Captain from Castile

by Samuel Shellabarger; Internet Archive

  "Perhaps you're right," Pedro agreed.

  He wished them good night and headed apparently toward his quarters; but, keeping in the shadow of the pyramid, he returned to the other side of the plaza, as close as possible to the treasure room. Because of the sentries at the main gate, he realized that the recently discovered secret door was his best, and perhaps his only, means of exit from the temple quarters—provided the room had not yet been padlocked on the courtyard side.

  Fortunately the last of the chests had only just been removed; he could see the soldiers lugging it between them toward Cortes's apartment. Meanwhile, the door of the room stood open. Was anyone lingering inside? He would have to chance that. He would also have to chance being seen as he crossed over from the shadow of the pyramid. It could not but strike anyone as odd that de Vargas, having finished his guard duty, should return to the vacant treasure room.

  With his heart in his mouth, and a heart-felt Dios lo quiera! on his lips, he took the plunge. . . . The room was empty.

  Darting over to the wall, he began once more working at the concealed door. It came easier this time, but even so he heard footsteps approaching as he finally wrenched the panel open. Then, slipping

  through, he closed it behind him and sped off down the shadowy side of the street.

  XXXIII

  Not a breath stirred the saturated July air between the white-plastered house fronts of Cempoala. By the time Pedro emerged from the Indian city, he was dripping with sweat, and he drew off his doublet before continuing across the cultivated lands circling the town. Cumbered by his sword, he hitched up the baldric that supported it so as to free his legs.

  But, however hot, he did not slacken his pace. He reckoned that Escudero and Cermeno had three quarters of an hour start, and he wished to cut down that lead as much as possible before reaching Villa Rica. The question of what he would do after that presented itself, but it was useless to make plans now. He must follow events and improvise when the time came.

  A few scattered natives had passed him on the street, but they gave the white man a wide berth. Beyond the town nothing stirred except the creatures of the night. A hothouse perfume of roses and other flowers hung in the air, as Pedro crossed the garden land which supported the population of Cempoala. Then suddenly he was breathing the still hotter incense of the jungle. The track meandered between impenetrable walls reinforced by the interwoven vines of wild grape or convolvuluses. Ferns brushed him as he walked, and the tricky light splashed only here and there through the upper lacework of branches. The quick rustle of small, unseen animals, the occasional plunging of a larger beast, the flutter of awakened birds, echoed the wet sound of his footsteps.

  He was grateful for the moonlight, without which walking would have been almost impossible, and he prayed that it might last until he reached the more open country beyond the woods. But he by no means took it for granted. In this season of the rains, it might be shut out at any moment by a black downpour.

  Luck favored him, however. He cleared the jungle and had come within sight of an Indian village, pearl-pale on a distant slope, when the moon faded out, the sky darkened, and a deluge, accompanied by lightning and thunder, cut off the view. Fortunately a small wayside temple lay close, and he took refuge there, cursing the delay.

  As he stood within the entrance of the shrine, lightning flashes cut across the vertical column of the rain and brought out with momentary distinctness the hideous features of the wooden god looming above the altar. Squatting with bared fangs and glowing eyes, it had all the attributes of Satan gloating over the bowl of penitential blood left by his worshipers. The come-and-go of light and darkness gave an effect of movement to the image. Pedro felt relieved when, as suddenly as it had begun, the rain stopped and the moon flooded out again.

  Returning now to the trail, he sloshed on, past the Indian village, over the rolling country beyond, through an occasional stretch of thick woods, but in general downhill as the land sloped toward the coast. At his best speed, he reckoned that he could not make better than three miles an hour along the muddy and uneven path. This meant that he could not reach Villa Rica before two o'clock.

  Hour followed hour. He kept hoping for a glimpse of the two men ahead of him, but saw no one. At last, what with the dense air and fatigue, he plodded on mechanically until, roused by a salt-laden breeze, he discovered sand dunes to his right and heard the throb of the sea.

  Topping another rise, he could make out the Indian town of Quiauitztlan on its hill and, on the plain beneath, not far from the harbor, the few and unfinished walls of the Spanish fort. In the rays of the waning moon, he could see too the dark hulls of the eleven ships at anchor against the silver dappling on the water.

  Having reached his journey's end, the necessity of deciding the next step imposed itself. The sentinel at the gate of the still roofless fort could tell him whether Escudero and his companion had arrived. If they had, he must invent an excuse to explain his own appearance and then sometime before morning attempt to search them. It was probable that they would sleep sound after the long road. He must try to get past the sentinel without their knowing it.

  But from the top of the next dune, he noticed something that completely changed his plans and indeed put a stop to any plans at all. He saw a huddle of men on the beach of the harbor, engaged in launching a boat.

  Keeping out of sight behind a low dune, he ran toward them as fast as possible, his footsteps muffled by the loose sand. Out of breath, he got to a point not more than fifty yards distant, just as the boat was being steadied through the upwash of the waves.

  "All right," came a voice, which he recognized as Germeno's, "let her go."

  The speaker was crouching in the stern vith another man, probably Escudero, beside him. Four seamen, knee-deep in water, who had been steadying the boat, now gave a last shove and scrambled aboard. A moment later thev Were rowins; out.

  Helplessly raging, Pedro gazed after it. He had overlooked this possibilit)'. Naturally Cermeiio, as one of the pilots, would sleep on board his ship, the Gallega, and not in the fort. Yes, the Gallega. Pedro saw them pass Alvarado's ship, the Sebastian, and Cortes's capitana; they were making for the small vessel on the extreme right. Manned by Peiiates from Gibraltar, who had been flogged by Cortes in Cozumel Island for stealing salt pork and who hated him in consequence, the sliip was known as a focal point of mutiny. Several of the Velasquez faction had sailed with her.

  As the boat dwindled along the pathway of moonlight, Pedro's hopes faded out. He had no means of following it. Inland-bred, he was an indifferent svimmer, and besides the waters were shark-infested. It was the end of his quest for the jewels. Unless he could induce Cortes to seize the two men and examine them on no better grounds than his personal convictions, the emeralds were as safe on the Gallega as the worms in her hull.

  He lay outstretched on the sand, stiff, worn, and clammy with sweat, and took stock of tomorrow. Now he would not only be unable to restore the jewels; but in addition he had broken one of the General's sternest laws by deserting the camp without permission. There was no possible escape for him. Even if he had been willing to crown his disgrace by flight, vhere could he And refuge in this savage country'? The only thing left now was to face the inevitable by presenting himself at the fort.

  Burned out and defeated, he got up at last and followed the beach where the sand was firmer. All he wanted was to find a place to sleep in after the grueling walk from Cempoala. In this state of mind, he barked his shins and almost fell over an object on the sand which he had been too listless to notice, an Indian fisherman's canoe drawn up beyond the reach of the waves. AVith a vague oath, he was about to pass on when he came to a dead stop. His mind, which had been half asleep, quickened, and he looked eagerly over the small craft. It was a log which had been hollowed out by fire. The leaf-shaped paddle lay in the bottom. Here after all was a way of reaching the Gallega.

  In his excitement, Pedro did not stop to reckon difficulties
: that he had never paddled a canoe before and had no idea how to manage it; that if he upset, he was almost certainly done for; that if he reached

  the ship and got on board, he would be alone with a dozen men who would have no compunction about cutting his throat; that if he were hard-pressed and had to drop from the ship back into the canoe, he would surely capsize. If any of this occurred to him as he dragged the hollow log to the water, one sufficient answer presented itself: that he had nothing to lose whatever happened, and that a chance for life and for retrieving himself was better than no chance at all.

  It cost him several wettings before he managed to slide into the canoe and begin a teetering progress toward the ship. He had frequently watched the Indians and now tried to imitate them by crouching low and balancing as much as possible. But the canoe, designed for two or three men, rode higb and tipped distressingly at every higher ripple of the quiet bay. Foot by foot, he crept on, like a man walking a plank over some chasm, aware of the growing distance from the shore, conscious of his own helpless smallness on the expanse of water.

  But little by little, the ship came nearer, her stern light showing more brightly as the moon sank beyond the inland sierras. Though only a small caravel, she bulked huge above him when at last Pedro crept into her shadow and felt his way around to her anchor rope.

  This was a ticklish point, as the tide eddied about the poop and set the canoe teetering more desperately than ever. Pedro landed with a bump against the small boat which had been moored to the stern, lost his balance, and found himself under the water. He came up sputtering. The overturned canoe was out of reach; but he grasped the side of the ship's boat.

  "Who's there?" came a grunt from the Gallega's deck.

  De Vargas lowered himself as far as possible and waited, torn between fear of discovery by the man above and of sharks below. After a tense moment, the sailor could be heard padding off along the after deck. Pedro clambered over the side of the small boat.

  Here he allowed the water to drain off him. Then, removing his shoes and belting his sword closer to his body, he pulled himself hand over hand up the anchor rope, got a grip on the deck, and worked himself upward, fingers, knees and toes, to the rail. A glance above-it showed that the deck was empty. A moment later he had climbed on board.

  A murmur of voices sounded not far off; someone laughed. The sound came up the companionway from the captain's cabin. Inching downward, Pedro at length had a glimpse of the end of the cabin table and of a man's back. Evidently the small space was crowded— he could see legs and knees and hands.

  "So the upshot of it is," said a fierce, halting voice, "that we sail at dawn.''

  XXXIV

  Escudero was speaking. Though Pedro could not see him, he had no difficulty in recognizing his voice.

  ''Hombre!" he went on. "Won't we be a welcome sight in Cuba! Won't we be the pets of the Governor! When the whole armada has deserted him for a climbing double-dealer like Cortes, we show him that we're the only true men. Besides which, we put him in the way of scooping the whole pile. Ten to one, Montejo takes the treasure ship for Spain into El Marien for a last glimpse of his senora. If he does, the Governor has him like a mouse in the trap. If he doesn't, it'll be easy to overhaul him in the Bahama Channel. There's not a man jack of us but can look for an encomienda out of this, with broad gold pieces to boot. Let Cortes's five hundred fools have their empire if they can get it! Only a million armed Indians to conquer!" . . . Escudero laughed. "Cuba looks softer to me."

  A murmur of agreement answered. Then a voice, which Pedro couldn't identify, put in: "That's all right, but what's the hurry? Cortes is at Cempoala. We could stand more water and supplies, and Ave can take some on tomorrow. Why not sail next day? It's a long 5tretch to Cape Anton."

  Pedro heard the thud of a fist on the table. "Gentlemen," said Escudero, "believe me, A lame goat takes no siesta. If something's to be done, do it. We're safe tonight—not a suspicion. Tomorrow, who knows? And you can see yourselves taking on stores tomorrow with no questions asked, eh? Under the nose of every ship in the fleet? Very likely, isn't it? No, sirs, the cassava bread may not be very good, but we've eaten weevils before and can eat them again. We've got fish and oil. We'll run north and fill the casks at the Panuco. I'm telHng you. You'll regret it unless you sail with the dawn wind."

  In Pedro's mind, the theft of the jewels was by now eclipsed by this vastly more important threat. He knew how much Cortes feared that word of the army's declaration of independence from Governor Velasquez should reach Cuba before its position had been legalized by the King in Spain. It was necessary, besides, to have greater . achievements to show than a few provinces along the coast. If Velas-

  quez heard prematurely that the expedition sent out by him had shaken off his jurisdiction, it would mean armed interference from Cuba, probable bloodshed, and the wreck of everything that had been accomplished. Moreover, the sailing of the Gallega concerned not merely the loss of a few jewels, but of the treasure ship itself with the entire proceeds thus far of the venture. That in its turn entailed the loss of the King's recognition which the gold was being sent to buy.

  Listening intently, however, it seemed to him that one thing in Escu-dero's speech rang hollow. Every ground for haste had been given except the theft of the jewels, the one compelling reason that made haste imperative. Was it that Escudero and Cermefio had taken the emeralds without the knowledge of the others? As it happened, almost the next words cleared up this point.

  It was admitted that the casks could be replenished further along the coast and that prudence counseled flight. "But how did it happen," asked someone—Pedro guessed it was Umbria, a seaman who had been one of the arch mutineers from the beginning—"that you weren't able to bring a sample of the treasure with you? I thought you told us that one of the temple papas showed you a door. Didn't it work, or what?"

  "For Dios'' returned the other, "we did our best, didn't we, Cermefio?"

  "Aye, aye," answered.the latter. "But young Pedro de Vargas was on guard. We couldn't get him away from his post, though we tried hard enough."

  "And it wouldn't have done to risk the whole project for a few pesos," Escudero added. "What difference does it make anyhow, as long as we get the whole cargo in the end?"

  "It makes this difference," someone growled, "that it won't be us but the Governor who gets it. If you'd brought something along, at least we'd have had our share of that."

  Escudero took it lightly. "Don't worry about your share, Bernardino. You'll have no cause to complain when we get to Cuba."

  Pedro grinned. The two rogues were holding out on the others. Whatever happened in Cuba, they had lined their own pockets.

  Cermefio changed the subject. "Well, if we're sailing in three hours, we've got that much sleep coming. I'm for bed."

  Pedro at once started backing up the companionway.

  He must somehow get to shore and warn the commander at the fort. It was Juan de Escalante, an able officer and one devoted to Cortes. Escalante would be able to take measures, provided only there

  I was time and that Pedro could escape undetected. His plan was to regain the deck, drop below the rail and wait until the group below had dispersed, then try to get off in the small boat.

  "Ho!" said a surprised voice behind him. "Who's this?"

  Evidently a seaman, also eavesdropping, had mistaken Pedro in the darkness for one of his mates.

  De Vargas turned and tried to shove upward, but found himself in a bear's grapple. The narrow companionway made fight impossible. The next instant both men lost their footing and catapulted down, emerging into the cabin with a crash, amid the stupefaction of the group there. They landed against the table and rolled to one side. Arching himself, Pedro threw off the other and sprang to his feet, only to face a circle of knives.

  "Redhead de Vargas!" roared somebody. "By the Lord God!"

  Arms pinioned him from behind. His sword was jerked out of its scabbard. His poniard disappeared at the sa
me moment.

  "Cortes's spaniel, eh?" growled Escudero. "Let me have the handling of him!" From the farther end of the cabin, he started shouldering his way toward the prisoner, his knife in hand and uptilted.

  "Not so fast," said Bernardino de Coria. He was a wild blade of a man, reckless, but likable in a rakehell way. "No hurry. All in good time. Stand back, will you? How now! My word, we'll give him a hearing, won't we?"

  "Cermefio!" snapped Escudero, trying in vain to get past Coria. But as Cermefio struck, his wrist was caught by the seaman, Umbria.

  "Come, come," said the latter. "What's the haste? Why kill a man unheard? If it's necessary later—"

  He pushed Cermefio back. Juan Diaz, a discontented priest who seconded Olmedo as chaplain, added his protest. "Calm yourselves, my sons."

  Pedro thought fast. He knew perfectly well why Escudero and Cermefio were in a hurry, and he understood the advantage that this knowledge gave him.

  "Thank you, sefiores," he said. "Before you let these gentlemen kill me, better ask what they did with the emeralds that they took from the treasure room tonight."

  A tense hush fell in the cabin. The pairs of eyes which had been leveled at Pedro now shifted to the two ringleaders. A seaman, who had been holding de Vargas from behind, relaxed his grip. It would have been easy at that moment for Pedro to break loose and make a dash for the companiomvay, but he had sense enough to stay quiet.

  Cermeno ran his tongue across his lips. Escudero laughed. "Trust one of Cortes's spies to lie! If you can find an emerald on either of us, I'll pay you for it."

  His broad, blunt face looked so perfectly assured that Pedro's certainty wavered. His voice had the ring of truth. Perhaps they had already hidden the jewels. But where? Certainly not on shore, as they were about to sail. Perhaps on the ship, but they had hardly had time.

  Pedro remembered a current thieves' dodge which he had heard at Sanlucar and took a long chance.