EVENTS ACCUMULATE.
The horsemen had continued their wild course without perceiving the fugitives: one of them, indeed, at the cry uttered by Doña Clara, had made a gesture as if to stop his steed, but doubtless supposing that he had been mistaken, he followed his companions after a moment's hesitation, which was very fortunate for him, as Don Sancho had already drawn a pistol, with the resolution of blowing out his brains.
For some minutes the fugitives remained motionless, anxiously listening to the galloping of the horses, whose sound rapidly retired, and was soon lost in the distance, when it became confounded with the other noises of the night.
Then they breathed again, and Don Sancho put back in his holster the pistol which he had held in his hand up to this moment.
"Hum!" he muttered; "Only the thickness of a bush saved us from being discovered."
"Heaven be thanked!" Doña Clara said; "We are saved!"
"That is to say, my little sister, we are not caught," the young man replied, incapable of maintaining his seriousness for five minutes, however grave circumstances might be.
"They are going at a tremendous pace," the Major-domo now remarked; "we have nothing more to fear from them."
"In that case, let us be off," Don Sancho replied.
"Yes, yes, let us go," Doña Clara murmured.
They dashed out of the thicket which had offered them so sure a protection, and entered the plain.
The sky became lighter every moment; and although the sun was still beneath the horizon, its influence was beginning to be felt. Nature appeared to shake off her nocturnal sleep; some birds were already awake under the soft leaves, and preluding, by soft twittering, their matin chant; the dark outlines of savage animals bounded through the tall dew-laden grass; and the birds of prey, expanding their mighty wings, rose high in æther, as if they wished to go and meet the sun, and salute its advent: in a word, it was no longer night, without being fully day.
"Ah! What I do see at the foot of that mound?" Don Sancho suddenly said.
"Where?" Birbomono asked.
"There, straight in front of us."
The Major-domo placed his hands over his eyes, and looked attentively.
"¡Viva Dios!" he exclaimed, at the end of a moment, "It is a man!"
"A man?"
"On my word, yes, Excellency; and, as far as I can distinguish at this distance, a Carib savage."
"Zounds! What is he doing on that mound?"
"We shall be able to assure ourselves of that more easily directly, unless he thinks proper to keep out of our way."
"Well, let us go to him, in Heaven's name."
"Brother," Doña Clara objected, "what is the use of lengthening our journey, when we are so hurried?"
"That is true," the young man said.
"Reassure yourself, señora," the Major-domo observed; "that hillock is exactly on the road we must follow, and we cannot help passing it."
Doña Clara said no more, and the trio set out again.
They soon reached the mound, which they ascended at a gallop.
The Carib had not quitted the spot, but the riders stopped in stupor on perceiving that he was not alone.
The Indian, kneeling on the ground, appearing to be attending to a man stretched out before him, and who was beginning to regain his senses.
"Fray Arsenio!" Doña Clara exclaimed at the sight of this man. "Great Heavens! He is dead!"
"No," the Indian answered in a gentle voice, as he turned to her, "but he has been most horribly tortured."
"He! Tortured?" his hearers exclaimed, unanimously.
"Look at his hands," the Carib continued.
The Spaniards uttered a cry of horror and pity at the sight of the poor monk's bleeding and swollen thumbs.
"Oh, it is frightful!" they murmured, sadly.
"Wretch," Don Sancho said in his indignation, "you have brought him to this state!"
The Carib shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
"The paleface is mad!" he replied; "My brothers do not torture the chiefs of prayer—they respect them. White men, like himself, have inflicted this atrocious punishment upon him."
"Explain yourself, in Heaven's name," Doña Clara continued; "how is it that we find this worthy monk here in such a pitiable state?"
"It will be better to let him explain himself when he has regained his senses. Omopoua knows but little."
"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.
"For what purpose?" L'Olonnais said, with a laugh. "Do not trouble yourself about him, my gentleman: he is a long way off if he is still running. Each of us has his work cut out for him."
"I don't care!" Lepoletais remarked. "You had a deuced fine scent, Señor, in responding to our invitation so quickly!"
"Why so?"
"You will soon know. But now take my advice—recruit your strength by eating."
At this moment Doña Clara rejoined the party. Her demeanour was firmer, and her face almost gay.
The table was soon laid—leaves serving for plates. They sat down to it, that is to say, they formed a circle on the ground, and bravely assailed the provisions.
Don Sancho had resumed all his gaiety. This life appeared to him delightful, and he laughed heartily, while eating with a good appetite. Doña Clara herself, in spite of her inward preoccupation, did honour to this improvised banquet.
"Up! my darlings," Lepoletais had said to his dogs. "Tally ho! No idleness, but go and watch the approaches while we are breakfasting. Your share shall be kept."
The dogs had risen with admirable obedience, and turning their backs on the boucans, scattered in all directions, and speedily disappeared.
"Yours are first-rate dogs," said Don Sancho.
"You Spaniards are good judges of that," the buccaneer replied, mockingly.
The gentleman felt the sting, and did not deem it advisable to dwell on the subject. In fact, it was at Saint Domingo that the Spaniards inaugurated the frightful custom of training bloodhounds to hunt the Indians, and employing them as auxiliaries in their wars.
The breakfast was concluded without any fresh incident worthy of remark, and the most perfect cordiality prevailed during the repast.
When the masters had finished, it was the turn of the servants; that is to say, L'Olonnais whistled up the dogs, which in an instant were collected round him, and gave them their share in equal portions.
The buccaneers, leaving their guests, and at liberty to employ their time as they thought proper, were soon actively busied in preparing their hides.
Several hours passed in this way. About three in the afternoon a dog barked, and then held its tongue.
We have forgotten to state that, after their meal, the dogs returned to their posts at a signal from the engagé.
The two buccaneers exchanged a glance.
"One!" said L'Olonnais.
"Two!" Lepoletais almost immediately answered on a second bark, which broke out in a different direction.
Ere long, like an electric current, the challenges of the hounds succeeded each other with extreme rapidity, raised in all directions.
Still, nothing seemed to justify these warnings given by the sentries. No suspicious sound could be heard, and the savannah seemed to be plunged into the most perfect solitude.
"I beg your pardon, caballero," Don Sancho said to Lepoletais, who continued his task with the same ardor, while laughing merrily with his comrade; "but will you permit me to ask you a question?"
"Do so, do so, my good gentleman. It is at times well to ask questions: besides, if the question does not suit me, I shall be at liberty not to answer it, I suppose?"
"Oh! Of course."
"In that case, speak without fear."
"For some minutes past your dogs seem to have been giving you signals—or, at least, I suppose so?"
"You suppose right, caballero. They are really signals."
"And would there be any indiscretion in asking you the meaning of the signals?"
"Not the least in the world, señor, especially as they interest you quite as much as us."
"I do not understand you."
"You will soon do so. These signals signify that the savannah is at this moment invaded by several Fifties, which are manoeuvring to surround us."
"¡Diablos!" the young man exclaimed, with a start of surprise: "And you do not feel more affected than that?"
"Why anticipate anxiety? My comrade and I had a pressing job which we were obliged to finish. Now that it is done, we are going to turn our attention to the señores."
"But we cannot possibly resist so many enemies?"
"Ah! Ah! Do you really feel inclined for a brush?"
"S'death! My sister and I are incurring quite as much danger as you, and we have not a minute to lose in attempting flight."
"Flight?" the buccaneer said, with a grin; "Nonsense! You must be laughing, my gentleman: we are enclosed in an impassable circle—or what looks so."
"In that case, we are lost."
"How you go on! On the contrary, they are lost."
"They? Why, we are only four against a hundred."
"You are mistaken. There are two hundred; and that makes fifty for each of us. Call in the dogs, L'Olonnais; they are now useless. Stay! Look there; can you see them?"
And he stretched his arm out straight ahead.
In fact, the long lances of the Spanish soldiers appeared above the tall grass. Lepoletais had told the truth. These lances formed a circle, which was being more and more contracted round the boucan.
"Come! That is rather neat," the buccaneer added, as he affectionately tapped the butt of his long fusil.
"Señora," he added, "keep by the side of the wounded man."
"Oh! Let me give myself up," she exclaimed, frantically. "It is on my account that this terrible danger menaces you."
"Señora," the buccaneer replied, as he struck his chest with a gesture of supreme majesty; "you are under the safeguard of my honour, and I swear by Heaven, that no one, so long as I live, shall dare to lay a finger upon you! Go to the wounded man."
Involuntarily subdued by the accent with which the buccaneer uttered these words, Doña Clara bowed without replying, and pensively seated herself inside the ajoupa, by the side of Fray Arsenio, who was still asleep.
"Now, caballero," Lepoletais said to Don Sancho, "if you have never been present at a buccaneering expedition, I promise you you are going to see some fun, and enjoy yourself."
"Well," the young man replied, recklessly; "I will fight, if I must. It is a glorious death for a gentleman, to die sword in hand!"
"Come," said the buccaneer, as he gave him a friendly tap on the shoulder; "you are a fine lad. Something can be made of you."
The Fifties still approached, and the circle grew more and more contracted.