Chapter VI.
COLONEL WARLOW'S STORY--CONTINUED.
"Our ship touched at Havana, and in company with several otherpassengers, who lived in the Mississippi Valley, I decided to stop hereuntil a vessel sailed for New Orleans, which would not occur for tendays yet; but years might be passed in that beautiful city ofenchantment, the 'Queen of the Antilles,' and we found our stay oneround of perpetual delight.
"A day was devoted to a sail around the sunlit harbor, environed bymansions, castles, and palm-decked hills--the sapphire sky bounded onlyby the purple mountains or pale-green sea. Then we visited Old MoroCastle, its portcullis, donjon-keep, and 'sounding barbacan,' its gloomygrandeur of turret and tower--
'Its loop-holed grates, where captives weep,'--
all recalling the feudal days of Scotland and Spain. Next we drovethrough the Prado of San Isabel, with its triumphal arches of snowymarble, its rose-decked alamedas lined with palm, cypress, and magnolia,its clear fountains foaming amid thickets of acacia and bloomingoleander; and then on to the great theater of Tacon, where the eveningwas passed as if in fairy-land.
"Christmas-day we drove out to visit a coffee-plantation a dozen milesfrom the city walls. The dew was still glittering on the foliage as wewhirled rapidly along in our easy volantas, and the air was rich withthe odor of orange-blossoms and a myriad of other tropic flowers. Wehalted at the Bishop's Gardens for an hour, and I can but faintlydescribe their gorgeous floral wealth. These gardens are centuries old,dating back to the days of Charles V., when the Spanish banner ofcrimson and gold waved around the world.
"There were palm, myrtle, and mangoe trees growing beside canals wherethe clear rushing water rippled along over the bottom of gaily-coloredtiles. Then there were plantations of yucca, the broad-leavedbread-fruit, lemons, guavas, and figs, with great basins of marblebrimming with water, on which floated lilies white as snow. But,entrancing as were those avenues of whispering myrtle, orange, and pine,we drove on through the warm sunlight until near noon, when we arrivedat our destination.
"The coffee-plantation contained a league of land--three milessquare--and was divided into innumerable plats by long avenues that cuteach other at right angles, like streets, extending through theplantation. These avenues were lined on either side by palms of ahundred different species, and in their great width of full fifty paces,and three miles long, they were set in Bermuda-grass, mown like a carpetof velvet. The squares, however, were carefully cultivated, and no weedswere visible in the red, mellow soil.
"Next to the row of palms grew a line of orange-trees; then lemons,almonds, pomegranates, and olives, followed by a row of evergreens ofinfinite variety, the remainder of the square being planted tocoffee-trees.
"It was a sight never to be forgotten that unfolded to our view as wedrove down one of those long colonnades of palm, over which theparasites trailed, linking tree to tree with garlands of scarlet, rose,and golden blossoms--the snowy orange-flowers contrasting with itscoppery fruit--gloomy pine, spruce, and cypress, with glimpses betweenof the coffee-trees loaded with their crimson berries.
"Thousands of birds flitted about, lending animation to the gorgeoustropical scene,--gaudy parrots, white doves, orioles, and blue-birds;while myriads of humming-birds of rose and emerald, gold and purple,wove and flashed among the trees.
"We, who live in these dull northern climes, can not fancy the picturesof life and color that adorn the forests of tropical America; but as Isat that Christmas-day amid the Cuban groves, and ate the most lusciousfruits, fresh from the tree, the glorious sunlight sifting down throughthe feathery, fern-like palm-leaves, and over all the cloudless blue ofthe southern skies, I thought of the snow and ice which wrapped thehills and meadows of my northern home. But a feeling of longing stoleover me for the brooks, bound by their crystal fetters and sheltered bythe oak-clad hills, the merry jingling sleigh-bells in the frosty air,and, amid all this wealth of bloom and tropic life, my heart turnedback to the memory of rustic joys in my boyhood's home,--the roaringfire on the hearth-stone, when the frost-rime crept over thewindow-pane; the rushing of the storm-king, as he piled the ghostlydrift without, or fled shrieking by, shaking the gables in his wildwrath. Then fancy came thronging on with dear faces of the home-folkthat I had not seen for years; and when I awoke, with a start, to thethought that the ocean rolled between me and my distant home, do notblame me that a tear-drop went trickling down through the sunlight ofthat foreign tropic land.
"After loitering for a few hours among the coffee-trees, we ascended amountain to drink of the waters of a famous mineral spring, which gushesfrom among the lofty cliffs; and as I stood on the verge of a precipice,before me there spread a landscape of matchless grandeur,--the widesavannas with their fields of cane, tobacco, and fruit, the dim city,begirt with its walls and grim fortresses, and the blue harbor, crowdedwith the ships of all nations; while far away to the north, stretchingout, it seemed, to eternity, lay the trackless ocean, dotted with whitewinged ships and those gem-like islands, 'The Queen's Gardens.'
"Driving back to the city, we paid a moonlight visit to the tomb ofColumbus. I stood long and silently by the urn where rests all thatremains of the Great Mariner--all save the Columbian spirit, which willpervade the people of America as long as this continent endures.
"Yes; you and I are actuated by the same spirit that guided theillustrious pioneers out toward the setting sun--enterprise, ambition,and energy. As I noted the humble monument, I bitterly recalled theingratitude and perfidy of Spain; but when there rose to my mind avision of the grand and powerful nations, the splendid cities and happyhomes of the thronging millions from Montreal to Buenos Ayres,--these, Imused, are the monuments befitting the noble hero, and it matters notthat the lowly urn in the old cathedral holds the ashes of mortality.
"Coming forth into the mellow moonlight, I paused a moment to gather aspray from the roses and passion-flowers, blooming in dew-drenchedclusters amid the orange and myrtle of the Paseo hard by; and as I stooddrinking, as it were, the odors of that perfume-laden air, afar offcould be heard the sullen boom of the breakers as the sea broke inthunder on the walls of Moro Castle, while the faint, sweet notes of aguitar floated out upon the night, mingling with the diapason of oldocean's roar as it chanted its hymn of eternity on the rocky beach.
"Two weeks later I drove up to my father's gate, through the snow andice of a Northern winter. The white drift wrapped the hills and meadows,and the gurgle of the brook in the sheltered valley sang faint andmuffled within its crystal prison; the dear old cedars bent low undertheir white burden, and from the eaves of the time-worn, red brickhomestead, the icicles hung glittering like spears in the frosty light.
"When I left home four years before, I was a smooth-faced boy of twenty,but while in the mines I had grown a beard like a Turk; and although inSan Francisco I had passed under the sway of the barber, who despoiledme of more locks than Samson ever lost, yet enough remained to completemy disguise; and I was smiling at the surprise I had in store for thehome-folks, when the door opened, and lo! Amy came flying down the pathwith such an outcry that all the family came rushing upon the scene, Amysaying, between smiles and tears:--
"'Oh, George, you thought we wouldn't know you; but I was watching, andwhen you paused at the gate and looked so wistfully towards the house, Iknew--oh, it must be you!'
"Ah well--such a day will never come again! How I followed mother andAmy about, or sat in the kitchen with father on one hand and Dick on theother--all of us talking at once! Such a homecoming is known in all ofits keen delight by only the long-absent miner or returning soldier. Andthe dinner which followed, where all the culinary treasures of earth,sky, land, and sea were laid under contribution, was a meal which causedme to say they certainly meant to stuff me as a curiosity, after themanner of a taxidermist.
"'There must be some means devised to keep you at home hereafter,'replied my mother.
"I said I was through with rambling; for I had brought enough money homefor the whole
family--unless we indulged in such dinners every day.
"Dick replied with a laugh that 'wealthy people could certainly affordsalt for the potatoes.'
"'Oh, that is not a luxury, for I find it in both the fruit and coffee,'replied my father.
"In the evening I took Dick's grays and sleigh to drive over to Mary'shome, and at starting was charged by Amy to be sure and bring Mary overto the 'wool-picking' at Widow Hawley's--a semi-festive meeting of thebest society in that primitive but happy neighborhood. Promising to domy best to meet Dick and her that evening at the designated place offestivity, I touched the horses, and shot down the drive just in time tododge the slipper, which, with a gay laugh, she hurled at my back; andas I rounded the curve of the stone wall into the highway, she and Dickcheered me very encouragingly.
"As I drove along the sparkling, crusted road, the west was stillblushing faintly, and the moon peeped through the snowy tree-tops, thatdrooped in feathery sprays of frost and ice, sweeping the drifts belowwith their creaking, rattling branches, and the stars winked knowinglyin the clear, cold sky as my sleigh-bells awoke the jingling echoesamong the well-remembered hills that flanked the valley on either side.
"When I reached the door of Mary's dwelling the windows threw out aruddy light from the great fire-place, where the flames leaped andcrackled, and showers of sparks flashed up the wide chimney, while backand forth in the flickering light tripped Mary, singing as she spun onthe roaring wheel.
"At my rap the wheel ceased its hum, a light footfall was heard,and--well, I'll just close the door, as it was only a privatematter--but in a moment I was kissing her mother, who hugged me almostas hard--that is, she and the old gentleman did--no--no--I mean to saythat Towser and all the rest of the--There--there I go again"--said thecolonel, joining in the merriment of his hearers, who were shouting withlaughter at the absurd flounders of the colonel's narrative; but whenthe last giggle of Grace and Rob had subsided, and cries of "hear,hear," resounded on every hand, then our friend Warlow resumed, as hecast a fond look toward his wife, who had been busy at the camp-firepreparing the evening meal while the shades of twilight were thickeningamong the trees.
"I only wished to say that I was highly gratified with my reception onthat happy evening, and Mary and I were soon on the road to theresidence of Mrs. Hawley, where we found a merry throng of old friends;and, after such a greeting as only one who meets his childhood's friendsafter long years of absence can appreciate, we were allotted a quietcorner, and our share of the evening's labor."
At this moment a summons to supper was heard, and the party adjourned tothe camp-fire, to discuss the savory prairie-chicken and quail on toast,with which Mrs. Warlow celebrated the close of that Sabbath-day.
A Fortune Hunter; Or, The Old Stone Corral: A Tale of the Santa Fe Trail Page 7
