by Anonymous
CHAPTER X.
We left Don Rafaele in a state of great excitement. Afterhesitating a moment, he stepped out on the locker, outside hisberth, and so to the deck. All was confusion above, and even onthe same deck, in the steerage; and feet were heard rushing toand fro, as if the whole crew had gone distracted. Stretchingout one of his hands, he steadied himself against the table, andpaused to consider what he should do. As he did so, the ship,without the least forewarning, returned the broadside of thegalleon; and, by the rebound she made in the water, threw himfairly off his feet.
Though his head fell with some violence against the locker, theexcitement he laboured under, and the hurry and distraction ofhis thoughts, with the hundred terrors around, did not admit ofhis feeling any pain, or, if he were sensible of a slight aching,did not suffer him to give it heed. He sprang to his feet in aninstant, and, stretching his hands out before him, so that heshould not run against the table, made for the cabin-door.
After a little time, he found the door, and succeeded indrawing it open. The steerage was full of smoke, here black,and there white, according as it was near to or removed fromseveral prospective portfires; and, through the gloom, hedistinguished the figures of a dozen men, darting towardsthe main-hatchway, about thirty feet for’ard. The stench ofgunpowder, emitted by the discharged guns, with the dense smoke,was almost suffocating; but, as the hatchways were open, thefresh air rushed in from above, and soon made the atmospheremore supportable. Before the smoke was dispelled, however, thegunners, who were the men that had figured in it, had passed upthe main hatchway; and Don Rafaele stood on the lower deck alone.
A lighted lanthorn was standing on the deck, a few feet in hisfront; and, when he found himself alone, he sprang forward apace, and caught it up. The din that now prevailed was quitestunning; and the report of fire-arms, the clashing of weapons,and the tramp of feet, mingled with loud hurrahs, shouts, anddeep groans, made his heart quake, and seemed to rivet him tothe spot. Nevertheless, he did not remain stationary. As the dingrew more confounding, he sprang back to the cabin, and, witha trembling step, passed inward. Securing the lanthorn on thetable, he sat down on the locker, and there resolved to awaitwhatever was to betide.
But he did not keep his resolution. It would, indeed, have been astout heart, or an inordinately insensible one, that could havemet such an ordeal so passively. The din that prevailed wasabsolutely appalling, and, unless actively engaged, with dangerto animate, and action to support him, no man even, much lessa stripling, could have sustained it with unshaken nerves. Yetoverhead all was quiet, and the noise seemed, as was actually thecase, to come from one side, rather than to prevail in the ship.Don Rafaele was perfectly bewildered for a while: at length,burying his face in his hands, he burst into tears.
He remained thus for several minutes, when, still weeping, hethrew himself on his knees, and raised his hands and eyes towardsheaven. Long and fervent was his prayer, as was evident, not byhis words (for he uttered none), but by his deep emotion, and thestirring and varied expressions of his face. At last, he rosefrom his knees, and, sitting down on the locker, near his formerposition, again buried his face in his hands.
He had been disposed in this manner but a short time, when thesounds of strife and turmoil ceased, and all became perfectlyquiet. He was amazed. What could have happened? How hadHildebrand, whose voice he had distinguished so often in therecent din, or fancied he had distinguished, come off. He mightbe slain!
The heart of the young Spaniard turned cold as the barepossibility of such a catastrophe occurred to him. Shudderingwith horror, he again turned his beautiful face upward, andhis full eyes, brimmed with tears, seconded his prayer forhis friend’s safety. But some time elapsed before he was tobe assured of that happy circumstance. Though the tramp offeet overhead was now once more audible, no one approached thecabin; and he was too much agitated, not only with his fears,but by sorrow, to seek for information on the deck. Near anhour intervened before any one drew nigh. Then, however, with abeating heart, he heard a step descending through the contiguoushatchway. It paused at the cabin-door; the latch, which he hadfixed in its socket, was then quickly raised; and Hildebrandburst into the cabin.
Don Rafaele sprang to meet him with the ardour of a mistress,and, as he came up with him, caught him affectionately by thehand.
“Thou art safe, then?” he cried, at the same time gazingearnestly in his face.
Hildebrand had removed from his face and apparel all trace ofhis participation in the recent conflict; but, notwithstandingthis, his look, on his entry into the cabin, was pale and sad.As he met the warm welcome of his youthful friend, however, hiscountenance brightened; and if his eyes did not actually sparkle,they looked cheerful, and even lively. It was so inspiritingto receive such an earnest welcome, and, after encountering astrife so deadly, to find himself the object of such a devotedattachment, that the deepest affections of his heart werearoused, and, through their soothing influence, the strongexcitement he had been labouring under was assuaged. A brightsmile suffused his lip as he replied to Don Rafaele.
“Ay, and unhurt, Senhor,” he said. “’Twill please thee less,mayhap (since the enemy were thy countrymen), to be told that wehave conquered.”
“Now, by Madonna, I am right glad on’t!” answered Don Rafaele,with sparkling eyes. “I would the foe had been any other thanSpaniards, but, since it was not so ordered, I am heartilypleased that thou hast beaten them off.”
“I have even captured them,” observed Hildebrand.
“Alack!” sighed Don Rafaele.
“Nay, be of good heart, fair Senhor!” returned Hildebrand.“Because thy country war with mine, it follows not, in myconceit, that we two be adversaries. I’faith, no! Ere thoushouldst suffer wrong, I would perish in defending thee!”
Don Rafaele pressed his hand.
“Be of good cheer, then!” pursued Hildebrand. “I will straightminister thee a potion”--here he smiled again--“will give thee anew heart.”
“An’ ’twill do that,” smiled Don Rafaele, “prithee let us haveit with all convenience; for, by my sooth, my heart is now somarvellously low, I have a mind to think I have even lost it. Insuch case, a new one will be right welcome.”
“Have at thee, then,” said Hildebrand. And, raising his voice, headded--“Without, there!”
His summons was answered by the silent steward, whose connexionwith the cabin, in all matters of eating and drinking, hasalready been noticed. On his appearance, Hildebrand directedhim, in English, to bring in some goblets, sugar, and hot water,which, though he made no answer, he did promptly. When thesewere supplied, he turned to the adjacent locker, and extractedtherefrom a small _boutique_, or leather flask, filled withspirit. Mingling its contents with some hot water and sugar, heshortly compounded a sufficient quantity of the potion he hadso eulogised, in recommending it to Don Rafaele, to fill twogoblets. On thus completing its preparation, he handed one of thegoblets to Don Rafaele.
“Men boast of wine,” he said, as he placed the sparkling gobletin his hand; “and, to speak the simple sooth, wine hath muchexcellent virtue; but, when the heart is low, commend me to oldCognac. It hath a sweeter perfume than the rose, and excelshoney in its savour. As a medicament, no drug may be held inits comparison, and ’twill remedy more ills than the cunningestapothecary. Beseech thee, take it to thy heart, fair Senhor!”
Don Rafaele, with a light smile, accepted the proffered goblet,and raised it to his lips.
“By my sooth, ’tis an admirable good liquor!” he exclaimed. “Yetdo I marvel, Senhor Captain, when thou holdest it in such heartyestimation, thou drinkest of it so sparingly; for, if I be oftrue remembrance, this is the first time I have ever seen theepartake of it.”
“Thou art right!” answered Hildebrand; “for, if it be drunk formere sport, its notable good properties become of no account. Butwhen the heart is faint after battle, the body weary with action,or the spirit oppressed with heaviness, or when, in an hour ofjoyfulness, we would ‘kill th
e fatted calf,’ it lendeth ourinward man a ministering cheerfulness, which it is right pleasantto behold.”
“In sooth, it hath made me merry,” replied Don Rafaele, “yet willI, at the present pass, take no more on’t.”
“Thou wilt pledge me to thy mistress?” said Hildebrand.
Don Rafaele made no answer.
“Ah! thou art fearful of thy head,” resumed Hildebrand. “Well,well, ’tis a wise fear, and becomes thee happily. It minds me ofthe saying of a notable poet, a countryman of mine, whom thoumayst one day see--‘O, that men should put an enemy in theirmouths, to steal away their brains!’”
Don Rafaele still sat silent, with his eyes, which had beforebeen raised to those of Hildebrand, turned towards the floor, andhis brow looking sad and mournful. After a brief space, however,he spoke, though in a low voice, and with his eyes still downcast.
“Didst not say thou wouldst pledge me to thy mistress?” he asked.
“An’ thou art minded to take my pledge, I will,” answeredHildebrand, smiling, though mournfully.
“Prithee advise me first what like are her eyes?” replied DonRafaele.
“Black--black as death,” said Hildebrand, “yet sparkling as day.”
Don Rafaele looked up. “What like are her cheeks?” he asked.
“Of a dark complexion,” answered Hildebrand. “I cannot tell howlovely.”
A smile stole over the face of Don Rafaele, and, though he stillspoke low, the tone of his voice was more cheerful, as headded--“What like is her hair?”
“In hue, ’twould shame the raven,” returned Hildebrand.“Moreover, it hath such an excellent fair curl, and is soadmirably dressed withal--”
“Hold thee there,” cried Don Rafaele, with a merry laugh, “orthou wilt presently make her an angel. I will even take thypledge without further description.”
“To her health, then!” exclaimed Hildebrand.
Don Rafaele, still smiling, caught up his goblet, and raised itto his lips. After just sipping of it contents, he laid it downagain, and once more turned to Hildebrand.
“Thou art assured of her love: art thou not?” he said.
“I rather hold it in doubt,” answered Hildebrand.
“Thou art grievously in the wrong, trust me,” returned DonRafaele. “Look on’t more cheerfully. The maiden lives not wouldrefuse thee!”
“Speak on’t no more, I prithee,” said Hildebrand; “for it makesme sorrowful.”
“Let it not do that,” replied Don Rafaele. “Give me thine ear awhile, and, if thou think’st ’twill disperse thy melancholy, Iwill straight sing thee a song.”
“An’ thou lovest me, let us have it,” returned Hildebrand. “An’it be a love-song, ’twill soothe me right speedily.”
Don Rafaele, without making a reply, leaned back against thewainscot, and, after a moment’s consideration, sang a song whichmay be thus translated:--
=_SONG._=
O! love is like a summer flower, As fragrant and as fair; And thus it flourishes an hour, And braves the hostile air: But, like a flower, its bloom will fade, Its life is but a span; And soon it shows the hapless maid There is no faith in man.
O! ’tis a mournful thing to see The flowers of summer fade! How more than mournful must it be To view the blighted maid! Then, let no thought of present joy A future sorrow sow-- That bliss must surely have alloy That is another’s woe.
Though the images and sentiments of the song were not verystriking, Hildebrand listened to it with the deepest attention,and, as it progressed, with no little emotion. Yet it was not thesong--although, in its Spanish dress, it was well calculated towin and arrest the ear--but the singer, that moved him. His voicewas so soft, its range so comprehensive, and its full and variedcadences so exquisitely delivered, that it sank to his veryheart, and rapt him in wonder and admiration. He could hardlybelieve that the human voice was capable of such surpassingdelicacy of expression. Even when Don Rafaele had ceased singing,his delicious tones still rang in his ear, and his ample chest,as if unable to command itself, still heaved with emotion.Gradually he became more composed, but he did not speak, and heseemed, by his silence, and the deep lines of thought that markedhis brow, to be no way disposed to speak. Whatever it might bethat he meditated on, his reverie, far from dispersing, becamedeeper and more deep, and appeared to increase in gloom as itadvanced. His complexion grew pale and sad; his eyes, heavy; and,in the expression of his whole countenance, he revealed distinctand unquestionable traces of an uneasy mind.
After thus meditating for nearly half an hour, he seemed toarouse himself, and suddenly turned round to his companion.
Don Rafaele had fallen asleep.
“Fair, sweet youth!” said Hildebrand, in a low voice, as helooked on his lovely countenance, “this is a hard life forthee--and on me lies the blame. But I will be tender of thee.Albeit, in my thoughtless folly, I have unwittingly done wrong to_her_, she shall leave no charge on me concerning thee.”
So speaking, he caught the sleeping Spaniard in his arms, and,without loosening his clothes, raised him up, and carried him tohis berth. There, with a deep sigh, he laid him gently on thebed, and left him to his repose.
He now proposed to take an hour’s rest himself. His duties didnot debar him from this indulgence, as he had already, previousto leaving the galleon, made every arrangement that his shipand prize required. The command of the latter he had intrustedto Halyard, with a crew of forty men; and the watch of his ownship, during his stay below, was consigned to the able governanceof Tom Tarpaulin. Both ships were bound straight for England,and, though the “Eliza” was a far better sailer than the heavygalleon, were so navigated, with the help of fair weather, asto keep constantly in company. Thus associated, they arrived, inabout three weeks’ time, safe in the river Thames.