A SPANISH MERCHANT.
As soon as the sails had been set, and the vessel was under way, the
Spaniard came out from the cabin. "My daughter is attiring herself,
señor," he said to Stephen Boldero, for Geoffrey was at the time at the
helm. "She is longing to see you, and to thank you for the inestimable
services you have rendered to us both. But for you I should now be
dying or dead, my daughter a slave for life in the palace of the bey.
What astonishes us both is, that such noble service should have been
rendered to us by two absolute strangers, and not strangers only, but
by Englishmen--a people with whom Spain is at war--and who assuredly
can have no reason to love us. How came you first to think of
interesting yourself on our behalf?"
"To tell you the truth, señor," Stephen Boldero said bluntly, "it was
the sight of your daughter and not of yourself that made us resolve to
save you if possible, or rather, I should say, made my friend Geoffrey
do so. After ten years in the galleys one's heart gets pretty tough,
and although even I felt a deep pity for your daughter, I own it would
never have entered my mind to risk my neck in order to save her. But
Geoffrey is younger and more easily touched, and when he saw her as she
landed pale and white and grief-stricken, and yet looking as if her own
fate touched her less than the parting from you, my good friend
Geoffrey Vickars was well-nigh mad, and declared that in some way or
other, and at whatever risk to ourselves, you must both be saved. In
this matter I have been but a passive instrument in his hands; as
indeed it was only right that I should be, seeing that he is of gentle
blood and an esquire serving under Captain Vere in the army of the
queen, while I am but a rough sailor. What I have done I have done
partly because his heart was in the matter, partly because the
adventure promised, if successful, to restore me to freedom, and partly
also, señor, for the sake of your brave young daughter."
"Ah, you are modest, sir," the Spaniard said. "You are one of those who
belittle your own good deeds. I feel indeed more grateful than I can
express to you as well as to your friend."
The merchant's daughter now appeared at the door of the cabin. Her
father took her hand and led her up to Boldero. "This, Dolores, is one
of the two Englishmen who have at the risk of their lives saved me from
death and you from worse than death. Thank him, my child, and to the
end of your life never cease to remember him in your prayers."
"I am glad to have been of assistance, señora," Boldero said as the
girl began to speak; "but as I have just been telling your father, I
have played but a small part in the business, it is my friend Don
Geoffrey Vickars who has been the leader in the matter. He saw you as
you landed at the boat, and then and there swore to save you, and all
that has been done has been under his direction. It was he who followed
and rescued your father, and I have really had nothing to do with the
affair beyond hiding myself in the hole and helping to tie up your
Moors."
"Ah, sir," the girl said, laying her hands earnestly upon the sailor's
shoulder, "it is useless for you to try to lessen the services you have
rendered us. Think of what I was but an hour since--a captive with the
most horrible of all fates before me, and with the belief that my
father was dying by inches in the hands of some cruel task-master, and
now he is beside me and I am free. This has been done by two strangers,
men of a nation which I have been taught to regard as an enemy. It
seems to me that no words that I can speak could tell you even faintly
what I feel, and it is God alone who can reward you for what you have
done."
Leaving Boldero the Spaniard and his daughter went to the stern, where
Geoffrey was standing at the helm.
"My daughter and I have come to thank you, señor, for having saved us
from the worst of fates and restored us to each other. Your friend
tells me that it is to you it is chiefly due that this has come about,
for that you were so moved to pity at the sight of my daughter when we
first landed, that you declared at once that you would save her from
her fate at whatever risk to yourself, and that since then he has been
but following your directions."
"Then if he says that, señor, he belies himself. I was, it is true, the
first to declare that we must save your daughter at any cost if it were
possible to do so; but had I not said so, I doubt not he would have
announced the same resolution. Since then we have planned every thing
together; and as he is older and more experienced than I am, it was
upon his opinion that we principally acted. We had long made up our
minds to escape when the opportunity came. Had it not been that we were
stirred into action by seeing your daughter in the hands of the Moors,
it might have been years before we decided to run the risks. Therefore
if you owe your freedom to us, to some extent we owe ours to you; and
if we have been your protectors so far, we hope that when we arrive in
Spain you will be our protectors there, for to us Spain is as much an
enemy's country as Barbary."
"That you can assuredly rely upon," the trader replied. "All that I
have is at your disposal."
For an hour they stood talking. Dolores said but little. She had felt
no shyness with the stalwart sailor, but to this youth who had done her
such signal service she felt unable so frankly to express her feelings
of thankfulness.
By morning the coast of Africa was but a faint line on the horizon, and
the ship was headed west. Except when any alteration of the sails was
required, the two Moors who acted as the crew were made to retire into
the forecastle, and were there fastened in, Geoffrey and Boldero
sleeping by turns.
After breakfast the little party gathered round the helm, and at the
request of Juan Mendez, Geoffrey and Stephen both related how it befell
that they had become slaves to the Moors.
"Your adventures are both singular," the trader said when they had
finished. "Yours, Don Geoffrey, are extraordinary. It is marvellous
that you should have been picked up in that terrible fight, and should
have shared in all the perils of that awful voyage back to Spain
without its being ever suspected that you were English. Once landed in
the service as you say of Señor Burke, it is not so surprising that you
should have gone freely about Spain. But your other adventures are
wonderful, and you and your friend were fortunate indeed in succeeding
as you did in carrying off the lady he loved; and deeply they must have
mourned your supposed death on the deck of the Moorish galley. And now
tell me what are your plans when you arrive in Spain?"
"We have no fixed plans, save that we hope some day to be able to
return home," Geoffrey said. "Stephen here could pass well enough as a
Spaniard when once ashore without being questioned, and his idea is, if
there is no possibility of getting on board an English or Dutch ship at
Cadiz, to ship on board a Spaniard, and to take his chance of leaving
her at some port at which she may touch. As for myself, although I
speak Spanish fluently, my accent would at once betray me to be a
foreigner. But if you will take me into your house for a time until I
can see a chance of escaping, my past need not be inquired into. You
could of course mention, were it asked, that I was English by birth,
but had sailed in the Armada with my patron, Mr. Burke, and it would be
naturally supposed that I was an exile from England."
"That can certainly be managed," the trader said. "I fear that it will
be difficult to get you on board a ship either of your countrymen or of
the Hollanders; these are most closely watched lest fugitives from the
law or from the Inquisition should escape on board them. Still, some
opportunity may sooner or later occur; and the later the better pleased
shall I be, for it will indeed be a pleasure to me to have you with me."
In the afternoon Geoffrey said to Stephen, "I have been thinking,
Stephen, about the men in the hold, and I should be glad for them to
return to their homes. If they go with us to Spain they will be made
galley-slaves, and this I should not like, especially in the case of
the bey's superintendent. The bey was most kind to us, and this man
himself always spoke in our favour to him, and behaved well to us. I
think, therefore, that out of gratitude to the bey we should let them
go. The wind is fair, and there are, so far as I can see, no signs of
any change of weather. By to-morrow night the coast of Spain will be in
sight. I see no reason, therefore, why we should not be able to
navigate her until we get near the land, when Mendez can engage the
crew of some fishing-boat to take us into a port. If we put them into
the boat with plenty of water and provisions, they will make the coast
by morning; and as I should guess that we must at present be somewhere
abreast of the port from which we started, they will not be very far
from home when they land."
"I have no objection whatever, Geoffrey. As you say we were not treated
badly, at any rate from the day when the bey had us up to his house;
and after ten years in the galleys, I do not wish my worst enemies such
a fate. We must, of course, be careful how we get them into the boat."
"There will be three of us with swords and pistols, and they will be
unarmed," Geoffrey said. "We will put the two men now in the forecastle
into the boat first, and let the others come up one by one and take
their places. We will have a talk with the superintendent first, and
give him a message to the bey, saying that we are not ungrateful for
his kindness to us, but that of course we seized the opportunity that
presented itself of making our escape, as he would himself have done in
similar circumstances; nevertheless that as a proof of our gratitude to
him, we for his sake release the whole party on board, and give them
the means of safely returning."
An hour later the boat, pulled by four oars, left the side of the ship
with the crew, the superintendent and guards, and the two women who had
come on board to attend upon Dolores upon the voyage.
The next morning the vessel was within a few miles of the Spanish
coast. An hour later a fishing-boat was hailed, and an arrangement made
with the crew to take the vessel down to Carthagena, which was, they
learned, some fifty miles distant. The wind was now very light, and it
was not until the following day that they entered the port. As it was
at once perceived that the little vessel was Moorish in rigging and
appearance, a boat immediately came alongside to inquire whence she
came.
Juan Mendez had no difficulty in satisfying the officer as to his
identity, he being well known to several traders in the town. His story
of the attack upon his ship by Barbary pirates, its capture, and his
own escape and that of his daughter by the aid of two Christian
captives, excited great interest as soon as it became known in the
town; for it was rare, indeed, that a captive ever succeeded in making
his escape from the hands of the Moors. It had already been arranged
that, in telling his story, the trader should make as little as
possible of his companions' share in the business, so that public
attention should not be attracted towards them. He himself with Dolores
at once disembarked, but his companions did not come ashore until after
nightfall.
Stephen Boldero took a Spanish name, but Geoffrey retained his own, as
the story that he was travelling as a servant with Mr. Burke, a
well-known Irish gentleman who had accompanied the Armada, was
sufficient to account for his nationality. Under the plea that he was
anxious to return to Cadiz as soon as possible, Señor Mendez arranged
for horses and mules to start the next morning. He had sent off two
trunks of clothes to the ship an hour after he landed, and the two
Englishmen therefore escaped all observation, as they wandered about
for an hour or two after landing, and did not go to the inn where
Mendez was staying until it was time to retire to bed.
The next morning the party started. The clothes that Geoffrey was
wearing were those suited to an employé in a house of business, while
those of Boldero were such as would be worn by the captain or mate of a
merchant vessel on shore. Both were supplied with arms, for although
the party had nothing to attract the cupidity of robbers beyond the
trunks containing the clothes purchased on the preceding day, and the
small amount of money necessary for their travel on the road, the
country was so infested by bands of robbers that no one travelled
unarmed. The journey to Cadiz was, however, accomplished without
adventure.
The house of Señor Mendez was a large and comfortable one. Upon the
ground floor were his offices and store-rooms. He himself and his
family occupied the two next floors, while in those above his clerks
and employés lived. His unexpected return caused great surprise, and in
a few hours a number of acquaintances called to hear the story of the
adventures through which he had passed, and to condole with him on the
loss of his wife. At his own request Stephen Boldero had been given in
charge of the principal clerk, and a room assigned to him in the upper
story.
"I shall be much more comfortable," he said, "among your people, Don
Mendez. I am a rough sailor, and ten years in the galleys don't improve
any manners a man may have had. If I were among your friends I would be
out of place and uncomfortable, and should always have to be bowing and
scraping and exchanging compliments, and besides they would soon find
out that my Spanish was doubtful. I talk a sailor's slang, but I doubt
if I should understand pure Spanish. Altogether, I should be very
uncomfortable, and should make you uncomfortable, and I would very much
rather take my place among the men that work for you until I can get on
board a ship again."
Geoffrey was installed in the portion of the house occupied by the
merchant, and was introduced by him to his friends simply as the
English gentleman who had rescued him and his daughter from the hands
of the Moors, it being incidentally mentioned that he had sailed in the
Armada, and that he had fallen into the hands of the corsairs in the
course of a voyage made with his friend Mr. Burke to Italy. He at once
took his place as a friend and assistant of the merchant; and as the
latter had many dealings with Dutch and English merchants, Geoffrey was
able to be of considerable use to him in his written communications to
the captains of the various vessels of those nationalities in the port.
"I think," the merchant said to him a fortnight after his arrival in
Cadiz, "that, if it would not go against your conscience, it would be
most advisable that you should accompany me sometimes to church. Unless
you do this, sooner or later suspicion is sure to be roused, and you
know that if you were once suspected of being a heretic, the
Inquisition would lay its hands upon you in no time."
"I have no objection whatever," Geoffrey said. "Were I questioned I
should at once acknowledge that I was a Protestant; but I see no harm
in going to a house of God to say my prayers there, while others are
saying theirs in a different manner. There is no church of my own
religion here, and I can see no harm whatever in doing as you suggest."
"I am glad to hear that that is your opinion," Señor Mendez said, "for
it is the one point concerning which I was uneasy. I have ordered a
special mass at the church of St. Dominic to-morrow, in thanksgiving
for our safe escape from the hands of the Moors, and it would be well
that you should accompany us there."
"I will do so most willingly," Geoffrey said. "I have returned thanks
many times, but shall be glad to do so again in a house dedicated to
God's service."
Accordingly the next day Geoffrey accompanied Don Mendez and his
daughter to the church of St. Dominic, and as he knelt by them wondered
why men should hate each other because they differed as to the ways and
methods in which they should worship God. From that time on he
occasionally accompanied Señor Mendez to the church, saying his prayers
earnestly in his own fashion, and praying that he might some day be
restored to his home and friends.
He and the merchant had frequently talked over all possible plans for
his escape, but the extreme vigilance of the Spanish authorities with
reference to the English and Dutch trading ships seemed to preclude any
possibility of his being smuggled on board. Every bale and package was
closely examined on the quay before being sent off. Spanish officials
were on board from the arrival to the departure of each ship, and no
communication whatever was allowed between the shore and these vessels,
except in boats belonging to the authorities, every paper and document
passing first through their hands for examination before being sent on
board. The trade carried on between England, Holland, and Spain at the
time when these nations were engaged in war was a singular one; but it
was permitted by all three countries, because the products of each were
urgently required by the others. It was kept within narrow limits, and
there were frequent angry complaints exchanged between the English
government and that of Holland, when either considered the other to be
going beyond that limit.
Geoffrey admitted to himself that he might again make the attempt to
return to England, by taking passage as before in a ship bound for
Italy, but he knew that Elizabeth was negotiating with Philip for
peace, and thought that he might as well await the result. He was,
indeed, very happy at Cadiz, and shrank from the thought of leaving it.
Stephen Boldero soon became restless, and at his urgent request Juan
Mendez appointed him second mate on board one of his ships sailing for
the West Indies, his intention being to make his escape if an
opportunity offered; but if not, he preferred a life of activity to
wandering aimlessly about the streets of Cadiz. He was greatly grieved
to part from Geoffrey, and promised that, should he ever reach England,
he would at once journey down to Hedingham, and report his safety to
his father and mother.
"You will do very well here, Master Geoffrey," he said. "You are quite
at home with all the Spaniards, and it will not be very long before you
speak the language so well that, except for your name, none would take
you for a foreigner. You have found work to do, and are really better
off here than you would be starving and fighting in Holland. Besides,"
he said with a sly wink, "there are other attractions for you. Juan
Mendez treats you as a son, and the señorita knows that she owes
everything to you. You might do worse than settle here for life. Like
enough you will see me back again in six months' time, for if I see no
chance of slipping off and reaching one of the islands held by the
bucaneers, I shall perforce return in the ship I go out in."
At parting Señor Mendez bestowed a bag containing five hundred gold
pieces upon Stephen Boldero as a reward for the service he had rendered
him.
Geoffrey missed him greatly. For eighteen months they had been
constantly together, and it was the sailor's companionship and
cheerfulness that had lightened the first days of his captivity; and
had it not been for his advice and support he might now have been
tugging at an oar in the bey's corsair galley. Ever since they had been
at Cadiz he had daily spent an hour or two in his society; for when
work was done they generally went for a walk together on the
fortifications, and talked of England and discussed the possibility of
escape. After his departure he was thrown more than before into the
society of the merchant and his daughter. The feeling that Dolores had,
when he first saw her, excited within him had changed its character.
She was very pretty now that she had recovered her life and spirits,
and she made no secret of the deep feeling of gratitude she entertained
towards him. One day, three months after Stephen's departure, Señor
Mendez, when they were alone together, broached the subject on which
his thoughts had been turned so much of late.
"Friend Geoffrey," he said, "I think that I am not mistaken in
supposing that you have an affection for Dolores. I have marked its
growth, and although I would naturally have rather bestowed her upon a
countryman, yet I feel that you have a right to her as having saved her
from the horrible fate that would have undoubtedly befallen her, and
that it is not for me, to whom you have restored her, besides saving my
own life, to offer any objection. As to her feelings, I have no doubt
whatever. Were you of my religion and race, such a match would afford
me the greatest happiness. As it is I regret it only because I feel
that some day or other it will lead to a separation from me. It is
natural that you should wish to return to your own country, and as this
war cannot go on for ever, doubtless in time some opportunity for doing
so will arrive. This I foresee and must submit to, but if there is
peace I shall be able occasionally to visit her in her home in England.
I naturally hope that it will be long before I shall thus lose her. She
is my only child, and I shall give as her dower the half of my
business, and you will join me as an equal partner. When the war is
over you can, if you wish, establish yourself in London, and thence
carry on and enlarge the English and Dutch trade of our house. I may
even myself settle there. I have not thought this over at present, nor
is there any occasion to do so. I am a wealthy man and there is no need
for me to continue in business, and I am not sure when the time comes I
shall not prefer to abandon my country rather than be separated from my
daughter. At any rate for the present I offer you her hand and a share
in my business."
Geoffrey expressed in suitable terms the gratitude and delight he felt
at the offer. It was contrary to Spanish notions that he should receive
from Dolores in private any assurance that the proposal in which she
was so largely concerned was one to which she assented willingly, but
her father at once fetched her in and formally presented her to
Geoffrey as his promised wife, and a month later the marriage was
solemnized at the church of St. Dominic.