The Buccaneer Chief: A Romance of the Spanish Main

"You terrify me, Clara; what do you mean? Explain yourself."

"Not at present, my dear Sancho, not at present, for the time has not arrived; so be patient. You know that I never had any secrets from you, for you alone have always loved me. I wrote to you to come that I might reveal this secret to you: in three days at the latest you shall know all, and then – "

"Then?" he said, looking at her intently.

"Then you shall measure, as I do, the immense depth of the gulf into which I have fallen; but enough of this subject for the present, I am suffering terribly, so let us talk of something else."

"Most willingly, my dear Clara; but what shall we talk about?"

"Well, whatever you like, dear, the rain, the fine weather, your journey, or anything of that sort."

Don Sancho understood that his sister was suffering from extreme nervous excitement, and that he would aggravate her already very serious condition by not acceding to her wishes; hence he made no objection, but readily yielded to her caprice.

"Well then," he said, "my dear Clara, since that is the case, I will take advantage of the opportunity to ask you to give me some information."

"What is it brother? I live in great seclusion as you see, and doubt whether I can satisfy you, but speak all the same."

"You know, little sister, that I am a stranger in Hispaniola, where I only arrived four days ago, and then for the first time."

"That is true; you have never visited the island; what do you think of it?"

"It is frightful, that is to say admirable; frightful as regards roads, and admirable for scenery: you see that my proposition is not so illogical as it at first appeared."

"In truth the roads are not convenient."

"Say that there are none, and you will tell the truth.";

"You are severe."

"No, I am only just; if you had seen what magnificent roads we possess in Mexico, you would be of my opinion; but that is not the point at present."

"What is it then?"

"Why, the information I want of you."

"Ah, that is true, I forgot it; but explain yourself, I am listening."

"This is it. Just imagine when I embarked at Veracruz to come here, all the persons to whom I announced my departure invariably answered me with a desperate agreement: – 'Ah! you are going to Hispaniola, Señor Don Sancho de Peñaflor, hum, hum, take care.' On board the vessel I constantly heard the officers muttering among themselves 'keep a good watch, take care.' At last I reached St. Domingo; my first care was, as I told you, to go to the Count de Bejar, your husband, who received me as kindly as he is capable of doing; but when I announced my intention of coming to join you here, he frowned, and his first words were 'the deuce, Don Sancho, you want to go to the hatto, take care, take care.' It was enough to drive me mad; this sinister warning which everywhere and at all hours echoed in my ears infuriated me. I did not try to obtain any explanation from your husband, as I should not have succeeded; but I inwardly resolved to get to the bottom of this ill-omened phrase so soon as the opportunity presented itself. It did present itself soon, but I am no further advanced than I was before, and hence apply to you to solve the riddle."

"But I am waiting for your explanation, for I confess that up to the present I have not understood a word you have been saying."

"Very good, let me finish. I had scarce set out with the slaves your husband lent me, when I saw the scamps constantly turn their heads to the right and left, with a look of terror. At first I attached no great importance to this; but they ran away on seeing a magnificent wild boar. I felt a fancy to shoot it, which I did by the way, and have brought it here. When these unlucky Negroes saw me cock my fusil they fell at my knees, clasping their hands with terror, and exclaiming in a most lamentable voice, – 'Take care, Excellency, take care!' 'What must I take care of, you scoundrels?' I exclaimed in exasperation. 'The ladrones, Excellency, the ladrones!' I could obtain no other explanation from them but this; but I hope, little sister, that you will be kind enough to tell me who these formidable ladrones are."

He bent over her; but Doña Clara, with her eyes widely dilated, her arms stretched out and her features distorted, fixed upon him such an extraordinary look, that he recoiled in horror.

"The ladrones, the ladrones!" she twice repeated in a shrill voice; "Oh! have pity, brother."

She rose to her full height, advanced a few paces mechanically, and fell fainting on the floor.

"What is the meaning of this?" the young man asked himself, as he rushed forward to raise her.

CHAPTER XXI

THE MAJOR-DOMO'S STORY

Don Sancho, feeling very anxious about the state in which he saw his sister, hastily summoned her women who at once flocked around her. He confided her to their care, and retired to the apartment prepared for him, while ordering that he should be immediately warned so soon as Doña Clara displayed any signs of recovery.

Don Sancho de Peñaflor was a charming cavalier, gay, merry, enjoying life and repulsing with the egotism of his age and rank, every grief and even every annoyance.

Belonging to one of the first families of the Spanish aristocracy, destined to be one day immensely rich, and through his name to hold the highest offices and make one of those magnificent marriages of convenience, which render diplomatists so happy, by leaving their minds perfectly free for grand political combinations, – he strove, as far as lay in his power, to check the beating of his heart, and not to trouble by any unusual passion, the bright serenity of his existence. Captain in the army, while awaiting something better, and to have the air of doing something, he had followed his father as aide-de-camp to Mexico, when the latter was appointed viceroy of New Spain. But, being yet too young to regard life seriously and be ambitious, he had turned his attention to gambling and flirtations since his arrival in America, which greatly annoyed the Duke, for as the latter had passed the age of love, he had no mercy for young men sacrificing to the idol which he had himself worshipped for so long.

Don Sancho was generally an excellent hearted fellow and good companion, but affected, like all the Spaniards of that period, and perhaps of the present, by caste prejudices, regarding the Negroes and Indians as beasts of burden, created for his use, and disdaining to conceal the contempt and disgust he felt for these disinherited races.

In a word, Don Sancho, in accordance with the precept of his family, always looked above him and never below; he endured his equals, but established an impassable barrier of pride and disdain between himself and his inferiors.

Still, perhaps unconsciously, – for we will not give him the merit of it, – a tender feeling had glided into the cold atmosphere in which he was condemned to live, had penetrated to his heart, and at times threatened to overthrow all his transcendental theories about egotism.

This feeling was nothing else than the affection he felt for his sister, – an affection which might pass for adoration, for it was so truly devoted, respectful and disinterested; to please his sister he would have attempted impossibilities; a simple word that fell from her lips rendered him pliant and obedient as a slave; a desire she manifested became at once an order for him as serious, and perhaps more so, than if it had emanated from the King of Spain and the Indies, although that magnificent potentate haughtily flattered himself that the sun never set on his dominions.

The first words the Count uttered so soon as he found himself alone in his apartment, will show his character better than anything we can add.

"Well," he exclaimed as he sank despairingly into an easy chair, "instead of passing a few days agreeably here as I expected, I shall be obliged to listen to Clara's complaints and console her; the deuce take unhappy people, it really seems as if they had made agreement to trouble my tranquillity."

At the expiration of about three-quarters of an hour, a black slave came to inform him that Doña Clara had regained her senses, but still felt so weak and faint, that she begged him to refrain from seeing her that evening.

The young man was in his heart well pleased at the liberty granted him by his sister, and which dispensed him from recurring to a conversation which possessed no charm for him.

"Very good," he said to the slave, "give my respects to my sister, and order my supper to be served here; you will at the same time request the Major-domo to come to me as I want to speak to him. Begone!"

The slave went out and left him alone.

The young Count then threw himself back in his chair, stretched out his legs and plunged, not into any reverie, but into that state of somnolency which is neither waking or sleeping, during which the mind seems to wander in unknown regions, and which the Spaniards call a siesta.

While he was in this state, the slaves laid the table, being careful not to disturb him, and covered it with exquisite dishes.

But soon the steam of the dishes placed before him recalled the young man to the reality, he drew himself up and seated himself at the table.

"Why has not the Major-domo come," he asked, "have you neglected to tell him?"

"Pardon, Excellency, but the Major-domo is absent at this moment," a slave respectfully answered.

"Absent – for what motive?"

"He is paying his usual evening visit to the grounds, but will soon return; if your Excellency will be good enough to have a little patience, you will soon see him."

"Very good, although I do not understand the urgency of this visit. There are no wild beasts here, I suppose?"

"No, Excellency, thank heaven!"