NEVIS.
Nevis is only separated from St. Kitts by a channel half a league in
width at the most.
This charming little island, whose fertility is remarkable, is,
according to all probability, the result of a volcanic explosion; and
this assertion is nearly proved by a crater containing a spring of hot
water strongly impregnated with sulphur.
Seen from a distance, it offers the appearance of a vast cone; it is,
in fact, only a very lofty mountain, whose base is watered by the sea;
its sides at first offering an easy incline, become, at a certain
height, excessively abrupt; all vegetation ceases, and its snow covered
peak is lost in the clouds.
During the attack of the Spaniards on St. Kitts, several adventurers
had sought shelter on this isle. Some of them, seduced by attractive
sites, permanently settled there, and commenced forming plantations;
few in number, it is true, and too far apart for the inhabitants to
aid each other in the event of an attack from an external foe, but
which prospered, and promised, ere long, to acquire a certain amount of
importance.
The filibuster, although his little skiff was impelled by a good
breeze, took some time in reaching the island, because he was obliged
to go along the entire length of the channel ere he reached the spot
where he wished to go.
The sun was already beginning to decline, when the canoe at length put
into a small sandy creek.
"Pull up the canoe, hide the paddles among the reeds," said Montbarts,
"and follow me."
The Olonnais obeyed with the punctuality and intelligent vivacity which
he displayed in everything, and then said to his master--
"Shall I take my fusil?"
"There is no harm in doing so," the latter replied; "an adventurer
should never go unarmed."
"Very good; I will remember that."
They proceeded inland, following a scarce-traced path, which ran with
a gentle incline from the beech, wound round a rather steep hill,
and after passing through a leafy mahogany forest, led to a narrow
esplanade, in the centre of which a light canvas tent had been pitched,
not far from a rock.
A man, seated before the entrance of the tent, was reading a Breviary.
He was dressed in the strict attire of the Franciscans, and seemed
to have passed middle life. He was pale and thin, his features were
ascetic and stern, his countenance was intelligent, and a marked
expression of gentleness was spread over it. At the sound of the
adventurers' footsteps he raised his head quickly, turned towards them,
and a melancholy smile played round his lips.
Hurriedly closing his book, he rose and walked a few steps toward the
newcomers.
"Heaven be with you, brothers!" he said in Spanish, "If you come with
pure intentions; if not, may it inspire you with better thoughts."
"My father," the filibuster said, returning his salutation, "I am the
man whom the adventurers of St. Kitts call Montbarts, and my intentions
are pure, for in coming here I have only yielded to the desire you
expressed to see me, if you are really Fray Arsenio Mendoza, from whom
I received a letter a few hours ago."
"I am the person who wish to see you, brother; and that is really my
name."
"In that case speak, I am ready to hear you."
"Brother," the monk answered, "the things I have to communicate to you
are of the highest importance, and concern you alone. Perhaps it would
be better that you alone should hear them."
"I do not know what important matters you can have to tell me, father;
but in any case, learn that this man is my engagé, and, as such, it is
his duty to be deaf and dumb when I order him."
"Very good, I will speak in his presence, since you demand it; still, I
repeat to you, that it would be better for us to be alone."
"I will act in accordance with your wish. Retire out of hearing, but
keep in sight," he said to his engagé.
The latter retired about one hundred yards down the path, and leant on
his fusil.
"Do you fear any treachery on the part of a poor monk like me?" the
Franciscan asked, with a sad smile; "That would be very gratuitously
imputing to me intentions very remote from my thoughts."
"I suppose nothing, father; still, I am accustomed," the filibuster
coarsely answered, "always to be on my guard when I am in the presence
of a man of your nation, whether he be priest or layman."
"Yes, yes," he said, in a sorrowful voice, "you profess an implacable
hatred for my unhappy country, and for that reason are called the
Exterminator."
"Whatever be the feelings I profess for your countrymen and the name
it has pleased them to give me, it is not, I suppose, to discuss this
point with me that you have come here at a serious risk, and requested
me to meet you."
"Indeed, it was not for that motive, you are right, my son, though,
personally, I might have a good deal to say on that subject."
"I would observe, father, that the hour is advancing--I have but little
time at your service, and if you do not hasten to explain yourself, I
shall be, to my great regret, constrained to leave you."
"You would regret it for your whole life, brother, were it as long as a
patriarch's."
"That is possible, though I greatly doubt it. I can only receive bad
news from Spain."
"Perhaps so; in any case, these are the news of which I am the bearer."
"I am listening to you."
"I am, as my gown shows you, a monk of the order of San Francisco de
Asís."
"At least, you have the look of one," the adventurer remarked, with an
ironical smile.
"Do you doubt it?"
"Why not? Would you be the first Spaniard who was not afraid to profane
a sacred dress, in order to spy our movements the more easily?"
"Unfortunately what you say is true, and it has happened only too
often; but I am merely a monk."
"I believe you, till I have proof of the contrary; so go on."
"Very good. I am the spiritual director of several ladies of quality in
the island of Hispaniola: one among them, young and beautiful, who only
arrived in the West Indies a short time ago with her husband, appears
to be devoured by an incurable grief."
"Indeed! And what can I do to prevent it, father?"
"I know not: still, this is what took place between this lady and
myself. The lady, who, as I told you, is young and fair, and whose
charity and goodness are inexhaustible, spends the greater part of
her days in her oratory, kneeling before a picture representing our
Lady of Mercy, imploring her with tears and sobs. Interested, in spite
of myself, by this so true and so profound grief, I have on several
occasions employed the right which my sacred office gives me, to try
and penetrate into this ulcerated heart, and obtain from my penitent a
confession, which would permit me to give her some consolation."
"And I presume that you have not succeeded, father?"
"Alas! No, I have not."
"Allow me to repeat to you, that, up to the present I do not see in
this very sad story, which is to some extent, however, that of most
women, anything very interesting to me."
"Wait, brother, I am coming to that."
"In that case, proceed."
"One day, when this lady appeared to me to be more sad than usual, and
I redoubled my efforts to induce her to open her heart to me--doubtless
overcome by my solicitations, she said these words to me, which I
repeat to you exactly:--'My father, I am an unhappy, cowardly, and
infamous creature, and a terrible malediction weighs on me. Only one
man has the right to know the secret which I try, in vain, to stifle in
my heart. Upon this man depends my salvation. He can condemn or acquit
me: but whatever be the sentence he may pronounce, I will bow without a
murmur beneath his will, too happy to expiate at this price the crime
of which I have been guilty.'"
While the monk was pronouncing these words, the usually pale face of
the adventurer had turned livid, a convulsive trembling agitated his
limbs, and, in spite of his efforts to appear calm, he was constrained
to lean against one of the tent pickets, lest he should fall on the
ground.
"Go on!" he said, in a hoarse voice. "Did this woman tell you the man's
name?"
"She did, brother. 'Alas!' she said to me, 'Unfortunately the man on
whom my destiny depends is the most implacable enemy of our nation. He
is one of the principal chiefs of those ferocious adventurers who have
vowed a merciless war against Spain. I shall never meet him, except
in the horrors of a combat, or during the sack of a town fired by his
orders. In a word, the man I am speaking to you about is no other than
the terrible Montbarts the Exterminator.'"
"Ah!" the adventurer muttered, in a choking voice, as he pressed his
hand forcibly against his chest, "The woman said that?"
"Yes, brother; such are the words she uttered."
"And then?"
"Then, brother, I, a poor monk, promised her to seek you, to find you,
no matter where you were, and repeat her words to you. I had only death
to fear in trying to see you, and I long ago offered God the sacrifice
of my life."
"You have acted like a noble-hearted man, monk; and I thank you for
having had confidence in me. Have you nothing to add?"
"Yes, brother, I have. When the lady saw me fully resolved to brave all
perils for the sake of finding you, she added, 'Go, then, my father:
it is doubtless Heaven that takes pity on me, and inspires you at this
moment. If you succeed in reaching Montbarts, tell him that I have a
secret to confide to him, on which the happiness of his whole life
depends; but that he must make haste, if he wish to learn it, for I
feel that my days are numbered, and that I shall soon die.' I promised
her to accomplish her wishes faithfully, and I have come."
There was a silence for some minutes. Montbarts walked up and down with
hanging head, and arms folded on his chest, stopping every now and then
to stamp his foot savagely: then, resuming his hurried walk, while
muttering unconnected words in a low voice.
All at once he stopped before the monk, and looked him straight in the
face.
"You have not told me all," he said to him.
"Pardon me, brother; everything, word by word."
"Still there is an important detail, which you have doubtless
forgotten, as you have passed it over in silence?"
"I do not understand to what you are alluding, brother," the monk
replied, gravely.
"You have forgotten to reveal to me the name and position of this
woman, father."
"That is true: but it is not forgetfulness on my part. In acting thus,
I have obeyed the orders I received. The lady implored me to tell you
nothing touching her name or position. She reserves that for herself,
when you are alone together: and I swore to keep her secret."
"Ah! Ah! Señor monk," the adventurer exclaimed, with a wrath the more
terrible because it was concentrated; "You have taken that oath?"
"Yes, brother, and will keep it at all risks," he answered firmly.
The adventurer burst into a hoarse laugh.
"You are doubtless ignorant," he said, in a hissing voice, "that we
_ladrones_, as your countrymen call us, possess marvellous secrets to
untie the most rebel tongues, and that you are in my power."
"I am in the hands of God, brother--try it. I am only a poor
defenceless man, incapable of resisting you. Torture me, then, if such
be your good pleasure; but know that I will die, without revealing my
secret."
Montbarts bent a flashing glance on the monk who stood so calm before
him; and then, a moment after, struck his forehead angrily.
"I am mad!" he exclaimed: "What do I care for this name--do I not
know it already? Listen, father. Forgive me what I said to you, for
passion blinded me. You came to this island freely, and shall leave it
freely--in my turn I swear it to you; and I am not more accustomed to
break any oaths I take--no matter their nature--than you are."
"I know it, brother. I have nothing to forgive you. I see that grief
led you astray, and I pity you, for Heaven has chosen me, I feel a
presentiment of it, to bring a great misfortune upon you."
"Yes, you speak truly. I did not seek this woman--I tried to forget
her, and it is she who voluntarily places herself in my path. It is
well, Heaven will judge between her and me. She demands that I will
go and see her, and I will do so, but she must only blame herself for
the terrible consequences of our interview. Still, I consent to leave
her yet one chance of escape. When you return to her, urge her not to
try to see me again. You see, that I have a little pity for her in my
heart, in spite of all she made me suffer; but if, in spite of your
entreaties, she persists in meeting me, in that case her will be done.
I will go to the place of meeting she may select."
"I know where it is, brother, and am ordered to point it out to you
today."
"Ah," the filibuster said, suspiciously, "she has forgotten nothing.
Well, where is it?"
"The lady, you can understand, cannot quit the island, even if she
wished to do so."
"That is true. So we are to meet in Hispaniola itself?"
"Yes, brother."
"And what spot has she selected?"
"The great Savannah, that separates Mirebalais from San Juan de Goava."
"Ah! The spot is famously chosen for an ambuscade," the filibuster
said, with a sneering laugh, "for if I remember rightly, it is on
Spanish territory."
"It forms the extreme limit, brother. Still, I will try to induce the
lady to choose another spot, if you are afraid about your safety at
this one."
Montbarts shrugged his shoulders with a contemptuous laugh.
"I afraid!" he said. "Nonsense, monk, you must be mad! What do I care
for the Spaniards, if five hundred of them were ambushed to surprise
me, I should be able to get away from them! It is settled, then, that
if the lady persist in her intention of having an explanation with me,
I will go to the Savannah, which extends between Mirebalais and San
Juan de Goava, at the confluence of the great river and the Artibonite."
"I will do what you desire, brother; but if the lady insist, in spite
of my remonstrances and entreaties, on the interview taking place, how
am I to warn you?"
"As it is possible for you to come here, you will be the better able;
without attracting suspicion, to enter the French part of St. Domingo."
"I will try, at any rate, brother, since it must absolutely be so."
"You will light a large fire on the coast in the vicinity of Port
Margot, and I shall know what it means."
"I will obey you, brother: but when am I to light the fire?"
"How long do you propose remaining here?"
"I intend to leave immediately after our interview."
"This evening, then?"
"Yes, brother."
"Ah, ah, then there is a Spanish vessel in the neighbourhood?"
"Probably so, brother; but if you discover it and capture it, how shall
I succeed in returning to Hispaniola?"
"That is true; this consideration saves the Gavachos: but believe,
after due reflection, I think it my duty to give you some advice."
"Whatever it may be, brother, coming from you, I shall receive it with
pleasure."
"Well, then, carry out your intention. Start at once; tomorrow it will
not be pleasant for you in these waters, and I would not answer for
your safety or that of your vessel. Do you comprehend me?"
"Perfectly, brother; and for the signal?"
"Light it fifteen days from today, and I will arrange so as to arrive
at St. Domingo about that time."
"Very good, brother."
"And now, monk, farewell till we meet again, as it is probable we shall
do."
"It is probable, indeed, brother. Farewell, and may the merciful Lord
be with you!"
"So be it," the filibuster said, with an ironical laugh.
He gave a parting wave of his hand to the monk, threw his fusil on his
shoulder, and went off, but a few minutes after stopped and went back.
The Franciscan had remained motionless at the same spot.
"One last word, father," he said.
"Speak, brother," he answered, gently.
"Take my advice, employ all your power over the lady to induce her to
give up this meeting, whose consequences may be terrible."
"I will try impossibilities to succeed, brother," the monk replied; "I
will pray to Heaven to permit me to persuade my penitent."
"Yes," Montbarts added, in a gloomy voice, "it would be better for her
and for me, perhaps, if we never met again."
And roughly turning his back on the monk, he hurried along the track,
where he speedily disappeared.
When Fray Arsenio felt certain that this time the adventurer had really
gone, he gently raised the curtain of the tent and stepped inside.
A woman was kneeling there on the bare ground, with her head buried in
her hands, and praying with stifled sobs.
"Have I punctually accomplished your orders, my daughter?" the monk
said.
The woman drew herself up and turned her lovely pale and tear-swollen
face toward the monk.
"Yes, padre," she murmured, in a low and trembling voice. "Bless you
for not abandoning me in my distress."
"Is this really the man with whom you desire an interview?"
"Yes, it is he, father."
"And you still insist on seeing him?"
She hesitated for a moment, a shudder ran over her whole person, and
then she murmured in a hardly intelligible voice--
"I must, father."
"You will reflect between this and then, I hope," he continued.
"No, no," she said, with a sorrowful shake of the head; "if that
man were to plunge his dagger into my heart, I must have a final
explanation with him."
"Your will be done," he said
At this moment, a slight sound was heard outside.
The monk went out, but returned almost immediately.
"Get ready, madam," he said; "our crew have come to fetch you. Remember
the parting advice that _ladrón_ gave me, and let us be gone as soon as
possible."
Without replying, the lady rose, wrapped herself carefully in her
mantilla, and went out.
An hour later, she left Nevis, accompanied by Fray Arsenio Mendoza.
Montbarts had reached St. Kitts long before.