Leonard Lindsay ;

by Angus B. Reach

‘I have a wife,’ quoth he, ‘and she will also think——’ Here his voice failed him, and the honest creature began to whimper.

‘Come—come,’ I broke in: ‘you may go back to your wife, Quashy, if you like, after we have the galleon, but till then you are one of us.’ I think the negro had sense to see, that whining would not make his case any the better, for he dried up his eyes, and pointing ahead, told us, that the ship riding nearest the shore was the galleon.

Slowly and cautiously we rowed, describing a great circle round to seaward, so as to keep out of the way of the outermost ships. Their lights fell in long rays across the water, and we could hear the voices of the men aboard as they talked. Once we were hailed, and I ordered Pedro to reply—saying we were fishermen returning from catching pisareros, to have them ready for the early market—but no one offered to interrupt us, until the shallop floated in the shadow of the great carved quarter galleries of the galleon. The ship appeared well nigh deserted. The lap of the water against her sides, and the cheep of the rudder, as it moved a little way to and fro in the calm, were all the sounds about her. Had there been but a slight puff of wind from the shore we might have cut her cable, boarded her, and fairly carried her away; but in a calm such an enterprise was out of the question. So, we were preparing to push off, well satisfied with our reconnoitring, when a light suddenly fell upon the carved figure of a saint, which formed one of the stern ornaments, and at the same time I could hear, though faintly, men’s voices in conversation. It would appear that some one had entered the great cabin with a light, and one of the windows being open, advertised us of the circumstance. All at once it occurred to me that, if I heard somewhat of the conversation, it was just possible that I might pick up some information as to the exact time the ship would sail, and the exact track she would follow; or perhaps the vision of a rope left carelessly dangling from the quarter into the water, had something to do with the notion. Catching the cord, I found it firmly attached above, and so, communicating in a whisper to the crew of the shallop my intention, I swung myself up, and presently gained footing amid the great masses of carved work, being wreaths and coronals of flowers, and graven figures and symbols of war and peace, with which the Spaniards overload the sterns of their ships, going to great cost for little utility; and then a slight further exertion brought me into a gallery running round the great cabin, and fenced in with a sort of massive and curiously wrought and fretted railing. Then, crouching down, I crept to the window from whence came the voices and the light. There was a carved saint very handy, close by the casement, and favoured by his wooden holiness, I looked securely into the cabin. It was very brave in its devices and ornaments, and spacious in size. The ceiling was gilded until it glittered again in the light of the great silver lamp which swung above the table, and draperies and hangings of silk, all embroidered and passamented with gold lace, depended both from starboard and larboard, showing strangely beside the great ponderous breeches, and the strong tackle of two cannons, which you might see peeping from amid the silken bravery. The mizen-mast passed through this great cabin, and it was incrusted as it were with small weapons—pistols and daggers, most richly mounted and hilted—while below was a great buffet, all set out with glimmering crystal and plate—flagons and vases of burnished silver, and curiously-shaped goblets of sparkling glass. But, although I had never seen such splendour on board ship, or indeed, for that matter, anywhere else, I gazed with the greatest interest on the two men who occupied this floating palace; they sat on either side of the table, with a great crystal bottle, almost full of wine, and two long-stemmed glasses, before them. One was rather old and fat, with dark garments and grey grizzled hair. He had little pig-like eyes, and a sly greasy-looking face, and was altogether not pleasant to look on. But his companion was a handsome gaillard, as you might see in a summer’s day, and most bravely dressed. He had a very bronzed face, with jet-black moustaches, which were curled, and oiled, and crisped; and hair flowing about his shoulders in such dainty fashion as I warrant you cost the barber many an hour’s labour; his eye was bright and flashing; his nose and mouth well cut; and, altogether, his head would have been a fortune for a painter to copy, only there was a leer about the eye, and a curl about the lip, which gave the lie to whoso would say, ‘Here be a gentle cavalier.’ Round his neck he wore great masses of lace, among which precious stones glittered; his cloak was of the richest velvet; and the arm which he stretched out to hold the drinking glass, showed a hand daintily gloved and sparkling with rings. On the table before him lay a rapier, sheathed and ornamented with ribbons, and beside it was a great straw hat, or sombrero, looped up with floss of gold and silk.

‘I would I were to see Madrid as soon as you,’ said the young cavalier; ‘there is a balcony I would fain be under but now with a mandoline,’ and, so saying, he set himself to hum, making as though he were playing an instrument.

‘Truly, Don José,’ answered the other, with a grating voice, ‘there are balconies enough in Carthagena, rivals enough to be fought with, and husbands enough to be deceived.’

‘Pshaw,’ said Don José, ‘colonial conquests give a man as little credit as trouble. I warrant you, you would have me—as successful a gallant as any at the court, be the second who he may,’ and here my gentleman curled his moustaches, and leant back with an air of mighty complacency,—‘you would have me waste time and incense on the female savages of this pestilent corner of the world.’

‘Well,’ answered the old man, ‘you ought to have bridled your valour, and not have drawn upon a gentleman in waiting in the precincts of the Escurial. You have no one to blame for your banishment but yourself. Zounds, for one, court-bred as you are, and a most learned doctor in that grave science of etiquette which rules the king who rules the double empire of Old and New Spain,—you showed yourself a singular pattern of discretion.’

‘Who could help it, most grave and tricksy Senor Davosa?’ said the other; ‘what blood of Old Castile would not have boiled over to hear an upstart, who knows not the name of his grandfather, dispute precedence with me—an Hidalgo of fifteen pure and unblemished descents? By my faith—if I had any—were the guards not all the quicker, the mushroom would speedily have been cropped from the earth, and that, by this very piece of steel,’ and the speaker touched his rapier.

‘Well,’ answered the other, ‘I hope such are not the terms of the memorial I am to carry home for you; if they be, I am likely to have but a bootless errand.’

‘Fear nothing, man; fear nothing,’ cried Don José; ‘I know what belongs to a memorial—I know how to tickle the ears of a king. The parchment but sets forth in words that would move the mainmast of this floating-box, which you merchants and seafaring people call ship, my frenzied groupings and stumblings in this outer darkness, where no sun of royalty shines to cheer or warm my forlorn spirit. There are excellent phrases, man, excellent phrases in the thing; until I invented them I never thought I had been so ill used. When I read my own composition it affected me to tears—to tears, Davosa—as I hope it will the king. And now, when do you sail? Be speedy, my good dove, be speedy, and bring me back an olive branch as a sign that the waters are abated.’