PERHAPS if Diego had been better acquainted with his cousin than he
was, he would not have dared to brave him, though the provocation had
been twice what it was and his own indignation doubly hot. Garcia
Fernandez and Francisco Martin knew the temper of the captain, and they
trembled for the rash boy.
But there were several things that conspired at that moment to make
Diego’s defiance less objectionable than at another time it would have
been. Martin Alonzo realized that he had been unjust to Diego from
first to last, and had misunderstood him; he saw that he had been
impolitic--though that was not much of a matter--in trying to force
a confession before all the crew; he knew now that the guilt of the
culprit in cutting the gear had not been as great as he had supposed
at first--though a hanging matter, too; moreover, he was a bold man
himself, and liked boldness in others, and particularly in Diego, whom
he had supposed to be a spoiled boy with no other gift than that of
talking immoderately. However, he was not going to yield at once. He
frowned and said:
“You are not talking now to one of your frays.”
“I would I were,” answered Diego, quickly; “I should have some hope of
justice then.”
“Tut!” said Martin Alonzo, and his brother and the steward knew by the
half-smile on his face that there was no longer any danger for Diego,
“that good Fray Bartolomeo told the truth when he said you had the gift
of language.”
“It has been of little use to me here,” said Diego, sulkily.
“Say no more about it, say no more about it!” ejaculated Martin Alonzo,
gruffly, but not unkindly.
“Yes,” said Diego, still smarting under his wrongs and disregarding the
warning of Garcia Fernandez, “that is just it; you put upon me and then
deny me the right to say a word in my own behalf.”
“Say no more about it, say no more about it,” reiterated Martin Alonzo,
impatiently.
“Oh, I can keep silence,” answered Diego.
Martin Alonzo laughed in spite of himself at the persistence of the boy.
“No one would credit it to hear you now,” he said. “Well, what will
satisfy you? Shall I ask your pardon in set words?”
But by this time Diego was able to see that he had come off
marvellously well, and that he would be wise not to push his cousin’s
complaisance any further. Indeed, the moment he was assured of Martin
Alonzo’s kindly feeling, he lost all his resentment, and with true
boyish inconsequence swung around from sullen anger and defiance into a
gay good-humor that showed itself in his old-time mischief. He drew his
hand from his belt, where it had been angrily clenched, and waved it in
imitation of his cousin’s manner, and said, copying his tone and words:
“Say no more about it, say no more about it!”
Very much taken aback by this palpable and clever mimicry of himself,
Martin Alonzo bit his lip, and then burst into a short but hearty
ha-ha-ha, as if he could not help it; then checked himself and held out
his hand, saying:
“There! take my hand like a cousin and a friend, and go your way
for’ard and be a sailor again. I forgive you, and do you do the same by
me, and forget what has happened.”
“Thank you, Martin Alonzo,” said Diego, taking the proffered hand. “I
hope I shall show you how good a sailor I can be, since sailor I must
be.”
“A brave lad and a shrewd!” said Martin Alonzo, as Diego left the
cabin; “but, now, to this affair.”
“I crave your pardon, Martin Alonzo,” said Diego, thrusting his head
in at the doorway, “but I have taken quick counsel with myself, and it
seems to me there is something I may tell you without harm to any one.”
“I suppose,” said Martin Alonzo, friendly enough now, “you mean you
will tell of good-will what you would not tell perforce.”
“It may be that,” answered Diego, looking a little shamefaced.
“Well, tell it, and let us be thankful that you have relented.”
“You may laugh as you will,” said Diego, quite seriously; “but I do
assure you that you had so frightened me that I could not tell right
from wrong, and could only see that I must not turn informer. You will
understand better when I tell you.”
“I was wrong, Diego. Speak freely now.”
“I suppose you knew as well as I that the men were dissatisfied.”
“I had been stupid else.”
“But I was certain from words I had heard fall that something, I knew
not what, was to be attempted last night. That was what I would have
told you had you permitted me.”
“Say no more about it, say no more about it,” laughed Martin Alonzo.
“I did not refer to it in reproach,” said Diego, “but only to show
that I was suspicious and anxious; though the most I looked for was a
mutiny, which should force you to turn back, and that I would not have
been unthankful for, though I would have warned you, too.”
“A right-minded youth!” murmured Garcia Fernandez.
“Last night,” went on Diego, “I lay out on deck, because of not liking
the forecastle, where, besides the air being close and foul, I had
nothing but black looks. While I lay there I saw two sailors creep
out and make their way aft, one of them with a knife in his hand. I
followed softly, thinking they meant mischief to you.”
“And what would you have done in such a case?” demanded Martin Alonzo,
who with the other two had listened with great interest to Diego’s tale.
“I should have thrown myself on him and called for help, the moment I
saw him go into the cabin.”
“Tut!” said Martin Alonzo, “what could you do against him?”
“What!” cried Diego, off his guard, “I am his master, as he shall learn
some day.”
The three men exchanged meaning glances that told Diego that he had
betrayed a part of his secret. He was at once furious and in despair.
“I will say no more. ’Tis a shame to trick my honest confidence.”
“So it is, Diego, so it is in faith,” said Martin Alonzo, hastily.
“Believe me, I will take no advantage of what has slipped you.”
It was very plain that Martin Alonzo had conceived a sudden and strong
liking for his young cousin, and was disposed to humor him. Diego felt
it, and it induced him to continue his story.
“Well, there was no intention of hurting you; but I could not make out
what was intended when one of them slipped over the rail. However, I
hid myself as well as I could, meaning to seek you as soon as they
were in the forecastle again. But one of them saw me and sprang on me.
The other came to his assistance and choked out the cry I would have
uttered. Then, one of them was for throwing me over the rail, fearing
for their lives if I betrayed them.”
“I should have hanged them,” interjected Martin Alonzo, grimly.
“The other would not permit me to be murdered, and threatened to fight
and cry out if the design were persisted in; so I was spared on
condition of taking an oath not to reveal what I had seen.”
“Well, of course,” said Martin Alonzo, “if you took an oath!”
“But I did not. You came on deck then and I escaped without taking the
oath.”
“Then why did you not tell me at once?” cried Martin Alonzo.
“Why,” said Diego, holding up his head proudly, “if I had taken the
oath, I should have owed it to them to keep silence; while not taking
it, I owed it to myself, and that was more to me than what I owed
perforce.”
He looked very handsome and winsome as he stood there in his young
pride, and Martin Alonzo thought so. He cast an approving glance at
Garcia Fernandez and Francisco Martin, and sprang up from his chair.
“Embrace me, boy!” he cried, rapturously; for he dearly loved a brave
action and a lofty spirit. “Thou art a true Pinzon, and I am proud of
thee. There, Diego,” he went on, “if I discover not Zipangu, at least
I have discovered thy mother’s son, and that will be some recompense.
Now, go for’ard, and ever count me friend. I would not have had thee do
otherwise, and I thank the Holy Virgin that I was withheld from putting
that shame on thee.”