IN WHICH JUAN RODRIQUEZ UNDERGOES AN UNPLEASANT HALF-HOUR
In the year 1681 the fickle Guadalquivir still pursued a liberal policy
toward Seville and vouchsafed sufficient water to that port to enable
sea-going vessels to begin or end their voyages within sight of the
Alcazar. Later on, the Spanish sailors were forced, by the treachery of
the famous river, to abandon Seville and betake themselves to Cadiz for
an ocean harborage.
At the time, however, at which Don Rodrigo de Aquilar fitted out the
_Concepcion_--a high-pooped vessel of ninety tons burden--for his
voyage to the silver mines bestowed upon him by Charles II. of Spain,
the harbor at Seville enabled the aged diplomat to equip his ship
without leaving his library. By giving his orders to his secretary,
Juan Rodriquez, who carried them to Gomez Hernandez, captain of the
_Concepcion_, Don Rodrigo was relieved of the friction which in those
days frequently soured an adventurer’s disposition even before he had
put to sea.
The necessity for haste, lest the veering winds of Doña Julia’s fickle
fancy should at the last moment balk her father’s enterprise, had been
impressed upon Juan Rodriquez, who needed no hint from Don Rodrigo to
make him a gadfly to the captain of the _Concepcion_. Long before he
weighed anchor, Gomez Hernandez had sworn by his favorite saint that if
the opportunity ever came to him to put the white-faced, soft-voiced
secretary into irons, he would show him no pity. That the perilous
voyage before them might furnish him with the means for punishing
Juan’s insolence the captain well knew. Let the _Concepcion_ toss the
Canaries well astern, and for many weeks Gomez Hernandez would be
autocrat in a little kingdom of his own.
Doña Julia’s cabin was, as it were, the hawser which held the clumsy
little ship to her moorings. A stuffy room between decks, it seemed
cruel to ask a maiden used to the luxury of Seville, Madrid and Paris
to spend weeks within its irritating confines. Don Rodrigo had devoted
great energy and ingenuity to the task of making his daughter’s
quarters aboard ship less repulsive than they had at first seemed. Rugs
from the Orient, a hammock made of padded silk, jars of sweetmeats
from Turkey, a priceless oil-painting of the Virgin Mary, and other
quaintly contrasted offshoots of a fond father’s anxious care combined
to make Doña Julia’s cabin a compartment whose luxury was ludicrous and
whose discomfort was pathetic.
Had Don Rodrigo de Aquilar better understood the peculiarities of his
daughter’s disposition, he would have spent less time in making of
her cabin a mediæval curiosity-shop, and would have weighed anchor
a week sooner than he did--thus gaining a span of time which would
have begotten across the sea a radical difference in the outcome of
his expedition. Something of this found its way into the mind of the
aged Spaniard after the _Concepcion_ had cleared the mouth of the
Guadalquivir and was standing out to sea. Beside him upon the poop-deck
stood Julia, her dark eyes gleaming with excitement as they swept the
tumbling sea or glanced upward at the bulging sails which drove the
awkward craft haltingly across the deep. She had paid little or no
attention to the cabin which had taxed Don Rodrigo’s ingenuity, Juan’s
patience, and Captain Hernandez’s temper for a month; but the flush
in her cheeks and the smile upon her lips, as she watched the waters
sweeping the Old World away from her, gladdened her father’s heart as
he scanned her changing face.
“The sea is kind to us. See yonder rainbow ’gainst the purple east! An
omen such as that is worth a candle to St. Christopher.”
The soft, insistent voice of Juan Rodriquez broke in upon the musings
of the grandee and his daughter.
“’Tis not so strange the saints should wish us well,” remarked Don
Rodrigo, removing a black velvet cap from his head to let the sea-wind
play with his white locks. “We go to serve the work of Mother Church.
To tell the heathen of Mary and her Son, to raise the cross where
blood-soaked idols stand, to fight the devil with the Book and prayer.”
“And, then--to work the mines,” put in Juan gently.
Doña Julia turned quickly and flashed an angry glance at the
soft-tongued secretary. She had noticed, with annoyance, a change in
Juan’s manner since the ship had steered for the open sea. In a way
that defied explanation in words, the young man had carried himself
for the past few hours as if, upon the deck of a ship, he had found
himself upon an equality with his master. There was an elusive sarcasm
in his words at times, a defiant gleam in his restless eyes, a mocking
note in his voice, which the girl noted with an inexplicable feeling of
foreboding.
“Aye--to work the mines,” repeated Don Rodrigo, unsuspiciously. “Why
not? ’Tis nigh two centuries since treasures from New Spain came
over-sea. And for their paltry gold we’ve given them the cross. For
every ducat gained by Spain, a soul’s been won for heaven. Harsh
measures with the stubborn--these, of course. ’Tis thus the Church must
win its way on earth. The fight is not yet done. Upon the border of the
lands I own the good Dominicans have built a mission-house. On you, my
daughter, will devolve the task to raise a great cathedral where the
friars dwell. I’ll dig the silver from the ground for you, and mayhap
from my place in paradise the saints will give me eyes to see the glory
of your deeds. May Mother Mary will it so!”
The old man’s eyes were upturned in fervor toward the changing glories
of the evening sky. The excitement of the embarkation, the enlivening
influence of the stiff, salt breeze, and the mysterious promises held
out to him by that seductive West toward which his vessel plunged had
stirred the blood in the aged Spaniard’s veins, and emphasized at the
same moment both his religious enthusiasm and his earthly ambitions.
Doña Julia was on the point of commenting upon her father’s words when
there sprang to the deck from below a slender, active man who, ashore,
would have looked like a sailor, but aboard ship resembled a soldier.
Gomez Hernandez, captain of the _Concepcion_, was the very incarnation
of that dauntless spirit which had, within the lapse of two centuries,
carried the arms of Castile and Aragon to the farthest quarters of an
astonished globe. Bright, dark eyes, a cruel mouth, a small, agile,
muscular frame, and a manner proud or cringing as occasion dictated,
combined to make of Gomez Hernandez a typical Spanish seaman of the
seventeenth century. Saluting Don Rodrigo de Aquilar respectfully the
captain said:
“May I trouble you, señor, to join me in my cabin for a while? I have
matters to lay before you which brook no delay.”
Hernandez’s words were addressed to the diplomat, but his piercing eyes
rested as he spoke upon the face of Juan Rodriquez. The secretary, even
paler than his wont was, gazed across the sea toward the horizon from
which the shades of night had begun to creep.
“Await me here, Julia,” said Don Rodrigo, cheerfully, turning to follow
the captain to the lower deck. “I will return to you at once. Lead on,
my captain. You’ll find I am not mutinous, no matter what you ask.”
In another moment Doña Julia and Juan Rodriquez stood alone upon the
poop. The secretary turned from his contemplation of the sea and his
restless eyes fell full upon the disturbed face of the girl, a face
of marvellous beauty in the half-lights of the fading day. There
was silence between them for a time. The creaking of timbers, the
complaining of the cordage, the angry splash of the disturbed sea,
and from the bow the subdued notes of an evening hymn, sung by devout
sailors, reached their ears.
“Señora,” said Juan, moving toward Doña Julia, “I have much to say to
you--and there is little time. If my words to you should seem abrupt,
the blame lies with my tongue, not with my heart. If that could speak,
you’d find me eloquent indeed. I--”
With an imperious gesture, Doña Julia checked his speech. Her
symmetrical, somewhat voluptuous, mouth was curved at that moment in a
smile of disdain.
“Spare me--and spare yourself, Juan Rodriquez,” she said, coldly,
turning her back to the sea and facing squarely the youth, whose
eyes met hers with a glance of crafty defiance not unmingled with an
admiration that filled her with loathing. “You say more only at your
peril. I’ll forgive you your presumption--once. But take good heed of
what I say. If you address me in such words again, it shall go hard
with you.”
A grayish pallor overspread Juan’s face in the twilight. A cruel smile
played across his thin lips, and his hand grasped a railing at his side
as if it would crush the stubborn wood.
[Illustration: “THE CAPTAIN HURLED HIM DOWN UPON THE DECK”]
“You threaten me, Doña Julia de Aquilar,” he murmured, showing his
teeth in an evil smile. “You know not what you do. See how our ship is
driving toward the murky blackness of the West. Think you I shall be
powerless beyond? I say to you, señora, that you, your father, and all
you hold most dear, are in the grasp of Juan Rodriquez--your servant in
Seville, your master in New Spain.”
He had seized the girl’s wrist and was gazing into her white face with
vindictive, hungry eyes. She wrenched her arm free from his repellent
grasp, and, drawing herself up to her full height, gazed haughtily at
the boastful youth.
“What mad fancies there may be in your mind, Juan Rodriquez, I cannot
guess. But this I know: if I should breathe a word of what you’ve said
into my father’s ears, you’d lie a prisoner between the decks. And he
shall know of this, unless you swear to me to leave me to myself, to
speak no word to me, to keep your eyes from off my face, my name from
off your lips.”
The threatening smile upon Juan’s mobile face had changed to a spiteful
grin while the girl was speaking.
“Your love for Don Rodrigo would be weak, indeed, should you, señora,
speak a word of this. I tell you, Doña Julia, your father’s in my
grasp. I’ll show him mercy--but I make my terms with you. ’Tis no mad
fancy, nor an idle boast,” went on Juan, making a significant gesture
toward the slashed velvet upon his breast, “which you have heard from
me. I know my power. If you are wise, you’ll take my word for this.”
There was a calm, convincing note in Juan’s voice that froze the rising
anger in Doña Julia’s veins. She knew the crafty nature of the man too
well to believe that he would thus threaten her unless he had gained
possession of some weapon for the working of great mischief. In mute
dismay she stood for a moment gazing helplessly at the gray, grim
waters which seemed to yawn in hunger for the tossing ship. Suddenly
she felt an arm around her waist, and turning quickly found the flushed
face of the youth pressed close to hers. An exclamation of mingled
disgust, anger, and fear escaped her.
At that instant the strong, nervous hand of Gomez Hernandez seized Juan
Rodriquez by the neck. With an ease which his slight figure rendered
marvellous, the captain twisted the youth like a plaything in his
grasp, and then hurled him, full length, prone upon the deck.
“I crave your pardon, señora,” said Hernandez, with cool politeness,
bowing low to Doña Julia, “but Don Rodrigo requests your presence in
his cabin.”