Thelight grew ever stronger behind the hurrying clouds, but the deep places in the forest held their shadows still. Tall cypress-trees reared their heads amid the hollows and spread their branches like a wide canopy over our heads; huge live-oaks crowned the hummocks; and here and there great laurels lifted their pyramids of glossy, dark-green foliage. Our passage was frequently obstructed by fallen logs, mossed over with the growth of years; and tangles of vine, tough-stemmed and supple, flung themselves from tree to tree across our path, resisting our advance. All through the forest's higher corridors howled the riotous wind; but along the tunneled ways we traveled it was scarce perceptible at times.
In spite of my fatigue I felt a greater strength rising within me. We had come so far without pursuit! I began to hope as I had never done before; for was not my dear love free, and my face also set toward friends?
As I mused thus we reached a higher level, and, through a rent in the stormy sky a shaft of morning sunlight glanced across my shoulderand plunged forward into the woods beyond. I looked back, startled, and for a brief moment saw the sun's golden disc; then a black cloud effaced it from the sky.
"Padre!" I cried, "we are travelling westward!"
"Yes," he said calmly.
"Westward!" I exclaimed again. "Westward—and inland! when the English settlement lies to the north of us, upon the coast!"
He bowed again in silent acquiescence. Then my indignation broke forth, and without stopping for further question I accused him bitterly of breach of trust.
"Did you not promise Doña Orosia to deliver me to my friends?" I cried.
"What cause have you to doubt my good faith?" he asked, turning his sombre eyes toward me, but still speaking in the same calm tones. "Had I a ship at San Augustin in which we could set sail? Or could such a ship have left the harbour unperceived? Not even a canoe could have been obtained there without danger of discovery. We have a long journey before us,—could we set out upon it unprovisioned?"
I hung my head, ashamed, of my doubts. Once it was not my nature to be suspicious; but so much of trouble had come to me of latethat I began to fear I would never again feel the same confidence in my fellow creatures, the same implicit trust in Heaven that I had held two years ago. I had never been a stranger to trouble; but, as a child, I knew it only as a formless cloud that cast its shadow sometimes on my path, dimming the sunlight for a moment and hushing the song upon my lips. Even when my mother died I was too young for more than a child's grief—an April shower of tears; and although my earliest maidenhood was often lonely, I had made me my own happiness with bright imaginings, and prayed God to bring them to pass. So I awaited my future always with a smile and never doubted that it would be fair. All that had gone by. Trouble had shown its face to me, and I knew it for something terrible and strong, ready to leap at my throat and crush life out of me. What wonder, then, that I walked fearfully from hour to hour?
Padre Felipe spoke again after a time. "The woods are thinning," he said. "A few more steps and we shall come out on the shores of the San Juan, near to a small village of the Yemassees, in which there are many whose eyes have been opened to the truth. There we shall find shelter from the storm, and means to pursue our journey when theclouds are past. Let us hasten; the bearers with the litter are far ahead."
He gave me his arm once more, and ere many minutes were past, we came in sight of the bold stream of the San Juan and the crowded huts of an Indian village.
The settlement did not appear to be near so large as that at Santa Catalina, nor did the buildings seem of as great size and commodiousness. The most imposing edifice I took to be the mission chapel, for before it was the great cross mounted aloft. It was circular in shape, with mud walls, and a thatched roof rising to an apex. There was a door in the side, of heavy planks battened strongly together; but I could perceive no windows, only a few very small square apertures, close under the eaves, for light and air.
The clouds were beginning to spill great drops upon our heads, so we quickened our steps into a run. The litter and its bearers had paused beside the door of the chapel, and from the neighbouring huts several Indians emerged and advanced to meet us. A young woman with a little copper-coloured babe strapped to her back, its tiny head just visible over her shoulder, peered at us from the low doorway of her mud-walled dwelling, but meeting my eyes, drew back hastily out of sight.
I was very weary, and Barbara, who had dismounted from the litter, seemed unable to stand. The padre was holding converse with those of his dark-skinned flock who had approached; so we two women crouched down under the chapel eaves and gazed around us at the wind-tossed, rain-blurred scene.
Before us was a thick grove of trees; to the left we could catch glimpses of the river, gray and angry like the sky, and all along its banks the huddled dwellings of the poor barbarians, whose ideals of architecture were no whit better than those of the wasp,—not near so complex as those of the ant and the bee.
Suddenly, while we waited there forlorn, my thoughts flew back to an English home, with its ivied walls, its turreted roof, its long façade of warm red brick. I saw green slopes, broad terraces, a generous portal, and a spacious hall; I thought of a room with an ample chimney set round with painted tiles, and I pictured myself kneeling upon the bearskin rug before a blazing fire, with my head upon my mother's knee and her fingers toying with my hair. For that moment I forgot even my dear love, and I would have given all the world just to be a little child at home.
The padre turned to us at last and motioned us to follow him. He led us to the rear of thechapel, where, plastered against the wall, was a semicircular excrescence,—a tiny cell, with a narrow door hewn from a single plank and fastened with a heavy padlock. Drawing forth a key from his belt he unlocked this and bade us enter. We did so, and he closed the door behind us.
Within, the hard earth floor was slightly raised and covered with mats of woven palmetto-leaves. A narrow chink in the wall admitted a faint ray of light, enabling us to perceive dimly the few objects which the room contained. Apparently it was Padre Felipe's sleeping apartment and the chapel vestry combined in one. There was a curtained doorway that gave access to the chapel itself; pushing aside the hangings, we could see the dim interior, empty except for the high altar set with tall candles, and a carven crucifix upon the wall.
As I caught sight of these emblems of a Christian faith I bethought me of the bloody sacrifices that had been offered to a pitiful God in the name of orthodoxy, and I wondered whether heretics like us would not be safer out in the wild woods and the driving storm—aye, even at the mercy of infidel barbarians; but suddenly I remembered the solid silver service which was to be the gift of Doña Orosiato this little new mission, and I took courage.
The rain was now pouring in torrents from the thatched roof, and the wind, which blew from the northeast, dashed it back against the mud walls of our refuge. I turned to Barbara and gave voice to an anxiety that for some time, had been growing within me.
"Dear dame," I said, "think you this storm is worse at sea?"
"Aye, my lamb,'tis from an ugly quarter; but theCarolinahas weathered harder blows, and haply she has found good anchorage in some safe harbour."
I tried to think the same; nevertheless, in the long hours that we sat there, listening to the heavy gusts and beating rain, my heart went faint at the possibility of this new danger to my beloved.
It must have been past noon when the padre came to us again. He brought food with him freshly cooked,—meat and fish, and broth of parched corn-flour, not unpleasant to the taste.
"The wind is abating," he declared, "and the clouds are breaking away. When the rain ceases we may venture to pursue our journey."
I begged to know how he purposed to conveyus, for neither Barbara nor I could go afoot much longer.
Then he laid his plans before us. This wide river, the San Juan, flowing by the settlement, continues northward for many miles and then curves eastward and empties itself into the sea. We were to start in two swift canoes—piraguas, he styled them—and, keeping at first under the lee of the shore, follow the river to its mouth, then proceed up the coast along the safe passage afforded by an outlying chain of islands. It would be a journey of about ten days to the Indian settlement at Santa Helena; the Indians there, he explained, were allies of our English friends and would doubtless aid us to rejoin them.
I asked if we must pass by Santa Catalina; and he said 'twas on our way, but no one there would hinder us while we were under his protection.
"Unless," he added, "the Governor of San Augustin sends out a ship to intercept us there, or anywhere upon the way; in which case there will be naught for me to do but give you up to him."
Upon that I was in a fever to be gone; for I felt that the day could not pass by without Melinza's discovering my flight, and I would endure any hardship rather than risk his intercepting us.
Itwas not until the rain-clouds had all passed by that the padre chose to embark. The wind was still high, and our frail canoes were roughly cradled on the river's turbulent bosom.
Padre Felipe, Barbara, and I, with two Indians, filled the smaller of the two piraguas; the other held five Indians and a store of provisions for the journey.
The afternoon sky was naught but windy gloom; white clouds rolled over us in billowy folds, and tattered scarves of mist trailed lower still and seemed almost to snare their fringes on the topmost branches of the forest. Close under the protecting river-bank sped our light canoes, cutting their way through the gray waters. The dark-skinned crews bent to the paddle silently, with corded muscles tightening in their lean brown arms, and still, impassive faces fixed upon the seething current or the swiftly flying shores.
The gloom deepened slowly with the coming of the night. The waters darkened, the dun forest became black and vague. At last,to my eyes, it seemed that the sailing shadows in the sky, the inky, swirling stream, and the mysterious shores blended in one all-pervading impenetrable midnight. I could not realize that we were moving; it seemed, rather, that we alone were still, while over us and around us the spirits of the night flew past. I felt the wind of unseen wings lifting my hair; I heard the splash and gurgle of strange creatures swimming by. With my hands close locked on Barbara's arm, and wide eyes staring into nothingness, I waited for some human sound to break the palpitating silence.
Finally the padre spoke. He asked some question in the Indian tongue. One of the rowers grunted in reply, and there was a sudden cessation of the rapid paddle-strokes. Then a signal was given to the other canoe, and after some further discussion I felt that we approached the shore. There was a scraping, jarring sound, followed by the soft trampling of feet upon a marshy bank; and then a hand drew me up and guided me to land.
"The tide is running too strongly against us," explained the voice of Padre Felipe. "We will rest an hour or two and wait for it to turn."
They kindled a fire somehow and spreada blanket upon the damp ground. I remember that Barbara and I stretched ourselves upon it and I laid my head against the dame's shoulder,—then weariness overcame me.
It seemed the very next moment that I was roused; but the fire was out, and in the sky glimmered a few dim stars. There was a strange calm reigning as we re-embarked; for the wind had died and the whole aspect of the night had changed. All around us a faintly luminous sky lifted itself above the dense horizon line, and the broad bosom of the river paled to the hue of molten lead. Still brighter grew the heavens; the thin clouds drew aside, and the crescent of a waning moon spilled glory over us. And now our dark piraguas sped over the surface of a silver stream, and every paddle-blade dripped diamonds.
It is a noble river, this San Juan, with its broad sweeps and curves. At times it widens to a lake, and again thrusts itself into the shores as though its waters filled the print of some giant hand that in ages past had rested heavily with outspread fingers on the yielding soil. Aided by the strong current we glided on as swiftly as the passing hours. Our faces were set eastward now, and I waited, breathless, for the day to wake.
There was a slow parting of the filmy skies, as though Dawn's rosy fingers brushed aside the curtains of her couch; then came a gleam of golden hair that slid across her downy pillows. A long-drawn sigh shivered across the silent world, and with a sudden dazzlement we saw—
—"the opening eyelids of the Morn."
From the southwest a fresh wind arose and swept clean the blue heavens; and, with the early sunbeams sparkling on the ripples of the tide, the canoes darted on toward the river's mouth. A heron flew up from the marshes suddenly, and sailed over our heads on its strong white wings. As I watched it dip out of sight in the river far beyond us I caught sight of another gleaming wing that slowly unfurled itself toward the sky.
Touching the padre's arm, I pointed to it.
"A sail!" he said.
Our canoes quickly sought the curve of the shore and crept with caution toward the unknown vessel.
"It can scarcely be the Habana ship," murmured the padre, "for theVirgen de la Marwas at anchor in the harbour when we left San Augustin, and ere morning the storm had risen, so she would hardly have ventured forth to sea."
"There are other vessels carrying sail thatply between the fort and these coast islands. We came from Santa Catalina aboard one of them," I whispered.
"Yes," said the padre, "but this is too large." He paused for some moments, and then added: "Do you see the long, straight lines of her hull, and the square stern? This is no Spanish galley, but a frigate of English build."
"'Tis theCarolina!" I exclaimed, "'tis theCarolina!"
"Oh! the blessed, blessed English ship!" sobbed the good dame.
Then all energies were bent to reach her, for it was plain that she was making ready to leave her anchorage.
"If we could only signal to those on board!" I cried. "Loose your neck-kerchief, Barbara, and wave it—wave it in the sunlight!"
"We are too close to the shore," the padre said. "She can scarce distinguish us until we strike out into the open."
"But how plainly we can perceive her crew! And see the stir upon the decks—are they not drawing up the anchor? Oh, Padre Felipe!" I cried piteously, "wave to them! signal them! or they will leave us after all!"
The friar rose carefully to his feet; he, too, was heartily glad of this chance to be rid ofhis charges, and in no mind to let it slip by. With Barbara's white kerchief in his hand he was about to make another effort to attract the notice of theCarolina, when suddenly he glanced over his shoulder toward the land, his hand fell quickly to his side, and he dropped back into his seat with an exclamation of dismay.
One of the Indians rose immediately, and with shaded eyes gazed along the beach as it stretched away southward to San Augustin. He gave a grunt of acquiescence and sat down, and the motion of the paddles ceased.
"What have you seen?" I cried in agony, struggling also to my feet.
We were so near the river's mouth—almost upon the blue waves of the ocean rolling out to the shining east! Under the lee of the northern shore lay the English ship; and south of us the coast spun out its gleaming line of sandy beach away, away back to the prison we had left. But what were those dark forms that swarmed the sands?
"We are too late!" muttered the Spanish friar. "Discovering your flight, they have not waited for calm weather to follow in a swift sailing-vessel, as I had thought they would, but have sent out a search-party afoot to overtake you at the outset."
"But we must reach theCarolinabefore they arrive, Padre!"
"It can be done, easy enough," he answered, "but what shall I and my followers do if we are seen? Girl, I have too much at stake! I choose not to incur the Governor's anger. 'Tis not likely that they connect us with your disappearance, for Doña Orosia swore to shield me in the matter. I have done all I could. It is thus far and no farther. But you may yet escape; 'tis only a little distance to the ship; take up the paddles and make your way thither."
As he spoke he stepped from our canoe to the larger one which had closed up with us, and the two Indians followed him.
"Padre! oh, Padre! Do not leave me, do not desert me!"
They paid no heed to my appeal save to give a mighty shove to our canoe that sent it out toward midstream; then, seizing their paddles, with swift strokes they sent their own piragua speeding up the river.
It had all passed so quickly—so suddenly our hopes had been destroyed! Barbara and I had been thrown forward by the impetus given to our frail boat, and we cowered down in silence for a moment. The current was still bearing us outward; but every secondour motion slackened: we would never reach the ship without some effort on our part.
I seized a paddle and worked vigorously; but the light boat only swung round and round.
"Barbara!" I cried, "take the other paddle and work with me. I can do nothing all alone!"
The dame obeyed me, sobbing and praying under her breath; but we made sorry work of it.
I looked shoreward and could see our pursuers drawing closer and closer; they had not yet perceived us, but in a moment more they could not fail to do so. As they drew still nearer, riding on his dappled gray in the midst of them, I recognized Melinza! With him were a troop of Spanish soldiers—I saw the sunlight flashing on their arms—and some twenty half-naked Indians, who might so easily swim out and drag us back to land!
"They see us! Mistress Margaret, they see us!" shouted Barbara.
"Oh! not yet, dame, not yet!" I groaned, plying the paddle wildly.
"The English, my lamb—the English see us! Look you, they are putting put a boat from the ship!"
It was true; but ere I could utter a "ThankGod!" a yell from the shore told us that those fiends had seen us also. Barbara would have dropped her paddle in despair, but I ordered her sternly to make what play she could. As for me, I dipped my blade now on one side, now on the other; the trick of it had come to me like an inspiration; my fingers tightened their hold, and my arms worked with the strength born of a great terror.
"NEARER CAME THE LONG BOAT, YET NEARER WAS THE FOREMOST SWIMMER."—Page 162.
Our pursuers had reached the river-shore, and a swarm of dark forms now threw themselves into the stream. But the long-boat from the frigate came toward us rapidly; I saw white English faces and heard shouts of encouragement in my mother tongue.
Then a volley of musketry rang out from the land. Instantly, the frigate made response; her heavy guns thundered forth, and the white smoke wreathed her like a cloud. But all the shots were falling short.
Nearer came the long-boat, yet nearer was the foremost swimmer. I saw his brown arms cleaving the clear tide, I saw the white eyeballs gleaming in his dark face. Friends and foes were now so close together that from the shore it was impossible to distinguish them; so the shots had ceased, and in their place rang out wild curses and savage yells. A sinewy brown hand rose from the water and seized the edgeof our frail canoe, tilting it far over. The sudden jerk destroyed my balance, and in a moment I felt the waters close over my head.
Strong hands grasped me as I rose again and I battled fiercely; for I thought the Indian had me in his hold, and I chose rather, to die. But my weak strength was overcome, and I was lifted—aye, thank God!—lifted into the English boat, and Master Collins wiped the water from my face.
I saw them drag the dame in also, and then I closed my eyes. I did not faint,—never in all my life had I been so very much alive; but the sunlight and the blue sky were too bright for me.
I cannot tell much of what followed. There were a few more shots, and one of the English sailors dropped his oar and held up a bleeding hand. I sought my kerchief to bind it up for him, but I could not find it. And then, I looked up and saw theCarolinaclose beside us. A ringing cheer went up to heaven, and kind hands raised me to the deck. The sunburnt face of Captain Brayne bent over me, and there were tears in his honest eyes.
Therewere other women on the ship, and one of them came forward and led me away to her cabin and aided me to rid myself of my drenched garments, lending me others in their stead. I learned from her that theCarolinahad come direct from Barbadoes, bearing freight and some very few passengers,—the noise of our treatment at the Spaniards' hands deterring many who would else have ventured to throw in their lot with the young colony. Captain Brayne bore also the duplicate of the orders of the Spanish Council—which had been forwarded from England to Barbadoes; and he had been instructed by their Lordships the Proprietors, to stop at San Augustin and demand the prisoners.
All this my new friend told me during her kindly ministrations. She asked, also, many questions concerning my escape and the treatment I had received during our long captivity; but I was too exhausted to answer these at length, and begged that I might be left awhile to rest. She went away then, to get me a soothingpotion from the ship's surgeon; and I made haste to unwrap the little packet that had lain hidden in my bosom, in which was the written story of my prison life. As I smoothed out the damp pages I thought of how I would place it in my dear love's hand and leave him to read all that my tongue could never say to him!
I slept for some hours and woke refreshed. Then came a message from the captain, asking if I would see him. I was eager to be out, for many reasons, the chief being my desire to see him from whom I had been so long parted; it was his face I sought first among the many familiar ones that crowded round me. Besides Captain Brayne I recognized other officers of theCarolinaas the same with whom I had sailed from the Downs nearly two years ago. All my fellow prisoners—save one—greeted me joyfully and kindly. But that one missing face—where was it?
It was on my tongue to ask for Mr. Rivers; then, of a sudden, it came over mehowwe had parted. So! and he still believed me—that thing which I had shown myself. He had nursed his doubts for two whole days and nights, and now he would not even come forward to touch my hand and wish me joy of my escape. It seemed to me I caught glancesof pity passing between one and another of the lookers-on. Did they wait to see how Margaret Tudor would bear her lover's apathy? A jilted maid!
There was a mist before my eyes; but I smiled and said little gracious words of thanks to each and all of them, and wished in my heart that I was dead. Oh, my love! whatever doubts you may have had of me were paid back that cruel moment in full measure. I recalled some of the hard speeches I had heard from the embittered Spanish woman, and I thought within myself, All men are made after the same pattern!
Captain Brayne and Master Collins and good old Captain Baulk of theThree Brothershad been in earnest conversation for some moments; and now theCarolina'scommander came to me and took me gently by the hand, leading me aside.
"Mistress Margaret," he said, "there is one aboard this ship to whom your coming may mean life instead of death. He is very ill,—so ill that we despaired of him till now,—and one name is ever on his lips. Are you too weak and unstrung, my dear young lady, to go with me to his sick bed?"
That was how the truth came to me. I cannot write of what I felt.
"Take me to him," I said.
He lay in his berth; his large eyes were alight with fever, and he was talking ceaselessly, now in broken whispers, now with a proud defiance in his husky tones.
"God knows what the devils did to him," murmured Henry Brayne. "He was once a proper figure of a man; but starvation and ill usage have worn him to a shadow!"
Aye, but a shadow with a gnawing sorrow at its heart.
"You may taunt me, Señor de Melinza," whispered the broken voice, "you may taunt me with my helplessness. I may not break these bonds, it is true; but neither can you sever those that bind to me the love of a true-hearted English maid.... That is a foul lie, Don Pedro, and I cast it back into your teeth!... Strike a helpless prisoner? Do so, and you add but another black deed to the long score that stands against the name of Spaniard. Some day the reckoning will come, señor—I dare stake my soul on that!... I'll not believe it; no! not upon your oath, Don Pedro!... Margaret, Margaret! Tell him he lies, dear lady!... In God's name, speak, sweetheart!" And though I knelt beside him, and called his name again and again, he was deaf to my voice and put me by with feeble hands,crying ever: "Margaret! Margaret!" till I thought my heart would break.
Oh! the terror of this new jailer—dread Disease—that held him in its grip while Death lurked grimly in the background! For no wiles or blandishments of mine could move them or loose their hold upon the life most dear to me. When there was but man to deal with, my faith failed me and I ceased praying; now it was my punishment that only God's mercy could set my dear love free,—and it might be his pleasure to loose him in another world and leave me still on earth to mourn his loss.
As, hour after hour, I listened to his ravings, a deeper understanding of the horrors of his long captivity began to grow upon me. I could scarce forbear crying out when I thought how I had touched the hand of that vile Spaniard, and listened, smiling, when he spoke of love to me.
How terrible a thing is hatred! Heaven pardon me, but I think there is somewhat of it in my heart. Yet, now that the fever is abating, and my beloved is coming back to me from the very brink of the grave, I do pray that I may forgive mine enemy, even as God in His clemency has pardoned me!
He knows me at last. It was some hours ago. I was bending over him, and a light of recognition dawned in his eyes.
"Margaret!Margaret!is ityou? I dreamed just now——that——that you were untrue to me!"
"Did you so, dear love?" I answered. "Forget it then, and rest; for now the fever and the dreams are past."
He smiled at me and fell asleep like a little child.
In the long hours that I have watched beside him I have written these last pages of my story; and some time, when he is awake and strong enough to bear the truth, I will put them all into his hand and leave him here alone. And I think, when he has read them through to the end, he will discern—between the lines—more of my heart than I have words to tell.