The Buccaneer Chief: A Romance of the Spanish Main

"It is strange," the young man muttered to himself; "what is the meaning of this mysterious absence?"

After this aside, the Count suddenly broke off the conversation and resumed the chase. They had been absent from the hatto for some hours, and had insensibly gone a very considerable distance; the sun was nearing the horizon, and the Count was preparing to turn back, when suddenly a great noise of breaking branches was heard at the skirt of the forest, from which they were only separated by a few shrubs, and several wild oxen dashed on to the savannah, pursued, or, to speak more correctly, hunted, by a dozen hounds, which barked furiously while snapping at them.

The oxen, seven or eight in number, passed like a tornado two horse lengths from the Count, to whom this unexpected apparition caused such a surprise, that he remained for a moment motionless, not knowing what to do.

The savage animals, still harassed by the hounds, which did not leave them, made a sudden wheel, and turning back, seemed trying to enter the forest at the spot where they had left it; but they had hardly resumed their flight in that direction, when a fusil was discharged, and a bull, struck in the head, fell dead on the ground.

At the same instant a man emerged in his turn from the forest, and walked up to the animal, which was lying motionless and nearly hidden in the tall grass, without appearing to notice the two Spaniards, and reloading as he walked along the long fusil he had, in all probability, just employed so adroitly.

This hunting episode was accomplished more quickly than it has taken us to describe it, so that Don Sancho had not quite recovered from his surprise, when the Major-domo bent down to his side and said in a low voice, half choked with terror —

"Excellency, you wanted to see a ladrón. Well, look carefully at that man, he is one."

Don Sancho was endowed with undaunted courage. When his first surprise had passed, he became again completely master of himself, and regained all his coolness.

After securing his seat on the saddle, he advanced slowly toward the stranger, while examining him curiously. He was a man still young, of middle height, but well and powerfully built; his regular, majestic, and rather handsome features displayed boldness and intelligence. Cold, heat, rain, and sunshine to which he had doubtless for a long time been exposed, had given his face a decided bistre hue; and although he wore his full beard, it was cut rather short.

His dress, of almost primitive simplicity, so to speak, was composed of two shirts, breeches, and jacket, all of canvas, but so covered with spots of blood and grease, that it was impossible to recognise its original colour. He wore a leathern belt, from which hung on one side a case of crocodile skin, containing four knives and a bayonet; on the other, a large calabash, stopped with wax, and a hide bag containing bullets. He wore across his shoulders a small coat of fine canvas, rolled up and reduced to its smallest compass; and in lieu of shoes, boots made of untanned oxhide. His long hair, fastened with a víbora skin, escaped from under a fur cap which covered his head, and was protected by a peak in front.

His fusil, whose barrel was four and a half feet in length, could be easily recognized through the strange form of its stock, as turned out by Brachie, of Dieppe, who with Gélin, of Nantes, had the monopoly of manufacturing arms for the adventurers. This fusil was of the calibre of sixteen to the pound.

The appearance of this man, thus armed and accoutred, had really something imposing and formidable about it.

You instinctively felt yourself in face of a powerful nature, of a chosen organization, accustomed only to reckon on oneself, and which no danger was great enough to astound or even affect.

While continuing to advance toward the bull, he took a side glance at the two horsemen; then, without paying any further attention to them, he whistled to his dogs, which at once gave up their pursuit of the herd, and after drawing a knife from his sheath, he began skinning the animal lying at his feet.

At this moment the Count came up to his side.

"Eh," he said to him in a sharp voice, "who are you, and what do you here?"

The buccaneer, for he was one, raised his head, looked sarcastically at the man who addressed him so peremptorily, and then shrugged his shoulders with disdain.

"Who I am?" he replied, mockingly; "You see that I am a buccaneer, and what I am doing. I am flaying a bull I have slain. What next?"

"I want to know by what right you hunt on my land?"

"Ah! This land is yours? I am very glad to hear it. Well, I am hunting here because I think proper. If that does not suit you, I feel sorry for it, my pretty gentleman."

"What do you mean?" the Count continued, haughtily; "And how do you dare to assume such a tone with me?"

"Probably, because it is the one that suits me best," the buccaneer replied, drawing himself up quickly; "go your road, my fine sir, and take some good advice; if you do not wish your handsome jerkin to be filled with broken bones within five minutes, do not trouble yourself about me more than I do about you, and leave me to attend to my business."

"I will not allow it," the young man answered, violently; "the land you are trespassing on so impertinently belongs to my sister, Doña Clara de Bejar; I will not suffer it to be invaded with impunity by vagabonds of your description. ¡Viva Dios! You will decamp at once, my master, or, if not – "

"If not?" the buccaneer asked, with eyes flashing fire, while the Major-domo, foreseeing a catastrophe, prudently glided behind his master.

As for the latter, he stood cool and impassive before the buccaneer, resolved to take the offensive vigorously, if he saw him make the slightest suspicious gesture. But, contrary to all expectation, the adventurer's menacing look became almost suddenly calm, his features resumed their usual expression of nonchalance; and it was in an almost friendly tone, in spite of its roughness, that he said —

"Halloh! What name was that you mentioned, if you please?"

"That of the owner of this savannah."

"I suppose so," the adventurer replied, laughing; "but may I ask you to repeat the name?"

"That is of no consequence, my master," the young man said disdainfully, for he fancied that his adversary was backing out of the quarrel; "the name I uttered is that of Doña Clara de Bejar of Sousa."

"Et cetera," the buccaneer said, with a laugh, "these devils of gavachos have names for every day in the year. Come, don't be angry, my young cock," he added, remarking the flush which the expression he had employed spread over the Count's face; "we are, perhaps, nearer an understanding than you imagine – what would you gain by a fight with me? Nothing; and you might, on the contrary, lose a great deal."

"I do not understand your words," the young man answered drily, "but I hope you are about to explain them."

"It will not take long, as you shall see," the other said tauntingly, and, turning to the forest, he raised his hands to his mouth in the shape of a speaking trumpet.

"Eh! L'Olonnais!" he shouted.

"Hola!" a man immediately answered, whom the denseness of the forest in which he was hidden rendered invisible.

"Come here, my son," the buccaneer continued, "I believe we have found your little matter."

"Ah, ah!" L'Olonnais, still invisible, replied, "I must have a look at it."

The young Count did not know what to think of this new incident which seemed about to change the state of affairs; he feared a coarse jest on the part of these half-savage men. He hesitated between giving way to the passion that was boiling within him, or patiently awaiting the result of the buccaneer's summons; but a secret foreboding urged him to restrain himself and act prudently with these men, who did not appear animated by an evil design against him, and whose manners, though quick and rough, were still friendly.

At this moment L'Olonnais appeared; he wore the same dress as the buccaneer: he advanced hurriedly toward the latter, and without troubling himself about the two Spaniards, asked him what he wanted, while throwing on the ground a wild bull's hide, which he was carrying on his shoulders.

"Did you not tell me something about a letter which Bowline sent you this morning by the hands of Omopoua?"

"It is true, Lepoletais. I spoke to you about it," he said, "and it was settled between us that as you know the country, you were to lead me to the person to whom I have to deliver this accursed slip of paper."

"Well, then, my son, if you like, your commission is performed," Lepoletais continued, as he pointed to Don Sancho, "he is the brother, or at least calls himself so, of the person in question."

"Stuff," L'Olonnais replied, fixing alight glance on the young man, "that gay springald?"

"Yes, he says so; for as you know, the Spaniards are such liars, that it is not possible even to trust to their word."

Don Sancho blushed with indignation.

"Who gave you the right to doubt mine?" he exclaimed.

"Nothing has done so up to the present, hence I am not addressing myself to you, but speaking generally."

"So," L'Olonnais asked him, "you are the brother of Doña Clara de Bejar, the mistress of the hatto del Rincón?"

"Once again, yes, I am her brother."

"Good! And how will you prove it to me?"

The young man shrugged his shoulders.