FRAY ARSENIO.
Let us now tell the reader who these buccaneers were of whom we have
several times spoken, and what was the origin of the name given them,
and which they gave themselves.
The red Caribs of the Antilles were accustomed, when they made
prisoners in the obstinate contests they waged with each other, or
which they carried on against the whites, to cut their prisoners into
small pieces, and lay them upon a species of small hurdles, under which
they lit a fire.
These hurdles were called _barbacoas_, the spot where they were set up
_boucans_, and the operation _boucaning_, to signify at the same time
roasting and smoking.
It was from this that the French boucaniers (anglicised into
buccaneers) derived their name, with this difference, that they did to
animals what the others did to men.
The first buccaneers were Spanish settlers on the Caribbean islands,
who lived on intimate terms with the Indians; hence when they turned
their attention to the chase, they accustomed themselves without
reflection to employ these Indian terms, which were certainly
characteristic, and for which it would have been difficult to
substitute any others.
The buccaneers carried on no other trade but hunting; they were divided
into two classes, the first only hunting oxen to get their hides, the
second killing boars, whose flesh they salted and sold to the planters.
These two varieties of buccaneers were accoutred nearly in the same
way, and had the same mode of life.
The real buccaneers were those who pursued oxen, and they never called
the others by any name but hunters.
Their equipage consisted of a pack of twenty-four dogs, among which
were two bloodhounds, whose duty it was to discover the animal; the
price of these dogs, settled among themselves, was thirty livres.
As we have said, their weapon was a long fusil, manufactured at Dieppe
or Nantes; they always hunted together, two at the least, but sometimes
more, and then everything was in common between them. As we advance in
the history of these singular men, we shall enter into fuller details
about their mode of life and strange habits.
When Don Sancho and the Major-domo left them, Lepoletais and L'Olonnais
had for a long time looked with a mocking glance after the two
Spaniards, and then went on building their ajoupa and preparing their
boucan, as if nothing had happened. So soon as the boucan was arranged,
the fire lit, and the meat laid on the barbacoas, L'Olonnais set about
curing the hide he had brought with him, while Lepoletais did the same
to that of the bull which he had killed an hour previously.
He stretched the hide out on the ground, with the hairy side up,
fastened it down by sixty-four pegs, driven into the earth, and then
rubbed it vigorously with a mixture of ashes and salt, to make it dry
more quickly.
This duly accomplished, he turned his attention to supper, the
preparations for which were neither long nor complicated. A piece of
meat had been placed in a small cauldron, with water and salt, and soon
boiled; L'Olonnais drew it out by means of a long pointed stick, and
laid it on a palm leaf in lieu of a dish; then he collected the grease
with a wooden spoon, and threw it into a calabash. Into this grease
he squeezed the juice of a lemon, added a little pimento, stirred
it all up, and the sauce, the famous _pimentado_, so liked by the
buccaneers, was ready. Placing the meat in a pleasant spot in front
of the ajoupa, with the calabash by its side, he called Lepoletais,
and the men sitting down facing each other, armed themselves with
their knife and a wooden spit instead of a fork, and began eating
with a good appetite, carefully dipping each mouthful of meat in the
pimentado, and surrounded by their dogs, which, though not daring to
ask for anything, fixed greedy glances on the provisions spread out
before them, and followed with eager eyes every morsel swallowed by the
adventurers.
They had been eating this in silence for some time, when the
bloodhounds raised their heads, inhaling the air restlessly, and then
gave several hoarse growls; almost immediately the whole pack began
barking furiously.
"Eh, eh!" Lepoletais said, after drinking a mouthful of brandy and
water, and handing the gourd to the engagé, "What is the meaning of
this?"
"Some traveller, no doubt," L'Olonnais answered carelessly.
"At this hour," the buccaneer went on, as he raised his eyes to the
sky, and consulted the stars, "why hang it all, it is past eight
o'clock at night."
"Zounds! I do not know what it is. But stay, I do not know whether I am
mistaken, for I fancy I can hear a horse galloping."
"It is really true, my son, you are not mistaken," the buccaneer
continued, "it is indeed a horse; come, quiet, you devils," he shouted,
addressing the dogs, which had redoubled their barking, and seemed
ready to rush forward, "quiet, lie down, you ruffians."
The dogs, doubtless accustomed for a long time to obey the imperious
accents of this voice, immediately resumed their places, and ceased
their deafening clamour, although they still continued to growl dully.
In the meanwhile the galloping horses which the dogs had heard a great
distance off, rapidly drew nearer; it soon became perfectly distinct,
and at the end of a few minutes a horseman emerged from the forest, and
became visible, although owing to the darkness it was not yet possible
to see who this man might be.
On turning into the savannah, he stopped his horse, seemed to look
around him, with an air of indecision, for some minutes, then,
loosening the rein again, he came up toward the boucan at a sharp trot.
On reaching the two men, who continued their supper quietly, while
keeping an eye on him, he bowed, and addressed them in Spanish--
"Worthy friends," he said to them, "whoever you may be, I ask you,
in the name of the Lord, to grant a traveller, who has lost his way,
hospitality for this night."
"Here is fire, and here is meat," the buccaneer replied, laconically,
in the same language the traveller had employed; "rest yourself, and
eat."
"I thank you," he said.
He dismounted: in the movement he made to leave the saddle, his cloak
flew open, and the buccaneers perceived that the man was dressed in
a religious garb. This discovery surprised them, though they did not
allow it to be seen.
On his side the stranger gave a start of terror, which was immediately
suppressed, on perceiving that in his precipitation to seek a shelter
for the night, he had come upon a boucan of French adventurers.
The latter, however, had made him a place by their side, and while he
was hobbling his horse, and removing its bridle, so that it might graze
on the tall close grass of the savannah, they had placed for him, on a
palm leaf, a lump of meat sufficient to still the appetite of a man who
had been fasting for four and twenty hours.
Somewhat reassured by the cordial manner of the adventurers, and, in
his impossibility to do otherwise, bravely resolving to accept the
awkward situation in which his awkwardness had placed him, the stranger
sat down between his two hosts, and began to eat, while reflecting on
the means of escaping from the difficult position in which he found
himself.
The adventurers, who had almost completed their meal before his
arrival, left off eating long before him; they gave their dogs the food
they had been expecting with so much impatience, then lit their pipes,
and began smoking, paying no further attention to their guest beyond
handing him the things he required.
At length the stranger wiped his mouth, and, in order to prove to his
hosts that he was quite as much at his ease as they, he produced a leaf
of paper and tobacco, delicately rolled a cigarette, lit it, and smoked
apparently as calmly as themselves.
"I thank you for your generous hospitality, señores," he said,
presently, understanding that along silence might be interpreted to his
disadvantage, "I had a great necessity to recruit my strength, for I
have been fasting since the morning."
"That is very imprudent, señor," Lepoletais answered, "to embark thus
without any biscuit, as we sailors say; the savannah is somewhat like
the sea, you know when you start on it, but you never know when you
will leave it again."
"What you say is perfectly true, señor; had it not been for you, I am
afraid I should have passed a very bad night."
"Pray say no more about that, señor; we have only done for you what we
should wish to be done for us under similar circumstances. Hospitality
is a sacred duty, which no one has a right to avoid: besides, you are a
palpable proof of it."
"How so?"
"Why, you are a Spaniard, if I am not mistaken, while we, on the
contrary, are French. Well, we forget for the moment our hatred of your
nation, to welcome you at our fireside, as every guest sent by Heaven
has the right to be received."
"That is true, señor, and I thank you doubly, be assured."
"Good Heavens!" the buccaneer replied, "I assure you that you act
wrongly in dwelling so much on this subject. What we are doing at this
moment is as much for you as in behalf of our honour, hence I beg you,
señor, not to say any more about it, for it is really not worth the
trouble."
"Bless me, señor," L'Olonnais said with a laugh, "why, we are old
acquaintances, though you little suspect it, I fancy."
"Old acquaintances!" the stranger exclaimed, in surprise; "I do not
understand you, señor."
"And yet what I am saying is very clear."
"If you would deign to explain," the stranger replied, completely
thrown on his beam ends, as Lepoletais would have said, "perhaps I
shall understand, which, I assure you, will cause me great pleasure."
"I wish for nothing better than to explain myself, señor," L'Olonnais
said, with a bantering air; "and in the first place, permit me to
observe, that, though your cloak is so carefully buttoned, it is not
sufficiently so to conceal the Franciscan garb you wear under it."
"I am indeed a monk of that order," the stranger answered, rather
disconcerted; "but that does not prove that you know me."
"Granted, but I am certain that I shall bring back your recollection by
a single word."
"I fancy you are mistaken, my dear señor, and that we never saw each
other before."
"Are you quite sure of that?"
"Man, as you are aware, can never be sure of anything; still, it seems
to me--"
"And yet, it is so long since we met; it is true that you possibly did
not pay any great attention to me."
"On my honour, I know not what you mean," the monk remarked after
attentively examining him for a minute or two.
"Come," the engagé said with a laugh, "I will take pity on your
embarrassment; and, as I promised you, dissipate all your doubts by a
single word; we saw each other on the island of Nevis. Do you remember
me?"
At this revelation, the monk turned pale; he lost countenance, and for
some minutes remained as if petrified; still the thought of denying the
truth did not come to him for a second.
"Where," L'Olonnais added, "you had a long conversation with Montbarts."
"Still," the monk said with a hesitation that was not exempt from
terror, "I do not understand--"
"How I knew everything," L'Olonnais interrupted him laughingly, "then,
you have not got to the end of your astonishment."
"What, I am not at the end?"
"Bah, Señor Padre, do you fancy that I should have taken the trouble to
bother you about such a trifle? I know a good deal more."
"What do you say?" the monk exclaimed, recoiling instinctively from
this man whom he was not indisposed to regard as a sorcerer, the more
so because he was a Frenchman, and a buccaneer to boot, two peremptory
reasons why Satan should nearly be master of his soul, if by chance he
possessed one, which the worthy monk greatly doubted.
"Zounds!" the engagé resumed, "You suppose, I think, that I do not know
the motive of your journey, the spot where you have come from, where
you are going, and more than that, the person you are about to see."
"Oh, come, that is impossible," the monk said with a startled look.
Lepoletais laughed inwardly at the ill-disguised terror of the Spaniard.
"Take care, father," he whispered mysteriously in Fray Arsenio's ear,
"that man knows everything; between ourselves, I believe him to be
possessed by the demon."
"Oh!" he exclaimed, rising hastily and crossing himself repeatedly,
which caused the adventurers a still heartier laugh.
"Come, resume your seat and listen to me," L'Olonnais continued as he
seized him by the arm, and obliged him to sit down again, "my friend
and I are only joking."
"Excuse me, noble caballeros," the monk stammered, "I am in an
extraordinary hurry, and must leave you at once, though most
reluctantly."
"Nonsense! Where could you go alone at this hour? Fall into a bog. Eh?"
This far from pleasant prospect caused the monk to reflect; still, the
terror he felt was the stronger.
"No matter," he said, "I must be gone."
"Nonsense, you will never find your road to the hatto del Rincón in
this darkness."
This time the monk was fairly conquered, this new revelation literally
benumbed him, he fancied himself suffering from a terrible nightmare,
and did not attempt to continue an impossible struggle.
"There," the engagé resumed, "now, you are reasonable; rest yourself,
I will not torment you any more, and in order to prove to you that I am
not so wicked as you suppose me, I undertake to find you a guide."
"A guide," Fray Arsenio stammered, "Heaven guard me from accepting one
at your hand."
"Reassure yourself, señor Padre, it will not be a demon, though he may
possibly have some moral and physical resemblance with the evil spirit;
the guide I refer to is very simply a Carib."
"Ah!" said the monk drawing a deep breath, as if a heavy weight had
been removed from his chest, "If he is really a Carib."
"Zounds! Who the deuce would you have it be?" Fray Arsenio crossed
himself devoutly.
"Excuse me," he said, "I did not wish to insult you."
"Come, come, have patience, I will go myself and fetch the promised
guide, for I see that you are really in a hurry to part company."
L'Olonnais rose, took his fusil, whistled to a bloodhound, and went off
at a rapid pace.
"You will now be able," said Lepoletais, "to continue your journey
without fear of going astray."
"Has that worthy caballero really gone to fetch me a guide, as
he promised?" Fray Arsenio asked, who did not dare to place full
confidence in the engagé's word.
"Hang it! I know no other reason why he should leave the boucan."
"Then you are really a buccaneer, señor?"
"At your service, padre."
"Ah, ah! And do you often come to these parts?"
"Deuce take me if I do not believe you are questioning me, monk,"
Lepoletais said with a frown, and looking him in the face; "how does
it concern you whether I come here or not?"
"Me? Not at all."
"That is true, but it may concern others, may it not? And you would not
be sorry to know the truth."
"Oh? can you suppose such a thing?" Fray Arsenio hastily said.
"I do not suppose, by Heaven, I know exactly what I am saying,
but, believe me, señor monk, you had better give up this habit of
questioning, especially with buccaneers, people who through their
character, do not like questions, or else you might some day run the
risk of being played an ugly trick. It is only a simple piece of advice
I venture to give you."
"Thank you, señor, I will bear it in mind, though in saying what I did,
I had not the intention you suppose."
"All the better, but still profit by my hint."
Thus rebuffed, the monk shut himself up in a timid silence; and in
order to give a turn to his thoughts which, we are bound to say, were
anything but rosy colored at this moment, he took up the rosary hanging
from his girdle, and began muttering prayers in a low voice.
Nearly an hour passed then without a word being exchanged between the
two men; Lepoletais cut up tobacco, while humming a tune, and the monk
prayed, or seemed to be doing so.
At length a slight noise was heard a short distance off, and a few
minutes later the engagé appeared, followed by an Indian, who was no
other than Omopoua, the Carib chief.
"Quick, quick, señor monk," L'Olonnais said gaily; "here is your guide,
I answer for his fidelity; he will lead you in safety within two gun
shots of the hatto."
The monk did not let the invitation be repeated, for anything seemed
to him preferable to remaining any longer in the company of these two
reprobates; besides, he thought that he had nothing to fear from an
Indian.
He rose at one bound, and bridled his horse again, which had made an
excellent supper, and had had all the time necessary to rest.
"Señores," he said, so soon as he was in the saddle, "I thank you for
your generous hospitality, may the blessing of the Lord be upon you!"
"Thanks," the engagé replied with a laugh, "but one last hint before
parting; on arriving at the hatto, do not forget to tell Doña Clara
from me, that I shall expect her here tomorrow; do you hear?"
The monk uttered a cry of terror; without replying, he dug his spurs
into his horse's flanks, and set off at a gallop, in the direction
where the Carib was already going, with that quick, elastic step, with
which a horse has a difficulty in keeping up.
The two buccaneers watched his flight with a hearty laugh, then,
stretching out their feet to the fire, and laying their weapons within
reach, they prepared to sleep, guarded by their dogs, vigilant sentries
that would not let them be surprised.