“When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?”
“The only art her guilt can cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is to die.”
--Oliver Goldsmith, “Song” From The Vicar Of Wakefield.
“Ay Dios, si sera possible que he ya hallado lugar que pueda
servir de escondida sepultura a la carga pesada deste
cuerpo, que tan contra mi voluntad sostengo?”
--Don Quixote De La Mancha.
The next morning after breakfast I proceeded to Santiago, and landed at
the custom house wharf, where I found everything bustle, dust, and heat;
several of the captains of the English vessels were there, who
immediately made up to me, and reported how far advanced in their lading
they were, and enquired when we were to give them convoy, the latest
news from Kingston, &c. At length I saw our friend Ricardo Campana going
along one of the neighbouring streets, and I immediately made sail in
chase. He at once recognised me, gave me a cordial shake of the hand,
and enquired how he could serve me. I produced two letters which I had
brought for him, but which had been forgotten in the bustle of the
preceding day; they were introductory, and although sealed, I had some
reason to conjecture that my friend, Mr Pepperpot Wagtail, had done me
much more than justice. Campana, with great kindness, immediately
invited me to his house. “We foreigners,” said he, “don’t keep your
hours; I am just going home to breakfast.” It was past eleven in the
forenoon. I was about excusing myself on the plea of having already
breakfasted, when he silenced me. “Why, I guessed as much, Mr
Lieutenant, but then you have not lunched; you can call it lunch, you
know, if it will ease your conscience.” There was no saying nay to all
this civility, so we stumped along the burning streets, through a mile
of houses, large massive buildings, but very different in externals from
the gay domiciles of Kingston. Aaron Bang afterwards used to say that
they looked more like prisons than dwelling-houses, and he was not in
this very much out. Most of them were built of brick and plastered
over, with large windows, in front of each of which, like the houses in
the south of Spain, there was erected a large heavy wooden balcony,
projecting far enough from the wall to allow a Spanish chair, such as I
have already described, to be placed in it. The front of these verandas
was closed in with a row of heavy balustrades at the bottom, of a
variety of shapes, and by clumsy carved woodwork above, which
effectually prevented you from seeing into the interior. The whole had
a Moorish air, and in the upper part of the town there was a Sabbath--
like stillness prevailing, which was only broken now and then by the
tinkle of a guitar from one of the aforesaid verandas, or by the
rattling of a crazy volante, a sort of covered gig, drawn by a broken
kneed and broken winded mule, with a kiln dried old Spaniard or dona in
it.
The lower part of the town had been busy enough, and the stir and hum of
it rendered the quietude of the upper part of it more striking.
A shovel hatted friar now suddenly accosted us.
“Senor Campana--ese pobre familia de Cangrejo! Lastima! Lastima!”
“Cangrejo--Cangrejo!” muttered I; “why, it is the very name attached to
the miniature.”
Campana turned to the priest, and they conversed earnestly together for
some moments, when he left him, and we again held on our way. I could
not help asking him what family that was, whose situation the “padre”
seemed so feelingly to bemoan.
“Never mind,” said he, “never mind; they were a proud family once, but
that is all over now--come along.”
“But,” said I, “I have a very peculiar cause of interest with regard to
this family. You are aware, of course, of the trial and execution of
the pirates in Kingston, the most conspicuous of whom was a young man
called Federico Cangrejo, from whom....”
“Mr Cringle,” said he, solemnly, “at a fitting time I will hear you
regarding that matter; at present I entreat you will not press it.”
Good manners would not allow me to push it farther, and we trudged along
together, until we arrived at Don Ricardo Campana’s door. It was a
large brick building, plastered over as already described, and
whitewashed. There was a projecting stair in front, with a flight of
steps to the right and left, with a parapet wall towards the street.
There were two large windows, with the wooden veranda or lattice already
described, on the first floor, and on the second a range of smaller
windows, of the same kind. What answered to our ground floor was used
as a warehouse, and filled with dry goods, sugar, coffee, hides, and a
vast variety of miscellaneous articles. We ascended the stairs, and
entered a lofty room, cool and dark, and paved with large diamond--
shaped bricks, and every way desirable for a West India lounge, all to
the furniture, which was meagre enough; three or four chairs, a worm--
eaten old leathern sofa, and a large clumsy hardwood table in the midst.
There were several children playing about, little sallow devils,
although, I dare say, they could all of them have been furnished with
certificates of white parentage, upon whom one or two negro women were
hovering in attendance beyond a large folding door that fronted the
entrance.
When we entered, the eldest of the children, a little girl of about
eight years old, was sitting in the doorway, playing with a small blue
toy that I could make nothing of, until on a nearer inspection I found
it to be a live land-crab, which the little lady had manacled with a
thread by the foot, the thread being fastened to a nail driven into a
seam of the floor.
As an article of food, I was already familiar with this creature, but I
had never seen a living one before; it was in every respect like a sea
crab, only smaller, the body being at the widest not above three inches
across the back. It fed without any apparent fear, and while it
pattered over the tiled floor, with its hard claws, it would now and
then stop and seize a crum of bread in its forceps, and feed itself like
a little monkey. By the time I had exchanged a few words with the
little lady, the large door that opened into the hall on the right hand
moved, and mine hostess made her appearance; a small woman, dressed in a
black gown, very laxly fitted. She was the very converse of our old
ship, she never missed stays, although I did cruelly.
“This is my friend, Lieutenant Cringle,” said mine host.
“A las pies de usted, senora,” responded your humble servant.
“I am very glad to see you,” said the lady; “but breakfast is ready;
welcome, sir, welcome.”
The food was not amiss, the coffee decidedly good, and the chocolate,
wherein, if you had planted a teaspoon, it would have stood upright, was
excellent. When we had done with substantials, dulce, that is the fruit
of the guava preserved, in small wooden boxes, (like drums of figs,)
after being made into a kind of jam, was placed on the table, and mine
host and his spouse had eaten a bushel of it apiece, and drank a gallon
of that most heathenish beverage, cold clear water, before the repast
was considered ended. After a hearty meal and a pint of claret, I felt
rather inclined to sit still, and expatiate for an hour or so, but
Campana roused me, and asked whether or not I felt inclined to go and
look at the town. I had no apology, and although I would much rather
have sat still, I rose to accompany him, when in walked Captain Transom
and Mr Bang. They were also kindly received by Don Ricardo.
“Clad of the honour of this visit,” said he in French, with a slight
lift of the corner of his mouth; “I hope neither you nor your boat’s
crew took any harm after the heat of yesterday.”
Transom laughed.
“Why, you did beat us very neatly, Don Ricardo. Pray, where got you
that canoe? But a lady Mrs Campana, I presume?--Have the goodness to
introduce me.”
The skipper was presented in due form, the lady receiving him without
the least mauvaise honte, which, after all, I believe to be indigenous
to our island. Aaron was next introduced, who, as he spoke no lingo, as
I knows of, to borrow Timotheus Tailtackle’s phraseology but English,
was rather posed in the interview.
“I say, Tom, tell her I wish she may live a thousand years. Ah, so,
that will do.”
Madama made her conge, and hoped “El Senora Maria un asiento.” “Mucho,
mucho,” sung out Bang, who meant by that that he was much obliged.
At length Don Ricardo came to our aid. He had arranged a party into the
country for next morning, and invited us all to come back to a tertulia
in the evening, and to take beds in his house, he undertaking to provide
bestias to carry us.
We therefore strolled out, a good deal puzzled what to make of ourselves
until the evening, when we fell in with one of the captains of the
English ships then loading, who told us that there was a sort of hotel a
little way down the street, where we might dine at two o’clock at the
table d’hote. It was as yet only twelve, so we stumbled into this hotel
to reconnoitre, and a sorry affair it was. The public room was fitted
with rough wooden tables, at which Spaniards, Americans, and Englishmen,
sat and smoked, and drank sangaree, hot punch, or cold grog, as best
suited them, and committed a vast variety of miscellaneous abominations
during their potations. We were about giving up all thoughts of the
place, and had turned to go to the door, when in popped our friend Don
Ricardo. He saw we were somewhat abroad.
“Gentlemen,” said he, “if I may ask, have you any engagement to dinner?”
“No, we have none.”
“Well, then, will you do me the honour of partaking of my family fare,
at three o’clock? I did not venture to invite you before, because I
knew you had other letters to deliver, and I wished to leave you masters
of your own time.” We gladly accepted his kind offer; he had made his
bow, and was cruising amongst the smokers, and punch drinkers, where the
blue coated masters of the English merchantmen and American skippers,
were hobbing and nobbing with the gingham-coated Dons, for the whole
Spanish part of the community were figged out in Glasgow and Paisley
ginghams; when the priest, who had attracted our attention in the
morning, came up to him, and drew him aside. They talked earnestly
together, the clerigo, every now and then, indicating by significant
nods and glances towards us, that we formed the burden of his song,
whatever that might be. Campana seemed exceedingly unwilling to
communicate the message, which we guessed he had been entreated to carry
to us, and made one or two attempts to shove the friar in propria
persona towards us, that he might himself tell his own story. At length
they advanced together to where we stood, when he addressed me.
“You must pardon me, Lieutenant; but as the proverb hath it, strange
countries, strange manners; my friend here, Padre Carera, brings a
message from El Senor Picador Cangrejo, one of our magnates, that he
will consider it an especial favour if you will can on him, either this
forenoon or tomorrow.”
“Why, who is this Cangrejo, Don Ricardo? if he be not the father of the
poor fellow I mentioned, there must be some mystery about him.”
“No mystery,” chimed in the monk; “no mystery, God help us, but mucha,
mucha miseria, hijo mio; much misery, sir, and more impending, and none
to help save only”--He did not finish the sentence, but taking off his
shovel hat, and shewing his finely turned bald head, he looked up to
heaven, and crossed himself, the tears trickling down his wrinkled
cheeks. “But,” continued he, “you will come, Mr Cringle?”
“Certainly,” said I, “tomorrow I will call, if my friend Don Ricardo
will be my guide.” This being fixed, we strolled about until dinnertime,
friend Aaron making his remarks regarding the people and their domiciles
with great naivety.
“Strange now, Tom, I had expected to see little else amongst the slave
population here than misery and starvation; whereas, so far as I can
observe, they are all deucedly well cared for, and fat, and contented;
and from the enquiries I was making amongst the captains of the
merchantmen”--(“Masters,” interjected Captain Transom, “Master of a
merchantman, Captain of a man-of-war.”) “Well, captains of
merchantmen,--masters, I mean,--I find that the people whom they employ
are generally free; and, farther, that the slaves are not more than
three to one free person, yet they export a great deal of produce,
Captain Transom--must keep my eyes about me.” And so he did, as will be
seen by and by. But the dinner hour drew near, and we repaired to Don
Ricardo’s, where we found a party of eight assembled, and our appearance
was the signal for the repast being ordered in. It was laid out in the
entrance hall. The table was of massive mahogany, the chairs of the
same material, with stuffed bottoms, covered with a dingy-coloured
morocco, which might have been red once. But devil a dish of any kind
was on the snow-white table-cloth when we sat down, and our
situations, or the places we were expected to fill at the board, were
only indicated by a large knife and silver fork and spoon laid down for
each person. The company consisted of Don Ricardo Campana, la Senora
Campana, and a brother of hers, two dark young men, who were Don
Ricardo’s clerks, and three young women, ladies, or senoras, as I ought
to have called them, who were sitting so far back into the shade, at the
dark end of the room, when we entered, that I could not tell what they
were. Our hostess was, although a little woman, a good looking dark
Spaniard, not very polished, but very kind; and seeing that our friend
Aaron was the most helpless amongst us, she took him under her especial
care, and made many a civil speech to him, although her husband did not
fail to advertise her, that he understood not one word of Spanish, that
is, of all she was saying to him. However, he replied to her kindnesses
by his never-failing exclamation of “mucho, mucho,” and they appeared to
be getting on extremely well. “Bring dinner,” quoth Don Ricardo, “trae
la comida;” and four black female domestics entered, the first with a
large dish of pillaffe, or fowls smothered in rice and onions; the second
with a nondescript melange, flesh, fish, and fowl apparently, strongly
flavoured with garlic; the third bore a dish of jerked beef, cut into
long shreds, and swimming in seba or lard; and the fourth bore a large
dish full of that indescribable thing known by those who read Don
Quixote, as an olla podrida. The sable handmaidens began to circulate
round the table, and every one helped himself to the dish that he most
fancied. At length they placed them on the board, and brought massive
silver salvers, with snow white bread, twisted into strands in the
baking, like junks of a cable; and water jars, and yams nicely roasted
and wrapped in plantain leaves. These were in like manner handed round,
and then deposited on the table, and the domestics vanished.
We all got on cheerily enough, and both the Captain and myself were
finishing off with the olla podrida, with which, it so happened, we were
familiar, and friend Bang, taking the time from us, took heart of grace
and straightway followed our example. There was a pause rather an
irksome one from its continuance, so much so indeed, that knocking off
from my more immediate business of gorging the aforesaid olla podrida, I
looked up, and as it so happened, by accident towards our friend Bang
and there he was munching and screwing up his energies to swallow a
large mouthful of the mixture, against which his stomach appeared to
rebel. “Smollet’s feast after the manner of the ancients,” whispered
Transom. At length he made a vigorous effort and straightway sung out
“l’eau de vie, Don Ricardibus--some brandy, mon ami--for the love of all
the respectable saints in your heathenish calendar.”
Mine host laughed, but the females were most confoundedly posed. The
younger ones ran for aromatic salts, while the lady of the house fetched
some very peculiar distilled waters. She, in her kindness, filled a
glass and helped Bang, but the instant he perceived the flavour, he
thrust it away.
“Anniseed--damn anniseed--no, no--obliged--mucho, mucho but brandy
plaino, that is simple of itself, if you please--that’s it Lord love
you, my dear madam--may you live a thousand years though.”
The pure brandy was administered, and once more the dark beauties
reappeared, the first carrying a bottle of vin-de-grave, the second
one of vino tinto, or claret, and the third one of l’eau de vie, for
Aaron’s peculiar use. These were placed before the landlord, who helped
himself to half a pint of claret, which he poured into a large tumbler,
and then putting a drop or two of water into it, tasted it, and sent it
to his wife. In like manner, he gave a smaller quantity to each of the
other Senoras, when the whole female part of the family drank our
healths in a volley. But all this time the devil a thing drinkable was
there before we males, but goblets of pure cold water. Bang’s “mucho
mucho” even failed him, for he had only in his modesty got a thimbleful
of brandy to qualify the olla podrida. However, in a twinkling a
beautiful long-necked bottle of claret was planted at each of our right
hands, and of course we lost no time in returning the unlooked-for
civility of the ladies. Until this moment I had not got a proper
glimpse of the three Virgins of the Sun, who were seated at table with
us. They were very pretty Moorish-looking girls, as like as peas, dark
hair, black eyes, clear colourless olive complexion, and no stays; but
young and elastic as their figures were, this was no disadvantage. They
were all three dressed in black silk petticoats, over a sort of cambric
chemise, with large frills hanging down at the bosom, but gown, properly
so called, they had none, their arms being unencumbered with any
clothing heavier than a shoulder-strap. The eldest was a fine full
young woman of about nineteen; the second was more tall and stately, but
slighter; and the youngest, was--oh, she was an angel of light--such
hair, such eyes, and such a mouth; then her neck and bosom when the
wearer is, as in the present case she was, young and beautiful. They
all wore a long plain white gauze strap, like a broad ribbon, (little
Reefpoint afterwards said they wore boat pennants at their mastheads,) I
don’t know what Madam Maradon Carson would call it, in their hair, which
fell down from amongst the braids nearly to their heels, and then they
replied in their magnificent language, when casually addressed during
dinner, with so much naivete. We, the males of the party, had drank
little or nothing, a bottle of claret or so apiece, and a dram of
brandy, to qualify a little vin-de-grave that we had flirted with
during dinner, when our landlord rose, along with his brother-in-law,
wished us a good afternoon, and departed to his counting house, saying
he would be back by dark, leaving the Captain and I, and friend Bang, to
amuse the ladies the best way we could, as the clerks had taken wing
along with their master. Don Ricardo’s departure seemed to be the
signal for all hands breaking loose, and a regular romping match took
place, the girls producing their guitars, and we were all mighty
frolicsome and happy, when a couple of padres from the convent of La
Merced, in their white flannel gowns, black girdles, and shaven crowns,
suddenly entered the hall. We the foreign part of the society,
calculated on being pulled up by the clerigos, but deuce a bit; on the
contrary, the young females clustered round them, laughing and joking,
while the Senora Campana presented them with goblets of claret, in which
they drank our healths, once and again, and before long they were
gamboling about, all shaven and shorn, like a couple of three-year
olds. Bang had a large share of their assiduity, and to see him
waltzing with a fine active, and what I fancy to be a rarity, a clean
looking priest, with his ever recurring “mucho, mucho,” was rather
entertaining.
The director of the postoffice, and a man who was called the “Corregidor
de Tabaco,” literally the “corrector of tobacco,” dropped in about this
time, and one or two ladies, relatives of Mrs Campana, and Don Ricardo
returning soon after, we had sweet meats and liqueurs, and coffee, and
chocolate, and a game at monte, and maco, and were, in fact, very happy.
But the happiest day, as well as the most miserable, must have an end,
and the merry party dropped off, one after another, until we were left
all alone with our host’s family. Madama soon after took her departure,
wishing us a goodnight. She had no sooner gone, than Bang began to
shoot out his horns a bit. “I say, Tom, ask the Don to let us have a
drop of something hot, will you, a tumbler of hot brandy and water after
the waltzing, eh? I don’t see the bedroom candles yet.” Nor would he,
if we had sat there till doomsday. Campana seemed to have understood
Bang, the brandy was immediately forthcoming, and we drew in to the
table to enjoy ourselves, Bang waxing talkative. “Now what odd names,--
why, what a strange office it must be for his Majesty of Spain to employ
at every port a corrector of tobacco; that his liege subjects may not be
imposed on, I suppose--what capital cigars this same corrector must
have, eh?”
I suppose it is scarcely necessary to mention, that throughout all the
Spanish American possessions, tobacco is a royal monopoly, and that the
officer above alluded to is the functionary who has the management of
it. Don Ricardo, hearing something about cigars, took the hint, and
immediately produced a straw case from his pocket, and handed it to
Bang.
“Mucho, mucho,” quoth Bang; “capital, real Havannah.”
So now, since we had all gotten fairly into the clouds, there was no
saying how long we should have remained in the seventh heaven much would
have depended upon the continuance of the supply of brandy--but two
female slaves presently made their appearance, each carrying a quatre. I
believe I have already described this easily rigged couch somewhere; it
is a hard-wood frame, like what supports the loose top of a laundry
table, with canvass stretched over the top of it, but in such a manner
that it can be folded up flat, and laid against the wall when not in
use, while a bed can be immediately constructed by simply opening it and
stretching the canvass. The handmaidens accordingly set to work to
arrange two beds, or quatres, one on each side of the table where we
were sitting, while Bang sat eyeing them askance, in a kind of
wonderment as to the object of the preparations, which were by no means
new either to the Captain or me, who, looking on them as matters of
course, continued in close confabulation with Don Ricardo during the
operations.
“I say, Tom,” at length quoth Bang, “are you to be laid out on one of
those outlandish pieces of machinery--eh?”
“Why, I suppose so; and comfortable enough beds they are, I can assure
you.”
“Don’t fancy them much, however,” said Bang; “rather flimsy the
framework.”
The servants now very unceremoniously, no leave asked, began to clear
away all the glasses and tumblers on the table.
“Hillo!” said the skipper, casting an enquiring glance at Campana, who,
however, did not return it, but, as a matter of course apparently, rose,
and taking a chair to the other end of the room, close by the door of an
apartment which opened from it, began in cold blood to unlace and
disburden himself of all his apparel, even unto his shirt.
This surprised us all a good deal, but our wonderment was lost on the
Don, who got up from his seat, and in his linen garment, which was
deucedly laconic, made his formal bow, wished us goodnight, and
presenting the reverse of his medal, which was extremely picturesque, he
vanished through the door. By this, the ebony ladies had cleared the
table of the crystal, and had capped it with a yellow leather mattrass,
with pillows of the same, both embossed with large tufts of red silk; on
this they placed one sheet, and leaving a silver apparatus at the head,
they disappeared--“Buenos noches, senores--las camas estan listas.”
Bang had been unable to speak from excess of astonishment; but the
skipper and I, finding there was no help for it, had followed Campana’s
example, and kept pace with him in our peeling, so that by the time he
disappeared, we were ready to topple into our quatres, which we
accordingly did, and by this time we were both at full length, with our
heads cased each in one of Don Ricardo’s silk nightcaps, contemplating
Bang’s appearance, as he sat in disconsolate mood in his chair at the
head of the table, with the fag-end of a cigar in the corner of his
cheek.
“Now, Bang,” said Transom, “turn in, and let us have a snooze, will ye?”
Bang did not seem to like it much.
“Zounds, Transom, did you ever hear of a gentleman being put to bed on a
table? Why, it must be a quiz. Only fancy me dished out and served up
like a great calipi in the shell! However, here goes--But surely this
is in sorry taste; we had our chocolate a couple of hours ago--capital
it was by the by--in vulgar Staffordshire china, and now they give us
silver....”
“Be decent, Bang,” cut in the skipper, who was by this time more than
half asleep. “Be decent, and go to bed--that’s a good fellow.”
“Ah, well” Aaron undressed himself, and lay down; and there he was laid
out, with a candle on each side of his head, his red face surmounted by
a redder handkerchief tied round his head, sticking out above the white
sheet; and supported by Captain Transom and myself, one on each side.
All was now quiet. I got up and put out the candles, and as I fell
asleep, I could hear Aaron laughing to himself “Dished, and served up,
deuced like Saint Barts. I was intended for a doctor, Tom, you must
know. I hope the Don is not a medical amateur; I trust he won’t have a
touch at me before morning. Rum subject I should make. Possibly he may
want to practice cutting for the stone--he! he!” All was silent for some
time.
“Hillo--what is that?” said Aaron again, as if suddenly aroused from his
slumbers--“I say, none of your fun, Transom.”
A large bat was flaffing about, and I could hear him occasionally whir
near our faces.
“Oh, a bat--hate bats--how the skipper snores! I hope there be no
resurrection-men in St Jago, or I shall be stolen away to a certainty
before morning. How should I look as a skeleton in a glass-case, eh?”
I heard no more, until, it might be, about midnight, when I was
awakened, and frightened out of my wits, by Bang rolling off the table
on to my quatre, which he broke in his fall, and then we both rolled
over and over on the floor.
“Murder!” roared Bang. “I am bewitched and bedevilled. Murder! a
scorpion has dropped from the roof into my mouth, and stung me on the
nose. Murder! Tom--Tom Cringle--Captain--Transom, my dear fellows,
awake and send for the doctor. Oh my wig--oh dear oh dear.”
At this uproar I could hear Don Ricardo striking a light, and presently
he appeared with a candle in his hand, more than half naked, with la
senora peering through the half-opened door behind him.
“Ave Maria purissima--what is the matter? Where is el Senior
Bang?”
“Mucho, mucho,” shouted Bang from below the table. “Send for a
doctoribus, Senor Richarsum. I am dead and t’other thing help!--help!”
“Dios guardo usted,” again ejaculated Campana. “What has befallen him?”
addressing the skipper, who was by this time on his head’s antipodes in
bed, rubbing his eyes, and in great amazement.
“Tell him, my dear Transom, that a scorpion fell from the roof, and
stung me on the nose.”
“What says he?” enquired the Spaniard.
Poor Transom’s intellect was at this time none of the clearest, being
more than half asleep, and not quite so sober as a hermit is wont to be;
besides, he must needs speak Spanish, of which he was by no means
master, which led to a very comical blunder. Alacran, in Spanish, means
scorpion, and Cayman, an alligator, not very similar in sound certainly,
but the termination being the same, he selected in the hurry the wrong
phrase.
“He says,” replied Transom in bad Spanish, “that he has swallowed an
alligator, or something of that sort, sir.” Then a loud yawn.
“Swallowed a what?” rejoined Campana, greatly astonished.
“No, no,” snorted the captain--“I am wrong--he says he has been stung by
an alligator.”
“Stung by an alligator!--impossible.”
“Why, then,” persisted the skipper, “if he be not stung by an alligator,
or if he has not really swallowed one, at all events an alligator has
either stung or swallowed him--so make the most of it, Don Ricardo.”
“Why this is absurd, with all submission,” continued Campana; “how the
deuce could he swallow an alligator, or an alligator get into my house
to annoy him?”
“D--n it,” said Transom, half tipsy and very sleepy, “that’s his look
out. You are very unreasonable, Don Ricardo; all that is the affair of
friend Bang and the alligator; my purpose is solely to convey his
meaning faithfully”--a loud snore.
“Oh,” said Campana, laughing, “I see, I see; I left your friend sobre
mesa, [on the table,] but now I see he is sub rosa.”
“Help, good people, help!” roared Bang--“help, or my nose will reach
from this to the Moro Castle--Help!”
We got him out, and were I to live a thousand years, which would be a
tolerably good spell, I don’t think I could forget his appearance. His
nose, usually the smallest article of the kind that I ever saw, was now
swollen as large as my fist, and as purple as a mulberry--the distension
of the skin, from the venomous sting of the reptile--for stung he had
been by a scorpion--made it semi--transparent, so that it looked like a
large blob of currant jelly hung on a peg in the middle of his face, or
a gigantic leech, gorged with blood, giving his visage the semblance of
some grotesque old-fashioned dial, with a fantastic gnomon.
“A poultice--a poultice--a poultice, good people, or I shall presently
be all nose together,”--and a poultice was promptly manufactured from
mashed pumpkin, and he was put to bed, with his face covered up with it,
as if an Italian artist had been taking a cast of his beauties in
plaster of Paris.
In the application of this said poultice, however, we had nearly
extinguished poor Aaron amongst us, by suffocating him outright; for the
skipper, who was the operating surgeon in the first instance, with me
for his mate, clapped a whole ladleful over his mouth and nose, which,
besides being scalding hot, sealed those orifices effectually, and
indeed about a couple of tablespoonfuls had actually been forced down
his gullet, notwithstanding his struggles, and exclamations of “Pumpkin
bad--softened with castor oil--d----n it, skipper, you’ll choke me”
spurt--sputter--sputter--“choke me, man.”
“Cuidado,” said Don Ricardo; “let me manage”--and he got a small tube of
wild cane, which he stuck into Bang’s mouth, through a hole in the
poultice-cloth, and set a negro servant to watch that it did not sink
into his gullet, as he fell asleep, and with instructions to take the
poultice off whenever the pain abated; and there he lay on his back,
whistling through this artificial beak, like a sick snipe.
At length, however, all hands of us seemed to have fallen asleep, but
towards the dawning I was awakened by repeated bursts of suppressed
laughter, and upon looking in the direction from whence the sounds
proceeded, I was surprised beyond all measure to observe Transom in a
corner of the room in his trowsers and shirt, squatted like a tailor on
his hams, with one of the sable damsels on her knees beside him holding
a candle, while his Majesty’s Post Captain was plying his needle in a
style and with a dexterity that would have charmed our friend Stultze
exceedingly, and every now and then bending double over his work, and
swinging his body backwards and forwards with the water welling from his
eyes, laughing all the while like to choke himself. As for his bronze
candlestick, I thought she would have expired on the spot, with her
white teeth glancing like ivory, and the tears running down her cheeks,
as she every now and then clapped a handkerchief on her mouth to smother
the uncontrollable uproariousness of her mirth.
“Why, captain, what spree is this?” said I.
“Never you mind, but come here. I say, Mr Cringle, do you see him
piping away there”--and there he was, sure enough, still gurgling
through the wild cane--with his black guardian, whose province it was to
have removed the poultice, sound asleep, snoring in the huge chair at
Bang’s head, wherein he had established himself, while the candle at his
patient’s cheek was flickering in the socket.
My superior was evidently bent on wickedness.
“Get up and put on your trowsers, man.”
I did so.
“Now wait a bit till I cooper him--Here, my darling”--to the sable
virgin who was now on the qui vive, bustling about--“here,” said the
captain, sticking out a leg of Bang’s trowsers, “hold you there, my
dear.”
She happened to be a native of Haiti, and comprehended his French.
“Now hold you that, Mr Cringle.”
I took hold of the other leg, and held it in a fitting position, while
Transom deliberately sewed them both up.
“Now for the coat sleeves”
We sealed them in a similar manner.
“So--now for his shirt.”
We sewed up the stem, and then the stern, converting it into an
outlandish-looking pillow-case, and finally both sleeves; and last of
all, we got two live land-crabs from the servants, by dint of
persuasion and a little plata, and clapped one into each stocking foot.
We then dressed ourselves, and when all was ready, we got a piece of
tape for a landyard, and made one end fast to the handle of a large
earthen water-jar, full to the brim, which we placed on Bangs pillow,
and passed the other end round the neck of the sleeping negro.
“Now get you to bed,” said the captain to the dingy handmaiden, “and
stand by to be off, Mr Cringle.”
He stepped to Don Ricardo’s bedroom door, and tapped loudly.
“Hillo!” quoth the Don. On this hint, like men springing a mine, the
last who leave the sap, we sprang into the street, when the skipper
turned, and taking aim with a large custard apple which he had armed
himself with (I have formerly described this fruit as resembling a
russet bag of cold pudding), he let fly. Spin flew the apple--bash on
the blackamoor’s obtuse snout. He started back, and in his terror and
astonishment threw a somersault over the back of his chair--gush poured
the water--smash fell the pipkin--“murder” roared Bang, dashing off the
poultice--cast, with such fury that it lighted in the street--and away
we raced at the top of our speed.
We ran as fast as our legs could carry us for two hundred yards, and
then turning, walked deliberately home again, as if we had been out
taking a walk in the cool morning air.
As we approached, we heard the yells of a negro, and Bang high in oath.
“You black rascal, nothing must serve your turn but practising your John
Canoe tricks upon a gentleman--take that, you villain, as a small
recompense for floating me out of my bed--or rather off the table,” and
the ludicrousness of his couch seemed to come over the worthy fellow
once more, and he laughed loud and long--“Poor devil, I hope I have not
hurt you? here, Quashi, there’s a pistole, go buy a plaster for your
broken pate.”
By this we had returned in front of the house, and as we ascended the
front stairs, we again heard a loud racketing within; but blackie’s
voice was now wanting in the row, wherein the Spaniard and our friend
appeared to be the dramatis personae--and sure enough there was Don
Ricardo and Bang at it, tooth and nail.
“Allow me to assist you,” quoth the Don.
“Oh no--mucho--mucho,” quoth Bang, who was spinning round and round in
his shirt on one leg, trying to thrust his foot into his trowsers; but
the garment was impervious; and after emulating Noblet in a pirouette,
he sat down in despair. We appeared--“Ah, Transom, glad to see you
some evil spirit has bewitched me, I believe--overnight I was stung to
death by a scorpion--half an hour ago I was deluged by an invisible
spirit--and just now when I got up, and began to pull on my stockings,
Lord! a land crab was in the toe part, and see how he has scarified me”
forking up his peg--“I then tried my trowsers,” he continued in a most
doleful tone--“and lo! the legs are sealed. And look at my face, saw
you ever such an unfortunate? But the devil take you, Transom, I see
through your tricks now, and will pay you off for this yet, take my word
for it.”
The truth is, that our amigo Aaron had gotten an awful fright on his
first awakening after his cold bath, for he had given the poor black
fellow an ugly blow upon the face, before he had gathered his senses
well about him, and the next moment seeing the blood streaming from his
nose, and mixing with the custard-like pulp of the fruit with which his
face was plastered, he took it into his noodle that he had knocked the
man’s brains out. However, we righted the worthy fellow the best way we
could, and shortly afterwards coffee, was brought, and Bang having got
himself shaven and dressed began to forget all his botherations. But
before we left the house, madama, Don Ricardo’s better-half, insisted
on anointing his nose with some mixture famous for reptile-bites. His
natural good-breeding made him submit to the application, which was
neither more nor less than an infusion of indigo and ginger, with which
the worthy lady painted our friend’s face and muzzle in a most ludicrous
manner--it was heads and tails between him and an ancient Briton.
Reefpoint at this moment appeared at the door with a letter from the
merchant captains, which had been sent down to the corvette, regarding
the time of sailing, and acquainting us when they would be ready. While
Captain Transom was perusing it, Bang was practising Spanish at the
expense of Don Ricardo, whom he had boxed into a corner; but all his
Spanish seemed to be scraps of schoolboy Latin, and I noticed that
Campana had the greatest difficulty in keeping his countenance. At
length Don Ricardo approached us--“Gentlemen, I have laid out a little
plan for the dav; it is my wife’s saint’s day, and a holyday in the
family, so we propose going to a coffee property of mine about ten miles
from Santiago, and staying till morning--What say you?”
I chimed in--“I fear, sir, that I shall be unable to accompany you, even
if Captain Transom should be good enough to give me leave, as I have an
errand to do for that unhappy young fellow that we spoke about last
evening--some trinkets which I promised to deliver here they are”--and I
produced the miniature and crucifix.
Campana winced--“Unpleasant, certainly, Lieutenant”--said he.
“I know it will be so myself, but I have promised”
“Then far be it from me to induce you to break your promise,” said the
worthy man. “My son,” said he, gravely, “the friar you saw yesterday is
confessor to Don Picador Cangrejo’s family; his reason for asking to
obtain an interview with you was from its being known that you were
active in capturing the unfortunate men with whom young Federico
Cangrejo, his only son, was leagued. Oh that poor, poor boy! Had you
known him, gentlemen, as I knew him, poor, poor Federico!”
“He was an awful villain, however, you must allow,” said the Captain.
“Granted in the fullest sense, my dear sir,” rejoined Campana; “but we
are all frail, erring creatures, and he was hardly dealt by. He is now
gone to his heavy, heavy account, and I may as well tell you the poor
boy’s sad story at once. Had you but seen him in his prattling infancy,
in his sunny boyhood!”
“He was the only son of a rich old father, an honest worldly man, and of
a most peevish, irascible temper. Poor Federico, and his sister
Francisca, his only sister, were often cruelly used; and his orphan
cousin, my sweet god-daughter, Maria Olivera, their playmate, was, if
any thing, more harshly treated; for although his mother was and is a
most excellent woman, and always stood between them and the old man’s
ill temper, yet at the time I speak of she had returned to Spain, where
a long period of ill health detained her for upwards of three years.
Federico by this time was nineteen years of age, tall, handsome, and
accomplished beyond all the youth of his rank and time of life in Cuba:
But you have seen him, gentlemen--in his extremity; it is true--yet,
fallen as he was, I mistake if you thought him a common man or good, or
for evil, my heart told me he would be conspicuous, and I was, alas the
day! too true a prophet. His attachment to his cousin, who, on the death
of her mother, had become an inmate of Don Picador’s house, had been
evident to all but the purblind old man for a long time; and when he did
discover it, he imperatively forbade all intercourse between them, as,
forsooth, he had projected a richer match for him, and shut Maria up in
a corner of his large mansion, Federico, haughty and proud, could not
stomach this. He ceased to reside at his father’s estate, which had
been confided to his management, and began to frequent the billiard
table, and monte-tables, and taverns, and in a thousand ways gave, from
less to more, such unendurable offence, that his father at length shut
his door against him, and turned him, with twenty doubloons in his
pocket, into the street.”
“Friends interceded, for the feud soon became public, and, amongst
others, I essayed to heal it; and with the fond, although passionate
father, I easily succeeded; but how true it is, ‘that evil communication
corrupts good manners!’ I found Federico, by this time, linked in bands
of steel with a junto of desperadoes, whose calling was any thing but
equivocal; and implacable to a degree, that, knowing him as I had known
him, I had believed impossible. But, alas, the human heart is indeed
desperately wicked. I struggled long with the excellent Father Carera
to bring about a reconciliation, and thought we had succeeded, as
Federico was induced to return to his father’s house once more, and for
many days and weeks we all flattered ourselves that he had reformed;
until one morning, about four months ago, he was discovered coming out
of his cousin’s room about the dawning by his father, who immediately
charged him with seducing his ward. High words ensued. Poor Maria
rushed out and threw herself at her uncle’s feet. The old man, in a
transport of fury, kicked her on the face as she lay prostrate;
whereupon, God help me, he was felled to the earth by his own flesh, and
bone, and blood--by his abandoned son.”
‘What rein can hold licentious wickedness,
When down the hill he holds his fierce career?’
“The rest is soon told;--he joined the pirate vessels at Puerto
Escondido, and, from his daring and reckless intrepidity, soon rose to
command amongst them, and was proceeding in his infernal career, when
the God whom he had so fearfully defied at length sent him to expiate
his crimes on the scaffold.”
“But the priest”--said I, much excited.
“True,” continued Don Ricardo, “Padre Carera brought a joint message
from his poor mother, and sister, and--and, oh my darling god-child, my
heart--dear Maria!”. And the kind old man wept bitterly. I was much
moved.
“Why, Mr Cringle,” said Transom, “if you have promised to deliver the
trinkets in propria persona, there’s an end, take leave--nothing doing
down yonder--send Tailtackle for clothes. Mr Reefpoint, go to the boat
and send up Tailtackle; so go you must to these unfortunates, and we
shall then start on our cruise to the Coffee Estate with our worthy
host.”
“Why,” said Campana; “the family are in the country; they live about
four miles from Santiago, on the very road to my property, and we shall
call on our way; but I don’t much admire these interviews there will be
a scene, I fear.”
“Not on my part,” said I; “but call I must, for I solemnly promised,”
and presented the miniature to Don Ricardo.
Campana looked at it. It was exquisitely finished, and represented a
most beautiful girl, a dark, large-eyed, sparkling, Spanish beauty.
“Oh, my dear, dear child,” murmured Don Ricardo, “how like this was to
what you were; how changed you are now from what it is--alas! alas! But
come, gentlemen, my wife is ready, and my two nieces,” the pretty girls
who were of our party the previous evening--“and here are the horses.”
At this moment the little midshipman, Master Reefpoint, a great
favourite of mine, by the by, reappeared, with Tailtackle behind him,
carrying my bundle. I was regularly caught, as the clothes, on the
chance of a lark, had been brought from the ship, although stowed out of
sight under the stern-sheets of the boat.
“Here are your clothes, Mr Cringle,” quoth middy.
“Devil confound your civility,” internally murmured I.
The captain twigged, and smiled. Upon which little Reefy stole up to me
“Lord, Mr Cringle, could you but get me leave to go, it would be such
a....”
“Hold your tongue, boy, how can I....”
Transom struck in--“Master Reefpoint, I see what you are driving at; but
how shall the Firebrand be taken care of when you are away, eh? besides,
you have no clothes, and we shall be away a couple of days most
probably.”
“Oh, yes, sir, I have clothes; I have a hair-brush and a tooth-brush,
and two shirt collars, in my waistcoat pocket.”
“Very well, can we venture to lumber our kind friends with this giant,
Mr Cringle, and can we really leave the ship without him?” Little Reefy
was now all alive. “Tailtackle, go on board--say we shall be back to
dinner the day after tomorrow,” said the Captain.
We now made ready for the start, and certainly the cavalcade was rather
a remarkable one. First, there was an old lumbering family volante, a
sort of gig, with four posts or uprights supporting a canopy covered
with leather, and with a high dash-iron or splashboard in front. There
were curtains depending from this canopy, which on occasion could be let
down, so as to cover in the sides and front. The whole was of the most
clumsy workmanship that can be imagined, and hung by untanned leather
straps in a square wooden frame, from the front of which again protruded
two shafts, straight as Corinthian pillars, and equally substantial,
embracing an uncommonly fine mule, one of the largest and handsomest of
the species which I had seen. The harnessing partook of the same kind
of unwieldy strength and solidity, and was richly embossed with silver
and dirt. Astride on this mulo sat a household negro, with a huge thong
of bullock’s hide in one hand, and the reins in the other. In this
voiture were ensconced La Senora Campana, a portly concern, as already
mentioned, two of her bright black-eyed laughing nieces, and Master
Reefpoint, invisible as he lay smothered amongst the ladies, all to his
little glazed cocked hat, and jabbering away in a most unintelligible
fashion, so far as the young ladies, and eke the old one, were
concerned. However, they appeared all mightily tickled by little Reefy,
either mentally or physically, for off they trundled, laughing and
skirting loud above the noise and creaking of the volante. Then came
three small, ambling, stoutish long-tailed ponies, the biggest not
above fourteen hands high; these were the barbs intended for mine host,
the skipper, and myself, caparisoned with high demipique old-fashioned
Spanish saddles, mounted with silver stirrups, and clumsy bridles, with
a ton of rusty iron in each poor brute’s mouth for a bit, and curbs like
a piece of our chain cable, all very rich, and, as before mentioned with
regard to the volante, far from clean. Their pace was a fast run, a
compound of walk, trot, and canter, or rather of a trot and a canter,
the latter broken down and frittered away through the instrumentality of
a ferocious Mameluke bit, but as easy as an armchair; and this was, I
speak it feelingly, a great convenience, as a sailor is not a Centaur,
not altogether of a piece with his horse, as it were; yet both Captain
Transom and myself were rather goodish horsemen for nauticals, although
rather apt to go over the bows upon broaching-to suddenly. Don
Ricardo’s costume would have been thought a little out of the way in
Leicestershire; most people put on their boots when they do a riding
go, but he chose to mount in shoes and white cotton stockings, and
white jean small-clothes, with a flowing yellow-striped gingham coat,
the skirts of which fluttered in the breeze behind him, his withered
face shaded by a huge Panama hat, and--with enormous silver spurs on his
heels, the rowels two inches in diameter.
Away lumbered the volante, and away we pranced after it. For the first
two miles the scenery was tame enough; but after that, the gently
swelling eminences on each side of the road rose abruptly into rugged
mountains; and the dell between them, which had hitherto been verdant
with waving guinea grass, became covered with large trees, under the
dark shade of which we lost sight of the sun, and the contrast made
every thing around us for a time almost undistinguishable. The forest
continued to overshadow the high-road for two miles further, only
broken by a small cleared patch now and then, where the sharp-spiked
limestone rocks shot up like minarets, and the fire scathed stumps of
the felled trees stood out amongst the rotten earth in the crevices,
from which, however, sprang yams and cocoas, and peas of all kinds, and
granadillos, and a profusion of herbs and roots, with the greatest
luxuriance.
At length we came suddenly upon a cleared space; a most beautiful spot
of ground, where, in the centre of a green plot of velvet grass,
intersected with numberless small walks, gravelled from a neighbouring
rivulet, stood a large one-story wooden edifice, built in the form of a
square, with a court-yard in the centre. From the moistness of the
atmosphere, the outside of the unpainted weatherboarding had a green
damp appearance, and so far as the house itself was concerned, there was
an air of great discomfort about the place. A large open balcony ran
round the whole house on the outside; and fronting us there was a clumsy
wooden porch supported on pillars, with the open door yawning behind it.
The hills on both sides were cleared, and planted with most luxuriant
coffee-bushes, and provision grounds, while the house was shaded by
several splendid star-apple and kennip-trees, and there was a border
of rich flowering shrubs surrounding it on all sides. The hand of woman
had been there!
A few half-naked negroes were lounging about, and on hearing our
approach they immediately came up and stared wildly at us.
“All fresh from the ship these,” quoth Bang.
“Can’t be,” said Transom. “Try and see.”
I spoke some of the commonest Spanish expressions to them, but they
neither understood them, nor could they answer me. But Bang was more
successful in Eboe and Mandingo, both of which he spoke fluently
accomplishments which I ought to have expected, by the by, when I
declared he was little skilled in any tongue but English.
Large herds of cattle were grazing on the skirts of the wood, and about
one hundred mules were scrambling and picking their food in a rocky
river-course which bisected the valley. The hills, tree-covered, rose
around this solitary residence in all directions, as if it had been
situated in the bottom of a punch-bowl; while a small waterfall, about
thirty feet high, fell so near one of the corners of the building, that
when the wind set that way, as I afterwards found, the spray moistened
my hair through the open window in my sleeping apartment. We proceeded
to the door and dismounted, following the example of our host, and
proceeded to help the gentlewomen to alight from the volante. When we
were all accounted for in the porch, Don Ricardo began to shout,
“Criados, criados, ven aca-pendejos, ven aca!” the call was for some
time unattended to; at length, two tall, good-looking, decently--
dressed negroes made their appearance, and took charge of our bestias
and carriage; but all this time there was no appearance by any living
creature belonging to the family.
The dark hall, into which the porch opened was paved with the usual
diamond-shaped bricks or tiles, but was not ceiled, the rafters of the
roof being exposed; there was little or no furniture in it, that we
could see, except a clumsy table in the centre of the room, and one or
two of the leather-backed reclining chairs, such as Whiffle used to
patronize. Several doors opened from this comfortless saloon, which was
innocent of paint, into other apartments, one of which was ajar.
“Estrailo,” murmured Don Ricardo, “muy estrailo!”
“Coolish reception this, Tom.” quoth Aaron Bang.
“Deucedly so,” said the skipper.
But Campana, hooking his little fat wife under his arm, while we did the
agreeable to the nieces, now addressed himself to enter, with the
constant preliminary ejaculation of all well-bred Spaniards in crossing
a friend’s threshold, “Ave Maria purissima,” when we were checked by a
loud tearing fit of coughing, which seemed almost to suffocate the
patient, and female voices in great alarm, proceeding from the room
beyond.
Presently a little anatomy of a man presented himself at the door of the
apartment, wringing his hands, and apparently in great misery. Campana
and his wife, with all the alacrity of kind hearted people, immediately
went up to him, and said something which I did not overhear, but the
poor creature to whom they spoke appeared quite bewildered. “What is
it, Don Picador?” at length we could hear Campana say,--“what is it? Is
it my poor dear Maria who is worse, or what--speak, man--may my wife
enter?”
“Si, si--yes, yes,” said the afflicted Don Picador--“yes, yes, let her
go in--send--for I am unable to think or act--send one of my people back
post to Santiago for the doctor--haste, haste. Sangre--hecha sangre por
la boca.”
“Good God, why did you not say so before?” rejoined Campana.
Here his wife called loudly to her husband, “Ricardo, Ricardo, por amor
de su alma, manda por el medico, she has burst a blood vessel Maria is
dying!”
“Let me mount myself; I will go myself.”--And the excellent man rushed
for the door, when the poor heart-broken Picador clung to his knees.
“No, no, don’t leave me. Send some one else”
“Take care, man, let me go”
Transom and I volunteered in a breath--“No, no, I will go myself,”
continued Don Ricardo; “let go, man--God help me, the old creature is
crazed,--el viejo no vale.”
“Here, here! help, Don Ricardo!” cried his wife.
Off started Transom for the doctor, and into the room rushed Don Picador
and Campana, and, from the sounds in the sick-chamber, all seemed
bustle and confusion; at length the former appeared to be endeavouring
to lift the poor sufferer, so as to enable her to sit up in bed; in the
meantime her coughing had gradually abated into a low suffocating
convulsive gasp.
“So, so, Ii ft her up, man,’ we could hear Campana say; ‘lift her up
quick--or she will be suffocated.”
At length, in a moment of great irritation, excited on the one hand by
his intense interest in the poor suffering girl, and anger at the
peevish, helpless Don Picador, Don Ricardo, to our unutterable surprise,
rapped out, in gude broad Scotch, as he brushed away Senor Cangrejo from
the bedside with a violence that spun him out of the door--“God--the
auld doited deevil is as fusionless as a docken.”
My jaw dropped--I was thunderstruck--Bang’s eye met mine “Murder!” quoth
Bang, so soon as his astonishment let him collect breath enough, “and
here I have been for two whole days practising Spanish, to my great
improvement no doubt, upon a Scotchman how Edified he must have been!”
“But the docken, man,” said I--“fusionless as a docken--how classic!
what an exclamation to proceed from the mouth of a solemn Don!”
“No gibes regarding the docken,” promptly chimed in Bang; “it is a
highly respectable vegetable, let me tell you, and useful on occasion,
which is more.”
The noise in the room ceased, and presently Campana joined us. “We must
proceed,” said he, “it will never do for you to deliver the jewels now,
Mr Cringle; she is too much excited already, even from seeing me.”
But it was more easy to determine on proceeding than to put it in
execution, for a heavy cloud, that had been overhanging the small valley
the whole morning, had by this time spread out and covered the entire
face of nature like a sable pall; the birds of the air flew low, and
seemed perfectly gorged with the superabundance of flies, which were
thickly betaking themselves for shelter under the evergreen leaves of
the bushes. All the winged creation, great and small, were fast
hastening to the cover of the leaves and branches of the trees. The
cattle were speeding to the hollows under the impending rocks; negroes,
men, women, and children, were hurrying with their hoes on their
shoulders past the windows to their huts. Several large bloodhounds had
ventured into the hall, and were crouching with a low whine at our feet.
The huge carrion crows were the only living things which seemed to brave
the approaching chubasco, and were soaring high up in the heavens,
appearing to touch the black agitated fringe of the lowering
thunderclouds. All other kinds of winged creatures, parrots, and
pigeons, and cranes, had vanished by this time under the thickest trees,
and into the deepest coverts, and the wild-ducks were shooting past in
long lines, piercing the thick air with outstretched neck and clanging
wing.
Suddenly the wind fell, and the sound of the waterfall increased, and
grew rough and loud, and the undefinable rushing noise that precedes a
heavy fall of rain in the tropics, the voice of the wilderness, moaned
through the high woods, until at length the clouds sank upon the valley
in boiling mists, rolling halfway down the surrounding hills; and the
water of the stream, whose scanty rill but an instant before hissed over
the precipice, in a small transparent ribbon of clear glass-green,
sprinkled with white foam, and then threaded its way round the large
rocks in its capacious channel, like a silver eel twisting through a dry
desert, now changed in a moment to a dark turgid chocolate colour; and
even as we stood and looked, lo! a column of water from the mountains
pitched in thunder over the face of the precipice, making the earth
tremble, and driving up from the rugged face of the everlasting rocks in
smoke, and forcing the air into eddies and sudden blasts which tossed
the branches of the trees that overhung it, as they were dimly seen
through clouds of drizzle, as if they had been shaken by a tempest,
although there was not a breath stirring elsewhere out of heaven; while
little wavering spiral wreaths of mist rose up thick from the surface of
the boiling pool at the bottom of the cataract, like miniature water
spouts, until they were dispersed by the agitation of the air above.
At length the swollen torrent rolled roaring down the narrow valley,
filling the whole water-course, about fifty yards wide, and advancing
with a solid front a fathom high--a fathom deep does not convey the idea
like a stream of lava, or as one may conceive of the Red Sea, when, at
the stretching forth of the hand of the prophet of the Lord, its mighty
waters rolled back and stood heaped up as a wall to the host of Israel.
The channel of the stream, which but a minute before I could have leaped
across, was the next instant filled, and utterly impassable.
“You can’t possibly move,” said Don Picador; “you can neither go on nor
retreat; you must stay until the river subsides.” And the rain now began
pattering in large drops, like scattering shots preceding an engagement,
on the wooden shingles with which the house was roofed, gradually
increasing to a loud rushing noise, which, as the rooms were not ceiled,
prevented a word being heard.
Don Ricardo began to fret and fidget most awfully,--“Beginning of the
seasons--why, we may not get away for a week and all the ships will be
kept back in their loading.”
All this time, the poor sufferer’s tearing cough was heard in the lulls
of the rain; but it gradually became less and less severe, and the lady
of the house, and Senora Campana, and Don Picador’s daughter, at length
slid into the room on tiptoe, leaving one of Don Ricardo’s nieces in the
room with the sick person.
“She is asleep--hush.” The weather continued as bad as ever, and we
passed a very comfortless forenoon of it, Picador, Campana, Bang, and
myself, perambulating the large dark hall, while the ladies were
clustered together in a corner with their work. At length the weather
cleared, and I could get a glimpse of mine hostess and her fair
daughter. The former was a very handsome woman, about forty; she was
tall, and finely formed; her ample figure set off by the very simple,
yet, to my taste, very elegant dress formerly described: it was neither
more nor less than the plain black silk petticoat over a chemise, made
full at the bosom, with a great quantity of lace frills; her dark glossy
hair was gathered on the crown of her head in one long braid, twisted
round and round, and rising up like a small turret. Over all she wore a
loose shawl of yellow silk crape. But the daughter, I never shall
forget her! Tall and full, and magnificently shaped--every motion was
instinct with grace. Her beautiful black hair hung a yard down her
back, long and glossy, in three distinct braids, while it was shaded,
Madonna-like, off her high and commanding forehead; her eyebrows--to
use little Reefy’s simile--looked as if cut out of a mouse’s skin; and
her eyes themselves, large, dark, and soft, yet brilliant and sparkling
at the same time, however contradictory this may, read; her nose was
straight, and her cheeks firm and oval, and her mouth, her full lips,
her ivory teeth, her neck and bosom, were perfect, the latter if any
giving promise of too matronly a womanhood; but at the time I saw her,
nothing could have been more beautiful; and, above all, there was an
inexpressible charm in the clear transparent darkness of her colourless
skin, into which you thought you could look; her shoulders, and the
upper part of her arms, were peculiarly beautiful. Nothing is so
exquisitely lovely as the upper part of a beautiful woman’s arm, and yet
we have lived to see this admirable feature shrouded and lost in those
abominable gigots.--Why won’t you, Master Kit North, lend a hand, and
originate a crusade against those vile appendages? I will lead into
action if you like--“Woe unto the women that sew pillows to all
armholes,” Ezekiel, xiii. 18. May I venture on such a quotation in such
a place?--She was extremely like her brother; and her fine face was
overspread with the pale cast of thought a settled melancholy, like the
shadow of a cloud in a calm day on a summer landscape, mantled over her
fine features; and although she moved with the air of a princess, and
was possessed of that natural politeness which far surpasses all
artificial polish, yet the heaviness of her heart was apparent in every
motion, as well as in all she said.
Many people labour under an unaccountable delusion, imagining, in their
hallucination, that a Frenchwoman, for instance, or even an Englishwoman
nay, some in their madness have been heard to say that a Scotchwoman
has been known to walk. Egregious errors all! An Irishwoman of the
true Milesian descent can walk a step or two sometimes, but all other
women, fair or brown, short or tall, stout or thin, only stump, shuffle,
jig, or amble--none but a Spaniard can walk.
Once or twice she tried to enter into conversation with me on
indifferent subjects; but there was a constant tendency to approach
(against her own prearranged determination) the one, all-absorbing one,
the fate of her poor brother. “Oh, had you but known him, Mr Cringle
had you but known him in his boyhood, before bad company had corrupted
him!” exclaimed she, after having asked me if he died penitent and she
turned away and wept. “Francisca,” said a low hoarse female voice from
the other room; “Francisca, ven aca, mi querida hermana.” The sweet girl
rose, and sped across the floor with the grace of Taglioni, (oh, the
legs Taglionis! as poor dear Bang would have ventured to have said, if
the sylphide had then been known,) and presently returning, whispered
something to her mother, who rose and drew Don Picador aside. The
waspish old man shook himself clear of his wife, as he said with
indecent asperity--“No, no, she will but make a fool of herself.”
His wife drew herself up.
“She never made a fool of herself, Don Picador, but once; and God
forgive those who were the cause of it. It is not kind of you, it is
not kind.”
“Well, well,” rejoined the querulous old man, “do as you will, do as you
will,--always crossing me, always crossing.”
His wife took no farther notice, but stepped across the room to me,
“Our poor dying Maria knows you are here; and probably you are not aware
that he wrote to her after his”--her voice quavered after his
condemnation, the night before he suffered, that you were the only one
who shewed him kindness; and she has also read the newspapers giving an
account of the trial. She wishes to see you will you pleasure her?
Senora Campana has made her acquainted that you are the bearer of some
trinkets belonging to him, from which she infers you witnessed his last
moments, as one of them, she was told, was her picture, poor dear girl;
and she knew that must have grown to his heart till the last. But it
will be too agitating. I will try and dissuade her from the interview
until the doctor comes, at all events.’
The worthy lady stepped again into Maria’s apartment, and I could not
avoid hearing what passed.
“My dear Maria, Mr Cringle has no objection to wait on you; but after
your severe attack this morning, I don’t think it will be wise. Delay
it until Dr Bergara comes--at any rate, until the evening, Maria.”
“Mother,” she said, in a weak, plaintive voice, although husky from the
phlegm which was fast coagulating in her throat--“Mother, I already have
ceased to be of this world; I am dying, dearest mother, fast dying; and
oh, thou All-good and All-merciful Being, against whom I have fearfully
sinned, would that the last struggle were now o’er, and that my weary
spirit were released, and my shame hidden in the silent tomb, and my
sufferings and very name forgotten!” She paused and gasped for breath; I
thought it was all over with her; but she rallied again and proceeded
“Time is rapidly ebbing from me, dearest mother,--for mother I must call
you, more than a mother have you been to me--and the ocean of eternity
is opening to my view. If I am to see him at all, I must see him now; I
shall be more agitated by the expectation of the interview than by
seeing him at once. Oh! let me see him now, let me look on one who
witnessed his last moments.”
I could see Senora Cangrejo where she stood. She crossed her hands on
her bosom, and looked up towards heaven, and then turned mournfully
towards me, and beckoned me to approach. I entered the small room,
which had been fitted up by the poor girl with some taste; the furniture
was better than any I had seen in a Spanish house before, and there was
a mat on the floor, and some exquisite miniatures and small landscapes
on the walls. It was her boudoir, opening apparently into a bedroom
beyond. It was lighted by a large open unglazed window, with a row of
wooden balustrades beyond it, forming part of a small balcony. A
Carmelite friar, a venerable old man, with the hot tears fast falling
from his old eyes over his wrinkled cheeks, whom I presently found to be
the excellent Padre Carera, sat in a large chair by the bedside, with a
silver cup in his hand, beside which lay a large crucifix of the same
metal; he had just administered extreme unction, and the viaticum, he
fondly hoped, would prove a passport for his dear child to another and a
better world. As I entered he rose, held out his hand to me, and moved
round to the bottom of the bed.
The shutters had been opened, and, with a suddenness which no one can
comprehend who has not lived in these climates, the sun now shone
brightly on the flowers and garden plants which grew in a range of pots
on the balcony, and lighted up the pale features of a lovely girl,
lovely even in the jaws of death, as she lay with her face towards the
light, supported in a reclining position on cushions, on a red morocco
mattrass, laid on a sort of frame or bed.
“Light was her form, and darkly delicate, that brow, whereon her native
sun had sat, but had not marr’d.”
She was tall, so far as I could judge, but oh, how attenuated! Her
lower limbs absolutely made no impression on the mattrass, to which her
frame appeared to cling, giving a ghastly conspicuousness to the
oedematoust swelling of her feet, and to her person, for, alas! She was
in a way to have become a mother.
The offspring of his wayward youth,
When he betrayed Bianca’s truth;
The maid whose folly could confide
In him, who made her not his bride.
Her hand, grasping her pocket-handkerchief, drenched, alas, with blood,
hung over the side of the bed, thin and pale, with her long taper
fingers as transparent as if they had been fresh cut alabaster, with the
blue veins winding through her wrists, and her bosom wasted and shrunk,
and her neck no thicker than her arm, with the pulsations of the large
arteries as plain and evident as if the skin had been a film, and her
beautiful features, although now sharpened by the near approaching death
agony, her lovely mouth, her straight nose, her arched eyebrows, black,
like pencilled jet lines, and her small ears,--and oh, who can describe
her rich black raven hair, lying combed out, and spread all over the bed
and pillow? She was dressed in a long loose gown of white crape; it
looked like a winding-sheet; but the fire of her eyes--I have purposely
not ventured to describe them--the unearthly brilliancy of her large,
full, swimming eye!
When I entered, I bowed, and remained standing near the door. She said
something, but in so low a voice that I could not catch the words; and
when I stepped nearer, on purpose to hear more distinctly, all at once
the blood mantled in her cheeks and forehead and throat, like the last
gleam of the setting sun; but it faded as rapidly, and once more she lay
pale as her smock.
“Yet not such blush, as mounts when health would show,
All the heart’s hue in that delightful glow;
But ‘twas a hectic tint of secret care,
That for a burning moment fever’d there;
And the wild sparkle of her eye seemd caught
From high, and lighten’d with electric thought;
Though its black orb these long low lashes fringe,
Had temper’d with a melancholy tinge.”
Her voice was becoming more and more weak, she said, so she must be
prompt. “You have some trinkets for me, Mr Cringle?” I presented them.
She kissed the crucifix fervently, and then looked mournfully on her own
miniature. “This was thought like once, Mr Cringle.--Are the newspaper
accounts of his trial correct?” she next asked. I answered, that in the
main facts they were. “And do you believe in the commission of all
these alleged atrocities by him?” I remained silent. “Yes, they are but
too true. Hush, hush,” said she “look there.”
I did as she requested. There, glancing bright in the sunshine, a most
beautiful butterfly fluttered in the air, in the very middle of the open
window. When we first saw it, it was flitting gaily and happily amongst
the plants and flowers that were blooming in the balcony, but it
gradually became more and more slow on the wing, and at last poised
itself so unusually steadily for an insect of its class, that even had
Maria not spoken, it would have attracted my attention. Below it, on
the window sill, near the wall, with head erect, and its little basilisk
eyes upturned towards the lovely fly, crouched a camelion lizard; its
beautiful body, when I first looked at it, was a bright sea-green. It
moved into the sunshine, a little away from the shade of the laurel
bush, which grew on the side it first appeared on, and suddenly the back
became transparent amber, the legs and belly continuing green. From its
breast under the chin, it every now and then shot out a semicircular
film of a bright scarlet colour, like a leaf of a tulip stretched
vertically, or the pectoral fin of a fish.
This was evidently a decoy, and the poor fly was by degrees drawn down
towards it, either under the impression of its being in reality a flower,
or impelled by some impulse which it could not resist. It gradually
fluttered nearer and more near, the reptile remaining all the while
steady as a stone, until it made a sudden spring, and in the next moment
the small meally wings were quivering on each side of the camelion’s
tiny jaws. While in the act of gorging its prey, a little fork, like a
wire, was projected from the opposite corner of the window; presently a
small round black snout, with a pair of little fiery blasting eyes,
appeared, and a thin black neck glanced in the sun. The lizard saw it.
I could fancy it trembled. Its body became of a dark blue, then ashy
pale; the imitation of the flower, the gaudy fin was withdrawn, it
appeared to shrink back as far as it could, but it was nailed or
fascinated to the window sill, for its feet did not move. The head of
the snake approached, with its long forked tongue shooting out and
shortening, and with a low hissing noise. By this time about two feet
of its body was visible, lying with its white belly on the wooden beam,
moving forward with a small horizontal wavy motion, the head and six
inches of the neck being a little raised. I shrunk back from the
serpent, but no one else seemed to have any dread of it; indeed, I
afterwards learned, that this kind being good mousers, and otherwise
quite harmless, were, if any thing, encouraged about houses in the
country. I looked again; its open mouth was now within an inch of the
lizard, which by this time seemed utterly paralysed and motionless; the
next instant its head was drawn into the snake’s mouth, and by degrees
the whole body disappeared, as the reptile gorged it, and I could
perceive from the lump which gradually moved down the snake’s neck, that
it had been sucked into its stomach. Involuntarily I raised my hand,
when the whole suddenly disappeared.
I turned, I could scarcely tell why, to look at the dying girl. A
transient flush had again lit up her pale wasted face. She was
evidently greatly excited. “Can you read me that riddle, Mr Cringle?
Does no analogy present itself to you between what you have seen,
between the mysterious power possessed by these subtle reptiles, and
Look--look again.”
A large and still more lovely butterfly suddenly rose from beneath where
the snake had vanished, all glittering in the dazzling sunshine, and
after fluttering for a moment, floated steadily up into the air, and
disappeared in the blue sky. My eye followed it as long as it was
visible, and when it once more declined to where we had seen the snake,
I saw a most splendid dragonfly, about three inches long, like a golden
bodkin, with its gauze-like wings moving so quickly, as it hung
steadily poised in mid air, like a hawk preparing to stoop, that the
body seemed to be surrounded by silver tissue, or a bright halo, while
it glanced in the sunbeam.
“Can you not read it yet, Mr Cringle? can you not read my story in the
fate of the first beautiful fly, and the miserable end of my Federico,
in that of the lizard? And oh, may the last appearance of the ethereal
thing, which but now rose, and melted into the lovely sky, be a true
type of what I shall be! But that poor insect, that remains there
suspended between heaven and earth, shall I say hell, what am I to think
of it?”
The dragonfly was still there. She continued--“En purgatorio, ah Dios,
tu quedas en purgatorio,” as if the fly had represented the unhappy
young pirate’s soul in limbo. Oh, let no one smile at the quaintness of
the dying fancy of the poor heart-crushed girl. The weather began to
lower again, the wind came past us moaningly--the sun was obscured
large drops of rain fell heavily into the room--a sudden dazzling flash
of lightning took place, and the dragonfly was no longer there. A long
low wild cry was heard. I started, and my flesh creeped. The cry was
repeated. “Es el--el mismo, y ningun otro. Me venga, Federico; me
venga, mi querido!” shrieked poor Maria, with a supernatural energy, and
with such piercing distinctness that it was heard shrill even above the
rolling thunder.
I turned to look at Maria--another flash. It glanced on the crucifix
which the old priest had elevated at the foot of the bed, full in her
view. It was nearer, the thunder was louder. “Is that the rain-drops
which are falling heavily on the floor through the open window?” Oh God!
Oh God! it is her warm heart’s-blood, which was bubbling from her mouth
like a crimson fountain. Her pale fingers were clasped on her bosom in
the attitude of prayer--a gentle quiver of her frame and the poor broken
hearted girl, and her unborn babe, “sleeped the sleep that knows no
waking.”