TRANSLATED FROM THE FRENCH FOR THE INTERNATIONAL MAGAZINE.
Upon a fine May morning in the year 1585, a Spanish vessel lay at anchor in the Port of St. Jago, in the island of Cuba. She was about to sail for Cadiz, the passengers were on board, and the sailors at their several stations, awaiting the word of command. The captain, a small, tight-built, shrewd-looking man, with the voice and manner of a naval officer, which, indeed, he had formerly been, was brave and experienced, and although somewhat wild and daring, he was a good fellow at heart, but now and then violent and headstrong to a fault, in short, Captain Perez was the terror of his men.
He was walking the deck with rapid strides, and exhibiting the greatest impatience, now stopping to observe the direction of the wind, and casting a glance at the shore, then resuming his walk with a preliminary stamp of disappointment and vexation; no one, in the meanwhile, daring to ask why he delayed getting under way.
At length strains of church music at a distance are heard on board the vessel, and all eyes are directed to the shore. A long procession of monks, holding crosses and lighted wax tapers, and singing, is seen approaching the beach opposite the vessel. The procession moves slowly and solemnly to the cadence of the music. Between two rows of monks dressed in deep black is a coffin richly decorated with all the symbols of the Catholic faith, and covered with garlands and chaplets, and, what is singular, the coffin is carried with difficulty by six stout negroes. Four venerable Jesuits support the corners of the pall, and, immediately behind the coffin, walks alone, with a grave and dignified step, the Right Reverend Father Antonio, superior of the Jesuit missionaries of the island of Cuba. An immense crowd of citizens, the garrison of the island, and the military and civil authorities, piously form the escort.
Suddenly the singing ceases, the procession halts, the coffin is placed on elevated supporters. Father Antonio approaches it, and, kissing the pall with reverence, exclaims, with a solemnity befitting the occasion,
"Adieu! Saint Escarpacio, thou worthy model of our order, adieu! In separating myself from thy holy remains, I fulfil thy last wishes; may they piously repose in our happy Spain, and may thy saintly vows and aspirations be thus accomplished. But before their departure from our shores, we conjure thee, holy saint, to look down from thy holy place of rest in heaven, and deign to bless this people, and us, thy mourning friends on earth."
The whole assembly then knelt upon the ground, after which the negroes, resuming their heavy burden, carried it on board a boat, closely followed by Father Antonio. With vigorous rowing the boat soon reached the vessel's side, and the coffin was hoisted on board.
"You are very late, reverend father," said Captain Perez, "and you know wind and tide wait for no man. I ought to have been far on my way long before this hour."
"We could not get ready sooner, my son," the holy father replied, "but fear not, God will reward you for the delay, and these precious remains will speed you on your voyage. I hope you have made your own private cabin, as you promised, worthy of their reception?"
"Yes, certainly, I have."
"You must not for a moment lose sight of the coffin."
"Make yourself easy on that point, holy father; I shall watch over it as if it were my own. Hollo there forward, bear a hand aft," the captain cried.
Four sailors place themselves at the corners of the coffin, but they can hardly raise it from the deck; two more are called, and the six, bending under its weight, succeed in carrying it down into the cabin, followed by the Captain and by Father Antonio.
When the coffin was properly bestowed, the reverend father addressed Captain Perez in the most earnest and solemn manner:
"I hope you will be found worthy of the great confidence and trust I now repose in you. These precious remains should occupy your every moment, and you will sacredly and faithfully account to me for their safety—the smallest negligence will cost you dear. On your arrival at Cadiz, you will deliver the coffin to none other than Father Hieronimo, and not to him even, unless he shall first place in your hands a letter from me—you understand my instructions and commands? Now depart, and may God speed you on your way."
Father Antonio then came upon deck, and bestowed his benediction upon the vessel, and upon all it contained; after which, descending to the boat, he was rowed to the shore. As he placed himself at the head of the procession, the singing recommenced, the anchor was weighed, and, to the sound of music, the cheering of the people, and the roar of cannon, the vessel moved slowly on her destined voyage.
When fairly at sea, the wind was favorable, and all went well. The second evening out, Captain Perez was alone in his private cabin, and in a contemplative mood, when the feeble light of the single lamp glancing across the coffin, as the vessel rocked from side to side, attracted his attention, and led him to think about the singularity of its great weight.
"It is very strange," he said musingly, "six stout fellows to carry a man's dry bones!—it cannot be possible. But what does the coffin contain if it does not contain the saint's bones? Father Antonio was very, very particular. I should really like to know what there is in the coffin. It took a good half dozen strong healthy negroes, and then as many sailors, to carry it: what can there be in the coffin? Why, after all, I can know if I please. I have but to take out a few screws, it can be done without the slightest noise, and I am alone, and the cabin door is easily fastened."
Suiting the action to his soliloquy, he bolted the door of the cabin, took from his tool-chest a screw-driver, and, after a moment's indecision, began cautiously to loosen one of the screws in the lid of the coffin, his hands all the while trembling violently.
"If," thought he, "I am committing a heinous sin, if the saint should start up, and if, in his anger, he should in some appalling manner punish my sacrilegious meddling with his bones?"
A cold sweat overspread his bronzed visage, and he stood still a moment, hesitating as to whether he should go on. But curiosity conquered, and he rallied his energies with the reflection, that if he opened the coffin, Saint Escarpacio himself well knew it was only to find out what made his bones so heavy; there could be no impiety in that—quite the contrary. His conscience was by this time somewhat fortified, his superstitious fears gradually grew fainter, and keeping his eyes steadily fixed upon the lid of the coffin—to be sure the saint did not stir—he slowly and silently took out the first screw. He then stopped short: the saint showed no signs of anger.
"I knew it," said Perez, going to work more boldly upon the second screw, "I knew there was nothing sinful in opening the coffin, for the sin lies in the intention."
All the screws were soon drawn out, and to gratify his curiosity it only remained to raise the coffin lid, and here his heart beat violently—but courage—Perez did raise the lid, and, and, he saw—no saint, but hay—the hay is carefully removed—then strips of linen—they are removed—then hay again, but no saint, nothing like the bone of a saint—but a wooden box.
"Well, that is odd," thought Perez, "and what can there be in it? I must open the box, but how? there is no key, what is to be done? Shall I force the lock, or break the cover of the box? Either attempt would make a noise, which the passengers or sailors might hear, but what is to be done? Good Saint Escarpacio, take pity on me, and direct me how to open the box," whispered Perez, and there was perhaps a little irony in the supplication.
In feeling among the hay surrounding the box, Perez found a key at one of its corners secured by a small iron chain.
"Ah! ha! I have it at last" Perez cried, "the key, the key," and quickly putting it into the key-hole, he opened the Box—and he saw—what? Leathern bags filled to the top according to the beautifully written tickets, with gold pistoles—silver crowns, closely ranged in shining piles—all in the most perfect order. "But what is this? a letter? I must read it," exclaimed the excited Perez—"by your leave, gentle wax," and he tears the letter open. It began thus:
"Father Antonio, of Cuba, to the reverend fathers in Cadiz, greeting.
"As agreed between us, Most Reverend Fathers, I send you three hundred thousand livres, in the name, and under the semblance of Father Escarpacio, whose bones I am supposed to be sending to Spain. The annexed memorandum of accounts will show that this sum comprises the whole of our little gleanings and savings up to this time, for the benefit of our Holy Order. You will pardon I am sure this innocent artifice on our part, Most Reverend Fathers, as it will prove a safeguard to the treasure, and avoid awakening the avarice and cupidity of the person to whom I am obliged to intrust it. (Signed) Antonio, of Cuba."
"Three hundred thousand livres! there are, then, three hundred thousand livres," exclaimed Perez in amazement, as he realized that this immense sum lay in real gold and silver coin before his eyes. "Oh, reverend, right reverend and worthy fellows of the crafty Ignatius! you are indeed cunning foxes! a hundred to one your trick was not discovered, for who but a Jesuit could have imagined it, and who could have guessed that the coffin contained money? And so these bags of gold are your holy remains, and I too, old sea shark as I am, to be humbugged like a land lubber, with your procession and your mummery—but I am deceived no longer, my eyes are opened; and by my patron saint, trick for trick my pious masters—bones you shall have, and burn me for a heretic, if you get any thing better than bones;" and he began to untie and examine the contents of the money-bags. "Let me consider" said he, "I want some bones, and where the devil shall I find them?"
He was on his knees, his body bent over the box, with his hands in the open gold-bags. His agitated countenance expressed with energy the mingled emotions, of desire to keep the rich booty all to himself, and of fear that in some mysterious manner it might elude his grasp—but he must, he must have it.
"A lucky thought strikes me," said he; "what a fool I am to give myself any trouble about it. What says my bill of lading? 'Received from the Reverend Father Antonio, a coffin containing bones, said to be those of Saint Escarpacio.' A coffin containing bones, said to be those, &c.—very good, and have I seen the bones, said to be delivered to me, and said to be the saint's bones? certainly not, and the coffin might contain—any thing else—the said coffin containing—what you please—how should I know? said to be the bones of Saint Escarpacio," &c. &c.
In short, Captain Perez began noiselessly and methodically to empty the box of its bags of gold and piles of silver, taking care to stow the treasure away in a chest, to which he alone had access. He then filled the box with whatever was at hand, bits of rusty iron, lead, stones, shells, old junk, hay, &c., substituting as nearly as possible pound for pound in weight if not in value, conscientiously adding some bones which were far removed from canonisation, and at last carefully screwing down the lid, the right reverend father Antonio himself, had he been on board, could not have discovered that the coffin had been touched by mortal hand.
In about a month the vessel arrived at the port of Cadiz. The quarantine for some unexplained reason was much shorter than usual, and had hardly expired, when a venerable Jesuit was the first person who stood before the captain, a few minutes only after he had taken possession of his lodgings on shore.
"I would speak with Captain Perez," said the Jesuit, gravely.
"I am he," the captain replied, somewhat disconcerted at the abruptness of the inquiry. Quickly recovering his presence of mind, however, he added, with perfect calmness, "You have probably come, holy father, to take charge of the precious remains intrusted to my care by Father Antonio, of Cuba?" The Jesuit bowed his head, in token of assent.
"And I have the honor of addressing Father Hieronimo?"
"You have," was the reply.
"You are no doubt the bearer of a letter for me, from Father Antonio?"
"Here it is," said Father Hieronimo, handing Captain Perez a letter.
"I beg a thousand pardons, holy father," the captain said, with much humility, "but I hope you will not take offence at these necessary precautions?"
"On the contrary they speak in your favor."
"I see all is right," said the captain, "and I will go myself and order the coffin brought on shore."
The captain went immediately on board, Father Hieronimo meanwhile placing himself at an open window whence he could over-look the vessel and watch every movement. The coffin was brought on shore by eight sailors, who, bending under its weight, slowly approach the captain's quarters.
"How heavy it is, how very heavy," said the Jesuit, rubbing his hands in exultation.
Captain Perez had of course accompanied the coffin from the vessel, and now that he was about to deliver it into Father Hieronimo's keeping, he said to him, in a solemn and impressive manner,
"I place in your hands, holy father, the precious remains intrusted to my care."
"I receive them with pious joy."
"The responsibility was great."
"It will henceforth be mine."
"Very precious."
"I have watched over it with vigilance."
"God will reward you."
"I hope so."
"From this hour every thing will prosper with you."
"Do you think so, holy father?"
"I am sure of it. I must now bid you adieu."
"You have forgotten, holy father, to give me a receipt; but if—"
"You are right," said the Jesuit, "it had escaped me." And he seated himself at a table on which lay writing materials, first sending a servant for his carriage.
The receipt spoke of the piety and zeal of Captain Perez in the most flattering terms; and, while the captain was reading it with becoming humility, the carriage drew up opposite to the coffin, which was soon resting upon the cushioned seats within the vehicle.
"I go immediately to Madrid," said Father Hieronimo. "You can no doubt imagine the impatience of the holy fathers to possess the sacred relics; they have waited so long. Once more adieu, believe me we shall never forget you."
With these words, and a parting benediction on Perez, Father Hieronimo stepped into the carriage, and, with his holy remains by his side, started at a brisk trot of his well-fed mules on the road to Madrid. When fairly out of sight and hearing of Captain Perez, the good father laughed aloud. "The captain, poor simple soul," said he, "suspects nothing."
And Perez, he too would have laughed aloud if he had dared; indeed he could with difficulty restrain himself in presence of his crew. "The crafty old fox," he said exultingly, "he has got his holy remains—ha! ha!—and he suspects nothing."
A day or two after the delivery of the coffin, Captain Perez sailed for Mexico.
After an interval of ten years, during which period, according to the Jesuit's prediction, prosperity had constantly waited upon Perez, he became weary of successful enterprise, and tired of the roving and laborious life he was leading. Worth a million, and a bachelor, he wisely resolved to give the remainder of his days to enjoyment. Seville was judiciously selected for his residence, where a magnificent mansion, extensive grounds, a well furnished cellar, good cooks, chosen friends, with all the other et ceteras which riches can bring, enabled him to pass his days and nights joyously. Captain Perez was indeed a happy dog.
One night he was at table, surrounded by his friends of both sexes. The cook had done his duty; there were excellent fruits from the tropics; there were wines in abundance and variety, and with songs and laughter the very windows rattled, when Perez, the jolly Perez, half seas over, begged a moment's silence.
"I say, my worthy friends, I have something to tell you better than all your singing. I must tell you a story that will make you split your sides—a real good one, about a capital trick I served them poor devils the Jesuits. You must know I was lying at anchor in Cuba, and—"
Suddenly the door of the apartment is thrown open with great violence, and a monk, clothed in deep black, enters, followed by a guard of alguazils armed to the teeth.
"Profane impious wretches!" he cried, in a voice of appalling harshness, "is it thus you do penance for your sins? Is it in riotous feasting and drunkenness you spend the holy season of Lent?" Then, turning to Captain Perez, he said, "Follow me to the palace of the Holy Inquisition. Before that tribunal you must answer for your sacrilegious conduct."
The guests were stupefied with fear, and Perez, now completely sobered, stared in affright at the monk.
"Do you recollect me, Captain Perez?" said the monk.
"No—but—it appears to me I have somewhere seen—"
"I am Father Antonio, of Cuba," cried the monk, fixing his eyes, sparkling with savage fury, upon Perez.
"And you are a member of the Holy Inquisition?" Perez faltered out in trembling accents.
"I am. Again I say, follow me on the instant."
Poor Captain Perez, or rather rich Captain Perez, at the early day in which he lived had, perhaps, never heard the avowal made by a man who, in speaking of honesty and dishonesty, declared honesty to be the best policy, for, said he, I have tried both.
That the captain was not born to be hanged is certain; and although from childhood a sojourner upon the ocean, it was not his destiny to be drowned. There is a tradition handed down, that had it not been for very considerable donations, under his hand and seal, to a religious community in Spain, a method of bidding adieu to this life more in accordance with the pious notions prevalent three hundred years ago, would certainly have been chosen for our hero. Indeed, there were not wanting many heretic-hating persons who affirmed that an auto-da-fe was got up expressly for the occasion. But we have ascertained beyond a doubt that he reformed in his manner of living, that he secured to the Holy Order the donations already mentioned, that the reverend fathers kindly took from his legal heirs all trouble in the division of his riches, and that he died in his bed at last, as a pious Catholic should die, and was buried in consecrated ground, with every rite and ceremony belonging to the community he had so munificently contributed to enrich.