The Buccaneer Chief: A Romance of the Spanish Main

"That is true," Doña Clara said, as she dismounted and knelt by the side of the wounded man. "Poor fellow! What frightful suffering he must be enduring."

"Can you not tell us anything, then?" Don Sancho asked.

"Almost nothing," the chief replied, "this is all that I know."

And he narrated in what way the monk had been confided to him, and how he had served as his guide, till they met the white men, when the monk discharged him for the purpose of joining them.

"But," he added, "I know not why, some secret foreboding seemed to warn me not to leave him: hence, instead of going away I hid myself in the shrubs, and witnessed, unseen, the tortures they had him undergo, while insisting on his revealing to them a secret, which he refused to divulge. Conquered by his constancy, they at length abandoned him half dead. Then I rushed from my hiding place, and flew to his help. That is all I know; I am a chief, I have no forked tongue, and a falsehood has never sullied the lips of Omopoua."

"Forgive me, Chief, the improper language I used at the first moment; I was blinded by anger and sorrow," said Don Sancho, holding out his hand.

"The paleface is young," the chief replied with a smile; "his tongue moves more quickly than his heart;" then he took the hand so frankly offered him, and pressed it cordially.

"Oh, oh!" the Major-domo said, with a shake of his head, and leaning over to Don Sancho's ear, "If I am not greatly mistaken, Don Stenio is mixed up in this affair."

"It is not possible," Don Sancho replied, with horror.

"You do not know your brother-in-law, Excellency; his is a weak nature, and all such are cruel; believe me, I am certain of what I state."

"No, no, it would be too frightful."

"Good Heaven," Doña Clara said, at this moment, "we cannot remain here any longer, and yet I should not like to abandon the poor man."

"Let us take him with us," Don Sancho quickly remarked.

"But will his wounds permit him to endure the fatigue of a long ride?"

"We are almost at our journey's end," the Major-domo said, and then, turning to the Carib, added —

"We are going to the bivouac of the two buccaneers, who were hunting on the savannah yesterday."

"Very good;" said the chief, "I will lead the palefaces by a narrow road, and they will arrive ere the sun reaches the edges of the horizon."

Doña Clara and her brother remounted. The monk was cautiously placed in front of the Major-domo, and the small party set out again at a foot pace, under the guidance of the Carib chief.

Poor Fray Arsenio gave no other signs of existence but deep sighs, which at intervals heaved his chest, and stifled groans torn from him by suffering.

At the end of three quarters of an hour they reached the boucan, by the near cut, which Omopoua indicated to them.

It was empty, but not deserted, as was proved by the bull hides, still stretched out on the ground, and held down by pegs, and the boucaned meat suspended from the forks of the branches.

The adventurers were probably away, hunting.

The travellers were considerably annoyed by this contretemps, but Omopoua relieved them of their embarrassment.

"The palefaces need not be anxious," he said, "the chief will warn his friends, the white franiis– in their absence the paler faces can use, without fear, everything they find here."

And, joining example to precept, the Carib prepared a bed of dry leaves, which he covered with skins, and, with the Major-domo's aid, carefully laid the wounded man upon it; then he lit a fire, and after, for the last time repeating to the fugitives the assurance that they had nothing to fear, he went off, gliding like a snake through the tall grass.

The Major-domo, who was tolerably well acquainted with the manners of the adventurers, with whom he had had some relations, though always against his will, for, brave though he was, or boasted of being, they inspired him with a superstitious terror – reassured the others as to their position, by declaring to them, that hospitality was so sacred with the buccaneers, that, if they were their most inveterate foes instead of quasi guests, as they had only come on their formal invitation, they would have nothing to apprehend from them.

In the meanwhile, thanks to the attention which Doña Clara had not ceased to bestow on him, the poor monk had returned to his senses. Although very weak at first, he gradually regained sufficient strength to impart to Doña Clara all that happened to him since their separation. This narration, whose conclusion coincided in the minutest details with that previously made by the Carib, plunged Doña Clara into a state of stupefaction, which soon changed into horror, when she reflected on the terrible dangers that menaced her.

In truth, what help could she expect? Who would dare to protect her against her husband, whose high position and omnipotence would annihilate every effort she might make to escape from his vengeance.

"Courage," the monk murmured, with a tender commiseration, "courage, my daughter, above man there is God. Have confidence in Him; He will not abandon you: and if everything fail you, He will come to your assistance, and interfere in your favour."

Doña Clara, in spite of her perfect faith in the power of Providence, only replied to this consolation by tears and sobs; she felt herself condemned.

Don Sancho was hurriedly walking up and down in the front of the ajoupa, twisting his moustache, stamping his foot passionately, and revolving in his head the maddest projects.

"Bah," he muttered, at last, "if that demon will not listen to reason, I will blow out his brains, and that will settle everything."

And highly pleased at having, after so many vain researches, discovered this expeditious mode of saving his sister from the violence, which the desire of vengeance would probably suggest to Don Stenio, the young man lit a cigarette, and patiently awaited the return of the buccaneers, feeling now quite calm and perfectly reassured about the future.

The Major-domo, who was almost indifferent as to what was going on around him, and delighted with the hope of the promised thousand piastres, had turned the time to a good use. Reflecting that on their return, the buccaneers, doubtless, would not be sorry to find their breakfast ready, he had placed in front of the fire an iron pot, in which he placed an enormous lump of meat, to boil, with a reasonable quantity of water; in lieu of bread, he had thrust several ignamas under the ashes, and then busied himself with preparing the pimentado, that absolutely necessary sauce for every buccaneer meal.

The fugitives had held possession of the boucan for nearly an hour and a half, when they heard furious barking, and some twenty dogs rushed howling toward them: but a sharp, though still distant whistle recalled them, and they went off again as quickly as they had come.

A few minutes later, the Spaniards perceived the two buccaneers; they were running up with a surprising speed, although both bore a load weighing upwards of a hundredweight, and were in addition embarrassed by their weapons and hunting equipment.

Their first care, on arriving at the boucan, was to throw on the ground the eight or ten fresh bull hides, till reeking with blood and grease, which they brought, and they then advanced toward the strangers, who, on their side, had risen to receive them.

The dogs, as if they had understood that they must maintain a strict neutrality, were lying on the grass, but kept their flashing eyes fixed on the Spaniards, probably ready to spring at their throat upon the first signal.

"You are welcome at the ajoupa," Lepoletais said, doffing his hat with a politeness that could hardly have been expected on seeing his rough appearance. "So long as you like to remain here, you will be regarded as our brothers; whatever we possess is yours, dispose of it as you think proper, as well as of our arms, should an occasion offer for you to demand our help."

"I thank you in the name of my companions, caballero, and accept your kind proposal," Doña Clara answered.

"A woman!" Lepoletais exclaimed, in surprise, "Pardon me, Madam, for not recognizing you at once."

"I am, caballero, Doña Clara de Bejar, to whom, as I was informed, you have a letter to deliver."

"In that case doubly welcome, madam; as for the note in question, I have not the charge of it, but my comrade."

"Zounds," L'Olonnais exclaimed, who had gone up to the wounded man, "Omopoua certainly told us that this poor devil of a monk had been almost dismasted, but I did not expect to find him in so pitiable a state."

"Well," Lepoletais remarked with a frown, "I am not a very religious man, but hang me if I should not hesitate to treat a monk in this way; only a pagan is capable of committing such a crime."

Then, with a truly filial attention, which the Spaniards admired, the rude adventurer set to work, offering some relief to the wounded man's intolerable sufferings, in which he entirely succeeded, owing to a long practice in treating wounds of every description, and Fray Arsenio soon fell into an invigorating sleep.

During this time L'Olonnais had handed to Doña Clara the letter which Montbarts had entrusted to him for her, and the young lady had withdrawn a little for the purpose of reading it.

"Come, come," L'Olonnais said gaily, as he tapped the Major-domo's shoulder, "that is what I call a sensible lad, he has thought of the substantials; breakfast is ready."

"If that be the case," Lepoletais said, with a significant wink to his comrade; "we will eat double tides, for we shall have work before long."

"Shall we not wait the return of the Indian chief?" Don Sancho asked.