by Doug Walker
CHAPTER THREE
While new rumors rose and fell with the daily tides, García managed to convince Juanita Tera’s family that he was of noble stock and dropped hints that he might be called “Don,” and even someday the title “Grandee” could be his. He felt these exaggerations were only slight and the means to an end that was, in his mind, honorable. He had only one document to back up his ancestry, but it was obviously authentic and difficult to track down because of the hodge podge of regional Spanish rivalries.
And with the young lady herself, his advances were well received, but always under the watchful eye of her dueña. But that was one condition of which he approved. After all, his quest, his perilous quest, was in search of a girl of great purity. Juanita had all the sparkle of a bubbling brook. Her skin was ivory, her hair auburn, tied up with a red velvet band and reaching almost to her waist. Her mouth was wide and expressive. To García she was perfection.
Ancestry was important in Spain, but not everything. “God made men, not lineages,” was often expressed. There was a rising interest in education that fired the rivalry between arms and letters. A great Baroque poet of the day wrote, “Ducats make dukedoms and crowns coronets.”
Most of the important lineages of the period were descended from warriors of the northern mountains who had seen battle in earlier civil wars. And it was of this noble race that García’s sole document placed his ancestry.
Then one day the sky fell. And, as Poncho had surmised, it was Lieutenant Hidalgo’s doing.
“I have been speaking with the adjutant general about you,” Hidalgo said one peaceful afternoon. “He would like to see you in his office tomorrow morning.”
“A posting?” García questioned.
“He did not confide in me, my friend. Tomorrow all will be revealed.”
And so it was the following day in the office of the adjutant general, García heard a short lesson in history. Although it was still morning, the adjutant sipped sweet wine. García had brought Poncho along, and the early conversation was of the small canine. Such a pint-sized beast was new to Spain.
“In September of 1565,” the adjutant began, “Pedro Menendez de Aviles set foot on the east coast of La Florida and began founding the Presidio of San Augustin.”
García nodded. He knew well this bit of history. The location was an important defense of the trade route to Europe and the Bahamas Channel (the Gulf Stream) and would also serve as La Florida’s territorial capital and defend the northern reaches of the Spanish Empire.
A wooden fort was constructed. It seemed that word had just arrived in Madrid that the Englishman that Queen Elizabeth called Sir Francis Drake had recently attacked the town and the fort, and before departing had burned both to the ground.
“We cannot abide this sort of mischief from the heretic English,” the adjutant said. “I have talked at length with Lieutenant Hidalgo, and he is generous in praising your judgment and military ability. You are a leader of men!”
These words came as a surprise to both García and Poncho. Poncho was the only beimg García had ever led, and that on simple daily walks for sanitary purposes. Poncho was instantly aware of Hidalgo’s perfidy. He knew a scheme was underway.
“I am grateful for his words, but perhaps his faith is slightly misplaced.”
“You are a sound man. A humble and no doubt devout Catholic man.” This startled García because he had neglected religion even though he was aware of its importance. It was a glaring error that he must soon correct.
The adjutant went on to say that it had been decided to post García to San Agustin, to promote him to captain and to put him at the head of a body of men to rebuild and defend the fort. He added that early plans were underway to build a masonry fort, and even though a single block had not yet been laid, it would be called Castillo de San Marcos.
The news shattered García and did nothing to help Poncho’s disposition. Both knew Florida was a vast wasteland populated by alligators and hordes of mosquitoes. Disease and famine were daily messmates. The heat and humidity could push one over the brink of sanity. Then there were the seasonal hurricanes that swept away all in their path.
“What can I say,” García replied. “Except that I am unworthy of this great honor. Surely there is a skilled engineer better equipped to handle this task. I am but a humble soldier.”
The adjutant smiled. “Exactly what Spain needs, a fighting man to defend the fort and deal with this heretic Drake and those like him. There will be laborers who know construction. Congratulations, Captain Pedro García!”
Left with no choice, García felt he could at least do a favor for Lieutenant Hidalgo. “Thank you. I feel I will be well armed and prepared for this mission if you will grant me one favor.”
“And what might that be?”
“That Lieutenant Hidalgo be at my side as second in command.”
The adjutant rose from his desk and seized García’s hand. “Granted, great defender of the faith and deliverer of the True Church to the pagans of La Florida. Granted. You are the flower of Spanish nobility.”
García and Poncho returned to their quarters. “There is always a way out,” the new captain said to his canine friend. Knowing the way the wheels moved, he guessed it would be some time before he departed for his new assignment. Getting to the coast would consume quite a bit of time.
Just before lunch Hidalgo showed up and questioned García about his meeting with the adjutant. García feigned reluctance to answer, but finally said, “I have been promoted to captain.”
Hidalgo’s face fell in displeasure. “You have simply been promoted to captain?”
“Why, yes. What did you expect?”
Hidalgo stammered. “Why, nothing my friend. It was a great mystery. I congratulate you. But there was nothing else?”
“Oh, yes. I am posted to San. Augustin, Florida, to rebuild and defend a wooden fort, apparently destroyed by the pirate, Francis Drake.”
Hidalgo smiled. “Sir Francis Drake, a favorite of the English queen.”
“That’s the one. The fort is important to our trade routes and acts as the northern defense of our New World Empire.”
“That’s true,” Hidalgo agreed. “I’ve heard it’s extremely hot over there. And there is disease, and occasionally the lack of food and other provisions makes for uncomfortable living. But you are a brave man and you will do fine.”
Hidalgo was grinning broadly now as he made preparations for the noon meal.
“No braver than you,” García said. “You will accompany me as my second in command. I’m sorry you weren’t promoted. But the honor of serving Spain in Florida shines brightly in your favor.”
“This can’t be,” Hidalgo said. “Why wasn’t I told of this? It can’t be!”
“My friend, my companion in arms, I’m telling you now. This is your captain speaking. Shall we lunch together?”
Hidalgo rubbed his forehead, his bronze face noticeably pale. “I have little appetite. Perhaps a taste of wine.” He went to the cupboard, extracted a clay goblet and poured it full with sherry. “You go ahead. I think I’ll just stay here and drink.”
That evening, García had dinner with his precious Juanita Tera’s family and afterwards sat in the garden. Stars were above and a waxing moon was on the rise. The time was nearly midnight, not late by Spanish standards. On occasion he had touched the young lady’s hand, but nothing more. The dueña, a woman of middle years, her hands always occupied with some sort of needlework, knitting, tatting or embroidery, (García could not tell the difference) sat nearby.
He bent toward Juanita’s ear. “My darling, I would like you as my bride.”
Juanita gave him a sidelong glance, then studied her hands. “That would be a question for my father.”
“But it is your approval that I seek.”
“You are presumptuous. Such decisions are not mine to make.”
“You would abide by your father’s wishes?”
“I must.”
“B
ut my affection for you is deep. I would not want you as a bride unless you were in agreement.”
“Then you must seek my father’s blessing.”
“I take that as a yes.”
“You may take it as you wish. But you mustn’t tell my father that I have said yes.”
“I see.”
“You must know these rules. You are a Spanish cavalier. You are too direct.”
“But it is your heart and hand I seek, my darling. We must be in accord.”
She smiled and her lips moved toward his. The dueña cleared her throat. “Talk to my father. Don’t tarry.”
García returned to his quarters the happiest of men. He had won the heart of the fair Juanita, a maiden of exquisite purity. It was his dream fulfilled. Soon he would talk with her father and later turn his concern to the wretched coast of Florida with its burning heat and insect-infested, unwholesome thickets. The thought of a long sea voyage to that end of the earth on a cramped and leaky wooden sailing vessel sickened him.
Seeking an audience with Juanita’s father, he was put off several times, but at last managed a meeting with the man of both wealth and nobility. As a captain in the King’s service with noble antecedents, García had some status. The father, a perfect picture of nobility, dressed in velvet set off by flashes of satin and embellished with lace, put him off, but bid him to come again. Perhaps he guessed what was coming.
