The Buccaneer Chief: A Romance of the Spanish Main

His marriage with Doña Clara had been at the outset an affair of convenience and ambition, but gradually, through admiring the charming face of the woman he had married, seeing her gentle eyes fixed on him, and hearing her melodious voice resound in his ear, he had grown to love her – love her madly. Like all men accustomed to shut up and concentrate in their hearts the feelings that possessed them, the passion he experienced for Doña Clara had acquired proportions the more formidable, because the unhappy man had the desperate conviction that it would never be shared by the woman who was the object of it. All Don Stenio's advances had been so peremptorily rejected by his wife, that he at last made up his mind to abstain from them.

But, like all disappointed lovers, this gentleman, who was at the same time the husband – a very aggravating fact in the species, was naturally too infatuated with his own merit, to attribute his defeat to himself, and hence had looked around to discover the fortunate rival who had robbed him of his wife's heart.

Naturally the Count had not succeeded in finding this fancied rival, who only existed in his own imagination, and this had grown into a jealousy, the more ferocious because, as it did not know whom to settle on, it attacked everybody.

The Count was jealous, then, not like a Spaniard, for the Spaniards generally, whatever may be said to the contrary, are not affected by that stupid malady, but like an Italian; and this jealousy made him suffer the more, because, like his love, he was unable to show it; through fear of ridicule, he was compelled to lock it up carefully in his heart.

When, owing to his protection – as had been arranged on his marriage with Doña Clara, of whose previous union with the Count de Barmont he was ignorant – his father-in-law, the Duc de Peñaflor, was appointed viceroy of New Spain, and himself obtained the government of Hispaniola, the Count experienced a feeling of indescribable joy, and an immense comfort inundated his mind. He was persuaded that in America, his wife, separated from her friends and relatives, forced, to live alone, and consequently to undergo his influence, would be driven through weariness and want of something better to do, to share his love, or at least accept it: and then again, on the islands there was no rivalry to fear among a half savage population entirely absorbed by a passion far more powerful than love – a passion for money.

Alas! This time too, he was deceived. Doña Clara, it is true, gave him no more pretext for jealousy than she had done in Spain, but he did not any the more succeed in winning her affections. From the first day of her arrival at Saint Domingo, she manifested the desire to live alone and in retirement, engaged in religious practices; and the Count was constrained, in spite of his fury, to bow before a resolution which he recognised as irrevocable.

He resigned himself; his jealousy however was not extinct, it was smouldering beneath the ashes, and a spark would suffice to make it burst into a more terrible flame than before.

Still, in spite of this slight annoyance, the life the Count led at Saint Domingo was most agreeable; in the first place he ruled there in his quality of governor, saw everybody bend beneath his will, always excepting his wife, the only one perhaps he would have cared to reduce. He had his flatterers, and played the master and suzerain over all who surrounded him; moreover, a thing not to be at all despised, his position as governor secured certain imposts that rapidly augmented his fortune, which various youthful follies had considerably reduced, and he now worked hard, not only to repair the breaches, but to render them as if they had never been.

By degrees, however, the Count succeeded in lulling, if not subduing, his love; he employed one passion to uproot the other; the care of augmenting his fortune made him endure patiently the calculated indifference of the Countess. He had almost come himself to believe that he only felt for her a frank and sincere friendship; the more so because Doña Clara for her part, was charming in everything that did not touch on her husband's passion for her; she took an interest, or at least pretended to do so, in the commercial speculations which the Count did not hesitate to engage in under suppositious names, and at times she would give him, with that clear judgment so eminently possessed by women whose heart is free, excellent advice on very difficult points, by which the Count profited, and naturally took all the glory.

Things were in this state when the episode with the filibusters occurred, which the Major-domo described to Don Sancho de Peñaflor.

This mad struggle of five men against an entire town, a struggle from which they emerged victorious, had caused the Count a rage all the greater, because the filibusters, on leaving the town, had taken the Countess off with them as a hostage. He had then understood how greatly he erred, in supposing that his love and jealousy were extinguished. During the two hours that the Countess remained absent, the Count suffered a horrible torture, the more horrible because the rage he felt was impotent, and vengeance impossible, at least for the present.

Hence, from this moment, the Count vowed an implacable hatred against the adventurers, and swore to carry on a merciless war against them.

The return of the Countess safe and sound, and treated with the greatest respect by the adventurers, during the time she remained in their power, calmed the Count's wrath from a marital point of view, but the insult he had received in his quality as governor, was too grave for him to renounce his vengeance.

From this moment the most formal orders were sent to the leaders of corps to redouble their surveillance, and chase the adventurers, wherever they met them; fresh Fifties, formed of resolute men, were organized, and the few adventurers they contrived to catch, were mercilessly hung. Tranquillity was re-established in the colonies, the confidence of the colonists, momentarily disturbed, reappeared, and everything apparently returned to its accustomed state.

The Countess had expressed a desire to restore her health by a stay of several weeks at the hatto del Rincón, and the Count, to whom her physician had expressed this wish, found it only very natural; he had seen his wife go away with an easy mind, for he was convinced that at the spot whither she was going, she would have no danger to fear, and felt persuaded in his heart that this condescension on his part, would be appreciated by the Countess, and that she would feel thankful to him for it.

She had left therefore, only accompanied by a few servants and confidential slaves, delighted to escape for some time from the restraint she was obliged to impose on herself at Saint Domingo, and fostering the bold scheme which we have seen her carry out so successfully.

It was about an hour after the departure of Don Sancho de Peñaflor, to go and join his sister at the hatto; the Count was finishing his breakfast, and preparing to retire to the inner boudoir to enjoy his siesta, when an usher came into the dining room, and after apologizing for disturbing His Excellency at this moment, informed him that a man who refused to give his name, but declared that he was well known to the governor, insisted on being introduced into his presence, as he had most important communications to make to him.

The moment was badly chosen to ask for an audience, as the Count felt inclined to sleep; he answered the usher that, however important the stranger's communications might be, he did not believe them of such importance that he should sacrifice his siesta for them; he therefore Sent a message to the effect that the governor would not be at liberty till four in the afternoon, and if the stranger liked to return then he would be received.

The Count dismissed the usher, and rose, muttering to himself as he walked towards the boudoir, —

"Dios me salve, if I were to believe all these scamps, I should not have a moment's rest."

Whereupon he stretched himself in a large hammock, hung right across the room, closed his eyes and fell asleep.

The Count's siesta lasted three hours, and this delay was the cause of serious complications.

On waking, Don Stenio quite forgot all about the stranger; it so often happened that he was disturbed for nothing by people who declared they had urgent matters to discuss with him, that he did not attach the slightest importance to their requests for an audience, and the usher's words had completely slipped his memory.

At the time when he entered the room where he usually granted his audiences, and which at this moment was quite empty, the usher presented himself again.

"What do you want?" he asked him.

"Excellency," the usher replied with a respectful bow, "the man has returned."

"What man?"

"The man who came this morning."

"Oh yes, well, what does he want?" the Count continued, who did not know what all this was about.

"He desires, my lord, that you will do him the honour of receiving him, as he states that he has matters of the utmost gravity to tell you."

"Ah, very good, I remember now; it is the same man you announced this morning."

"Yes, Excellency, the same."

"And what is his name?"

"He will only tell it to your Excellency."

"Hum! I do not like such precautions, for they never forbode anything good; listen, José! When he arrives, tell him I never receive people who insist on keeping their incognito."

"But he is here, my lord."

"Ah! well then, it will be all the more easy, tell him so at once."

And he turned his back. The usher bowed and left the room, but returned almost immediately.

"Well! Have you sent him away?" the Count asked.

"No, my lord, he gave me this card requesting me to hand it your Excellency. He declares that, in default of his name, it will be sufficient to secure his admission to your presence."

"Oh! Oh!" said the Count, "That is curious, let me see this famous talisman."

He took the card from the usher's hand and looked at it absently; but all at once he started, frowned and said to the usher,

"Show the man into the yellow room, let him wait for me there, I will be with him in a moment. The deuce," he muttered to himself when he was alone, "it is a long time since this scoundrel let me hear anything of him, I fancied him hung or drowned; he is a clever scamp, can he really have any important information to give me? We shall see."

Then, leaving the room in which he was, he hastened to the yellow saloon where the man with the card already was.

On seeing the governor, the latter hastily rose, and made him a respectful bow.

The Count turned to the valet who had followed him to open the doors.

"I am not at home to anybody," he said; "you can go."

The valet left the room, and shut the door after him.

"Now for us two," the Count said, as he sank into his chair, and pointed to another.

"I am awaiting your lordship's orders," the stranger said respectfully.