 | CHAPTER II. Guarica, the charib bride |  |
2. CHAPTER II.
Days, months and seasons held their
course, yet there was no change in the
deep azure of the glowing skies—no alteration
in the green luxuriance of the forest—
no falling of the woods “into the sear, the
yellow leaf”—no fast succeeding variation
from the young floweriness of spring-tide
to the deep flush of gorgeous summer, and
thence to the mature but melancholy autumn—to
the grim tyrant, winter. In that
delicious island nature had lavished on the
earth, in her most generous mood, the mingled
attributes of every clime and region.
The tender greenery of the young budding
leaf was blent at one and the same moment,
and that moment, as it seemed, eternal,
with the broad verdant foliage, the smiling
bud, the odoriferous and full-blown flower,
the rich fruit might be seen side by side on
the same tree—on the same bough. Nothing
was there to mark the flight of time—
the gradual advance of the destroyer over
spectator, that for him, too, as for the
glowing landscape, maturity but leads to
decay—decay which ends in death! Verily
but it is a paradise for the unthinking!
And who were more unthinking than
the young Spaniard and his Indian love?
Who were more happy? Morn after morn
beheld Hernando de Leon threading the
pathless forest—now with horse, horn and
hound, sweeping the tangled thickets—
now skirring in pursuit of his falcon over
the watery vegas; and now, with keen observant
eye, and cat-like pace, wandering,
arbalast in hand, in silent search after the
timid deer; but still in one direction, and
still with one intent, to join the fair Guarica!
Day after day they loitered, side by
side, among the cool shades of the mighty
woods, while the fierce sun was scourging
the clear champaigne with intolerable heat
—or sat reclined by the cold head of some
streamlet, fuller to them of inspiration and
of love than were those fabled founts of
Gadura, whence Eros rose of yore, twinborn
with the dark Anteros, to greet the
rapt eyes of Iamblichus.
The powerful mind of the young soldier
had been cultured, from his earliest youth,
to skill in all those liberal arts and high accomplishments
by which the gallant cavaliers
of Spain had gained such honorable
eminence above the ruder aristocracy of
every other land. To his hands no less familiar
were the harp and gittern than the
Toledo or the lance. To his well-tutored
voice, the high heroic ballads of his native
land, the plaintive elegies of Moorish
Spain, the wildly musical areytos of the
Indian tongue, were equally adapted. Nor
did its accents sound less joyously in the
clear hunting holloa, or less fearfully in the
shrill war-shout, that it was oft attuned to
the peaceful cadences of a lady's lute. His
foot, firm in the stirrup, whether in the
warlike tilt, in the swift race, or in the perilons
leap, was no less graceful in the
rapid dance, or agile in the wrestler's
struggle on the greensward. He was, in
short, a gentleman of singular accomplish
ment —of a mind well and deeply trained;
shrewd, polished, courteons, yet keen and
energetical, withal, and brave as his own
trusty weapon. Like every dweller of a
mountain land, he possessed that high and
romantic adoration of the charms of nature,
that exquisite appreciation of the picturesque
and beautiful—whether embodied in
the mute creations of wood, wild and water
or in the animated dwellers of earth's surface—which,
in the breasts of others, is
rather an acquired taste, nurtured by delicate
and liberal education, than an intuitive
and innate sense. Handsome, moreover,
eloquent and young, it would have been no
great marvel had the brightest lady of the
proudest European court, selected Don
Hernando as the ennobled object of a fresh
heart's holiest aspirations. What wonder,
then, that the untutored Indian girl, princess
although she was, revered almost to
adoration by her own simple people, secluded,
from her earliest childhood, from aught
of mean or low association, removed from
any contact with the debasing influences of
the corrupt and contaminating world, secured
from any need of groveling and sordid
labor—voluptuous and luxurious as the
soft climate of her native isle, yet pure as
the bright skies that overhang it—romantic
and poetical, as it would seem by necessity,
arising from her lonely musing—what
wonder that Guarica should have surrendered,
almost on the instant, to one who
seemed to her artless fancy, not merely one
of a superior mortal race, but as a god in
in wisdom, worth and beauty—a heart
which had been sought in vain by the most
valiant and most proud of her nation's
young nobility. His grace, his delicate
and courteous bearing, so different from
the coarse wooing of the Charib lovers,
who seemed to fancy that they were conferring,
rather than imploring an honor,
when they sought her hand; his eloquent
and glowing conversation—these would
alone have been sufficient to secure the
wondering admiration of the forest maiden;
but when to these was added the deep
claim which he now possessed on her gratitude,
to her when in extremity of peril, and the
respectful earnestness of pure, self-denying
love which he displayed toward her, it
would in truth have been well nigh miraculous
had she resisted the impression of her
youthful fancy.
Nor were such unions between the
dusky maidens of the west, and the hidalgos
of Spain, by any means unfrequent, or
surprising. Among the earliest of those
bold adventurers who had been sharers, in
his first and second voyages, of the great
toils and mighty perils which had been undergone
by that wise navigator who, in the
quaint parlance of the day, gave a new
world to Leon and Castile. On the contrary,
it was rather the policy of that great
and good discoverer, who, in almost all his
dealings with the rude natives, showed
higher sentiments of justice and of honor
than could have been expected from the
fierce and turbulent age in which he lived,
to encourage such permanent and indissoluble
alliances between the best and
bravest of his own followers, and the daughters
of the Caciques and nobles of the land,
as would assuredly tend, more than any
other means, to bind in real amity the jarring
races brought into close and intimate
contact by his discoveries and conquests.
There was not any thing, therefore, to
deter Guarica from lavishing her heart's
gem on the handsome cavalier who had
so singularly introduced himself to her
favor, and who so eagerly—nay, devotedly
—followed up that chance-formed acquaintance.
For several months, despite the
ancient adage, the course of true love did,
in their case, run smooth. No day, however
stormy—for heavy falls of rain, accompanied
by sudden gusts of wind, with
thunder claps, and the broad fearful lightning
of the tropies, were by no means unfrequent—prevented
the adventurous lover
from threading the tangled brake, scaling
the steep, precipitous ascent, fording the
swollen river—straight as the bird flies to
his distant nest. No turn of duty hindered
him—the imposed task performed—from
hurrying through the hot glare of noon, or
through the moonless night, to visit his
beloved. At first, his well-known ardor in
the chase accounted to his comrades for
his protracted and continual absences from
their assemblies; whether convened for
woodland sports or wild adventure—but
when it was observed that, though he never
went abroad, save with the hawk and
hound, or arbalast and bird bolts, he
brooked no longer any comrade in his
sportive labors; that, though renowned
above all his compeers for skill and courage
in the mimicry of war, he often now
returned jaded indeed, and overspent with
toil, but either altogether empty-handed, or
at least so ill provided with the objects of
his unwearying pursuits, that it was utterly
impossible to suppose that a hunter so renowned
could have indeed spent so much
toil, and time, all to so little a purpose.
This, for a short space, was the point of
many a light jest—many a merry surmise
gradually grew to be the subject of grave
wonder and deliberation; for it was now
remarked by all, even by his superiors, that
Hernando—thogh he had been of yore the
keenest volunteer to offer, nay, to urge his
services, when any foray was proposed
against the daring tribe of Caonabo, the
bold Cacique of the Charibs, who now
alone, of the five hereditary monarchs that
erst held sway in Hispaniola, dared to wage
war against the white invaders of his native
fastnesses—no longer sought to be
employed on such occasions—nay, that he
even had refused, as it appeared, to those
who had solicited aid, on slight and feigned
excuses, to join their perilous excursions.
Whispers increased among his comrades,
and, ere long, grew to be dark murmurs—
rumor said that no hunter ever saw the
form of Don Hernando backing his fiery
Andalusian, or heard the furious bay of
his stanch bloodhounds in any of those
haunts where strayed most frequently, and
in the greatest plenty, the quarry which he
feigned to chase—fame said, and for once
truly, that though the best scouts of the
Spaniards had been urged by curiosity to
skill had availed nothing; that whether
in broad day, or in the noon of night,
they never could keep him in view beyond
the margin of one belt of forest land, or
track the foot-prints of his charger, although
the soil was deep and loamy, into
its dark recesses; that, in whatever course
he turned his horse's head, or bent his footsteps,
on departing from the fortress of his
friends, he ever reached by devious turns,
and secret bypaths, that same almost impenetrable
thicket, and there vanished. It
was an age of credulous fear—of dark, fanatical
superstitions. He who, a few short
months before, had been the idol of his
countrymen, the soul of their convivial
meetings, the foremost and the blithest in
their bold hunting matches, was now the
object of distrust, of doubt, of actual fear,
and almost actual hatred. Some said that
he had cast by his allegiance to his country
and his king—that he had wedded with
an Indian girl, and joined himself to her
people, heart and hand—that he kept up
this hollow show of amity with his betrayed
forsaken countrymen only that he might
gain some sure and fatal opportunity of
yielding them, at once, to the implacable
resentment of the Charib Caonabo. Others,
more credulous still, averred, in secret, that
he had leagued himself, more desperately
yet, and yet more guiltily, with creatures
of another world! that mystic sounds, and
voices not of human beings, had been heard
by the neighbors of his barrack-chamber!
and one, he who had scouted him the farthest,
and most closely, swore that, on more
than one occasion, he had beheld a grim
and dusky form rise suddenly, as if from
out the earth, and join him in the wildest
of those woodlands through which he loved
to wander.
Thus did the time pass onward—Hernando
and Guarica becoming every day
more fond and more confiding, and, if that
could be, more inseparable; and, at the
same time, suspicion, enmity, distrust, becoming
more and more apparent at every
hour between him and his Spanish kinsmen.
Thus did the time pass onward, without
the occurrence of any thing of moment
either to disturb the blissful dreams of the
young lovers, or to awaken a suspicion in
their breasts, that they were themselves
the objects of distrust or of espial.
Yet every day, closer and closer were
the toils contracting round them; strong
enmities were at work, weaponed by puissant
energies, and quick intelligences; and,
though they knew it not, they were even
now on the brink of an abyss.
Thus did the time pass onward; 'till, on
on a close and sultry afternoon, in the latter
part of autumn, when the thunderclouds
were mustering thick over the azure
vault, and now and then a pale flash on the
far horizon succeeded by a distant rumble,
told of the coming hurricane, that three or
four horsemen, whose dress and accoutrements
proclaimed them at once to be Spaniards
from the fortress, were seen to issue
from the forest, and ride rapidly across the
little plain toward Guarica's dwelling.
At first a blithe smile lighted up the
features of the young princess, as the sound
of the hoofs came to her ears, while, occupied
in some light feminine labor, she was
standing in the inner chamber of her cottage—for,
horses being as yet the exclusive
property of the invaders, and no other
Spaniard than her own Hernando having
as yet visited that sequestered spot, she
doubted not that it was her lover, who, in
the eagerness of his unwaning passion, had
thus anticipated the hour of his coming.
Full of this sweet idea, her lovely features
gaining a deeper and more feeling
charm, from the inspiration which seemed
to infuse them at the mere thought of him
she loved so passing well, she bounded
forth to meet him. But, before even her
foot had crossed the threshold, she repented
her precipitation; although it was already
too late to remedy it.
Her ear, quicker by nature than that of
any European, and sharpened now beyond
its wonted keenness by the strange powers
of overruling passion, had detected, even as
she sprung forth to meet the comers, first
horses, and next that her lover's Andalusian
was not of the number. Strange it
may seem that that lovely girl, who, perhaps,
never in her life had seen ten horses,
nor listened to the tread of any save Hernando's
charger, could have sworn to his
springy tramp out of ten thousand—strange
it may seem, and incredible to us, whose
instincts are quenched by dwelling amid
the monotonous occurrences of a life spent
in the midst of busy crowds, whose ears
are deadened and eyes dimmed unto the
sounds and sights of nature—but it is true
—she knew it in an instant, and half
paused upon the door-sill, wondering what
chance could have brought strangers thither;
and apprehending, she knew not
what, of coming evil.
And all of us know—at least all of us
who have known sorrow, or anxiety, or
even strong and overmastering passion—
how rapidly thought flits at times through
the spirit—how that, which to the body is
but a point of time, but a fleet second, may
to the mind be an age of ages.
In the mere instant that Guarica, bounding
forth toward the portico, paused half
alarmed upon the threshold, a hundred flitting
fancies passed through her brain—
fancies of joy, and hope, and agony, almost
despair—but with the instant which had
given them birth they ended. Knowing
instinctively that she must have been seen
already, and having, though more than a
little frightened, no motive for concealment,
she stepped forth quietly; and found
herself in the presence of two persons,
whom her quick intelligence discovered
instantly to be cavaliers of rank and birth;
and as many more whom she recognized as
servants, with hounds in leashes, and hawks
on their fists, who had just pulled up their
horses at the door.
He, who appeared the principal personage
of the two, was a tall, powerful, gaunt
man, not in reality above a year or two De
Leon's senior, but in exterior show far
more advanced in life. This might have
been the consequence of the hardships he
had undergone, or it might have arisen
from the predominance of those fierce and
fiery passions which wear away the body,
even as a keen blade frets and in time destroys
its scabbard—but, whether from one
cause or the other, his brow, instead of
presenting the fair broad expanse which
was so striking in Hernando's noble countenance,
was furrowed by three wrinkles,
as deep as are usually seen in men of sixty
years; and these were again cut at right
angles by the strong indentation of an habitual
frown. The features were all in
themselves well formed and handsome, although
the aquiline nose was so thin as to
seem almost fleshless, the cheeks hollow,
and the eyes sunken. The general expression,
too, was grave and dignified, and
far from unpleasing; although the heaviness
of the brow cast over it a sort of melancholy
gloom; and at times a dark sneering
smile distorted the thin lips, altering
for the worse the entire character of the
face, and giving it, so long as it lasted, a
singular and intense air of malignity and
contempt.
The figure of this gentleman was, it is
true, gaunt and thin, almost to meagreness;
but not so much as to impair, in any degree,
his muscular and sinewy strength, which
appeared to be prodigious. His demeanor,
though somewhat formal and stately, was
full of the grace of dignity, if not of case;
and his whole aspect, set off by his dark,
rich hunting-dress and his magnificent bay
charger, was striking and impressive.
His companion was an older man, yet
bearing in his round and jovial face, although
his hair and beard were grizzled,
far fewer marks of age than his fellow-hunter.
This was a broad and square-set
person, with a quick merry eye, a bronzed
face, and a constant smile about his full,
arched lips; his countenance, too, was as
strongly marked with bold and daring
frankness, as was the other's with dark and
suspicious gloom; and his bearing as abrupt
and impulsive, as his friend's was self-restrained
and formal.
Any one at all used to judge of men's
might have pronounced this gentleman
a sailor, without fear of contradiction—
nor did his seat or hand upon his horse,
which were both artless and ungainly, contradict
the surmise. He, too, was richly
dressed, though far more gaudily than his
companion, and he bestrode a strong and
active horse, quite equal to his weight,
though lacking the high, blood-like type,
and spirited action, of the bay charger by
his side.
It was the former of the two cavaliers
who, with an air half-insolent, half-condescending,
addressed Guarica, as she came
forth upon the portico, in a few words, imperfectly
pronounced and ungrammatically
put together, of the Indian dialect of that
province; requesting permission to take
shelter, until the storm, which was threatening
so nearly, should pass over, and
alleging, as a farther cause for their intrusion,
that they had seen the building from
the edge of the forest, wherein they had
been hunting all the morning, just as they
were deliberating whither they should fly
for refuge from the tornado.
Guarica replied instantly, in pure Castilian,
to which the most critical ear could
have taken but slight objection; begging
them to alight from their horses, and accept
such accommodation as her poor dwelling
could afford them. “Stables,” she added,
“we, of course, have none to offer you; but
there is a hut yonder, which we use as a
storehouse, empty now, wherein your serving-men
can tie your horses. I beseech
you enter.”
Neither of the cavaliers, both of whom
dismounted instantly, showed the least surprise,
or made any comment on her speaking
the Spanish tongue so fluently; although
the younger cast a quick, keen glance, accompanied
by the peculiar smile, which
has been mentioned, to his comrade, as they
followed her, after giving directions to their
servants, into the building. For she paused
not to show them the way humbly, but led
them, with the air and gesture of a princess,
into her dwelling.
Again a look of intelligence was interchanged
between the Spaniards; and the
sailor licked his lips with the affectation of
a liquorish air, as she swept forward; but
there was nothing in the look that betokened
astonishment, though there was
much that spoke of admiration, and perhaps
something of self-gratulation at their
own shrewdness.
Could they have read, however, all that
was passing in Guarica's mind, they would
perhaps have found less reason for the latter
sentiment than they imagined; so accurately
had the wild Indian girl already
judged the cause and the motives which
had brought them to her lonely dwelling.
Her quick eye, running over the whole
group, even in the short time while the
cavalier was speaking to her, had taken in,
without seeming to note any thing at all,
the closest and most minute details. Thus,
among other things, she observed that both
the gentlemen and their followers were
armed far more heavily than was usual for
hunters; both the latter having the short,
heavy arquebuses of the day slung at their
backs, and both the former carrying huge
wheel-lock pistols at their holsters.
She saw, moreover, that although the
horses were somewhat heated, as must be
the case in a day so singularly sultry, they
were not splashed with mud, or embossed
with foam—that the hounds were as sleek
as when they left their kennel in the morning,
and evidently had not been uncoupled
—and that the dresses of the riders were
in too orderly array, with their plumes trim
and unbroken, and their spurs bright and
bloodless, to allow it to be imagined, even
by a novice, that they had been engaged,
for hours, in so rude a pastime as the chase,
and that, too, in so wild a forest region.
A slight smile of contempt flitted across
her lovely face, as she thought within
herself—“They are but poor deceivers, after
all—perhaps, in their self-opinion, they
fancy that it needs no exertion of their
high European faculties to dupe a savage.
But this time they are mistaken.
They are no hunters, that is clear. I wonder
good!—no good! I fancy. I do not like the
tall man's looks; but I will watch, I will
find out, before they go.” And even while
she was pondering these things with herself,
she called three or four Indian maidens
from an inner room, and having spoken
a few words in a low tone to one, who
darted out of the house immediately, and
made her way, without being seen by the
Spaniards, into the forest, she gave directions
to the others to prepare refreshment
for the strangers; and though she spoke in
her own language, she used phrases so purposely
simple, that they were readily understood
by her unwelcome guests, who
had just entered—their instructions to their
servants ended.
“It is fortunate,” she then said, quite
naturally, and as if she believed their story
perfectly—“it is very fortunate, that you
should have seen our cottage, for there is
no village, or house, very near us; and I
think we shall have a heavy storm. I
almost wonder you should have ventured
so far from Isabella. We have seen the
clouds gathering here all the morning.”
“It is fortunate, indeed,” said the younger
cavalier, “and I believe we must confess
ourselves but artless woodmen, Sanchez
and I—for we had no suspicion of the storm
at all, 'till we heard the thunder. Yes,
thanks to Heaven! we are wondrous fortunate.”
“You will think so, should it prove such
a tornado as I look for,” she answered, simply,
looking out of the open door toward
the storm-clouds, which were gathering
thicker every moment.
“I meant that we are fortunate in finding
so sweet and beautiful a hostess, here
all alone, in the wild forest, and speaking
our own tongue, too, like a Castilian princess!
Are you the lady of the castle, fair
one? and do you queen it here alone, without
court, or guards, or courtiers?”
“Oh!” she replied, with a light laugh,
“I have heard of your grand Spanish compliments,
which you cavaliers deem it right
to bestow on every woman, if she be old
even, and wrinkled. And, as for speaking
your language, I must have been dull indeed
had I not learned it from my aunt
Anaçaona; and more—”
“Anaçaona! And have we indeed the
happiness to kiss the hands of a niece of
that peerless queen and lady, the friend
and protectress of our people?” exclaimed
the same gentleman who had spoken before;
while his ruder companion broke out
into a loud whistle of astonishment, which
he expressed yet farther by a loud sea-faring
oath, and a repetition of the name,
Anaçaona!
“The queen Anacaona is my aunt, and
has ever been the Spaniard's friend—may
they prove grateful to her. But I was
about to say that I do not live alone; my
brother, Orozimbo, dwells with me, and
will be here anon; he, like yourselves, is
hunting with his vassals. I would he were
here to receive you more befittingly.”
“That were impossible, most peerless
flower,” began the cavalier, but Guarica
quietly interrupted him.
“I pray you pardon me, Senor,” she
said, “but if we have learned your language
in order to converse the better with
our masters,” and she laid rather a bitter
emphasis on the last word, “we have
not yet adopted, nor do we wish to do so,
your gallant modes of speech, which seem
to us mere falsehood and hypoerisy. My
name is Guarica, a simple Indian girl, and
neither flower nor pearl—as such I am glad
to shelter and to serve you. Will you not
walk into the inner chamber? you will
find seats there to repose you; and my
maidens will bring some wine of the palm
and some fresh water; you must be parched
with thirst. Pray enter—make no ceremony—and
excuse me.”
And with the words she raised a many-colored
mat of rushes, which hung across
a low doorway, and waving them toward
the large airy chamber wherein she was
sitting when their horses' tread apprised of
their coming, she retired from the hall,
where they had as yet been standing, and
left them alone to their own devices.
“By Heaven! but this is a strange business,
Guzman,” exclaimed the sailor, now
speaking for the first time. “I do not
wonder at Hernando passing his time here,
nor do I blame him for it, by St. Jago! I
would I were in his shoes. She is the perfection
of a bona roba. I wonder has he
married her, or does she love him paramour?
But what the devil are we to do
next?”
“You are to hold your tongue—that is
to say if you can, by any means, and not to
spoil every thing by your absurd and ill-timed
jesting; and, above all, you are not
to keep calling me Guzman and Herreiro,”
he added, sinking his voice into a whisper,
as he pronounced the last words. “I vow
to God, if you do it again I will put my
dagger into you.”
“Your dagger, will you?” answered the
other, bursting into a rough laugh. “No
you won't! no you won't! Guz—plague on
it! there I go again. Who the devil can
think of such things? but you will put no
dagger into me, I can tell you.”
“And why not? why not, I pray you,
when you plague me so—when you would
plague the archangel Gabriel out of patience
with your buffoonery and folly? why
should I not?”
“In the first place, because I would not
let you—why two can play at dagger-work
as well as one, man! and I think I am as
good as you, any day. But if I were not, I
wear a secret, when I ride with you—for I
have heard a thing or two, and I don't forget
what I hear, either—”
“What have you heard? what have you
heard?” exclaimed the other, furiously, but
turning very pale as he spoke. “Say on—
I insist on your saying on! You have said
too much, or not enough; speak! out with
it, what have you heard?”
“Nay,” said the sailor, “never mind—I
do not want to quarrel; and if I did, this is
no place for it. Let us go in, as the girl
told us. I would not have said aught, but
you spoke of stabbing me. Come, come—
forget it! let us go in.”
And, with the words, he stalked on with
a sturdy step, and a quiet fearless smile,
into the room Guarica had indicated; but
the other paused behind, and muttered
through his teeth.
“He knows too much! he knows too
much! He is dangerous; but what a fool
he was to let me find it out. In one thing
he is right, however, this is no place, and
no time, either; and we have other cards
to play, too, for the nonce! but patience—
patience!”
And, with a grim smile, he too walked
in after his companion, and throwing himself
down on a pile of soft cotton cushions,
smoothed his disordered features, and took
a careful observation of the room, and every
article which it contained. And there were
many things most unusual to behold in an
Indian's dwelling, and such as must naturally
have excited both comment and surprise
in any person not prepared fully to
encounter them. Upon a centre table of
some variegated wood, elaborately carved
and polished, lay several Spanish books of
romance and poetry, a mandolin of exquisite
workmanship, and several sheets of
music, marked with the rude notation of the
day. There was a standish, too, with several
pens, both of reed and quills, and several
rolls of parchment. Upon the walls
were five or six bold and masterly sketches
of combats with the Moors of Granada, and
one or two views and sea pieces. In one
corner of the room stood a long arquebuse
which both the strangers recognized in a
moment; while, from the autlers of a stag
which adorned the wall, there hung a powder-horn,
a set of bandoleers, a pair of gilt
Spanish spurs, and a hunting bugle. Upon
a long divan or couch under the window
was a black velvet cloak and a plumed
hat.
At these things, when Herreiro entered
the man he had called Sanchez was gaping
with a fixed wondering stare, and when he
perceived that the other had come in, he
pointed to them with his finger, and was
about to speak, when Guzman cut him
short in a quick whisper.
“I see, I see—it is just as I thought; but
do not speak; I am sure that girl is watching
us. I do beseech you, do not seem to
see, and yet see every thing!”
“Tush! you are always so suspicious;
now, I think—”
“Of course you do,” Herreiro again interrupted
him—“of course you think it is
going to rain; why it is raining over there
already.”
Sanchez stared at him, but before he
could reply, Guarica, who had entered unperceived
by him, as he sat with his back
toward the door, though Herreiro had perceived
her, invited him to take some wine,
which a girl was just bringing, with tropical
fruits and cool water.
In a few moments afterward Orozimbo
entered, carrying in his hand a couple of
long javelins, the head of one of which was
wet with fresh blood; and followed by several
Indians, two of whom bore a deer,
slung by its legs to a pole resting on their
shoulders.
These threw themselves down to rest
under the portico, but Orozimbo walked
straight into his sister's guest-chamber;
and, though he expressed no surprise, but
greeted his visiters hospitably, it was evident
to his sister that he partook of her astonishment,
if not of her apprehension.
Meanwhile the storm burst with a degree
of intense and concentrated fury that cannot
be conceived till it is seen, and can be
seen only within the tropics; the thunder
rolled in one continuous and incessant roar
—the whole expanse of heaven was one
broad glare of blue and vivid lightning—
the wind raved horribly, sweeping the
largest trees away as if they were mere
straws in its path. At length the rain
poured down in torrents, the wind sunk,
the thunder died away—the danger was at
an end; and, within two hours, the setting
sun beamed out again serenely, and not a
token of the storm was to be felt or seen,
save in the fallen trees, and in the freshness
of the air, cooled and reanimated by
the thunder-gust.
During the storm the strangers had con
versed on many subjects, endeavoring, evidently,
and the younger man, more particularly,
to render themselves agreeable to
Guarica; and, above all, to appear perfectly
at ease and off-handed. But in neither one
nor the other of these ends were they at all
successful; and that, too, as it often happens,
in consequence of the very means
they took to promote them.
In the first place, the courtly air, over-strained
compliments, and yet more than
these, the ominous and sneering smile of
Guzman, impressed Guarica with feelings
any thing rather than favorable; and, in
the second, the very care which the strangers
took to avoid all allusion to the articles
betokening, as clearly as spoken words, the
habitual intercourse of the inhabitants with
some gentleman of Spanish blood, convinced
her—not that they did not see them—
for that would have argued them blind, or
at least stupidly unobservant—but that they
were prepared to see them there; and that
their visit was, in some sort, connected with
Hernando de Leon.
As the storm had now cleared off, and as
night was drawing near, they had no excuse
for remaining longer; and, with many
courteous speeches, and many formalities of
thanks and leave-taking, they mounted their
horses and departed—having declined Orozimbo's
offer to send a guide to show them
the nearest way to the fortress of Isabella.
Among the last words he uttered, Guzman
had, with great adroitness, as he
thought, contrived to let out very naturally
that his own name was Sylva de Fronteiro,
while he continually addressed the sailor
as Juan Sanchez; thereby convincing Guarica,
beyond a peradventure, that both these
titles were unreal; for she had overheard
the latter call Herreiro Guzman, and had
caught some words of the rebuke which the
blunder had called forth.
In a word, neither the brother nor sister
were deceived, for scarcely had they ridden
ten yards from the door before Orozimbo
said—
“Who are they, Guarica; who are they;
and what brought them hither?”
“Nay, brother,” answered the lovely
girl, “I never saw either of them before;
they said they were out hunting, but that
is not true, for they had never let their
hounds loose, nor even soiled their boots.”
“They are spies,” said the boy, “spies
on Hernando, and I fancy they gave us
false names.”
“I am sure they did,” answered Guarica.
“I heard the little man call the other
`Guzman,' when they thought me out of
hearing; but De Leon will be here anon,
and then we shall know all about it.”
“I will know all about it sooner. What
ho! give me my bow and arrows there.
What time comes Hernando?”
“Not till the moon is above the forest-tops;
he was on guard all day, answered
Guarica, simply.
“And that they knew right well,” said
Orozimbo, but I will find them out! And
now one word, Guarica—be thou sure that
De Leon means thee honor? These Spaniards—aye,
the best of them, are but false
knaves and liars; and by the sun and moon,
and all the hosts of heaven! if he be the
villain to deceive thee, and thou the dupe
to be deceived, this hand—this very hand
of mine—dost understand, Guarica? Girl!
girl! I would rather see thee dead—dead by
my own hand, than guilty with a Spaniard!”
“And I would rather be so dead,” replied
the girl, very firmly; “but you wrong
both him and me.”
“Look to it, thou, that it be so! Fare
thee well; remember who thou art, and
who were they before thee. Ere the moon
set will I learn something of these fellows.”
And snatching his long bow and four
shafts from the tall Indian who had brought
them at his bidding he waved a farewell to
his sister, bounded across the lawn, and entered
the forest at the point where, a little
while before, the cavaliers had struck it on
their route for Isabella.
| CHAPTER II. Guarica, the charib bride | |