`Sure! Hopes? What am I to understand, Diego?' asked the prisoner who had listened with profound surprise, and apparently bewildered to comprehend him.
`Sure of assisting you; giving you hopes of escaping.'
`Of this there is no prospect. You see I am heavily chained and that a sentinel always stands at my door.'
`That I know. But chains and sentinels cannot keep those whom love would make tree.'
`How mean you, Diego? You talk mysteriously. Your presence here confounds me. Relate all!'
`In a few words. I shipped on board of the frigate as soon as I found you were arrested and taken on board. I was resolved not to let you go without a friend. I hoped something might turn up by which Diego could prove to you that he is not ungrateful. You saved my life, Don Waltero. I was ready to risk mine, if need were, to save yours!'
`Faithful and good friend! But I fear you have come this long passage in vain. You alone can do little, Diego. You see they regard me as no common prisoner. They do not mean I shall escape.'
`But I mean you shall, senor.'
`You speak positively. What hope can you give me? Seeing you, seems like half regaining my liberty? And so, unknown to me my truest friend has been on board all this dreary passage.'
`I would have visited you sooner to cheer you up, Don Waltero, but I thought it best to keep periectly quiet till something was sure.'
`Then from your coming to see me you would imply that you have something sure?' said the young man eagerly, his fine (though very pale) countenance lighting up with animation and hope.
Diego smiled; and then pointing warningly to the door outside of which the sentinel was posted he said,
`poco a paco, senor? If you speak so loud even the noise of the young gentlemen in the ward-room will hardly drown your voice. I have something certain. I have come to see you to let you know there is a plan on foot to aid your escape, and that you have friends at hand you little suspect!'
The prisoner warmly embraced the hand of the faithful Spaniard and said,
`Bless you and them with you! Liberty— life! Oh, Diego these are sweet sounds to my ear! But above all the hope of escaping a felon's death in my native land! Do you bid me hope? Remember that we are now in port. To-morrow I shall exchange the frigate for the cell of a prison on shore. Can you bid me hope to escape! If it is to be achieved it must be done by night and this night! No, Diego. This is too sudden! too short a time for me to believe I can gain my liberty in it! to escape from death in! Freedom between this and dawn! No, Diego you mock me!'
`If senor were able to look from the deck and see what I have seen to night he would hope!
`What have you seen?'
Before Diego could reply the door of the room opened and the sentinel thrust in his head with a lantern held in his hand. The active Spaniard had heard the first touch upon the door and swung himself from the port before he was discovered.
`Sure, and I thought I heard a vice here, yer honor,' said the marine, looking round as he elevated his lantern.
`You often hear my voice, Mooney. Is it new to you?' demanded the young man haughtily.
The lantern now rendered apparent what the indistinct light did not permit to be visible before that the prisoner wore the uniform ofa lieutenant with the buttons cut off! He had long flowing light brown or auburn hair, a clear, fearless blue eye, a finely expressive mouth, and a look at once calm and determined. He was about two and twenty tall and manly, with an air more martial than seaman like, yet he also looked, as he was, every inch the sailor. No one could look upon him without a feeling of prepossession in his favor. Yet he was chained there like a felon! What extraordinary circumstances could have brought one whom nature and education had formed to interest the most indifferent, to such a position? The reader will soon be informed in due detail.
The sentinel after looking carefully around the room, under the gun and even peeping into the muzzle, went slowly out again mut tering,
`I would have sworn I hearn two vices in here!'
`You hear as you see, David, when you are drunk,' said the prisoner not a little gratified at Diego's escape.
`How is that, Mr. Nevil?'
`Double.'
The marine scrowled, and then said,
`You may have your talk free now, sir, and wilcome, for its few watches more I'm thinkin yer honor'll be after kapein'. Its a pity sich a young gintleman should be stretching hemp wid his neck instead o' wid his hands in pullin' ropes which yer honor's more used to. Its a bad law as makes a capstan o' a Christian's neck. Sorra me! its a pity any how, for yer honor's sake!'
`You seem to have made up your mind to hang me, Mooney,' he said with a smile.
`Not me is it, but the Captain and the gintlemen. Its iviry sowl o' thim as says ye'll be hanged without judge or jury.'
The young man laughed, as he replied turning on his heel,
`It is to hang me with judge and jury, David, that I am brought home in the frigate.'
`Will any how, yer honor takes it easy,' said the marine as he shouldered his musket and closed the door. Hardly had the door shut begore Diego reappeared in the port and swinging himself in lighted upon the gun.
CHAPTER IV.
The Vermilion tower—The conspiracy of Don Lazaro—His Exile—The death of the Traitor— The clemency of the Governor-General— The young Basilio.
The scenes of the tale now change to Cuba and its waters, going back to a time a few weeks previous to the appearance of the razee and three-masted schooner in Boston bay. This transition or turning back upon the narrative, is for the purpose of unfolding, in due order of narration, those events which preceded and led to the imprisonment on board the frigate of the young officer whom we have seen confined there under striet guard, and in chains.
There is on the south side of Cuba, forty leagues from Havanna, a small, romantic bay almost land-locked by curving shores and numerous rocky islets that extend in a chain nearly across the mouth. The bay at its broadest part is not more than a half a league, and in length about a league. It is a secluded spot seldom visited by the merchant vessel, for no town is seen upon its shores, and only here and there a ruined quinta visible with its greyish white walls appearing above the trees upon the heights; while inland can be descried a vermilion tower rising above a snow-white battlement. The shores are wild and wooded, here sloping in gentle woodlands towards the water, there fronting and overhanging the dark flood beneath with precipitous walls of rock. The feathering palm and cocoa-tree lift here and there their plume-like tops, and the crevices of the rocks are filled with vines bearing wild flowers of the most brilliant colors, and of vast size and wonderful beanty. The rocky chain that stretches from the headland rich with foliage on the right, nearly across to the cliff-like promontory which forms the eastern shore, are dark and sterile, their black sides and gaping crevices, through which in storms the sea leaps in cataracts of foam, showing no signs of that vegetation which clothes the main-land with perpetual verdure and beauty. Two or three solitary banana trees alone grow upon the loftiest of the islets, serving as beacons and guides for making the entrance to the harbor. But few are the vessels which seek this shelter save for protection from the tornadoes that at certain seasons sweep the seas in this latitude.
On a bright tropical morning about two months prior to the time our story opens in Boston Bay, a person appeared upon the summit of the vermilion tower, which was situated less than a half a mile inland commanding a view of the bay and its shores, the chain of rocks across its mouth, and the blue south sea beyond. It was a female, young and beautiful, with large black eyes whose lashes shaded the soft olive cheek, and a superb form of exquisite roundness and symmetry. She could not be more than nineteen. Her costume was deep mourning with a black mantilla thrown across her head and passing like a scarf around her waist. The contrast between the mourning costume and the pale brilliancy of her complexion was striking; and the outline of her finished profile was finely relieved by the black veil which d
rooped from her head.
The sun was just rising and flinging his golden light over the dark green seas of foliage between her and the horizon, and turning the turquoise waters of the ocean to rose and gold; lending to her cheek a glow like that of the roseate lining of the pearl-shell. The prospect around her was wide and magnificent. To the north the mountains in the interior of the island rose blue and bold, their crests glancing in the light; and between the tower and their base extended vast plains with here and there a puebla or villa ifting its white walls and turrets to the sunbeams. Westward beyond the forest, which seemed on all sides to encircle the bay for a league in depth, were visible the haciendas' or casas de campo of the wealthy islanders, surrounded by their vast sugar and coffee estates, each with its African hamlet, a little village. To the south lay the bay just described half its waters yet lying in shadow, the precipices on the east interspersing their lofty heads between them and the sun.
Towards the bay the maiden, on reaching the summit of the tower, directed her eyes. To the scenes around her she scarcely glanced; but with an eager air, a look long and earnest she fixed her attention upon the bay. The calm which had left its waters in mirror-like repose during the night was now gently breaking as light veins of wind would sweep across its surface with a scarcely perceptible ripple as if invisible wings were passing over it. That part of the bay that lay eastward in shadow was like glass; and in its depths were reflected the dark forms of the cliffs with life-like distinctness. The placid surface of the waters in the passage of the harbor was first stirred, and seaward, where the morning breeze moved unobstructed by the land, the waves soon glanced and flashed as they were put in motion; till at length, the whole deep became mottled, and alive with dancing sunbeams playing upon their undulations.
From the earnest, anxious expression of countenance with which she looked seaward, searching earnestness of her gaze, it was plain that she was expecting some one in whom she was deeply interested. Her eyes for the third time, after wandering over the nooks and passes of the bay, swept the horizon with a penetrating search, and then were withdrawn with an expression of sorrow and disappointment.
`No sail visible in all the broad sweep of waters! And yet this is the twelfth day of his absence, which was to be extended but to seven. The winds have been propitious though light, and he should have returned if some accident had not happened. Oh, this dangerous life he leads! I trust if he returns with that beauteous bride who has so won his heart, he will lead a life more suited to her happiness and his own rank! Well Jose, there is nothing in sight this morning!'
This remark was made to a fine old man with long white locks and a beard of silver. His countenance was dark but finely expressive, both of benevolence and cheerfullness. He wore a coarse blue mantle gathered at the waist by a monk's girdle; but he looked more like a man who had passed his life in the world than in the cloister. He came and stood upon the top of the tower, as she spoke, remaining respectfully a step behind her.
`Do not be troubled, Senora. The winds and the currents cause many delays. Perhaps the maiden whom he went to take as his bride has kept him longer! 'Tis but five days past the time!' And the old man looked keenly towards the sea.
`Yet he should be here, for he never delays. He would have sent to me. Five days I have waited with a feast prepared to receive my brother and his bride, and yet not a sail whitens the sea! It is time to fear, Jose! You know how my brother is aurrounded by enemies; how he lives in planning against the government; and that be has voluntarily gone to Habana where I hear a price is set upon his head! I would have prevented him! I plead—I clung to him—I wept and implored him by his love for me not to go! But he heeded me not. For his rashness he has now perished!'
`Fear not, Senora! Le El Senor your brother is bold and also discreet. He is safe. Had danger menaced him, we should hear of it. He would have sent a messenger to you!'
`If he comes not to-day, I myself shall take a horse and ride across the mountains' to Ha vanna! I cannot endure this suspense! This young American will be my escort!'
`Believe me Don Basilio my master is safe, Señora! If you desire it I will send at once a trusty messenger to the city! The American cavalier is not yet recovered enough for the saddle!'
`I will alone go myself. If he is in danger I will share it with him or rescue him. He is my brother, and we are one in heart and affection. We have but one life, and one liberty! See! is that anything upon the water! or do my hopes create illusion to mock me, 'Tis something! It must be a vessel!'
Old José, who had been all his life a seaman! turned his gaze to the far western horizon towards which with a kindling eye, a flushed cheek and animated questions, she eagerly directed his attention. At first he shook his head:
`I see nothing, Señora!'
`It is gone. It seemed to be — nay! 'Tis visible again! Look this way, José! To the west of that tamarind tree just beneath the second branch, where the horizon seems like a fine blue thread drawn between the sky and ocean. There is a speck as it were, a knot in the thread line! I see it when I lift my vision a little above it, but if I direct my gaze full upon it it is invisible! Look! José it is now a bright white! It is the sun-light reflecting from the sails! 'Tis a vessel! 'Tis my brother!'
It would be impossible to describe the happiness and beauty which beamed in her face at this discovery. She clasped her hands together, and tears, large pearls of gratitude came into her glorious eyes!
`Por mi vida, Doña Anita, it is not possible for me to see what you see!'
`You are old and have lost your sight, hombre anciano,' she said with quickness.
`Maria! I believe I see it now! its just above the branch of the tamorind!'
`Did I not tell thee it was there, probecito!'
`Nay, Doña Anita, I am getting old. Do not be vexed with an anciano. Your young eyes can see a thousand stars in the far skies where mine can see one! But I have seen the day, Senora, when I could discover a sail as far as a glass could see her!'
`The spy-glass! Go for it below José!'
`I see the sail plainly now, Senora! It is at least four leagues off,' said José after a close scrutiny. `I will bring the glass, which I mended yesterday, and then we will make her out. I hope it is the caravel of Don Basilio!'
`Hope! I know it must be, José,' she said earnestly. `Should it not prove to be him, I should not watch longer, but take a horse There are so few vessels that pass here, that I feel confident it is the goleta!'
Old Jose brought up the spy-glass and placed it open in her hand. It was a beautiful instrument with silver tubes and a row of rubies ganishing the rims around the glasses. She placed it to her eye while he formed a focus with his closed hands and also surveyed the distant sail. After a few moments she exclaimed,
`It is the goletta, Jose! Take the glass and look! I cannot be deceived.'
`It is a latteen rigged vessel, but whether a ship or schooner I cannot make out, as she is standing on towards the bay, and all her masts are in one!'
`Her course should decide it. What other vessel would be standing in this way?'
`It may be Don Basilo, senora. But I don't like to have you disappointed. There are a great many lateen rigged craft in these seas! In a little while we can tell. The wind freshens outside and is fair for her, so that she will come on rapidly. As soon as her hull open above the horizon I can tell her at once. Or if she should put away a little so that I could see all her masts I could tell. There is no mistaking the rake of the el cinto de Acero.
`She must be sailing five or six knots and in less than two hours, if it is Don Basilio, she will be anchored in the bay within half a mile of us?'
The young lady with the spy glass as her eye continued to watch the slow advance of the distant sail, exchanging from time to time words of hope or impatience, with the attentive Jose. The vessel slowly but steadily grew upon the sight, and it was soon made clear that she was a polacca rigged schooner with two masts only visible; but whether that of Don
Basilo or not, with one of her masts carried away or shipped, Jose would not positively say until she should be a league nearer.
In the meanwhile the reader may be learning something of Dona Anita and her brother and of the vermilion tower.
This tower, rose from the azotea or flat roof of one of those old Spanish country houses which are dispersed over the island of Cuba. The house was a vast square one story high, the walls white washed and perforated at long intervals with tall grated windows. On one of the sides was a large porte cochere or carriage way beneath an arch which led into the patio or square paved court around which the house was built. In this patio was a fountain; huge orange-colored vases of gorgeously flowing plants stood around the sides; and into the court as a common hall opened the doors of all the apartments of the mansion. The doors of the sleeping rooms were hung with crimson and damask drapery and the grated windows were releived by curtains of muslin and orange or rose-colored silk. There was an air of old-fashioned Spanish luxury and grandeur with a want of comfort and taste pervading the whole place. On the exterior, the quenta was surrounded by spacious outhouses, falling into ruin; and adjoining it stood a small chapel surmounted by a silver cross communicating with the mansion by a covered corridor. The domain around had once been a coffee estate, but was now desolate and covered with luxuriant vegetation in the wildest profusion: while the forests were suffered to encroach upon the gardens, only a narrow avenue which the sun scarcely penetrated being left open between it and the shore of the bay. This avenue was the only approach to the quirta; the ways which once had led from it to the interior and to the neighboring coffee estates being grown up and rendered impassible, and impenetrable. There was, however, a single secret path in which persons on horseback might travel but this was known only to the dwellers in the vemilian tower, or `El Torre Bermellon,' as the place was called by the Spaniards.
Steel Belt; or, The Three Masted Goleta. A Tale of Boston Bay Page 4
