University of Virginia Library

7. CHAPTER VII.

Isidore, the young lieutenant of Don Basilio,
having ended his narration, remained
watching the face of Dona Anita. During
his recital of the events which had led to
Don Basilio's imprisonment he had been
walking by her side up and down the silvery
sands, the rocky cliff towering darkly above
and flinging its shadow far beyond them. The
bay outstretched before them just rippled by
the breeze; and abreast upon its surface rode
the polacca. The bold wooded arms of the
Bay curving and connected by the chain of
islets at its mouth, formed a noble frame to
the beautiful and romantic scene. The boat
from which Isidoro had landed was grounded
upon the beach, the men grouped around it
in picturesque attitudes. Old Jose, leaning
upon his staff at the entrance of the defile,
watched anxiously the faces both of his mistress
and of Don Isidoro, that he might catch
from their expression such portions of his tale
as his cars were not able, as they moved away
from him in their pacing to and fro, to catch
with distinctness.

As Isidoro's story ended, Dona Anita stopped
short and gazed full into his countenance
as if she sought therein to read it reflected
and re-confirmed. Her lovely eyes were full
of tears yet the fire of determined purpose
burned in them. Her cheeks were pale during
the recital, but now were flushed with
deep emotion, the stirring feelings to which a
knowledge of her brother's fate had given
rise. Her graceful person was drawn to its
full height, and a calm dignity, approaching
sternness sat upon her fine brow. The deep
fountains of her sisterly affection were stirred
within her, and bold and daring plans for his
release flashed rapidly across her mind. With
her sculptured lip compressed, her eye intently
fixed in meditation, she stood silent
and seemingly unconscious that they rested
upon Isidoro. At length, after the lapse of
several minutes, she spoke:

`Isidoro this is sad news you bring me! I
have been trying to realize my brother's danger.
Our father perished by the hand of the
dreadful man into whose power Basilio has so
unhappily fallen. I can foresee, unless we
can effect his escape, only his father's fate!
The Governor-General is a man of a stern
and unfeeling nature. He regards no man's
life, when its continuance would menace his
own safety or the peace of his government.
My brother, alas, has menaced both. He is
in his power, and will die!'

`Never while Isidoro has a life to give for
his!'

`You are Don Basilio's friend, Isidoro. I
thank you. Forgive my harsh language
a while ago. I know you and all these would
die for my brother. But his fate is clear! But
he will not die in the Moro! He will not be
privately slain in his cell. God forbid! he
will be brought to trial. He will be taken
from the Moro to the Court of the Governor's
Palace, as my father was, and then tried.—
Sentence will be death! Before he dies we
must save him, Isidoro, or die with him!'

`I swear to free him or perish!'

`So say we all! Basilio's freedom, or
death!' cried the young men at the boat,
hearing Isidoro's words.

`Basilio or death!' shouted the crew from
the polacco, catching up the generous shout.
`Freedom to our noble captain or death!'

`You hear that, Dona Anita?' said Isidoro
with a sparkling eye.

`I hear it,' answered the maiden with emotion.
And waving her snowy hand towards
them she added, turning to him; `with devotion
such as this I do not despair of again
embracing my brother!'

`What means, Senora, would you propose?
We are ready to do your bidding. Our lives
are yours and Don Basilio's!'

`Thanks, good and noble youth! I will
think what course to take. I am now too
much agitated by the fresh intelligence you
have communicated to form any plan at once.
Yet the time admits of no delay. Each moment
is precious to him who is my life! I
wish you to have the polacca ready to sail
within an hour if need be!'

`She is ready, Senora, to depart now!'

`I shall now proceed to the tower! Come
to me by noon when I shall have decided on
some course of action. Adios, Don Isidoro!'

Thus saying this beautiful Spanish girl,
folding her mantilla about her head, half-concealing
her exquisite features, moved with a
graceful tread, but with an air singularly determined
and earnest. She walked like one
who is influenced by strong feelings and an
elevated purpose. Her brother's danger was
her own. From childhood her heart had been
bound up in him; and so secluded had she
lived that to the age of nineteen she had not
knowledge of any other love or any other attachment
than a sisterly one. She did not
know that there was any other love or any
other emotion, than that which her affection
for Basilio elicited, which could find existence
in her heart. `Love' to her, was to love
her brother. If she experienced any thing
like tenderness of which Basilio was not the
object it was for Old Jose; who in his sixtieth
year and venerable beard, was not likely
to take the place of a very dangerous rival to
Basilio in her breast. Isidoro, though young,
handsome and grave had not drawn a single
glance of regard from her; although it could
not be concealed that when she met him or
discussed with him, which was but seldom,
she did it with a heightened glow upon her
cheek and without meeting his large black
eyes, as she was accustomed to those of Basilio
and old Jose. But this was not love; only the
instinct whereby it manifests its indwelling;
only the fragrance which is shed from the
folded bud of the Carlinda. Isidoro was not
the sun to whose warmth the bud was destined
to unfold its leaves; the light to which it was
open shone from other eyes than the young
lieutenant; who, albeit, was the sun of a fair
flower, in the shape of a brown maiden who
dwelt in the cot adjoining his father's in his
native island, and whose young heart followed
him over the sea.

One afternoon, it was the third after Basilio's
departure from the Tower on his expedition
which had so fatally terminated, Donna
Anita was sleeping upon the roof of her casa,
for it was the hour of the siesta. Above her
was an awning of blue silk fringed with silver,
and gathered so as to exclude the sun on
the western side. Her lovely head reposed
upon a cushion of velvet rose-colored and
werked in silken flowers of such exquisite
beauty and truthfulness that her head seemed
pillowed on living flowers. By her side sat a
negreas, with soft round features, and lus
trous black eyes, half-closed in sleep. In her
hand she held a gorgeous fan of feathers of the
bird of paradise, which she would slowly wave
with a gentle motion above the head of the
sleeper. A soft breeze blew from the sea, with
just force enough to stir the pendulous leaves
of a palm which grew at the corner of the
house. The top of the house overlooked the
forests, the bay, the islands and distant sea.
Above the house-top full thirty feet higher
rose the Vermilion Tower, a far-seen beacon
both on land and sea. In the patio or court
beneath, slept in the shade of the walls the
slaves, and swinging in a hammock beneath
an arch through which the cool wind circulated,
was old Jose with a cigarito in his mouth,
which he was trying to keep alight and keep
asleep at the same time. All was still and
wore that indolent air of repose and dreamy
security which characterizes the interior of a
Spanish house in that climate of luxurious indulgence.

The sea though its surface was calm yet
rolled in toward the land huge underswells,
glancing in the sun like vast cylinders of glass
one revolving over the other; when, breaking
upon the beach, they would burst into a myriad
of crystals. The low sound of these
waves reached soothingly the ears of Jose,
and soon decided the contest between sleep
and his cigar; for the latter fell from his lips
while he sunk into deep slumber.

There had been the preceding night a terrific
storm, to which the present agitation of
the surface of the beaving Bay was owing.
It was not an ordinary gale, but one of those
wild, irresistable tornados, which in the hot
months sweep the seas like a besom. This
which had just taken place, was unusually
fearful. The first hours of the night had been
sultry and close, and although there was no
clouds to be seen, not a star was visible; a
dense steel-like atmosphere far above the
region of clonds seemed to cover the sky.
Not a breath of air stirred. Dona Anita placed
the lightest feather of down upon the battlement
and it rested there as motionless as lead.
Jose as the sun had set had prophecied a hurricane,
and now joined her to confirm and
strengthen his opinion. A leaden hue rested
upon the sea, and a singular blackness lay
upon the forests. There was patches of dull
light in the skies, but none could see by what
they were proceeded? and occasionally a

musky red glare would glow upon the cliffs
surrounding the Bay.

Jose and Dona Anita sat up late upon the
housetop watching the portentous signs and
talking of the absent goleta, which had now
been out three days. But Jose, calculating
by the winds, gave it his opinion that she
must before this time have doubled Cape St.
Antonio, and by this have reached Havana.
But Dona Anita's anxiety prevented her from
taking encouragement. Just before the sun
set a vessel had been seen to the South and
Eastward, which Jose, by the aid of the glass
made out to be a top-sail schooner, although
her hull was hid beneath the convexity of the
ocean line. The vessel they now thought of,
and Dona Anita sent up many prayers for the
mariners on board; for it was clear that the
storm, if it should rise, would sweep over her.
The thickening gloom of night hid the sails
from view when she was about nine miles
distant, standing to the West.

Towards eleven o'clock the steely hue of
the heavens, gave place to a white appearance,
which was not light nor a reflection
from light, but a fearfully wild aspect of the
skies which is indescribable. It spread over
the sea and over the land, and without sun or
moon or stars, there prevailed such dreadful
light as mortal eyes quailed to look upon! It
revealed no object! All around was as invisible
as in the murky darkness of a few moments
before. Gradually yet swiftly, the `light of
hell,' as it is termed by the Islanders, rolled
together in waves not unlike the undulations
of the Aurora Borealis. It seemed to be seeking
a focal centre, rather than to irradiate from
one. It rolled off towards the south west, the
blackness of darkness following in its train!
It gathered in the sky in the south east in a
vast field of light reddening as it condensed,
until a fierce fiery eye burned in a single
point above the horison, casting its baleful
glare over the sea. This was the eye of the
storm, `el ojo del hurican!'

Old Jose's experience, after seeing this,
told him that it was now time for Dona Anita
to seek shelter, and the casa to be closed.
She, however, waited and lingered to watch
the fearful progress of the tornado. The
Ojo del hurrican became a deeper red mingled
with changing violet hues as beautiful as they
were terrible to look upon; then the violet
became black, and the blackness formed it
self into sable clouds which rolled in vas
volumes, like smoke pouring from a crater,
up the sky across the fiery centre, which, in
a moment was enveloped and extinguished in
a frightful chaos of night. All now was darkness
impenetrable over sky, land and sea.
Dona Anita could not see Jose, although he
stood close at her side. The silence that
reigned was appalling. The heart seemed to
shrink and suppress its own beating as in
sympathy with the universal stillness.

`Come, Senora—let us fly for safety?' whispered
Jose hoarsely.

`Nay, one moment longer. This is awful.
Hark! Do you not hear a roar! Look see
that whiteness upon the sea!'

`'Tis the hurricane ploughing it up into
fields of phosphorescent light. See how
broadly it spread, and how rapidly it advances!
Now the waters of the bay are seemingly
on fire! God have mercy on any craft that
is now abroad!'

`The roar is terrific! Let us fly!' cried
Dona Anita clinging to the old man.

Scarcely had they disappeared from the
azotea when with a noise like thunder rolling
upon the earth, the tornedo leaped from the
sea upon the land leaving a glittering track a
league broad in its carreer as it came on.
Hurled from their heights, rocks and trees
flew through the air and plunged into the
water! the forest bowed before it with a crash
and uproar of sound that no words could convey
any idea of. All at once it burst upon
the tower and casa beneath. Stones from the
battlements were shot through the air like
feathers, and the foundation of the dwelling
shook as if shaken by an earthquake. The
rain descended amid sheets of flame, and
thunder-peal followed thunder-peal with the
noise of a ceaseless cannonading.

In two hours the tornado had passed away!
the clouds rolled back! Stars glittered through
openings to the blue sky, and the spent winds
were lulled! Only the roar of the subsiding
sea could be heard as it dashed lazily upon
the beach which it had so lately lashed with
terrific strokes.

Unable to rest Dona Anita and Jose once
more ascended to the roof. The scene was
wild but beautiful; and they stood a few moments
gazing upon the serene heavens, in
thankfulness for their escape.

`Alas, for the mariner,' said Anita. Some

vessel must have been in the destroyer's path.
I shudder at the fate of those on board!'

`No doubt, lady, the vessel we saw—the
topsail schooner that hove in sight just before
sun-down, and which looked to me like a
schooner of war, I have little doubt, lady, but
that she has gone down all standing! If she
lay in the course of the hurricane she is sure
to be lost! But the sea is the marriner's proper
grave, and the snowy lap of the storm-wave
his winding sheet!'

The day broke and the heaving of the sea
was the only sign of the late tempest. This
had not subsided even towards afternoon
when Dona Anita and Jose are discovered enjoying
their siesta as if nothing had transpired
to alarm them for their safety. The smiling,
though warm sun, the pearly clouds and
gentle breeze were the features of serene
weather, inviting to repose and tranquility.
Old Jose had swung his hammock in the arch
and left the door open towards the sea to
catch the cool breeze as he indulged in his
siesta and cigaritta. If he had been standing
in the door which commanded a view of the
pathway he might have seen a person slowly
making his way up the rocks from the beach.
As he came nearer he would have discovered
that he was without a hat, that his flowing
locks of light brown were wet with the brine,
and that his dress was also saturated with sea-water;
which dress was a blue naval undress
jacket, white pantaloons, and buff vest with
the small anchor button; which button was
also on his blue jacket. His feet were bare
and lacerated, and his appearance fatigue-worn.
Had he seen all this, Jose would have
set him down as a shipwrecked officer. But
being fast asleep he saw neither his approach
nor suspected it.

The young man, for he was not more than
five or six and twenty, if so old, approached
the open gate, across the entrance of which
lay fast asleep a negro whom Jose had stationed
there while he took his own repose.
The wanderer gazed at the high walls and
higher tower for a moment and then advanced
to the gate. He paused a moment as he saw
the black asleep, but stepping over him he
passed beneath the arch. As he proceeded he
saw Jose in his hammock; when finding him
also asleep he passed beneath it and found
himself in the patio or interior of the cása del
canfa. He looked around him with an eye of
curiosity and interest. He surveyed the sleeping
slaves in the corners; the fountain with
its refreshing waters; the orange and lemon
trees; the tesselated pavement; the rose and
crimson damask curtains of the long grated
windows; the foliage of a hundred flowers
waving in the soft breeze and the blue sky
over all. As he leaned against a column to
survey the place, in which he found himself,
his appearance was greatly in his favor.

His person though not tall was commanding,
although now bent a little with fatigue;
but there was an air of refinement and high-breeding
in his features and bearing that would
have showed without the aid of his officer's
undress uniform, that he was a gentleman, or
as Jose afterwards observed, `un coballero
noble.' His eye was a clear blue and expressive
of courage and sensibility His countenance
was altogether interesting, and invited
confidence. Notwithstanding his present
triste and disordered appearance he wore a
cheerful look and tranquil manner.

`This place into which I have wandered
seems to be the Castle of Sleep. Well, I need
sleep more than food and will even yield to
the potent influence of the spot. It will be
time enough when these wake for them to
find out who has intruded upon them and I to
find out where I am. Upon the roof I see the
top of a canopy. I will see if I can't find a
cool shade beneath it where I can rest my
weary limbs. With swimming and floating a
mile, and walking two leagues over rocks and
through forests, I am hardly able to mount the
stairs. The inhabitants are probably asleep
in their richly curtained chambers around, so
I shall be undisturbed upon the flat roof.
There are females here, for men never gather
flowers around them like these. Perhaps
young and beautiful senoritas. A pretty plight
I am in to be presented.'

As he spoke he left the column and ascended
a broad flight of stone stairs that led to an
interior balcony, from which by a half a dozen
more steps he reached the azotea or flat roof.
It was spacious and running all around the
patio, with the tower rising at one angle. In
the shadow of the tower, was the awning, the
canopy of which he had seen from below.
It was but a few feet distant from him.
Beneath its folds of azure silk he discovered
half hidden, the sleeping form of Anita, with
the slave seated by her couch also asleep!

He stood still in an attitude of surprise! He
gazed and then advancing a step continued to
gaze. One cheek and side of her face, was
presented to his view. He stood entranced
by its perfection. A gentle glow warmed the
delicate olive, and her rusty lips were pouted
with the beautiful voluptuous swell of a
child's. Her dark lashes lay in long and
surving fringes upon the cheek, and a tress
of her dark hair slept upon her snowy hand,
which by the contrast looked like an exquisite
piece of alabaster work. The elegant undulating
outline of her figure was perceptible in
all its bewildering beauty, and a small foot,
from which the slipper had fallen, of the most
lovely symmetry and diminutiveness, was
visible peeping beneath the vague folds of the
canopy.

He gazed with clasped hands in silent wonder!
He approached with noiseless tread—
nigher—nigher—and nigher still, emboldened
by the deep sluumber that had fallen upon
on her and upon the slave. He stood and
bent over her. He had forgotten his fatigue,
his bleeding feet! He traced the sculptured
outline of the faultless profile, the statue-like
beauty of the lovely head and moulded arm!
The expression of her face, too, charmed his
soul.

`Never have I beheld mortal beauty like
this,' he exclaimed. `If I were an idolater
this should be the object of my heart's worship.
Who can she be? What strange thread
of destiny have guided me hither! I have
found here my heart's ideal! At this shrine
shall terminate my heart's pilgrimage. She
moves! I will retire! Sleep is ready to overpower
me. I will recline here within the
shadows of this strange old red tower, for I
would have my last gaze upon her that she
may mingle in my dreams. Sleep! my eyes
are already closing! Great will be her surprise
on awaking to find me sleeping not far
from her! But I can remove no farther!'

He laid his head upon the pedestal of a gigantic
orange tree jar, and the next moment
was buried in profound sleep.