_I AM 'DON ALONZO.'_
It was a splendid evening one day towards the end of the year 1503,
when a tall, plainly-attired, handsome youth drew near the home of a
Spanish colonist to whom he had notes of introduction. He had walked
out to it from San Domingo, a distance of some five miles, and now
stood still to survey the scene, his hand resting on a dog's head the
while that had accompanied him.
"It is a glorious place, old Don," he muttered in a tone of
considerable satisfaction, although it betokened great surprise as well.
And a glorious place it was, and most especially beautiful now that
the long, low houses of stone and earth, the waving palms, and all the
other luxuriance of that southern clime, were bathed in the golden
glory of a southern sunset. In a cushioned reclining chair, placed in
a shady spot of the broad verandah, lounged a young man, handsome,
but for a Spaniard coarse-featured and rather thick-set. However, all
defects of person were thrown into the background by a sumptuousness of
attire that fairly startled the youth as he at length approached, and
delivered his letters.
"And you are the son of Master Pedro, the spice-dealer of El Cuevo!" he
breathed forth at last.
The words of that ejaculation were common-place enough, but the tone in
which they were uttered, and the look with which they were accompanied,
made them so inexpressibly gratifying, and at the same time comical, to
the man to whom they were addressed, that he burst into a loud, long
laugh before vouchsafing them any other answer.
"Yes, yes," he said at last, recovering himself with an easy
nonchalance. "Yes, yes, youngster, I do not mind confessing to you,
since you know the fact before my confession, that the worthy old
gentleman yonder, with his frugal fare, and his better stuff cloak for
holidays, is my father, and a rare good old miser he is, to save the
maravedis for my spending. But mind ye, that is between you and me and
Saint Peter."
A wondering gaze from a great pair of thoughtful, brilliant eyes was
the questioning reply to this intimation. "And for the rest of the
world," asked the owner of the eyes after a short pause, "who is your
father for the rest of the world?"
Another laugh greeted this query.
"Why, for the rest of the world, being what you have found me, Don
Alonzo de Loyala, my father is, like thine own, some long-deceased
grandee of Spain, who neglected his duty towards his son as regarded
the due endowment of riches to maintain my rank in mine own land."
As this mocking speech ended, Montoro de Diego's cheeks flushed
angrily, and he exclaimed--
"Do you then imply that my claims to noble birth are thus also assumed?
By St.--"
"Nay then, nay," good-humouredly interrupted the other. "In these
latitudes it is not well for health to heat thyself for nought. Keep
thy passion for the red rascals, who are so lazy that they'll die
rather than live and work. I imply nothing to thy detriment. Wert thou
placed as I am, then wouldst thou also have a wealthy father at thy
back, to help thee to maintain that rank out here it should pleasure
thee to claim. Meantime, I do no more than half of those around me,
and with better right; for I am no released felon, and I deal honestly
by those I trade with. I will deal honestly with you. Twice have I had
advices from my father, and from good master Sancho, that I should try
to secure you for a companion and aid, should you elect to remain here
on the Admiral's return to Spain. And I like you at first sight well
enough to be willing to take their advice. Will you stay with me then,
or shall I help you to find friends elsewhere?"
Montoro looked at the man from head to foot slowly and earnestly, as he
lounged there before him, so great a contrast to himself, and then as
slowly and earnestly said--
"I agree to stay--for a time."
"Umph!" muttered the self-styled Don Alonzo, somewhat taken aback in
his turn. "Umph! my noble youngster, methinks from your air you suppose
the obligation to be rather more mutual than I esteem it. You are a
beggar and friendless, and I--am not."
However, Montoro was not now so friendless as his new colleague
assumed. Had he returned to Spain, even there he might now have been
found some sort of employment, and out in the Colony the spirited young
adventurer, with a pair of hands both able and willing to work, could
have easily found some more indolent seeker after wealth willing to go
into partnership with him. But Rachel de Diego was sheltered under the
roof of the spice-merchant, and her son had a hidden eagerness that he
might be able to find shelter under the roof of the spice-merchant's
son. It was to that motive that 'Don Alonzo' owed the easy settlement
of his agreement with his new young partner, and not, as he imagined,
to the promising air of luxurious comfort in his surroundings. That
offered more allurements to a third party to the affair.
Don threatened for a few minutes to upset the amiable arrangements
between his real owner and his self-adopted master, for poor Don had
very faint notions of the rights of property and ownership, and Don was
thirsty and Don was hungry, and, moreover, Don was as fond of grapes
as any Christian Don, real or pretended, to be found in or out of
Spain. All of a sudden, while Montoro was gazing thoughtfully out at
the silver line of distant sea, and Don Alonzo was muttering to himself
the remark mentioned above, tired Don caught sight of a piled-up dish
of grapes on a table in the verandah. He licked his dry lips, and went
on eyeing them. Then he licked his dry lips again, and ventured upon
a small whine. That sound recalled Montoro's wandering wits so far
that he turned round and nodded to his four-footed friend, and said
dreamily--
"Yes, yes. All right, good old Don."
That was enough. Don was in that state of longing that a very small
amount of encouragement was enough to induce him to help himself to
the desired feast, and before either of his companions knew well what
he was about, he had bounded up to the table, scrunched up one juicy,
deliciously refreshing bunch of grapes, and had a second in his mouth
about to be treated in the same way. But "there's many a slip 'twixt
the cup and the lip," and in this instance there proved to be a slip
'twixt the lip and the throat.
Don Alonzo quickly became aware of what was going on, and, seizing a
heavy bottle, he flung it with full force angrily at the dog; and it
hit, not the dog, but the dog's champion, happily only a touch, and
then fell crashing on the floor of the verandah.
The next instant Montoro's first dash forward to save the dog was
followed by a second to save Don Alonzo; for the huge animal had made a
furious spring at his antagonist, accompanied by a growl that gave full
promise of his intentions. Montoro's most resolute and stern command
was needed before the hound was brought to crouch down by his side,
with red-lit eyes still glaring at his unrecognized owner.
"That brute shall be shot before he's an hour older," came the surly
declaration at last, as Montoro knelt on the stone pavement soothing
the animal back into good temper. At the sharp announcement he looked
up quickly.
"Then you shall shoot him through me," he said passionately, "as you
struck me just now instead of him. He is my only friend out here, and
we will live or die together."
Don Alonzo shook himself irritably. He was good-hearted enough if
over-indulgent parents in the first instance, and superabundant good
fortune since, had not rather spoilt him. Besides, four years' sojourn
on the island of Hispaniola had not tended to teach regard for any
life but his own; that he esteemed at quite a high enough rate, and he
answered Montoro now with angry remonstrance--
"It is all very fine to talk heroics, youngster; but thinkest thou that
I am going to be browbeaten into keeping my own dog, to stand in danger
of being mauled by it any time its tempers up, as if I were a wretched
native!"
Montoro stood up and folded his arms.
"Neither you nor any other man, Indian or European, shall suffer from
Doffs teeth. Or, if perchance that sounds too proud a boast, for the
first human being that Don injures he shall die. He shall be as a lamb
to you now--see--hold out your hand."
With some scarcely-disguised trepidation Alonzo obeyed. Don cast a
beseeching glance of remonstrance at his friend; but instead of any
encouragement to rejection of the offered fellowship, he got a grave
shake of the head; and with a very crestfallen aspect he rose, walked
dolefully along the verandah, and put his paw into the outstretched
hand, and looked up with mute appeal for forgiveness.
Don Alonzo was wise enough to seal the new compact with a
freely-generous gift of more of the coveted grapes. If Montoro for Don,
and Don for himself, would engage that Don Alonzo should never feel
the sharpness of that animal's teeth, his owner was only too willing
that it should live. For it was quite the fashion now to use these
powerful dogs out in the new world, not only as terrible aids in battle
against the poor, half-defenceless Indians, but also to hunt down
the miserable, wholly-defenceless slaves who sometimes dared to run
away to die in peace in their native forests, instead of beneath the
short-sighted, as well as brutal, taskmaster's lash.
The young Diego had declared that Don should never be so employed, but
that declaration Don Alonzo comfortably decided in his own mind was
all nonsense. He himself had had qualms about the treatment of the
natives when he first came out, but he had long since got rid of all
such inconvenient scruples; and so of course would this new arrival
get speedily rid of his. Every one did, with the exception of that
impracticable idiot of a neighbour of his, that young fellow Las Casas,
who had come out from Spain with his head so full of theories and
bookish ideas that he had no room in it for common sense.