LEGEND CONCLUDED--THE SEQUEL.
When the Senhor Dom Vasco came to his senses, says the Padre
Navarette, morning had dawned. All nature was calm, and the warm
rays of the rising sun were shedding light and gladness on the land
and sea.
Above him rose in sullen majesty the triple crest of the Table
Mountain, the Devil's Hill, and the Hill of Lions; and undisturbed by
a single ripple before him lay that treacherous sea, which, but a few
hours before, had destroyed _Nossa Senhora da Belem_. With some
surprise, Vasco found that his doublet and hose were dry; and that
his bruises were not so severe as he might have expected, under all
the circumstances.
He arose, invoked Heaven on his knees, and surveyed the watery plain
with anxiety, to discover whether any fragment of the wrecked
caravella was floating there; but not a vestige was to be seen, and
apparently none of his crew had reached the shore save himself, all
had perished.
The forlorn cavalier could not repress an exclamation of bitterness
and grief, on realizing the full horror of this catastrophe; for he
loved his crew, and also the little caravella in which he had sailed
so gaily from the Tagus, on that auspicious 8th of July.
Distant from his native land many, many thousand miles, without a
hope of rescue or release, he was about to abandon himself to
despair, when in the vague hope of meeting another survivor, he
traversed the plain which lies at the base of the Table Mountain, and
which was then covered by white lilies, gorgeous tulips, and almond
trees, all growing wild.
To add to his grief and terror, here he found the remains of his
friend, Joam da Coimbra, half devoured by lions or wolves, who had
dragged him from the beach. Dom Vasco shuddered, and was hastening
on, when a deep voice that seemed to fill the whole welkin, cried,
"_Stay!_"
He turned, and beheld a copper-coloured man of wondrous stature, and
savage, yet noble aspect, who held in his right hand a hunting spear,
so long, that it was twice the length of any Vasco had ever
seen--aye, thrice the length of the lance his grandsire had carried
at Aljubarrota--and in his left a reeking skin, which he had just
torn from a lion--perhaps one of those that had been feasting on the
hapless pilot. His aspect was alike sublime and terrible; his black
beard was of majestic length; his bright eyes wore a sad and gloomy
expression, and his hair which rose in great curls, like those of the
Phidian Jove, resembled the mane of a sable lion. But what is
stranger than all, this wild man spoke very good Portuguese.
"In the name of Heaven," said the cavalier, "who and what are you?"
"The spirit of the Cabo dos Tormentos--the demon of the storm which
rent your ship asunder, and cast it on yonder shores, dashed to a
thousand pieces," replied the form in a deep, but melodious voice.
Vasco--continues the Padre Navarette--doubted the evidence of his
senses. This was like one of the adventures with which the history
of "Amadis de Gaul" had filled his mind--one for which he longed; but
he felt the reality the reverse of pleasant.
"I have ruled these regions since the ark rested on Mount Ararat, and
since the land was parted from the waters; but never until now, has
the foot of man invaded them; and had my power prevailed in the storm
of yesternight, instead of being here, thou too shouldst have found a
grave where many other adventurers lie, in yonder rolling sea."
"Terrible spirit," said Dom Vasco, "is the presence of a mere mortal
so hateful to you?"
"Yes," replied the demon, shaking his mighty locks with gloom and
sadness; "for now my power over these seas, and shores, and clouds,
must end where thine begins. Else, wherefore did I bury ship after
ship in that tempestuous sea, or split them by the flaming bolts,
that all on board might perish? Many have sought to pass my
promontory, to reach the golden realms of Prester John, but none have
escaped me save _thee_! I have had the power of assuming what form I
please. To-day I am a man, to-morrow I should tower to the skies
astride the Table Mountain, or ride the wild blast that comes from
the arid desert of Zahara, to bury some barque in the distant sea;
but that my power is passing away from me. I tell thee, O most
fortunate and valiant cavalier, that from this day the Cabo dos
Tormentos shall be a Cape of Storms no more, but one of Good Hope to
all the mariners of the earth--for so it was ordained by the hand
which placed Adam in Eden and gave such wondrous power unto the Seal
of Solomon."
As the spirit concluded, his voice became fainter; his broad and
dusky chest heaved as he sighed deeply, and he gradually appeared to
dissolve into a thin white vapour, which floated upwards and melted
away on the summit of the Table Mountain. But the power of the
spirit lingers there still; for over the same spot where he vanished
from the eyes of Dom Vasco, _a thin white cloud_, which rises from
the hill, is unto this day the sure forerunner of a storm.*
* In summer, when the S.E. wind blows, a cloud called _the
Tablecloth_ appears on the mountain, and always indicates a tempest.
This cloud is composed of immense masses of fleecy
whiteness.--_Arnott_.
Next day, the _San Rafael_, the vessel of Da Gama, which had been
greatly shattered by the tempest, appeared off Table Bay, and on
Vasco da Lobiera making signals, a boat was sent for him and he was
brought on board, more dead than alive after all he had undergone.
To the wondering followers of his friend, he related his adventure.
They deplored the loss of his caravella, and of so many good and
pious Portuguese; but they shook their long beards doubtfully when he
spoke of the spectre, though the unusual calmness of the weather
about the Cabo dos Tormentos seemed to verify his story and the
promises made to him.
On being joined by the vessels of Paulo da Gama and Gonzalo Nunez,
they bore away to the eastward, and named the coast La Terra de Noel
(or Natal) having anchored off it on Christmas Day. Sixty leagues
from the Cape, they found a bay, which they named San Blaz, and in it
an island, full of birds with bat's-wings. (Penguins.)
Thus the passage of the Cape of Storms was fully achieved and the
spell broken by these valiant Portuguese; but they could nowhere
discover the realms of Prester John, so the royal letters of Dom
Emmanuel remained unopened.
On his return to Lisbon, Dom Vasco applied to the King of Portugal
for a gift of the Table Mountain, and money to colonize the land
about it, in virtue of his interview with the spectre; but he was
laughed at by the courtiers, and especially by the priests, who
proved his greatest enemies.
The King, after this, styled himself Lord of the Seas on both sides
of Africa; Lord of Guinea, Ethiopia, Persia, India, Brazil, and many
other lands; but how fared it with Dom Vasco da Lobiera?
Fury, pride, and mortification turned his brain; but he survived till
the reign of King Joam III., when he was last seen, an old and
impoverished man, with a white head and threadbare doublet, hovering
in the Rua d'Agua de Flore in Lisbon, at the gate of the Estrella, or
at the chapel of Nossa Senhora da Belem, raving to the passers about
the friendly Demon of el Cabo de Buena Esperança, and the colony of
which the King had deprived him.
So--says the Padre Navarette--ends this wild story.