Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer: A Romance of the Spanish Main

by Cyrus Townsend Brady

CHAPTER XII

SHOWS HOW DONNA MERCEDES CHOSE DEATH RATHER THAN GIVE UP CAPTAIN ALVARADO, AND WHAT BEFEL THEM ON THE ROAD OVER THE MOUNTAINS

hey set forth early in the morning. There was a cool freshness in the air from the storm of the day before and if they wished to avoid the necessity of traveling in the heat of the day early departure was necessary. Although the season was summer in a tropic land not far from the equator, the altitude of Caracas lowered the ordinary temperature to an agreeable degree, but after they crossed the pass of La Veta and began the descent toward La Guayra they would be within the confines of one of the hottest localities on the face of the globe.

Early as it was, the Viceroy and his officers, including, of course, de Tobar, were assembled in the patio to bid the travelers godspeed. While de Lara gave a few parting directions to Alvarado, Don Felipe took advantage of the opportunity and of his position as the publicly affianced of Donna Mercedes to address her a few words in farewell, which she received with listless indifference that did not bode well for the future happiness of either of them. The final preparations were soon over. Don Felipe lifted Donna Mercedes to the saddle of her Spanish jennet; some of the other gentlemen assisted the Señora Agapida to the back of the sure-footed mule which she had elected as her mount; Alvarado saluted and sprang to the back of his mettlesome barb, and, followed by a half-dozen troopers who constituted the escort, the rear being brought up by servants with pack mules carrying the personal baggage of the two ladies, the little cavalcade moved off, the gentlemen in the Viceroy's suite standing bareheaded in the doorway as they disappeared under the trees and began the ascent toward the pass.

With the whispered assurance of his friend, "I trust you," still ringing in his ear, with the sound of the Viceroy's stern voice, "I know not what danger could befall my child in this peaceful time, but I have a premonition that something threatens, and I charge you to guard her welfare and happiness with your life," still fresh in his mind, Alvarado, whose white, haggard face showed that he had passed a sleepless night, rode at the head of the column. Some distance in front of him rode a trooper, for there were even then thieves, wandering bands of masterless men who levied bloody toll on travelers from the capitol whenever they got opportunity. Next to the captain came the sergeant of the little guard, then the two women, followed closely by two more of the soldiers, after that the little pack train, which he had ordered to close up and keep in touch after they left the city, and, last of all, the two remaining soldiers to bring up the rear.

The soldiers, servants, and muleteers were in high spirits. There was little danger to be apprehended, for the party was too strong to fear attack from any of the brigand bodies, and the military order of march was taken more as a matter of habit than from any special need. The day was pleasant, the scenery, though familiar, was at the same time grand and beautiful, and they were happy—all, that is, except Donna Mercedes, the duenna, and Alvarado.

The worthy Señora Agapida with womanly shrewdness more than suspected the true state of affairs. Indeed, Mercedes, who loved the old woman, who had been as a mother to her, her own mother having died when she was a mere child, had scarcely taken the trouble to conceal her misery, and the old woman's heart was wrung whenever she looked at the drooping figure at her side. She would fain have brought the flush of happiness to the face of the girl she loved, by throwing her into the arms of Alvarado; but, as a distant connection of the de Laras herself, the worthy dame had her own notions of pride, and her honor would not permit her to do anything for which the Viceroy could properly fault her. The ancient duenna was an indifferent horsewoman, too, and although she had the easiest and surest footed beast of the party she journeyed with many sighs and groans of dissatisfaction. She bravely made an effort at first to cheer up her charge, but soon perceived that the task was beyond her powers, so she rode along in a silence unbroken save by her frequent ejaculations.

When Mercedes had met Alvarado early in the morning she had acknowledged his profound salutation with the curtest and coldest of nods. She was furiously and bitterly angry with him; for, between duty, honor, friendship, and her love, he had not chosen her. She knew that he loved her. She had known it a long time, and, if she had the slightest doubt, the sincerity with which he had spoken the night before, the fierce, passionate fervor of the kisses that he had pressed upon her lips, his utter abandonment to his passion, had more than satisfied her. Yet, when she had offered to throw everything to the winds—love, duty, obedience, if he would only take her away—he had hesitated. With her, a woman who had all Venezuela at her feet, held in his arms, he had repulsed her, refused her! He had heard the open confession of her overwhelming love for him, and he had resisted her! With the feel of her heart beating against his own, he had strained her to his breast and prated of honor and duty!