WHILE the little fleet destined for the mad enterprise lay in port, it
was considered advisable to restrain the boys of the convent school
within the walls. So it came about that the gardener was driven almost
distracted by the peril of his choicest vegetables and flowers; for the
boys had not the same passionate regard for the growing things that he
had.
“See there, now!” said Fray Antonio, angrily, as he held one of the
boys by the collar of his jacket, “you have planted your clumsy foot on
the stem of my choicest melon, and it lacked a day of perfect ripening.
Think twice”--he cuffed him heartily as many times--”ere ever you set
foot to ground again.”
He pushed the boy from him, and then regarded him as if sorry he had
not been more liberal with his blows. The boy shook himself and gave
back to the exasperated gardener a glance as angry as his own. But that
was only the first impulse; the second followed close on its heels and
turned the anger into mischief. The lad cast a swift glance at his
comrades, who stood by, smothering their mirth, and then looked with
exaggerated innocence at the irate gardener.
“Think twice, did you say, Fray Antonio,” asked the boy, “ere I
set foot to the ground? Is it one of the rules of the order? Or is
it a rule you, only, go by? And would it not cause one to go with
a singular, halting gait? As thus--he raised a foot and held it
suspended--”I think once, I think twice, and down she goes. Now the
other. I think once, I think twice. Oh, but that is rare and dignified,
Fray Antonio, though I misdoubt those boys be laughing at me.”
“I will have a word with Fray Bartolomeo,” stuttered the angry gardener.
“_Gracias_ for that,” said the boy; “and I beg you to expound the thing
to him, lest, when he calls me and I go in this new fashion to him, he
may misjudge me. Do I catch the motion, good Fray Antonio?”
He walked towards his convulsed comrades with an absurd, halting step.
“Ah,” said Fray Antonio, with a grim, angry humor of his own, “you will
catch the motion, doubt it not, when you dance to the music of the
scourge. I will see to that, Diego Pinzon, I will see to that.”
“He means to do it, Diego,” said one of the boys, looking where the
angry brother went.
“Why, of course he means to do it,” said Diego, “and Fray Bartolomeo
will ask no better than to ply the scourge over my back. I might indeed
ask him to think twice ere he let the scourge fall, but I doubt if he
will be as ready as I was to act on the hint.”
“You may well doubt it,” laughed one of the boys.
“It is a thing he knows no moderation in,” said Diego, with a grimace.
“The sting would have been no greater had you first eaten the melon
instead of only bruising the stem,” said another.
They all found it easy to be merry since it was Diego who was to pay
the reckoning. But Diego was as merry as they; for it was not in his
nature to cross the bridge until he reached it.
“‘Tis a good suggestion, Alfonso,” said he. “Who will eat of the fruit
if I remove it from the bruised stem? I will promise to take all the
blame. Alfonso only speaks the truth when he says I will pay as much
for the stem as for the melon. For my own part, I think Fray Antonio
lets the melons stay too long on the vine. An over-ripe melon does not
suit my palate. Who is with me?”
[Illustration: “‘THINK TWICE, DID YOU SAY, FRAY ANTONIO,’ ASKED THE
BOY. ‘ERE I SET FOOT TO THE GROUND?’”]
The boys looked at each other and then at the melon that lay among the
leaves, showing a swelling side full of suggestions of lusciousness and
melting juiciness.
“It would be a pity for the melon to spoil,” said Alfonso.
“Besides,” said Diego, hunching his shoulders meaningly, “it would be
unfair to pay the price for nothing.”
A grin went around the circle, and Diego, with a glance about the
enclosure, stepped over to the melon and plucked it from the vine.
“Ah,” said he, smacking his lips, “Fray Antonio is but a poor gardener;
the melon would not have stood another day. Where shall we eat it?”
That was a serious question, and the boys looked blankly at each other.
It was not easy to hide in the convent grounds, especially when an
angry gardener was likely to make quick search. But Diego was full
of expedients. Fray Bartolomeo had often told him that if he would
but give the same attention to study that he did to mischief he would
surpass the best of them all.
“Tut!” said he, in answer to their looks, “it will be the easiest thing
imaginable. Fray Pedro will be sound asleep, and his keys will be in
his girdle. It would be a huge pity to awake him, and I will not do
it, merely to ask him to open the gates. I will just slip up to him and
help myself to the keys and open the gates. It will be a real mercy.
Come with me.”
The business began to look too serious to some of the boys, and, if
there had been any bold enough, there would have been a decided demur
to this proposition; but there was none, and so they all straggled
after their bold leader.
Fray Pedro, the porter, was in the state that Diego had declared he
would be. He was at his post, it is true; but his twice-doubled chin
was sunk into his neck, the flies had undisturbed possession of his
shaven skull, and, as if it were needed, his nose gave forth to the
world a defiant sort of notice that he slept.
Diego gave the melon into the keeping of his trusty lieutenant,
Alfonso, and crept up to the side of the drowsy friar, and detached the
bunch of keys from his ample girdle.
This was the last chance the timid ones would have to retreat, and more
than one looked for encouragement at his neighbor; but Diego acted as
if he expected to be followed, and followed he was.
He knew the right key, and put it in the lock and turned it softly. The
bolt shot back and the door swung open. Then Diego slipped back and
readjusted the keys in the friar’s girdle, and a moment later the boys
of the convent school were scurrying towards the olive grove hard by.
There is probably a difference of opinion in respect to melons.
Certainly the boys differed from Fray Antonio as to the ripeness of the
one they discussed in the coolness of the olive grove. They thought it
could not have been more delicious. There was but one fault--it was too
small a melon for eleven boys. There should always be eleven melons for
eleven boys.
“It is very good,” said Alfonso, eating rather close to the rind, “and
it would have been wasted on that Italian, Christoval Colon, who would
have been sure to share it with our reverend prior.”
“Yes,” said Diego, “it would have been wasted; but much as I have
enjoyed it, I would not have begrudged it to him; for it is like enough
that once he sets sail he will never taste of melon again. Was ever
so crazy a venture! And yet to look at him he is serious and reverend
enough. I thank my cousin, Martin Alonzo, that he fixed on me for the
church. I would not go the voyage with him--no, not for ten thousand
ducats of gold.”
“Ducats of gold!” said Alfonso, doubtfully. “I should think twice,
like Fray Antonio, before I would refuse that.”
“Gold or silver,” said Diego, scornfully, “what would they profit you
and you never returned home to spend them?”
“Let us go back,” said one of the timid ones, to whom the mention of
Fray Antonio had brought up visions of a scourge vigorously applied.
“Go back!” said Diego. “Not I. As well be hung for an old sheep as a
young lamb. The vessels sail to-night, and I warrant there will be rare
doings at Palos to-day. I am going to Palos. Who is with me?”
“I will go,” said Alfonso. “Why not? I have eaten the melon, and I must
digest it. Who else is with us?”
But very fear had made the others bold by this time, and to a boy they
shrank back.
“Ha, ha, ha!” laughed Diego. “Well, go back, but have a care that Fray
Antonio is not waiting for you at the gate.”
It was so possible a thing that the boys looked miserably at each other
for a moment, and then started on a run for the convent, followed by
the jeering laughter of the two who had elected to be truants.
As for them, the moment of reckoning was so far away that they felt
very reckless, and it was with an air of bravado that they struck into
the dusty road and walked hastily into the town.
When they reached the town they found that Diego had been quite right,
and that the place was in a turmoil indeed. On the square there were
sullen faces, and down on the quay, whither they hurried at once, there
were weeping women and angry men; while on the three little vessels,
anchored a stone’s-throw off shore, the crews could be seen hanging
miserably over the rails, casting longing eyes ashore.
“When do they sail?” demanded Diego of a man standing near him on the
quay.
“They only wait on some jail-birds that have consented to go,” answered
the man in a surly tone. “Even they are too good for such a cruise; but
if the whole crew was of the same it were better. ’Tis a sin to let
good men risk their lives so.”
“Here they come! here they come!” one and another said, and the boys,
looking around, saw a burly, bold-looking man making his way through
the crowd, followed closely by two hang-dog looking fellows, who, in
their turn, were followed by an officer of the Holy Brotherhood, as the
police of Spain was then called.
“‘Tis my cousin, Martin Alonzo,” whispered Diego to his companion.
“Let me hide behind you; for if he see me and be short of hands, he
will think nothing of taking me in tow.”
The fear might be well enough founded; but Martin Alonzo Pinzon was
thinking of other things than the young Pinzon whom he had destined to
the priesthood. He had had so much opposition and so many hard words
that he was on the _qui vive_ to catch and answer anything that might
be said to him.
He left the officer and his two prisoners near to where Diego stood,
and went to the edge of the quay to hail a small boat from one of the
vessels. Now Diego was not one ever to lose an opportunity. He saw by
the looks of the prisoners that, though they had chosen the perilous
voyage rather than remain in prison, they were yet far from happy in
their lot. And the younger of the two, who was scarcely older than
himself, was particularly unhappy.
“He is very young to die,” said Diego, in a sepulchral tone.
Some of the bystanders laughed; for the tone was only in keeping with
the dismal expression of the young convict. But the latter raised
his sullen face and glared at Diego. He said nothing, but there was
something unpleasantly vindictive in his eyes. Alfonso said:
“‘Tis well you are not going to take the voyage with him.”
“I think so myself,” answered Diego, carelessly; “but if I went the
voyage, I think I would make little account of his anger, or any one’s
else.”
“You are right,” said the man to whom they had first spoken, “what
with dragons and monster serpents, and great gulfs in the water, and
creatures that live on human flesh and all sorts of inconceivable
perils, ’tis better far to dare anything than go such a voyage.”
“Here,” roared the voice of Martin Alonzo Pinzon, at this moment, “take
these fellows off to my vessel, and see that they remain there.”
The two prisoners were hurried into the boat amid the silence of the
spectators, and Martin Alonzo went back into the town.
“I would rather take my chances at the convent,” said Diego.
“So would I,” agreed Alfonso. “Shall we go there now?”
“Why should we? We shall be flogged the same, whether we stay an hour
or five. I say, let us wait and see the vessels weigh anchor.”
“Let us then,” said Alfonso, who seldom gainsaid his friend.
“For a fact,” said Diego, nodding his head sagely, “old Bartolomeo
cannot hurt much anyhow.”
“Old Bartolomeo!”
A hand was on the collar of each boy’s jacket. Neither looked up to see
whose the hand was. They had recognized the voice as that of him whom
Diego had called “old Bartolomeo.” They cast despairing and disgusted
grimaces at each other.
“Will you lay hold of this scape-gallows,” said the Franciscan to the
man with whom the boys had been holding converse.
The man grinned and took a firm hold of Diego’s collar, much to the
surprise of that lad, who had expected, as a matter of course, to be
made the example of; it being evident that the pedagogue intended to
administer summary punishment.
“Be careful,” said the Franciscan; “for he is a slippery rascal; and,
now, give me space.”
It was a diversion as good as any for the idle crowd to see Alfonso
capering under the hot blows of the angry friar, and they cheered him
on with laughing shouts.
“And now,” said Fray Bartolomeo, letting the scourge fall at his side
from sheer exhaustion, “do thou hasten back to the convent, and make
good speed, or it shall be the worse for thee.”
Diego had not felt the same sorrow for Alfonso that he might have done,
but for the conviction that the worthy friar would be too worn with his
exertions to do justice to his particular case. But when the Franciscan
released Alfonso, Diego, not to betray his satisfaction, set up a howl,
and begged the friar not to be too hard upon him, at the same time
casting a comical glance at the spectators, to let them understand that
he cared not a fig for the worthy man’s castigation.
“As for thee, Diego Pinzon, who art counting on my weakened strength,
thou goest to one whose arm will not fail him, I warrant--thy cousin,
Martin Alonzo.”
Then did Diego turn pale, not only with the fear of an arm whose like
was not in Palos, but with a greater fear.
“In mercy don’t do that,” he cried. “I mind not the flogging, I will do
any penance; but take me not to my cousin, for I know in my heart he
will ship me for the terrible voyage.”
“Ah, that he will,” said the man who held him; “for he has not his
complement yet.”
“Tut!” said the friar, taking Diego by the collar and leading him away;
and the heart of the boy sank within him.