoir!—am
bound to provide, before all things, for
the good state and safety of this my loyal government.
I am hard set, and look to all of you for
council. Should we adopt the negro's plan, and
trust to his guidance—as, if we move at all in this
same business, I see not how we can do else—
there is good cause to hope! great cause to fear!
If he be trustworthy, and if his plan succeed, we
shall preserve Teresa—root out, and utterly destroy
great booty, and no small renown! If on the
other hand we fail—which we may do right easily
—our whole force must be annihilated—nor is this
all! We must so weaken the garrison here at St.
Augustine, for to make any head against them
we shall need every man that we can muster—
that if we be beaten, and the buccaneers follow,
as they doubtless will, the blow, they might well
win the city! Thus stands the case—there is a
mighty gain! there is a mighty peril! I can not
—I dare not decide!—for I cannot distinguish, so
fiercely is my soul disturbed, between a parent's
passion, and a leader's duty! Speak ye, in order
then! Diego—first! and oh speak honestly and
freely!”
Before he had sat down, the old grayheaded
warrior started to his feet; and cool although he
was, and guarded for the most part, he spoke as
hotly now—as passionately as a boy!
“The question, gentlemen, is this—this absolutely!
ONLY! Whether we shall give up a woman—a
Christian maid—a Spanish lady—to the
brute violence of these incarnate fiends—without
one blow—one effort to relieve her; or march
with all our power to liberate her, if we may!
to die for her if we may not! Being myself a
Spaniard, a soldier, and a knight, I have but one
reply to this question, and see not how a Juan
could find a second! we must assay it with all our
best endeavors, and leave the rest to God!”
“Not for the maiden's sake alone,” exclaimed
Gutierrez eagerly, “though that were ample
cause! but, as I see the matter, in duty to our
king we stand bound to avenge the insult offered
to his flag, in duty to humanity to hunt out
wretches, who set its every dictate at defiance,
in duty to the laws of common policy to strike at
the foe in his own place of strength, rather than
wait his pleasure to assault our weakness!”
“Besides,” cried Pedro, “we are far stronger
than our ordinary power by aid of these stout caravellas—their
crews will double our effective
strength!”
“I brought with me, a private volunteer, one
hundred picked Castilians, bound to no duties,
save at mine own will,” cried Amadis with fiery
vehemence; “if not a soldier else stir from the
city gates, I, with my men, march out to-night
at sunset!”
“And I,” exclaimed the elder and superior of
the four Spanish sea captains, “as in obedience to
my broad letters of commission, shall sail this
night with my four frigates, to take, burn, sink,
and by all means destroy, and harass the foemen
of my king and country! Eight hundred stout
hands can we muster for boat service; leaving
enough behind to work and guard the caravellas!
Do you, Sir Governor, embark six hundred more
of your best veterans on board us, press every
fisherman and mariner to follow us, with every
boat, pirogue or galley, they can find; let this
young cavalier go with his followers to join the
Indians, and my life on the issue!”
“Be it so, gentlemen! Fair thanks to all for
your good courtesy! and may God guard the right.
You, Don Diego, I leave here—nay, it must be so,
my good friend—lieutenant in my absence. Pedro,
Gutierrez, let the drums beat to arms!—muster
the garrison in the great square! pick out six hundred,
the youngest and best soldiers!—let each
man have his morion and breast plate, but no back
piece, brassards or taslets; each man a musket
with an hundred round of cartridge, broad-sword
and dagger, and two pistols! Ye gentlemen of
the marine will see them on board straightway!
A word with thee, Don Amadis! Ye to your duties,
gentlemen, anon I will be with ye!”
“Amadis,” he continued, as soon as they were
left alone, “win her and wear her! If God give
you the grace to rescue her, before God shall you
wed her. Get your men under arms, take with
you black Antonio, and God speed you!”
Trumpets pealed wildly through the streets—
the drums rolled long and loud—and, with the clash
of arms and tramp of marshaled footsteps, the
veterans of the garrison were mustered! Before
the sun set, the tall caravellas had cleared the
landlocked bay; staggering out to sea with a fair
breeze, each stitch of canvas set, that they could
carry; and his last glances fell upon the little
party of Don Amadis, filing away under the
guidance of the faithful negro, into the pathless
forest.
| CHAPTER VI. Ringwood the rover | |