Sir Henry Morgan, Buccaneer - Cyrus Townsend Brady (free ebooks for android txt) 📗
- Author: Cyrus Townsend Brady
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intimate friend.
The progress of the love affair between Alvarado and Donna Mercedes had been subjective rather than objective. They had enjoyed some unusual opportunities for meeting on account of the station the former filled in the Viceroy's household and the place he held in his heart, yet the opportunities for extended freedom of intercourse between young men and women of the gentler class in those days, and especially among Spaniards of high rank, were extremely limited. The old count took care to see that his daughter was carefully watched and shielded; not because he suspected her of anything, for he did not, but because it was a habit of his people and his ancestry. The busy life that he led, the many employments which were thrust upon him, his military duties, had kept the days of the young soldier very full, and under the most favorable circumstances he would have had little time for love making. Fortunately much time is not required to develop a love affair, especially in New Spain and near to the equator.
But though they had enjoyed brief opportunity for personal intercourse, the very impossibilities of free communication, the difficulties of meeting, had but added fuel and fire to their affection. Love had flamed into these two hearts with all the intensity of their tropic blood and tropic land. Alvarado's passion could feed for days and grow large upon the remembrance of the fragrance of her hand when he kissed it last in formal salutation. Mercedes' soul could enfold itself in the recollection of the too ardent pressure of his lips, the burning yet respectful glance he had shot at her, by others unperceived, when he said farewell. The memory of each sigh the tropic breeze had wafted to her ears as he walked in attendance upon her at some formal function of the court was as much to her as the flower which she had artfully dropped at his feet and which had withered over his heart ever since, was to him.
The difficulties in the way of the exchange of those sweet nothings that lovers love to dwell upon and the impossibility of any hoped for end to their love making intensified their passion. Little or nothing had been spoken between them, but each knew the other loved. For the first moment the knowledge of that glorious fact had sufficed them--but afterwards they wanted more. Having tasted, they would fain quaff deeply. But they could see no way by which to manage the realization of their dreams.
The situation was complicated in every possible way for Alvarado. Had he been a man of family like his friend, de Tobar, he would have gone boldly to the Viceroy and asked for the hand of his daughter, in which case he thought he would have met with no refusal; but, being ignorant of his birth, having not even a legal right to the name he bore, he knew that the proud old Hidalgo would rather see his daughter dead than wedded to him. Of all the ancient splendors of the Spanish people there was left them but one thing of which they could be proud--their ancient name. De Lara, who belonged to one of the noblest and most distinguished families of the Iberian Peninsula, would never consent to degrade his line by allying his only daughter to a nobody, however worthy in other respects the suitor might prove to be.
Again, had Mercedes' father been any other than the life-long patron and friend to whom he literally owed everything that he possessed, such was the impetuosity of Alvarado's disposition that, at every hazard, he would have taken the girl by stealth or force from her father's protection, made her his wife, and sought an asylum in England or France, or wherever he could. So desperate was his state of mind, so overwhelming his love that he would have shrunk from nothing to win her. Yet just because the Viceroy had been a father to him, just because he had loved him, had been unexampled in his kindness and consideration to him, just because he reposed such absolutely unlimited confidence in him, the young man felt bound in honor by fetters that he could not break.
And there was his friendship for de Tobar. There were many young gallants about the vice-regal court who, jealous of Alvarado's favor and envious of his merits, had not scrupled in the face of his unknown origin to sneer, to mock, or to slight--so far as it was safe to do either of these things to so brave and able a soldier. Amid these gilded youths de Tobar with noble magnanimity and affection had proved himself Alvarado's staunchest friend. A romantic attachment had sprung up between the two young men, and the first confidant of de Tobar's love affairs had been Alvarado himself. To betray his friend was almost as bad as to betray his patron. It was not to be thought of.
Yet how could he, a man in whose blood--though it may have been ignoble for aught he knew--ran all the passions of his race with the fervor and fire of the best, a man who loved, as he did, the ground upon which the Señorita de Lara walked, stand by tamely and see her given to another, no matter who he might be? He would have given the fortune which he had amassed by honorable toil, the fame he had acquired by brilliant exploits, the power he enjoyed through the position he had achieved, the weight which he bore in the councils of New Spain, every prospect that life held dear to him to solve the dilemma and win the woman he loved for his wife.
He passed hours in weary isolation on the plaza of the great castle overlooking the stretched-out town upon the narrow strand with the ceaseless waves beating ever upon the shore from the heavenly turquoise blue of the Caribbean wavering far into the distant horizon before him. He spent days and nights, thinking, dreaming, agonizing, while he wrestled vainly with the problem. Sometimes he strove to call to his mind those stern resolutions of duty which he had laid before himself at the beginning of his career, and to which he had steadfastly adhered in the pursuit of his fortunes; and he swore that he would be true to his ideals, that the trust reposed in him by the Viceroy should not be betrayed, that the friendship in which he was held by de Tobar should never be broken, that he would tear out of his heart the image of the woman he loved. And then, again, he knew that so long as that heart kept up its beating she would be there, and to rob him of her image meant to take away his life. If there had been a war, if some opportunity had been vouchsafed him to pour out, in battle against the enemy, some of the ardor that consumed him, the situation would have been ameliorated; but the times were those of profound peace. There was nothing to occupy his mind except the routine duties of the garrison.
Spain, under the last poor, crazed, bewitched, degenerate descendant of the once formidable Hapsburgs, had reached the lowest depths of ignominy and decay. Alone, almost, under her flag Venezuela was well governed--from the Spanish standpoint, that is; from the native American point of view the rule of even the gentlest of Spaniards had made a hell on earth of the fairest countries of the new continent. Of all the cities and garrisons which were under the sway of the Viceroy de Lara, La Guayra was the best appointed and cared for. But it did not require a great deal of the time or attention from so skilled a commander as Alvarado to keep things in proper shape. Time, therefore, hung heavily on his hands. There were few women of rank in the town, which was simply the port of entry for St. Jago de Leon across the mountains which rose in tree-clad slopes diversified by bold precipices for ten thousand feet back of the palace, and from the commoner sort of women the young captain held himself proudly aloof, while his love safeguarded him from the allurement of the evil and the shameless who flaunted their iniquity in every seaport on the Caribbean.
On the other side of the mountain range after a descent of several thousand feet to a beautiful verdant valley whose altitude tempered the tropic heat of the low latitude into a salubrious and delightful climate, lay the palace of the Viceroy and the city which surrounded it, St. Jago, or Santiago de Leon, commonly called the City of Caracas.
Many a day had Alvarado turned backward from the white-walled, red-roofed town spread out at his feet, baking under the palms, seething in the fierce heat, as if striving to pierce with his gaze the great cordilleras, on the farther side of which in the cool white palace beneath the gigantic ceibas the queen of his heart made her home. He pictured her at all hours of the day; he dwelt upon her image, going over again in his mind each detail of her face and figure. The perfume of her hand was still fragrant upon his lips; the sound of her voice, the soft musical voice of Andalusia, still vibrated in his ear; her burning glance pierced him even in his dreams like a sword.
He was mad, mad with love for her, crazed with hopeless passion. There seemed to be no way out of his misery but for him to pass his own sword through his heart, or to throw himself from the precipice, or to plunge into the hot, cruel blue of the enveloping Caribbean--the color of the sea changed in his eye with his temper, like a woman's mood. Yet he was young, he hoped in spite of himself. He prayed--for he was not old enough to have lost faith--and he planned. Besides, he was too brave a soldier to kill himself, and she was not yet married. She was not formally betrothed, even; although it was well known that her father looked favorably upon de Tobar's suit, no formal announcement had been made of it as yet. So in spite of his judgment he dreamed--the thoughts of youth and love are long, long thoughts, indeed.
That morning the young captain, engrossed in his emotions, was not aware of the approach of a messenger, until the clank of the man's sword upon the stone flags of the plaza caused him to lift his head. He was a soldier, an officer of the bodyguard of the Viceroy, and he bore in his hand a letter sealed with the de Lara coat of arms. The messenger saluted and handed the packet to the captain.
"Yesterday evening, His Excellency, the Viceroy, charged me to deliver this letter to you to-day."
"Fadrique," called Alvarado, to a servitor, "a flagon of wine for the cavalier. By your leave, sir," he continued with formal politeness, opening the packet and reading the message:
The progress of the love affair between Alvarado and Donna Mercedes had been subjective rather than objective. They had enjoyed some unusual opportunities for meeting on account of the station the former filled in the Viceroy's household and the place he held in his heart, yet the opportunities for extended freedom of intercourse between young men and women of the gentler class in those days, and especially among Spaniards of high rank, were extremely limited. The old count took care to see that his daughter was carefully watched and shielded; not because he suspected her of anything, for he did not, but because it was a habit of his people and his ancestry. The busy life that he led, the many employments which were thrust upon him, his military duties, had kept the days of the young soldier very full, and under the most favorable circumstances he would have had little time for love making. Fortunately much time is not required to develop a love affair, especially in New Spain and near to the equator.
But though they had enjoyed brief opportunity for personal intercourse, the very impossibilities of free communication, the difficulties of meeting, had but added fuel and fire to their affection. Love had flamed into these two hearts with all the intensity of their tropic blood and tropic land. Alvarado's passion could feed for days and grow large upon the remembrance of the fragrance of her hand when he kissed it last in formal salutation. Mercedes' soul could enfold itself in the recollection of the too ardent pressure of his lips, the burning yet respectful glance he had shot at her, by others unperceived, when he said farewell. The memory of each sigh the tropic breeze had wafted to her ears as he walked in attendance upon her at some formal function of the court was as much to her as the flower which she had artfully dropped at his feet and which had withered over his heart ever since, was to him.
The difficulties in the way of the exchange of those sweet nothings that lovers love to dwell upon and the impossibility of any hoped for end to their love making intensified their passion. Little or nothing had been spoken between them, but each knew the other loved. For the first moment the knowledge of that glorious fact had sufficed them--but afterwards they wanted more. Having tasted, they would fain quaff deeply. But they could see no way by which to manage the realization of their dreams.
The situation was complicated in every possible way for Alvarado. Had he been a man of family like his friend, de Tobar, he would have gone boldly to the Viceroy and asked for the hand of his daughter, in which case he thought he would have met with no refusal; but, being ignorant of his birth, having not even a legal right to the name he bore, he knew that the proud old Hidalgo would rather see his daughter dead than wedded to him. Of all the ancient splendors of the Spanish people there was left them but one thing of which they could be proud--their ancient name. De Lara, who belonged to one of the noblest and most distinguished families of the Iberian Peninsula, would never consent to degrade his line by allying his only daughter to a nobody, however worthy in other respects the suitor might prove to be.
Again, had Mercedes' father been any other than the life-long patron and friend to whom he literally owed everything that he possessed, such was the impetuosity of Alvarado's disposition that, at every hazard, he would have taken the girl by stealth or force from her father's protection, made her his wife, and sought an asylum in England or France, or wherever he could. So desperate was his state of mind, so overwhelming his love that he would have shrunk from nothing to win her. Yet just because the Viceroy had been a father to him, just because he had loved him, had been unexampled in his kindness and consideration to him, just because he reposed such absolutely unlimited confidence in him, the young man felt bound in honor by fetters that he could not break.
And there was his friendship for de Tobar. There were many young gallants about the vice-regal court who, jealous of Alvarado's favor and envious of his merits, had not scrupled in the face of his unknown origin to sneer, to mock, or to slight--so far as it was safe to do either of these things to so brave and able a soldier. Amid these gilded youths de Tobar with noble magnanimity and affection had proved himself Alvarado's staunchest friend. A romantic attachment had sprung up between the two young men, and the first confidant of de Tobar's love affairs had been Alvarado himself. To betray his friend was almost as bad as to betray his patron. It was not to be thought of.
Yet how could he, a man in whose blood--though it may have been ignoble for aught he knew--ran all the passions of his race with the fervor and fire of the best, a man who loved, as he did, the ground upon which the Señorita de Lara walked, stand by tamely and see her given to another, no matter who he might be? He would have given the fortune which he had amassed by honorable toil, the fame he had acquired by brilliant exploits, the power he enjoyed through the position he had achieved, the weight which he bore in the councils of New Spain, every prospect that life held dear to him to solve the dilemma and win the woman he loved for his wife.
He passed hours in weary isolation on the plaza of the great castle overlooking the stretched-out town upon the narrow strand with the ceaseless waves beating ever upon the shore from the heavenly turquoise blue of the Caribbean wavering far into the distant horizon before him. He spent days and nights, thinking, dreaming, agonizing, while he wrestled vainly with the problem. Sometimes he strove to call to his mind those stern resolutions of duty which he had laid before himself at the beginning of his career, and to which he had steadfastly adhered in the pursuit of his fortunes; and he swore that he would be true to his ideals, that the trust reposed in him by the Viceroy should not be betrayed, that the friendship in which he was held by de Tobar should never be broken, that he would tear out of his heart the image of the woman he loved. And then, again, he knew that so long as that heart kept up its beating she would be there, and to rob him of her image meant to take away his life. If there had been a war, if some opportunity had been vouchsafed him to pour out, in battle against the enemy, some of the ardor that consumed him, the situation would have been ameliorated; but the times were those of profound peace. There was nothing to occupy his mind except the routine duties of the garrison.
Spain, under the last poor, crazed, bewitched, degenerate descendant of the once formidable Hapsburgs, had reached the lowest depths of ignominy and decay. Alone, almost, under her flag Venezuela was well governed--from the Spanish standpoint, that is; from the native American point of view the rule of even the gentlest of Spaniards had made a hell on earth of the fairest countries of the new continent. Of all the cities and garrisons which were under the sway of the Viceroy de Lara, La Guayra was the best appointed and cared for. But it did not require a great deal of the time or attention from so skilled a commander as Alvarado to keep things in proper shape. Time, therefore, hung heavily on his hands. There were few women of rank in the town, which was simply the port of entry for St. Jago de Leon across the mountains which rose in tree-clad slopes diversified by bold precipices for ten thousand feet back of the palace, and from the commoner sort of women the young captain held himself proudly aloof, while his love safeguarded him from the allurement of the evil and the shameless who flaunted their iniquity in every seaport on the Caribbean.
On the other side of the mountain range after a descent of several thousand feet to a beautiful verdant valley whose altitude tempered the tropic heat of the low latitude into a salubrious and delightful climate, lay the palace of the Viceroy and the city which surrounded it, St. Jago, or Santiago de Leon, commonly called the City of Caracas.
Many a day had Alvarado turned backward from the white-walled, red-roofed town spread out at his feet, baking under the palms, seething in the fierce heat, as if striving to pierce with his gaze the great cordilleras, on the farther side of which in the cool white palace beneath the gigantic ceibas the queen of his heart made her home. He pictured her at all hours of the day; he dwelt upon her image, going over again in his mind each detail of her face and figure. The perfume of her hand was still fragrant upon his lips; the sound of her voice, the soft musical voice of Andalusia, still vibrated in his ear; her burning glance pierced him even in his dreams like a sword.
He was mad, mad with love for her, crazed with hopeless passion. There seemed to be no way out of his misery but for him to pass his own sword through his heart, or to throw himself from the precipice, or to plunge into the hot, cruel blue of the enveloping Caribbean--the color of the sea changed in his eye with his temper, like a woman's mood. Yet he was young, he hoped in spite of himself. He prayed--for he was not old enough to have lost faith--and he planned. Besides, he was too brave a soldier to kill himself, and she was not yet married. She was not formally betrothed, even; although it was well known that her father looked favorably upon de Tobar's suit, no formal announcement had been made of it as yet. So in spite of his judgment he dreamed--the thoughts of youth and love are long, long thoughts, indeed.
That morning the young captain, engrossed in his emotions, was not aware of the approach of a messenger, until the clank of the man's sword upon the stone flags of the plaza caused him to lift his head. He was a soldier, an officer of the bodyguard of the Viceroy, and he bore in his hand a letter sealed with the de Lara coat of arms. The messenger saluted and handed the packet to the captain.
"Yesterday evening, His Excellency, the Viceroy, charged me to deliver this letter to you to-day."
"Fadrique," called Alvarado, to a servitor, "a flagon of wine for the cavalier. By your leave, sir," he continued with formal politeness, opening the packet and reading the message:
"TO THE CAPTAIN ALVARADO, COMMANDANTE OF LA GUAYRA.
GREETING:
As one faithful to the fortunes of our family we would crave your
honorable presence at our palace in Santiago to-morrow evening. In
view of your service and devotion, we have done you the honor to
appoint you as one of the witnesses to the formal betrothal of our
daughter, Donna Mercedes, to your friend, Don Felipe de Tobar. After
that, as we have received appeals for help from the Orinoco country,
we propose to lead His Most Catholic Majesty's Imperial troops
thither in person to overawe the natives; and, reposing
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