I AM PUT TO GREAT CONCERN ON ACCOUNT OF A PORTUGAL, WHICH PRESENTLY
TAKES THE PRETTIEST TURN IMAGINABLE.
The next morning I awoke at daybreak, but lay very still for a good
hour, not to disturb my dear lady; and this time was in nowise tedious,
for my head was full of glee to think that here was another day of joy
before me. And also my mind was well occupied in turning over the
particulars of our existence, and devising means by which I might make
the day agreeable to my lady as well as joyful to myself.
Among other things, I thought it would not be amiss if I went a-hunting
in the woods for some fresh game to replace the buccan, which is at best
but an indifferent dry kind of victuals. "Moreover," thinks I, "my
absence will give Lady Biddy occasion to bathe her sweet body if she be
so minded." Whereupon I cast off my mat, and stepping into the shallow,
that I might not overmuch joggle the canoe about, I gave myself a sluice
and dressed myself.
Presently my lady, awaking, calls to me to know if it were time to rise.
"Nay," says I, "there is no hurry, for I am going a-hunting in the woods
and shall not return maybe for an hour."
"You are sure you will not be back before, Benet?" says she.
"As for that," says I, "I will not stir from the place if you are afraid
to be alone."
"Nay," says she, with a little laugh, "I am not afraid of that."
"Then I shall assuredly not be back for an hour," says I. "And if you
are disposed to bathe, you will find the water very fresh and proper. I
see no danger now, but I do beg you, ere you step in the water, to look
well about you that there be no water-serpents nor cockadrils nigh."
She promised me she would be very careful; and so with a bow and a dozen
arrows away I went into the woods, as cheerful as you please. And there,
after shooting at a bird with a beak as big as his body (which is called
a _tucana_) and missing him, I had the good chance to spy a _tumandua_,
which is a long-haired beast with a snout three parts of a yard long,
that feeds on the ants of the earth, which he licks up with a prodigious
long tongue, like any whip-thong. I killed him with my first arrow, and
having taken the skin off I cut the best parts, packed them in a cool
leaf, and left the rest behind. And now I looked about for a milk-tree
such as I have spoken of, and having the good fortune to find one I gave
it a couple of gashes and drew off as much as a quart of excellent good
milk in a gourd I had bethought me to sling on to my waist-belt. And by
the time this was done, and I had plucked some good fruits, I reckoned
it was time to return to the river; so thither I made my way, stopping
now and then to stuff my pockets with such dry husks of nuts as make a
brisk fire, and culling a few flowers that I thought might refresh my
dear lady's senses as she ate. In this manner I charged myself pretty
well: with this under one arm, that under t'other, my pockets sticking
out on either side, my bow on my back, and my hands full.
But I was like to let all these things drop from me when I came to that
point of the woods whence I could see the canoe, for the boat lay there
empty, and nowhere could I catch a glimpse of my lady. But, to my
horror, I presently spied, through an opening in the wood to my right, a
Portugal (as I accounted him by his dress), fitting an arrow to his bow.
I caught sight of him but for a moment, for having fitted his arrow he
stole forward stealthily, as if to take his quarry by surprise, and
disappeared behind a thicket. Then, as I say, was I like to have dropped
all I had for amazement and terror. And now in a moment it appeared to
me that my lady, having caught sight of this enemy, had fled into the
wood to find me, and that, hampered by the thick growth, she had been
brought to a stand, whither this wicked Portugal was stealing upon her
to take her life. Whereupon, casting everything to the ground, I rushed
forward, hallooing with all my force.
"Turn, villain Portugal!" shouts I. "Here is your enemy!"
But ere I had run fifty paces I was stayed by a new amazement, for,
coming to the edge of the thicket, I was brought face to face with what
I had taken for a Portugal, and now found was none other than Lady Biddy
herself, but arrayed in a Portugal's doublet and trunks like any boy.
Hearing my terrible shout, and then catching sight of me all dumbfounded
with astonishment, she must needs fall into a merry laugh; but the next
moment she hung her head, blushing up to the eyes, and her knees turned
in together for shame to be seen in that dress.
However, coming to herself presently, and perceiving there was no need
to be ashamed of that which is done with no ill-motive, she lifts up her
head, though her cheek yet burned and her bright eyes twinkled, and
tells me how she had begged these clothes (which had belonged to the
stripling that was page, as I have told, to Lewis de Pino) of the Ingas
for her own use. And now I remembered how, when she stepped first into
the canoe, she carried with her a packet which she put carefully in one
part of the canoe, where, as may be believed, I had left it untouched.
"I shall need my gown," says she, "when we get out of these wilds, and
assuredly there would be little left of it if I tried to make my way
through these woods wearing it. Now," adds she, "I need be no plague to
you, Benet, when we have to leave the river, for I can pass as readily
as you through the bushes and thickets. Nay, I wish to be independent,
so far as my strength will allow, that you may not fear to leave me
alone if there be occasion; and to that end I was practising with this
bow, and I thought I was brave enough for anything till you frightened
me out of my wits by shouting out so terribly." And therewith she fell
to laughing again; but now she was more at her ease, perceiving that I
did not regard her in any unbecoming manner.
"Your judgment is never at fault, cousin," says I; "and sure it is more
fit you should travel in this sort than in a gown which you have no
means to mend when it suffered by an unseemly rent. Also 'twill be a
great comfort to me to know you will not be left helpless by any
accident that may happen to me."
"We will not think of such misfortunes," says she; "but I am heartily
glad you approve of what I have done; and now, to complete the
improvement, do, prithee, cut my hair close with your knife."
"Nay," says I, "that I can not do; you know not how pretty it is."
"Perhaps I do," says she sadly, and yet with a certain depth of meaning
that I did not then fathom; "and so do as I beg you; for I can not well
do it myself, and I am still woman enough to dread the thought of its
being cut away."
"What need is there to cut it at all?" says I deploringly.
"Why," says she, "'tis as like to catch in the briars as my skirts, and
the vexation will be greater. Besides, 'tis out of character with my
dress, and I wish to feel my head as free as my limbs are. See," says
she, undoing the knot and letting it fall, "how unbecoming it is to a
young fellow, and what a deal of trouble it may get me into."
Here again was a hint of her meaning, yet I could not catch it then for
admiring of the long waving tresses that came down to her waist, and
glittered like threads of spun silk, with the color of a chestnut just
burst from its husk.
However, seeing she would take no denial, I screwed up courage to take
off some of this beautiful adornment; but I would cut it no shorter than
her shoulders, which I maintained was the length that pages do wear it.
And I would not lose a single hair; but when the business was done I
tied the long locks in a thick knot, tenderly and in silence, for my
heart was sorrowing with the reflection that one day this would be all
that I could have of her.
"You are not going to keep that, Benet?" says she, seeing what I was
about.
"Ay," says I, "if you will let me." And then, not knowing any better
excuse to make, I added, "It may serve very well for fish-lines if there
be any angling to do."
Thereupon we fell to talking of fishing and hunting, as that were the
main question (though, so far as I was concerned, it was a long way
therefrom), and I took her to see what I had got us in the shape of
provision; and, to our content, no mischief had happened to those things
by casting them down so hurriedly, for they had fallen into a tuft of
grass, and the gourd of milk was unspilt. So we set about making a fire
and preparing our food, all with a light and cheerful heart, as if 'twas
the most natural thing in the world for my lady to be figuring in the
garb of a boy. But when she was occupied with the cooking of the
tamandua, under the pretense of seeing that the canoe had not shifted, I
withdrew a little out of sight, and having pressed my lips and cheek to
the cold shining locks of her hair, I opened my doublet and slipped them
into my breast, where I ever kept them thereafter.
And now, to make an end to this part of our history, I must say here
that I think my dear lady had another and secret intent in putting on
the boy's habit and cutting off her hair, which was that she might that
way abate somewhat the passion of love that reigned in my heart, and
was, despite my utmost endeavors to conceal it, yet visible to her eyes.
She thought, as I believe, that by putting off the garb and character of
her sex, I might come to regard her less as a woman, and more as a
comrade of my own kind. It is not necessary to be a philosopher--it is
enough to be a woman--to perceive that a man's tenderness does increase
by the dependence of womankind upon his means and love; and 'twas for
this reason she desired to undertake what I undertook, to overcome her
weakness, and to stand alone, as one may say.
But my passion was proof against these devices. For I could trace no
action of hers to its motive without increasing my admiration and
delight in the contemplation of her fine disposition. Nay, the aspect of
her mind did delight my soul, as much, I truly believe, as the sight of
her dear person; and she could do nothing to conceal the one or disguise
the other from my searching perception. "Lord!" thinks I, when I dare
not look at her, "can there be another soul so beautiful in all the
world?" And then, when her eyes were elsewhere and I could regard her
unseen, I would mark the dainty outline of her brow and nose, and the
short upper lip that did betray her delicacy, her rounded under lip that
spoke of mirth, her full, round chin, in which was no sign of weak or
wanton purpose; also (with joy) how her hair that I had cut so barbarous
straight did begin to curl at the end, and would sit shining on her
shoulder or flutter in the soft breeze lightly by her downy cheek, like
a butterfly beside a peach-plum.