A BEAUTIFUL ISLAND.
It is the beginning of December 1670 in the beautiful little Island of
St. Catherine, one of the West Indian Islands, which were at this time
the rich treasure-house of most of the European nations, where
Spaniards, French, English, and Dutch all hoped to make their fortunes
in some way or other, and where, alas! the idle and good-for-nothing men
of the Old World attempted by unlawful means to win fame and fortune,
which, when achieved, as often as not brought them neither happiness nor
profit.
Though it is December, in St. Catherine there is nothing cold or
disagreeable in the weather, and all around the beauty of the scene
delights the eye. The mountains, though of no great height, are wooded
with the loveliest tropical vegetation; the well-watered valleys are
little Gardens of Eden; whilst in some portions, not yet cleared by
either natives, Spaniards, or Englishmen, the original forests rise up
like giants of nature whom no hand of man has laid low. In these
forests are endless varieties of birds--parrots, pigeons, and
hummingbirds of every colour. Here, too, can be found land-crabs which
much resemble sea-crabs in shape and manner of walking; but instead of
finding a home under rocks and boulders, these crabs burrow in the
forests, and once a year form themselves into a regiment and march down
to the sea-coast for the purpose of depositing their young in the
waters. This regiment has only one line of march; it never diverges
from it, but whatever comes in its way is climbed over--straight over it
go the crabs; and such a noise they make that you can hear the
clattering of their claws for a considerable distance.
We must not now stop to describe this West Indian island, which is full
of beauty and curious plants and trees; but if you come to the wood that
leads to the great Spanish fortress of Santa Teresa, you will find a
steep path through the luxurious forest, leading over a drawbridge to
the castle. What a view can be seen from thence over the port! But it
was not the view that the Governor's children were thinking of as they
walked together in the garden which sloped down towards the sea, and
which was especially reserved for the Governor and his family.
Felipa del Campo was a tall dark girl of about fourteen years of age,
but she looked older, and there was a sad expression on her face as she
gazed up to her brother, a noble-looking fellow a year older, with the
long, grave-looking countenance of the Spanish nobility. He was
dressed, after the fashion of that time, in embroidered doublet, short
velvet tunic, and trunk hose; whilst his well-shaped limbs were
displayed to perfection in silk stockings. His shoes had buckles set
with diamonds, and his tall Spanish hat was plumed.
Felipa, on her side, had a long silver-embroidered skirt, beneath which
her dainty feet hardly appeared; a small stomacher sewn with seed pearls
set off her lithe figure, whilst her pretty, dark hair strayed from
beneath a rich black lace kerchief.
'Where is my father, Carlo?' asked Felipa. 'Old Catalina says he has
been down to-day to give orders about the repair of the bridge between
the two islands. Do you think he is expecting any danger? Surely the
forts are well protected; but what can make him so busy?'
'I don't know what to think,' said Carlo sadly, 'our father is so
strange of late. I have been trying to speak to you about it, Felipa,
for several days, but sometimes I fancy he seems to watch me as if he
suspected me; though of what I cannot imagine. And then--have you
noticed?--he cannot make up his mind to anything; he orders something
one day, and the next he has altered his mind. He promised me the
command of the little fort of Santa Cruz when I should be fifteen; but
this morning when I reminded him of this he spoke quite roughly, and
told me I was fit for nothing but playing with girls.'
Carlo's colour heightened at the very idea of this rebuke; for if there
was one virtue the boy admired more than any other it was courage. These
two children had been early left motherless; but old Catalina, a
faithful servant, had done all she could to make their lives happy since
she had brought them here from Spain, after the Marquis Don Estevan del
Campo had been made Governor of St. Catherine.
'Catalina says that our father is not the same man he was when our
mother first married him,' said Felipa thoughtfully. 'The many worries
he has have made the change. But never mind, Carlo, this mood will pass
by, and we shall be happy again. When our brave uncle, Don Alvarez,
comes with dear Aunt Elena, then they will advise our father, and he
always takes Uncle Alvarez's opinion. He always does, because uncle
speaks so decidedly.'
The two children spoke in Spanish, but, strangely enough, they often put
in English words and whole English phrases; and the reason of this was
soon apparent, for at this moment a pretty, fair girl was seen running
towards them with nimble feet down the slope, and, picking her way among
the gorgeous flower-beds, she cried out in pure English, though with a
slightly foreign accent:
'Dear Felipa, what do you think! There is a trading-vessel in the port,
and the merchant has just come to offer us some beautiful cloth, and
silver buckles! Catalina dares not send him away till you have seen
him.'
Carlo smiled as he looked at the English girl's beautiful fair hair,
rosy cheeks, and active limbs. To him she appeared like some angel, for
he was accustomed to seeing only dark people, and the Spanish women in
the island were anything but beautiful. Felipa shook her head as she
answered:
'Tell Catalina to say I want nothing.' The Governor's daughter spoke
with just that tone of command which showed she was accustomed to be
first, even though her gentle manner and sad face plainly indicated that
her real nature was rather yielding than imperious.
'I can see Etta admired the silver buckles,' said Carlo kindly. 'Come,
Mistress Englishwoman, I will buy you a pair; for, with the dislike to
long petticoats that comes from your English blood, the pretty buckles
are more necessary for you than for Felipa.'
'Oh, dear Carlo, will you really!' said Etta, her face beaming with
pleasure. 'How good you are to me!' All at once, however, the smile
died away, and, sitting down on a seat near Felipa, the English girl
added, with tears in her blue eyes:
'But no, Carlo, I will not accept your buckles: a prisoner has no right
to wear pretty things.'
'A prisoner! Oh, Etta!' said Felipa, throwing her arms round Etta's
neck, 'why do you say that? Do we not love you dearly? Am I not a
sister to you? and Carlo a dear brother? Do I not share all my things
with you? And when Catalina is cross to you I make her sorry.'
'And my father has almost forgotten you are not one of his own,' added
Carlo, standing behind Etta and taking one of the fair curls in his
hand; for he dearly loved this English sister, as he called Etta
Allison.
'Yes, yes, it is all true, and Santa Teresa is a lovely home; but I
cannot forget I am English, and that I am really a prisoner. I once
asked Don Estevan to send me back to England by one of the big ships,
and he refused; and yet my mother's last words were that I was not to
forget my own land.'
At the thought of her mother Etta's tears came fast; but at this moment
the Governor of St. Catherine himself appeared in the garden, and Etta,
being afraid to be seen crying, dried her tears and stooped down to play
with Felipa's little dog, so as not to show her red eyes. When she
looked up again the sunshine had returned to her bonnie-looking face.
The Marquis Don Estevan del Campo was a small thin-looking man, who had
long suffered from a liver complaint, and in consequence his whole
nature seemed to be changed. From a determined, clever administrator he
had become peevish, undecided, and ill-tempered; and the men under him
hardly knew how to obey his orders, which were often very contradictory.
To-day he walked towards Carlo, with a troubled expression on his face,
and on the way he took occasion to find fault with a slave who was
watering the flower-beds. The slave trembled, as he was bidden in a
very imperious fashion to be quicker about his work.
Carlo came to meet his father, doffing his hat in the courtly fashion of
a young Spanish noble.
'What are you doing here, children?' the Marquis said. 'Is not this
your hour of study?'
'You have forgotten, my father, that it is a holiday to-day; and I was
coming to ask if Felipa and Etta might not come down to the bay with me
and have a row in my canoe.'
The Marquis looked up quickly.
'No, no: there must be no rowing to-day; I have set workmen to repair
the bridge, and you had best keep at home.'
'Then we will go to the Orange Grove,' said Felipa, coming up and
putting her hand on her father's arm, 'and Etta and I will pick some of
the sweetest fruit for your dessert this evening.'
'As you like, Felipa; but do not go far, and take Catalina and some of
the slaves with you, for I hear several of the wild dogs have been seen
in this neighbourhood. Anyhow, you will not have very long before
sunset.'
'I will let the girls go alone, then,' said Carlo, 'and come with you,
father.' And so saying the Marquis and his son walked away, whilst the
girls with an escort of slaves entered the forest and went down the
mountain side. This forest was not, however, such a one as could be
found in England. Here the pleasant breeze played among the leaves of a
huge fan palm with leaf-stalks ten feet long and fans twelve feet broad;
next to it might be found a groo-groo or coco palm, and bananas and
plantains; and below these giant trees of the tropics were lovely
shrubs, covered with flowers of every hue and shape, round which flitted
great orange butterflies larger than any we can see in our colder
climate; and Etta with her English blood and active nature was never
tired of chasing them, though now and then a little afraid of meeting
with snakes.
A great deal of this forest had not been cleared; but close by the path
the Governor had had much of the undergrowth cut away, and lower down he
had planted a grove of orange-trees, whose green fruit Etta and Felipa
loved to pick; and round about was a lovely wild garden where grew
sensitive plants and scarlet-flowered balisiers and climbing ferns, over
which twined convolvuli of every colour, whilst the bees buzzed about
these honeycups, never caring to fly up to the great cotton-trees so far
above them, because they found enough beauty and sweetness in the
flowers below.
Felipa and Etta did not know the names of even half the beautiful
flowers they gathered that evening; but they invented fancy names for
many of them, and arranged with good taste a bunch of roses they picked
from a bush twenty feet high, glad that a few were within their reach,
and longing for Carlo, so that he might pull down some more for them.
Of course there were drawbacks even in this lovely place, for there were
the wasps and the spiders to avoid, and centipedes and ants, too; though
Etta was never tired of watching the 'parasol ants' who walk in
procession, each carrying a bit of green leaf over its head, on which
were to be found now and then baby ants, having a ride home in their
elegant carriage.
Ah, it was a beautiful and wonderful home these young Spaniards had on
this Santa Teresa hill; but at that time even the children in West
Indian homes knew there were dangers that might come upon them, and St.
Catherine had already been the scene of disasters which Etta could just
remember, but which Felipa had seen nothing of as yet, having only been
brought from Spain when the Marquis was firmly established as Governor
of the island.
After the girls had gathered as big nosegays as they could carry they
began to ascend the hill again, for darkness would soon come upon them,
there being no twilight in this lovely region, and even with their
escort of slaves they were not allowed to be out after sunset.
'Dear Etta,' said Felipa, putting her arm round her friend's neck,
'promise me you will never again call yourself a prisoner. You would
not care to leave me and beautiful Santa Teresa to go back to that
dreadfully cold, foggy England? Surely you have not found us such cruel
Spaniards as your people talk of; and Carlo loves you better than he
loves me, I think.'
Etta smiled and kissed her friend, but she answered:
'I love you and Carlo very, very much, Felipa; but my dear mother told
me before she died that I was never to part with the letters she gave
me, and that some day I must go home and find my relations; for in my
country I come from an honourable family, but here I am only an English
prisoner.'
Felipa was going to argue the question again, when Carlo came running
down to meet them.
'Make haste, Felipa and Etta: my father has suddenly made up his mind to
go to the other island this evening; he means to sleep at the Fort St.
Jerome, and he says we may accompany him.' The girls, always ready for
a little journey, as they seldom left Santa Teresa, clapped their hands
in joy and ran up the narrow path to the entrance of the castle, in high
glee at the unexpected pleasure.