_GOOD OLD DON._
Time passed on. In Spain good Queen Isabella died, and two years later
the poor, neglected noble-hearted, pious old Admiral, Christopher
Columbus, recommending himself to God, and his two sons, Diego and
Ferdinand, to King Ferdinand's tardy justice and each other's brotherly
love, also bade a final farewell to an ungrateful world.
And in Hispaniola also time passed on. Many there grieved over the
Admiral when he was dead, who had tormented him in every possible way
when living,--that is the way with poor, stupid human nature. But he
had one true mourner, who had loved and served him with all his heart
during the year that they were together, and whose memory for those he
cared for was not a short one. Montoro de Diego, amidst his many new
interests, felt a very keen pang of sorrow when the news was brought
out to the island, towards the end of the year 1506, of the loss the
world had sustained.
"Ah! Señor Las Casas," he sighed one morning, some months later; "ah!
then, if he had lived, and the queen, you might then have had hope even
yet to work some good for these wretched, rightful owners of these
lands. But now--"
"Ay, indeed!" exclaimed Bartholomew Las Casas with heaving chest, as he
rose and strode hastily up and down his terrace. "You may well pause
upon that but now, Diego. For now one might more wisely waste breath
in calling upon wolves and wild cats to cease from fierceness, than in
pleading with one's fellow-men for mercy, justice, or compassion. 'Give
us yourselves,' is the fierce cry that echoes all around us. 'Give us
yourselves, your wives and daughters, for our humble slaves; give us
your gold, your lands, all you hold most valuable; resign your wills,
your faith, your souls into our keeping, and we will give you leave to
live as long as unremitting toil and cruelty will let you. But resist
us, fight for your country or your liberty, contradict our lightest
caprice, and we will shoot you down as though you were so many rabbits,
we will hunt you to death with our dogs as though you were vermin or
wild beasts.'"
The young man came to a sudden stop, with a face glowing with generous
indignation, and literally panting for breath with his burst of
righteous wrath. Montoro's cheeks were flushed with sympathy as he said
in quick reply--
"It is so. I can but too terribly vouch for the truth of your bitter
accusation. But, Señor, your brethren the priests, can they not--"
Las Casas turned upon him with sharp interruption.
"Can they not help me, you would ask? Ay, verily," with indignant
scorn; "well indeed do they help the cause I have at heart! This is
one of the proclamations allowed by some of those same brethren the
priests--'Your souls are doomed to eternal perdition, your bodies
belong to those who have conquered your soil!' Much good my brethren
the priests will do!"
There was a short silence, and then he continued more calmly, and
laying his hand upon a pile of papers, "But after all, Diego, I do hope
to work some good for the poor natives. I have written out a strong
case for them, and I am intending to return to Spain shortly, there to
plead their cause myself."
"And you shall have my testimony, if you will," said Montoro eagerly.
"For it is our Don Alonzo's will that I should take a journey to Spain
this coming season, in charge of a somewhat richer freight than usual.
And if you start not immediately we may go together."
"And Don?" said Las Casas, in smiling interrogation.
"Ay, truly," was the laughing answer, although something of a blush
accompanied it. "But in faith," he added the next moment, "it is not
only for love of the animal that I have it for my constant companion.
Since I have discovered the horrible use to which its fellows are put,
I live in fear of a coming day when I may regret having saved its life."
"Then," continued his friend, "you will leave it behind you in Spain
perchance, when you return hither?"
"That is so long to look ahead," said Montoro, feeling not a little
glad that he was not called upon for an immediate decision.
When it really came to the point he did what he thought much better
than leaving Don behind in El Cuevo. He got Master Pedro to transfer
all property in it to himself. His services to the old spice-dealer
and his son had well merited so much of a reward. And as for Don, he
deserved not only a good master, but almost as many bunches of grapes
besides as he chose to eat, when, a couple of years later, he was the
means of saving Montoro's life and a bag full of gold-dust to the value
of many thousand pesos.
Diego's first return journey to Spain proved so successful, owing to
his scrupulous honesty and intelligence, that Don Alonzo speedily sent
him on a second, and others also most eagerly availed themselves of so
upright a messenger to transmit their golden gleanings to their own
country.
But, as it happened, with Diego there voyaged also to Spain three
ne'er-do-wells. They had gambled away all their slaves, all their
grants of land, all their gathered-up spoils, and then, having finally
gambled away all their future prospects of wealth in Hispaniola, the
miscreants, as mean as they were bad, slipped away from the island and
their creditors on the first ship back to Spain.
"And mind ye," muttered one of the number to his companions one
evening, as they drew near the end of their two months' voyage,--"mind
ye, if we follow that insolent, set-up fellow Diego a day or two's
journey up the country after landing, we shall not be losing time,
neither shall we have cause to regret having left Hispaniola in his
company."
"How so?" questioned one of the two eager listeners doubtfully. "My
child yonder, little Bautista, told me when I questioned him some days
ago anent Diego's gold, that the bags were to be sent by other hands to
Madrid."
"And you credit the tale!" exclaimed the first speaker scornfully.
"You'll believe next that the Garden of Paradise has been found."
"And so I will," was the retort, "when the news is given me by Montoro
de Diego. He would not lie to save his life, and least of all would he
lie to a child."
"By all the saints," sneered the third of the group, "but Don Diego
hath a warm advocate in you! Doubtless it were useless to expect you to
touch his gold, even though it lay by the wayside to be picked up."
"Doubtless under those circumstances," was the sharp reply, "there
should be little left for you to snatch. All the same, he hath shown
kindness to my boy, and he tells him nought but truth."
"Well, well," said Almado, the first speaker, more softly, "there is no
need that we should wrangle over the fellow's virtues, they sicken me
forsooth. Ne'er the less, he shall be a very saint if you will, so we
do but get his merchandise. As for the gold that is to go to Madrid,
that is but that small part, of what he carries, which is for the
king's coffers. Of that I am well assured. So you see thy little son
yonder hath been told the truth indeed, but only in part, and maybe to
mislead us."
"Umph," muttered Bautista's father, also more quietly. "That may well
be."
"Ay," agreed the third of the company, "that may well be."
And for the next few hours they all redoubled their efforts to be
on good terms with Don. They flattered themselves, indeed, that he
regarded them quite in the light of friends, for Don, like most very
strong creatures, whether going on two legs or four, never troubled
himself to show uncalled-for fierceness. As long as no one interfered
with him or his master, and his master gave him no orders to interfere
with others, he maintained the grave indifference of manner worthy of
a highborn Spaniard. But woe betide those who should presume upon this
calmness.
Arrived at Cadiz, Montoro delivered up the royal revenue to the
authorized messengers awaiting it, and then he and his dog and his bags
set out on their journey up the country, in company with worthy Master
Sancho, who had come to meet him, and two or three other traders from
the interior.
"Farewell, my little Bautista," said Montoro; "I shall pray for our
future meeting."
"Nay," said the child hurriedly, and with a frightened look round, "do
not that, Señor. I love you, you have been good to me, and so I pray
the Virgin to grant we may not meet again."
Montoro opened his eyes wide.
"How so, little man? Love me, and yet pray that we may not again cross
each other's paths? How is that, tell me?"
But the boy shook his head, and began to tremble violently.
"Do not ask me," he muttered with white lips; "they will kill me. Only
keep away from us. They do not know I have heard--"
"Ha!" exclaimed Montoro, a look of intelligence now taking the place
of bewilderment. Then he stooped and kissed the child's forehead, as
he said in low tones, "Blessings on thee for thy true heart, my little
lad, and my thanks. May the Lord have thee in His keeping, and guard
thy hands from sin."
And so they parted, each, as poor little Bautista fondly thought, to go
widely different ways, but in reality to take two routes leading to the
same goal.
For the first two days' journey inland the party to which Montoro
joined himself was a particularly strong one, too strong for the three
gamblers to care to meddle with; accordingly they withdrew themselves
from notice, until the travelling company was reduced to Montoro
himself, Master Sancho and his thick-headed attendant, and a couple of
poor-spirited merchants, who would have rather hidden themselves in
their bales at the appearance of danger, than tried to defend them. But
then--there was Don.
The third day was drawing to a close, when Diego and his companions
reached a wretched little inn, the worst on their route, and with
considerable grumbling on the part of comfort-loving Master Sancho,
they put up there for the night. To make matters worse, the amount of
available accommodation was even less than usual, for another party of
travellers had arrived before them, and taken the chief and largest
room.
However, there was no help for it. Master Sancho had to make the best
of a bad bargain, and as nothing would induce him to share a room with
Don, and nothing would induce Montoro to dispense with Don's company as
a guardian under present circumstances, he and the dog had one room,
and the worthy burgess of El Cuevo and the two merchants from Saragossa
had to crowd into the other.
"One night," explained Master Sancho to his companions, "that young
rascal I've taken a fancy to, persuaded me to share a sleeping
apartment with him and that great brute, and in the night I
snored,--I'm given to snore,--and the creature didn't approve, and
woke me up with a sounding thump of its great paw. And there, behold!
it stood reared up over me, with glaring eyes and a growling mouth. I
warrant you, I prayed in one minute to more saints in the calendar than
I've prayed to in many a long year before."
"Doubtless," assented one of the merchants with paling cheeks. "I
have ever thought it a fearful great beast, and unsafe. But hearken!
Methinks it is now quarrelling even with its own master. Ah!" with
startled breathlessness--"it is shot."
Then there was a sudden rushing all over the inn. Screams, shrieks,
shouts, slamming of doors, and above all, the continuous roar of Don's
deep growling bark.
At length men and lights were gathered in Montoro's room, and there
stood Montoro holding in a firm grip one of the smugglers. But the hero
of the fray, and the conqueror, was grand old Don standing with one
great fore-paw on the breast of one robber, the other fore-paw on the
breast of Bautista's father, who lay weltering in his blood, shot by
the other of his comrades in the attempt to shoot the dog.
"But my child, my little son," murmured the wretched, dying man.
"I will guard and care for him," said Montoro huskily.
He had been rescued from misery himself once, now he was the rescuer.