_DEATH FOR DON._
It was the early part of the year 1511, when Montoro, become now quite
an experienced islander and man of business, left Don Alonzo's place,
Palmyra, one morning for the neighbouring town of San Domingo. The
object of the visit was to arrange some important matters with certain
foreign merchants, who had lately arrived with tempting offers to the
planters for the produce of their estates.
"And don't hurry thyself," said Don Alonzo with unusual consideration.
"Take thy pleasure for a few days when thou art in the town, for verily
this dog's hole of a place is dull enough to make a man long to shuffle
off life with a native's readiness."
"If those same natives should get the upper-hand," answered Montoro
drily, "I doubt not they would help you. Meantime, I will trust to find
you still in the flesh, and well, when I return, and so--_adios_."
"And for you, fair journeyings and good bargains," said the indolent
superior, as he lay lounging in his low chair sipping a cool lime-juice
beverage. Little enough of the work he did himself towards accumulating
his own wealth.
But, lazy and self-indulgent as he was, it had not escaped Montoro that
there was a certain scarcely-suppressed eagerness, and barely-hidden
hope of some sort, underlying his present declared wishes for his
subordinate's comfort. As Montoro left the verandah and passed through
the house he called to his rescued _protégé_, who had proved useful
enough to secure himself a home beneath Don Alonzo's roof. No work had
seemed to come amiss to him, excepting that of aid to the overseers in
the gold mines, in which he had been recently employed. But the brutal
task-masters had just sent the boy back, saying that he was no good to
them whatever, worse than no good indeed, for he pitied the rascally
workers instead of flogging them.
Bautista came readily enough when he heard his beloved Señor Diego's
voice.
"Am I to go with you, my Señor?" he exclaimed beseechingly. "Ah! but I
will be to you eyes and hands and feet, if I may."
"I prefer to use my own, thank you," answered Montoro smiling, as he
patted the boy's head. "But look not so disappointed, Bautista, for if
I cannot trust myself to thee, I am going to leave in thy charge one I
hold almost dearer. I leave thee guardian of our faithful old Don. And
see thou that he comes to no harm, and--that he does no harm. I have
guarded him from that sin hitherto; do thou guard him in my absence."
A deep breath, almost a groan, burst from the boy's lips.
"My Señor," he muttered anxiously, "give me some other duty to perform
for you. This may be too hard."
Diego frowned.
"I trust not," he said sternly. "It shall be worse for others if it
prove so. And remember, you have my orders, and if need be you must
declare them."
So saying he nodded his farewell to the boy and departed, leaving Don's
new guardian in a very doleful frame of mind, for he knew well enough
the cause of Don Alonzo's desire to be a short time rid of Montoro.
The spice-merchant's son was good-natured enough so long as he was
crossed in nothing, but Montoro's settled refusal to have Don used as
a hunter of runaway slaves had roused Alonzo's spite, and for the past
year, ever since the return of Montoro and the dog from Spain, he had
been seeking some chance to gratify his malice. Hitherto where Diego
had gone the dog had gone, but at last this expedition to the town was
arranged, and for various circumstances it was more convenient to leave
Don behind.
"And at last," declared Don Alonzo with a malicious chuckle, "at last
the brute shall be set to its proper work."
Bautista was in the apartment at the time, as well as one of the
overseers, and as a significant warning to him the words were
added--"And it shall have its first taste of the flesh of any one, be
he Spaniard or native, who betrays my purpose to Señor Long-face."
No wonder the boy desired that some other duty might be commuted to his
charge by his patron, in test of his affection. As Montoro rode off
with a party of attendants, Bautista made his way to Don, and poured
out his fears to an apparently perfectly intelligent pair of ears.
"But all the same, you know quite well, Don," said Bautista
reproachfully, "you do know quite well, that in spite of your good
Christian bringing up, you would seize a poor redskin by the leg if you
were set at him."
"Of course he would, like the sensible thoroughbred he is," shouted a
well-known voice not a couple of yards distant. And Bautista sprang to
his feet with a terrified look on his face, as he saw the hateful head
overseer, Jerome Tivoli, had come up to him unperceived.
The man now stood intently regarding the dog, with a more sinister
expression than usual upon his cruel face, and the boy could scarcely
restrain himself from flying away from the spot. Nothing short of his
loyal devotion to his patron could have kept him there. At last he said
huskily--
"It is useless so to examine this dog, for, strong or weak, you can
have nought to do with it, since it belongs to the Señor Diego, and he
chooses not that it should be used for your purposes."
De Tivoli uttered a short, hard laugh, and his eyes glittered as he
said slowly--
"Ah! yes. It is the Señor Montoro de Diego's dog---his favourite. And
verily it is a fine animal, and powerful, and will do a day's work well
for us. That dog of a slave Guatchi has run away, and, dead or alive,
yon pet of our Señor Diego shall bring him back to us."
Bautista flung himself down again beside the dog, and threw his arms
about its neck, as he exclaimed with the courage of affection--
"No! I tell thee no, Señor Tivoli. Señor Diego has left it to me to
guard his dog from doing harm, and I will keep my charge."
De Tivoli's thin lips curled; but ere he could reply other footsteps
were heard approaching, and Don Alonzo himself appeared upon the scene.
"How now, De Tivoli," he exclaimed hastily. "Why dost thou waste time?
The idle rascal Guatchi hath had start enough, I trow, to breathe the
dog e'en now; why dost thou delay?"
"It is but for a minute, Don Alonzo," replied the other coolly. "Yon
boy declares that, for Don Diego's sake, it shall not be sent hunting."
"And I," retorted Don Alonzo, "swear by St. Jago that it shall."
"And I, in the name of one higher," exclaimed Montoro de Diego, thus
unexpectedly making his own appearance on the scene again, "I declare,
with Bautista, that it shall not go."
Don Alonzo started slightly, and his face flushed for a moment with
ill-restrained annoyance and uneasiness as he saw that set, resolute
countenance before him; but he tried to assume an air of carelessness,
and to laugh away the matter with an off-hand--
"Why, my mentor, how have you contrived to accomplish the business you
had in hand so quickly? What brings you back so soon?"
"Your good genius, I feel inclined to imagine," was Montoro's answer,
in tones somewhat quieter than those of his first exclamation. But
the fading sparkle in his eyes rekindled as his companion replied
irritably--
"Then I wish the meddlesome beast had minded its own business, instead
of sending you back here to pull a long face over what I mean to do in
spite of it."
As he spoke he walked up to where the dog Don lay tethered, held a
strip of cotton cloth to its nose, and then muttering viciously--
"Find him, Don, find him!" pressed his finger hastily on the spring of
the dog's collar, and set it free.
The great animal bounded forward. The next instant there was a howl, a
moan, and Don lay dying at Montoro's feet; rather, one should say, at
Montoro's knees, for the young man had sunk on to them almost as soon
as his own fist had fallen with that lightning stroke, and the same
hand that had dealt the death-blow was now soothing the poor brute's
last agonies. It was Montoro de Diego who had killed it, and yet it was
to Montoro's face that the pleading brown eyes were lifted with their
last gaze of affection, and it was Montoro's hand that the dying tongue
licked with the last breath.
"My poor old Don," muttered Montoro huskily, as he tenderly pressed the
side quivering with the death struggle; "poor old Don."
"It's fine for thee to pity the poor brute when it owes its sufferings
to thy malice," exclaimed Don Alonzo furiously, and with fingers on the
hilt of his dagger, as though they itched to lay his companion beside
the animal.
But Diego paid no seeming heed to the show of rage. Maintaining his
kneeling position for a while longer, he replied quietly--
"Yes, it once owed its life to me, and now it owes its death to me, and
better so than it should have been the innocent cause of suffering to
one of our human brethren, for whom the cross rose on Calvary."
And then he rose from beside the dog's dead body, and turned slowly
away with a saddened face. In spite of its ferocious nature, the animal
had always been most docile with him; and besides, it had been that
oft-felt link with his mother's home. How long ago now seemed that
first day of parting from his country, when Rachel de Diego's slender
fingers had rested for a few moments on the animal's head. Her son
would far rather have a second time undergone some peril to save its
life, than have had to destroy it for the prevention of a crime.
"Ah, Señor," murmured Bautista, as he crept out on to the verandah
after him a few minutes later. "Ah, Señor, you have saved poor
Guatchi's limbs from being mangled; but I doubt me you have made an
enemy for yourself."
"You were willing to do the same in the same cause, Bautista," was the
answer with a grave smile of approval. "I knew not that thou wast so
staunchly ranged on the side of justice and mercy. Henceforth we are
friends."
The boy sprang forward to clasp the hand held out to him, and said
eagerly--
"To follow in your steps, Señor, I began to remind myself that the
Indians' flesh had feelings like our own, but my past month in the
mines has been a black lesson in horror that I would not repeat to
escape the pains of purgatory. These Indians are tenfold weaker than
we are, and their sufferings are tenfold more, for they have learnt
nothing of manhood to sustain them. You have seen them die here in the
plantations, Señor, and that has roused your pity; but in those mines
it is not that _some_ die, but that _none survive_. A few days of that
dismal work beneath cuffs and lashes, and their strength is spent--"
"And then?" came the short query.
"And then," ended the boy with a sort of gasp for breath, "they sink
to the ground, and the brutal kick given to rouse them up to continued
labour, is the accompaniment of their last breath. It is little wonder,
Señor, that I should wish poor Guatchi to get away free, now that he
has escaped such toil alive."
The whole fervour of the boy's susceptible nature was aroused, and
Montoro felt more than ever convinced that he was in the presence of
one whose spirit was akin to his own.
"Hearken, Bautista," he said, after a short pause. "I have within the
past few hours copied out part of a commission against the miserable
inhabitants of this new world, lately granted by our king, and framed
by the greatest divines and lawyers of our old home. Alonso de Ojeda
and Diego de Nicuessa bear drafts of this commission with them, and be
well assured that they will not spare its execution. But stay; I will
read thee the very words themselves, addressed for peremptory orders
to these poor heathen, ignorant of the very language in which we call
upon them to obey our faith and laws:--'If you will not consent to take
our Church for your Church, the holy father the Pope for your spiritual
head, our king for your king and sovereign lord over your kings and
countries, then, with the help of God, I will enter your country by
force; I will carry on war against you with the utmost violence; I
will subject you to the yoke of obedience; I will take your wives and
children and will make them slaves; I will seize your goods, and do
you all the mischief in my power, as rebellious subjects, who will not
submit to their lawful sovereign. And I protest that all the bloodshed
and calamities that shall follow shall be due to you, and not to
us.'"[2]
[Footnote 2: Robertson's 'America,' Bk. III. pp. 193, 194.]
As Montoro came to the end of his sheet he folded and replaced it
in his pocket, and then, utterly forgetful of his companion in his
reawakened indignation, he wandered away from the verandah, and betook
himself to the simple dwelling of the good clerigo, Bartholomew de las
Casas, who was now finally settled in Hispaniola, by royal desire, as a
missionary to the natives.
"But of what use," he exclaimed this afternoon in sorrowful despair
to his equally weary-hearted visitor, "of what use, Diego, to waste
our time and strength, in trying to teach the sublime truths of
religion to men whose spirits are broken, and their minds weakened by
oppression?"
"Of what use, indeed," assented Montoro with passion, "to try to teach
men to believe in a religion professing itself the religion of love and
mercy, while they are slaves to those calling themselves its followers,
and who are acting at the same time the part of demons!"
"You speak strongly," said the true-hearted, good Christian bishop.
"But verily I cannot say you have not reason. Knowest thou, my friend,
that when first we settled ourselves upon this fertile fragrant island,
not yet fifteen years ago, the inhabitants numbered above three
millions, and now they scarcely amount to fifteen thousand. Scarcely
fifteen thousand!" he repeated slowly, and in awe-struck tones, as
though he scarcely could endure to recall the awful fact to his own
remembrance.
Montoro de Diego looked at his informant with a startled countenance,
and then suddenly bent his eyes upon the ground as though he expected
to see the 'brothers' blood' crying for vengeance from the soil.
"It is no good," he exclaimed at last. "I will stay in this accursed
place no longer. To my restlessness I might have opposed a sense of
duty; but to fight any longer against my miserable disgust at the
scenes around me is beyond my strength."
The bishop mused awhile before replying slowly,--
"And yet, good example is valuable."
"Elsewhere it may be, but not here," returned Diego hastily. "Else,
Riverenza, must your own bright example long since have turned devils
into saints, murderers into good Samaritans. What good did your example
do, even in the matter of the _repartimientos_? Did your giving up your
share of these unjustly and basely-enslaved creatures serve any other
purpose than that of impoverishing one who ever uses his wealth for the
relief of suffering? Nay, further, your good example on this accursed
island worked actually on the side of evil."
"How so?" asked Las Casas. But he looked as though he knew the answer,
even before his companion said heavily,--
"Even we reaped some miserable advantage at 'Palmyra' from your
renunciation. Some half-dozen poor creatures who had thriven under
your mild rule were made over to us to die. But see," Montoro suddenly
exclaimed, interrupting himself and springing to his feet, "the day is
passing, and I should have been in San Domingo hours ago. I started
early enough, but some suspicion that I was leaving mischief behind me
brought me back, and now poor Don is dead."
It was only a dog that was dead, but that dog was Don--the dog on whose
head his mother's tears had fallen--the dog for whose sake he had once
endangered his own life; and with these thoughts suddenly recalled
to his mind, Montoro de Diego was glad to beat a hasty retreat from
further observation.
Las Casas remained deep in earnest ponderings long after his friend had
left him, for he too had begun to think that it was vain to continue
his efforts of philanthropy any longer on the island of Hispaniola,
and that he would do wisely to exert his influence as protector of the
Indians in new fields, less overcrowded with the refuse population of
his own country.
Meantime Montoro reached the town, and was instantly accosted by a
young man of about his own age, and tall, bright, and handsome as
himself, but with a dash of off-hand daring about his person and manner
instead of Montoro's lofty dignity.
"Diego!" he exclaimed, as soon as he caught sight of him, "you are
just the comrade I most desire in our coming campaign. Throw thy
paltry bales into the sea, man, and enrol thyself under our captain's
standard."
"But who then is thy captain?" asked Montoro with some interest, "and
what is this new campaign? Thou art ever mad, my Cortes, upon some
fresh undertaking."
The handsome young notary laughed.
"Better that than sticking to the same spot till thy feet bid fair
to grow to the soil, like thy money-grubber, Don Alonzo, yonder.
But, I warrant thee, this undertaking now on hand is no mere pastime
for a summer's evening. Our captain, Don Diego Velasquez, hath it in
commission to conquer an island, the island of Cuba."
"Ay, doubtless," returned Montoro bitterly. "And hath also leave and
licence, and perchance it may be even orders likewise, to kill off the
inhabitants there, like so many mosquitoes, as hath been done here!"
The other shrugged his shoulders rather contemptuously.
"Verily, Diego, thou and our bishop yonder have been bitten by the same
dog. But to comfort thy heart, know that Bartholomew Las Casas is to be
invited to go with us to guard thy pets, lest one of us should so much
as slap one of their brats to still its overmuch squalling at strange
faces. So, what say'st thou now?"
Montoro's face cleared to a smile.
"This is what I say--that if Las Casas goes, then do I go also."