That quick, unmanageable spirit of Montoro's was set all ablaze for a moment at the supposed imputation of cowardice; and he was about to shout back an answer little in accordance with his late act of reverence, but Diego Mendez, the officer in command of the little embassy, hastily clapped his hand over the lad's mouth, as he said with a short laugh:
"Nay now, art thou not a very fool to be so taken in? Dost thou not see by thy tormentor's face that the brain of no Columbus but himself made up that message for thee?"
The friendly intervention was timely. When Fernando called down again—"Say then, dost accept the offer?"—his companion's face was brimming over with merriment like his own, as the retort was shouted up:
"Ha, Fernando, my good Señor, thou art but a sorry messenger. My absent ears have caught the purport of thy father's words better than thy present ones. The Admiral's message to me is, that since thou art feared, I must obtain a leave to land for thee. I bid thee, then, calm thy quaking heart, since I will not fail. Adios."
"And a slap o' the ear for thee when thou returnest," was the answering shout; and then the boat cast off, and was rowed with vigorous strokes to that once fertile, but already so dismal and desolated island of Hispaniola, the head-quarters of cruelty, lawlessness, suffering, and rapacity.
Montoro was very quickly to have a specimen of the deeds that had brought the island to its present wretched condition.
As the boat approached the strand, crowds of idlers gathered about, some to give the new-comers welcome, more to express their contemptuous dislike of the Admiral by covert sneers or openly-expressed scorn bestowed upon his followers.
There, flaunting in silks and brocades, which not even the proudest hidalgos dared any longer wear in Spain, stood half-a-dozen men, who had been loosed from richly-deserved felons' dungeons at home, to serve as colonists for the New World. Near them, reclining in a sumptuous litter, borne upon the bleeding shoulders of four of the meek-spirited and unhappy natives, was an ignorant, cunning rascal, whom Montoro had himself seen carried off to prison for theft in El Cuevo. Now he lay there in all the insolent dignity of riches, with a palm-leaf umbrella borne over his head by one slave, whilst another sickly-looking creature fanned him.
Closer to the edge of the soft-lapping waters was a real Spanish Don, whose poverty-stricken estate had driven him to hide his thread-bare pride in exile. To indemnify himself for leaving his beloved Castile, he spent his whole time and thoughts on the island in squeezing wealth, almost, as it seemed, even out of its very stones. His slaves died off day by day, very nearly as soon as they were allotted to him; but that was nought to their owner, so long as with the remnants of their dying strength they reaped his harvests, and brought up gold for him from the mines. They were to him as machines for making riches; and when one of the machines wore out, it must be tossed aside to make room for another.
But with all Don Alfonzo's heartless barbarities to his miserable victims, he had a warm corner in his callous heart for his own countrymen, whoever they might be. All Spaniards were friends to Don Alfonzo, while the ocean lay between him and his home. He watched the progress of the incoming boat with eyes almost as eager as those with which, week by week, he counted his golden gains; and when, from the shallowness of the water, the rowers had to stop some way short of dry ground, he looked round hastily for some one whom he could order off for their assistance. None of his own people were in sight, but a weak, wan-faced Indian lay beside him, and him the nobleman immediately commanded to rise, and go into the water to help drag up the boat.