"So then," said M. de Fontenay, "you insist on keeping your secret?"
"If you absolutely demand, sir," Montbart replied, "I will—"
"No, no," he interrupted him with a laugh; "keep it, for I do not know what to do with it; besides, I have pretty nearly guessed your secret."
"Ah," Montbarts said with an air of incredulity.
"Confound it, I am greatly mistaken or you mean to make some attempt on St. Domingo."
The adventurer only answered by a crafty smile, and took leave of the governor, who rubbed his hands joyously, for he was persuaded that he had guessed the secret which it was attempted to conceal from him. An hour later the three vessels raised their anchors, set sail, and went off after giving a parting salute to the land, which was immediately answered by the battery at the point.
They soon became confounded with the white mist on the horizon, and ere long disappeared.
"Well," M. de Fontenay said to his officers as he returned to the government house, "you will see that I am not mistaken, and that this demon of a Montbarts really has a design on St. Domingo. Lord help the Spaniards!"
We will leave the filibustering flotilla steering through the inextricable labyrinth of the Antilles, and transport ourselves to St. Domingo, as the French call it, Hispaniola as Columbus christened it, or Haiti as the Caribs, its first and only true owners, called it.
And when we speak of the Caribs, we mean the black as well as the red, for it is a singular fact, of which many persons are ignorant, that some Caribs were black, and so thoroughly resembled the African race, that when the French planters settled at St. Vincent, and brought with them Negro slaves, the black Caribs, indignant at resembling men degraded by slavery, and fearful too lest at a later date their color might serve as a pretext to make them endure the same fate, fled into the wildest recesses of the forest, and in order to create a visible distinction between their race and the slaves brought to the island, they compressed the foreheads of their new born infants, so that they became completely flattened, which in the ensuing generation produced, as it were, a new race, and afterwards became the symbol of their independence.
Before resuming our narrative, we ask the reader's permission to indulge in a little geography: as many of the incidents of the history of filibustering will take place at St. Domingo; it is indispensable that this island should be well known.
St. Domingo, discovered on December 6, 1492, by Christopher Columbus, is, by the general verdict, the most lovely of all the Antilles. From the centre of the island rises a group of mountains, springing one from the other, from which issue three chains, running in three different directions. The longest stretches to the west, and passes through the middle of the island, dividing it into two nearly equal parts. The second chain runs north, and ends at Cape Fou. The third, less extensive than the preceding, at first follows the same direction, but ere long taking a curve to the south, terminates in Cape St. Mark.
In the interior of the island there are several other mountain ranges, though much less considerable. The result of this multiplicity of mountains is that communication, especially at the time when our story is laid, was excessively difficult between the north and south of the isle.
At the foot of all these mountains are immense plains covered with a luxurious vegetation; the mountains are intersected by ravines, which keep up a constant and beneficent humidity; they contain different metals, in addition to rock crystal, coal, sulphur, and quarries of porphyry, slate and marble, and are covered with forests of bananas, palms and mimosas of every species.
Although the rivers are numerous, the largest are unfortunately scarcely navigable, and cannot be ascended by canoes for more than a few leagues; the principal ones are the Neyva, the Macoris, the Usaque, or river of Montecristo, the Ozama, the Juna and the Artibonite, the most extensive of all.
Seen from the offing, the appearances of this island is enchanting; it resembles an immense bouquet of flowers rising from the bosom of the sea.
We are not going to write the history of the colony of St. Domingo, but will merely say that this island so rich and fertile had, through the carelessness, cruelty and avarice of the Spaniards, fallen, one hundred and fifty years after its discovery, into such a state of wretchedness and misery, that the Spanish Government was compelled to send to this colony, which became not only unproductive but burdensome, funds to pay the troops and officials.
While St. Domingo was thus slowly decaying, new colonists, brought by accident, established themselves on the north west of the island, and took possession of it, in spite of the resistance and opposition of the Spaniards.
These new colonists were French adventurers, most of them expelled from St. Christopher on the descent of Admiral de Toledo on that colony, and who were wandering about the Antilles in search of a refuge.
At the period of the discovery, the first Spaniards had left on the island some forty head of cattle; these animals, restored to liberty, rapidly multiplied and traversed the savannahs of the interior in immense herds; the French adventurers, on their arrival, did not dream of cultivating the soil, but, seduced by the attractions of a perilous chase, they occupied themselves exclusively in pursuing the bulls and the wild boars, which were also very numerous and extremely formidable.
The sole occupation of these adventurers then was the chase; they preserved the hides of cattle and dried the meat by smoke in the Indian fashion. Hence comes the name of buccaneers, for the Caribs gave the name ofboucansto the spot where they smoked the flesh of the prisoners taken in war, and whom they ate after fattening them.
We shall soon have occasion to return to this subject and enter into fuller details about these singular men.
Still, in spite of their love of independence, these adventurers had understood the necessity of creating outlets for the sale of their hides. Hence they established several counters at Port Margot and Port de la Paix, which they regarded as the capital of their establishments; but their position was most precarious owing to the proximity of the Spaniards, who had hitherto been sole masters of the island, and would not consent to have them as such near neighbours; hence they constantly waged a savage war, which was the more cruel because quarter was not granted on either side.
Such was the situation of St. Domingo at the time when we resume our narrative, about a fortnight after the departure of the filibustering fleet from St. Kitts under the command of Montbarts the Exterminator.
The sun, already low on the horizon, was enormously lengthening the shadows of the trees, the evening breeze was rising, gently agitating the leaves and tall grass, when a man mounted on a powerful horse, and wearing the costume of the Spanish Campesinos, followed a scarce traced path which wound through the centre of a vast plain covered with magnificent plantations of sugar cane and coffee, and led to an elegant hatto, whose pretty mirador commanded the country for a long distance.
This man appeared to be five and twenty years of age at the most; his features were handsome, but imprinted with an expression of insupportable pride and disdain; his very simple dress was only relieved by a long rapier, whose hilt of carved silver hung on his left hip and showed him to be a gentleman, as the nobility alone had the right to wear a sword.
Four black slaves, half naked, and whose bodies glistened with perspiration, ran behind his horse, one carrying a richly damascened fusil, the second a game bag, and the two others a dead boar, whose tied feet were resting on a bamboo supported by the shoulders of the poor fellows.
But the rider seemed to trouble himself but little about his companions, or rather his slaves, toward whom he did not deign to turn his head, even when speaking to them, which he did sometimes to ask them for directions in a harsh and contemptuous voice.
He held in his band an embroidered handkerchief, with which he wiped away every moment the perspiration that inundated his forehead, and looked savagely around him, while urging his horse with the spur, to the great sorrow of the slaves who were forced to double their efforts to follow him.
"Well," he at length asked in an ill-tempered tone, "shall we never arrive at this accursed hatto?"
"In half an hour at the furthest,mi amo," a Negro answered respectfully, "there is the mirador over there."
"What a deuce of a notion it was of my sister, to come and bury herself in this frightful hole instead of remaining quietly at her palace in St. Domingo. Women are mad, on my honour," he grumbled between his teeth.
And he spiced this most ungallant observation by furiously digging the spurs into his horse, which started at a gallop.
Still, he was rapidly approaching the hatto, all the details of which it was already easy to distinguish.
It was a pretty and rather large mansion with a terraced roof, surmounted by a mirador and with a peristyle in front formed by four columns supporting a verandah.
A thick hedge surrounded the house, which could only be reached by crossing a large garden; behind were the corrals to shut in the beasts, and the cottages of the Negroes, miserable, low and half ruined huts, built of clumsily intertwined branches and covered with palm leaves.
This hatto, tranquil and solitary, in the midst of this plain of luxuriant vegetation, and half concealed by the trees that formed a screen of foliage, had a really enchanting aspect, which, however, did not seem to produce on the traveller's mind any other effect but that of profound weariness and lively annoyance.
The arrival of the stranger had doubtless been signalled by the sentry stationed on the mirador to watch the surrounding country, for a horseman emerged at a gallop from the hatto, and came toward the small party composed of the gentleman we have described and the four slaves who still ran behind him, displaying their white, sharp teeth, and blowing like grampuses.
The newcomer was a man of short stature, but his wide shoulders and solid limbs denoted far from common muscular strength, he was about forty years of age, his features were harsh and marked, and the expression of his countenance was sombre and crafty. A broad-brimmed straw hat nearly concealed his face, a cloak called a poncho, made of one piece, and with a hole in the middle to pass his head through, covered his shoulders; the hilt of a long knife peeped out of his right boot, a sabre hung on his left side, and a long fusil was lying across the front of his saddle. When he arrived within a few paces of the gentleman, he stopped his horse short on its hind legs, uncovered, and bowed respectfully.
"Santas tardes, Señor Don Sancho," he said in an obsequious voice.
"Ah, ah! It is you, Birbomono," the young man said, as he carelessly touched his hat; "what the deuce are you doing here? I fancied you were hung long ago."
"Your Excellency is jesting," the other replied, with an ill-tempered grimace, "I am the Señora's Major-domo."
"I compliment her on it, and you, too."
"The Señora was very anxious about your Excellency, and I was preparing, by her orders, to make a battue in the neighbourhood. She will be delighted to see you arrive without misadventure."
"What misadventure?" the young man said, as he loosened his rein; "What do you mean, scamp? And what had I to fear on the roads?"
"Your Excellency cannot be ignorant that the ladrones infest the savannahs."
The young man burst into a laugh.
"The ladrones! What a pleasant story you are telling me, too; come, run and announce my arrival to my sister, without further chattering."
The Major-domo did not let the order be repeated, but bowed, and set off at a gallop.
Ten minutes later, Don Sancho dismounted in front of the peristyle of the hatto, where a young lady of rare beauty, but cadaverous pallor, and who appeared hardly able to keep up, as she was so weak and ill, was awaiting his arrival.
This lady was the sister of Señor Don Sancho, and the owner of the hatto.
The two young people embraced each other for a long while without exchanging a word, and then Don Sancho offered his arm to his sister, and entered the house with her, leaving the Major-domo to look after his horse and baggage.
The young gentleman led his sister to an easy chair, fetched one for himself, rolled it up to her side, and sat down.
"At last," she said a moment later, in an affectionate voice, as she took one of the young man's hands in her own, "I see you again, brother; you are here, near me—how glad I am to see you."
"My dear Clara," Don Sancho replied, as he kissed her forehead, "we have been separated for nearly a year."
"Alas!" she murmured.
"And during that year many things have doubtless happened, of which you will inform me?"
"Alas! My life during this year may be summed up in two words—I have suffered."
"Poor sister, how changed you are in so little time, I could hardly recognize you; I came to St. Domingo with such joy, and no sooner had I landed than I went to your palace; your husband, who has not altered, and whom I found as heavy and silent as usual, with an increased dose of importance, doubtless the result of his high position, told me that you were not very well, and that the physicians had ordered you country air."
"It is true," she said, with a sad smile.
"Yes; but I fancied you merely indisposed, and I find you dying."
"Let us not talk of that, Sancho, I implore you; what matter if I am ill? Did you receive my letter?"
"Had I not, should I be here? Two hours after its receipt I set out; for three days," he continued with a smile, "I have been going uphill and down dale, along frightful roads, to reach you the sooner."
"Thanks, oh thanks, Sancho; your presence renders me very happy—you will remain for a while with me, will you not?"
"As long as you like, dear sister, for I am a free man."
"Free!" she repeated, looking at him with an air of amazement.
"Well, yes; his Excellency, the Duc de Peñaflor, my illustrious father and yours, the Viceroy of New Spain, has deigned to grant me an unlimited leave."
At her father's name a slight shudder ran over the young lady's person, and her eyes became dimmed with tears.
"Ah," she said, "my father is well?"
"Better than ever."
"And has he spoken about me?"
The young man bit his lips.
"He spoke to me about you very little," he said; "but I in revenge, said a good deal about you, which re-established the balance: I even believe that he granted me the leave I asked in great measure to free himself from my chattering."
Doña Clara hung her head without replying, and her brother fixed upon her a glance full of tender pity.
"Let us talk about yourself," he said.
"No, no, Sancho; we had better talk abouthim." she replied hesitatingly.
"Ofhim!" he said in a hollow voice, and with a groan; "Alas, poor sister, what can I tell you? All my efforts have been vain; I have discovered nothing."
"Yes, yes;" she murmured, "his measures were well taken to make him disappear. Oh, Heaven! Heaven!" she exclaimed, clasping her hands wildly, "Will you not take pity on me?"
"Calm yourself, I implore you, sister; I will see, I will seek—I will redouble my efforts, and perhaps I shall at length succeed—"
"No," she interrupted him, "never, never shall we be able to effect anything; he is condemned, condemned by my father; that implacable man will never restore him to me! Oh! I know my father better than you do; you are a man, Sancho, you can try to struggle against him, but he has crushed me, crushed me at a single blow; he broke my heart by a deadly pressure in making me the innocent accomplice of an infernal vengeance! Then he coldly reproached me with a dishonour which is his work, and at the same blow eternally destroyed the happiness of three beings who would have loved him, and whose future he held in his hands."
"And you, my dear Clara, do you know nothing—have you discovered nothing?"
"Yes," she replied, looking at him fixedly, "I have made a horrible discovery."
"You terrify me, Clara; what do you mean? Explain yourself."
"Not at present, my dear Sancho, not at present, for the time has not arrived; so be patient. You know that I never had any secrets from you, for you alone have always loved me. I wrote to you to come that I might reveal this secret to you: in three days at the latest you shall know all, and then—"
"Then?" he said, looking at her intently.
"Then you shall measure, as I do, the immense depth of the gulf into which I have fallen; but enough of this subject for the present, I am suffering terribly, so let us talk of something else."
"Most willingly, my dear Clara; but what shall we talk about?"
"Well, whatever you like, dear, the rain, the fine weather, your journey, or anything of that sort."
Don Sancho understood that his sister was suffering from extreme nervous excitement, and that he would aggravate her already very serious condition by not acceding to her wishes; hence he made no objection, but readily yielded to her caprice.
"Well then," he said, "my dear Clara, since that is the case, I will take advantage of the opportunity to ask you to give me some information."
"What is it brother? I live in great seclusion as you see, and doubt whether I can satisfy you, but speak all the same."
"You know, little sister, that I am a stranger in Hispaniola, where I only arrived four days ago, and then for the first time."
"That is true; you have never visited the island; what do you think of it?"
"It is frightful, that is to say admirable; frightful as regards roads, and admirable for scenery: you see that my proposition is not so illogical as it at first appeared."
"In truth the roads are not convenient."
"Say that there are none, and you will tell the truth.";
"You are severe."
"No, I am only just; if you had seen what magnificent roads we possess in Mexico, you would be of my opinion; but that is not the point at present."
"What is it then?"
"Why, the information I want of you."
"Ah, that is true, I forgot it; but explain yourself, I am listening."
"This is it. Just imagine when I embarked at Veracruz to come here, all the persons to whom I announced my departure invariably answered me with a desperate agreement:—'Ah! you are going to Hispaniola, Señor Don Sancho de Peñaflor, hum, hum, take care.' On board the vessel I constantly heard the officers muttering among themselves 'keep a good watch, take care.' At last I reached St. Domingo; my first care was, as I told you, to go to the Count de Bejar, your husband, who received me as kindly as he is capable of doing; but when I announced my intention of coming to join you here, he frowned, and his first words were 'the deuce, Don Sancho, you want to go to the hatto, take care, take care.' It was enough to drive me mad; this sinister warning which everywhere and at all hours echoed in my ears infuriated me. I did not try to obtain any explanation from your husband, as I should not have succeeded; but I inwardly resolved to get to the bottom of this ill-omened phrase so soon as the opportunity presented itself. It did present itself soon, but I am no further advanced than I was before, and hence apply to you to solve the riddle."
"But I am waiting for your explanation, for I confess that up to the present I have not understood a word you have been saying."
"Very good, let me finish. I had scarce set out with the slaves your husband lent me, when I saw the scamps constantly turn their heads to the right and left, with a look of terror. At first I attached no great importance to this; but they ran away on seeing a magnificent wild boar. I felt a fancy to shoot it, which I did by the way, and have brought it here. When these unlucky Negroes saw me cock my fusil they fell at my knees, clasping their hands with terror, and exclaiming in a most lamentable voice,—'Take care, Excellency, take care!' 'What must I take care of, you scoundrels?' I exclaimed in exasperation. 'Theladrones, Excellency, theladrones!' I could obtain no other explanation from them but this; but I hope, little sister, that you will be kind enough to tell me who these formidable ladrones are."
He bent over her; but Doña Clara, with her eyes widely dilated, her arms stretched out and her features distorted, fixed upon him such an extraordinary look, that he recoiled in horror.
"The ladrones, the ladrones!" she twice repeated in a shrill voice; "Oh! have pity, brother."
She rose to her full height, advanced a few paces mechanically, and fell fainting on the floor.
"What is the meaning of this?" the young man asked himself, as he rushed forward to raise her.
Don Sancho, feeling very anxious about the state in which he saw his sister, hastily summoned her women who at once flocked around her. He confided her to their care, and retired to the apartment prepared for him, while ordering that he should be immediately warned so soon as Doña Clara displayed any signs of recovery.
Don Sancho de Peñaflor was a charming cavalier, gay, merry, enjoying life and repulsing with the egotism of his age and rank, every grief and even every annoyance.
Belonging to one of the first families of the Spanish aristocracy, destined to be one day immensely rich, and through his name to hold the highest offices and make one of those magnificent marriages of convenience, which render diplomatists so happy, by leaving their minds perfectly free for grand political combinations,—he strove, as far as lay in his power, to check the beating of his heart, and not to trouble by any unusual passion, the bright serenity of his existence. Captain in the army, while awaiting something better, and to have the air of doing something, he had followed his father as aide-de-camp to Mexico, when the latter was appointed viceroy of New Spain. But, being yet too young to regard life seriously and be ambitious, he had turned his attention to gambling and flirtations since his arrival in America, which greatly annoyed the Duke, for as the latter had passed the age of love, he had no mercy for young men sacrificing to the idol which he had himself worshipped for so long.
Don Sancho was generally an excellent hearted fellow and good companion, but affected, like all the Spaniards of that period, and perhaps of the present, by caste prejudices, regarding the Negroes and Indians as beasts of burden, created for his use, and disdaining to conceal the contempt and disgust he felt for these disinherited races.
In a word, Don Sancho, in accordance with the precept of his family, always looked above him and never below; he endured his equals, but established an impassable barrier of pride and disdain between himself and his inferiors.
Still, perhaps unconsciously,—for we will not give him the merit of it,—a tender feeling had glided into the cold atmosphere in which he was condemned to live, had penetrated to his heart, and at times threatened to overthrow all his transcendental theories about egotism.
This feeling was nothing else than the affection he felt for his sister,—an affection which might pass for adoration, for it was so truly devoted, respectful and disinterested; to please his sister he would have attempted impossibilities; a simple word that fell from her lips rendered him pliant and obedient as a slave; a desire she manifested became at once an order for him as serious, and perhaps more so, than if it had emanated from the King of Spain and the Indies, although that magnificent potentate haughtily flattered himself that the sun never set on his dominions.
The first words the Count uttered so soon as he found himself alone in his apartment, will show his character better than anything we can add.
"Well," he exclaimed as he sank despairingly into an easy chair, "instead of passing a few days agreeably here as I expected, I shall be obliged to listen to Clara's complaints and console her; the deuce take unhappy people, it really seems as if they had made agreement to trouble my tranquillity."
At the expiration of about three-quarters of an hour, a black slave came to inform him that Doña Clara had regained her senses, but still felt so weak and faint, that she begged him to refrain from seeing her that evening.
The young man was in his heart well pleased at the liberty granted him by his sister, and which dispensed him from recurring to a conversation which possessed no charm for him.
"Very good," he said to the slave, "give my respects to my sister, and order my supper to be served here; you will at the same time request the Major-domo to come to me as I want to speak to him. Begone!"
The slave went out and left him alone.
The young Count then threw himself back in his chair, stretched out his legs and plunged, not into any reverie, but into that state of somnolency which is neither waking or sleeping, during which the mind seems to wander in unknown regions, and which the Spaniards call a siesta.
While he was in this state, the slaves laid the table, being careful not to disturb him, and covered it with exquisite dishes.
But soon the steam of the dishes placed before him recalled the young man to the reality, he drew himself up and seated himself at the table.
"Why has not the Major-domo come," he asked, "have you neglected to tell him?"
"Pardon, Excellency, but the Major-domo is absent at this moment," a slave respectfully answered.
"Absent—for what motive?"
"He is paying his usual evening visit to the grounds, but will soon return; if your Excellency will be good enough to have a little patience, you will soon see him."
"Very good, although I do not understand the urgency of this visit. There are no wild beasts here, I suppose?"
"No, Excellency, thank heaven!"
"Then, what is the meaning of these precautions?"
"They are meant to guard the house from the attacks of the ladrones, Excellency."
"The ladrones again," he exclaimed, bounding from his seat, "why, it must be a wager! Everybody seems to have agreed to mystify me, heaven forgive me."
At this moment spurs could be heard clattering outside the room.
"Here is the Major-domo, Excellency," one of the Negroes said.
"That is lucky, let him come in."
Birbomono appeared, took off his hat, bowed respectfully to the Count, and waited to be addressed.
"Confound it," the young man said to him, "I asked for you an hour or more ago."
"I am in despair at it, Excellency, but I was only told of it this very instant."
"I know, I know. Have you dined?"
"Not yet, Excellency."
"Well then, seat yourself there, opposite to me."
The Major-domo who knew the Count's haughty character, hesitated; he did not at all understand the condescension on his part.
"Sit down, I say," the young man replied; "we are in the country, so it is of no consequence; besides, I want to talk with you."
The Major-domo then took the place pointed out to him, without further pressing.
The meal was short—for the Count ate without uttering a single word; when it was ended, he thrust away his plate, drank a glass of water after the Spanish fashion, lit an excellent cigar and gave another to the Major-domo.
"Smoke, I permit it," he said.
Birbomono gratefully accepted; but feeling more and more astonished, he could not refrain from asking himself mentally, what important motive his young master could have for treating him so condescendingly. When the table was cleared and the slaves had withdrawn, the two men remained alone. The night was magnificent and the atmosphere marvellously clear; a multitude of stars floated in æther, a sweet warm breeze penetrated through the windows, left expressly open, a profound silence lay over the landscape, and from the spot where the two men were seated, they perceived the dark mass of forest trees that closed the horizon.
"Now," said the Count, as he puffed out a cloud of bluish smoke, "let us talk."
"Very good, Excellency," the Major-domo replied.
"I have several things to ask you, Birbomono; you know me, I think, and that whether I threaten or promise, I always carry out what I say?"
"I am aware of it, Excellency!"
"Very good, that being settled, I will come to the fact without further preamble. I have certain very important information to ask of you; answering my questions is not betraying your mistress, who is my sister, and whom I love before all else; on the contrary, it is perhaps rendering her a service indirectly. Besides, if you refused to tell me what I want to know, I should learn it from another quarter, and you would forfeit any advantage to be derived from your frankness; you understand me, I suppose?"
"Perfectly, Excellency."
"Well then, what do you intend doing."
"My lord, I am devoted body and soul to your family, hence, I shall consider it a duty to answer, as best I can, all the questions you may deign to ask me, for I feel convinced that in questioning me, you have no other motive but that of being agreeable to my mistress."
"It is impossible to argue more correctly, Birbomono, I have always said that you were an intelligent man; and this answer proves to me that I was not mistaken. Now, I will begin, but let us proceed regularly, so inform me of what occurred between my sister and her husband, up to her arrival here; and the motives for her quitting St. Domingo."
"You know, Excellency, my lord Count de Bejar of Sousa, the husband of your lady sister and my master, is a gentleman not naturally given to speaking, but kind and sincerely attached to his wife, whose every wish he strives to satisfy, without even venturing a remark. At St. Domingo the Countess lived in the most absolute retirement, constantly shut up in her remotest apartments, to which only her women, her confessor and her physician had access. The Count visited her every morning and evening, remained about a quarter of an hour with her, conversing on indifferent subjects, and then withdrew."
"Hum! This mode of life of my dear sister appears to me rather monotonous; did it last long?"
"For several months, Excellency, and it would doubtless still be going on, had it not been for an event which no one but myself knows, and which induced her to come here."
"Ah, ah, and what was the event, if you please?"
"I will tell you, Excellency; one day a ship of our nation arrived at St. Domingo; during its passage through the islands, it had been attacked by the ladrones, from whom it had escaped by a miracle, capturing several of them."
"Ah! I must stop you here," the Count exclaimed suddenly sitting up; "before going further, one word about these ladrones, of whom persons are incessantly talking, and no one knows. Do you know what they are?"
"Certainly I do, Excellency."
"At last," the Count added joyously, "I have at length found what I wanted. As you know, I suppose you will tell me?"
"Most willingly, Excellency."
"Go on."
"Oh! It will not be long, Excellency."
"All the worse."
"But I believe that it will be interesting."
"All the better then, make haste."
"These ladrones are English and French adventurers, whose courage exceeds all belief; lying in ambush among the rocks in the straits through which our vessels must pass, for they have vowed a war of extermination against our nation, they dart out in wretched canoes half full of water, leap on board the ship they have surprised, capture it and carry it off. The injury done our marine by these ladrones is immense; any ship attacked by them, with but few exceptions, may be regarded as lost."
"Confusion! That is very serious; has nothing been done to clear the seas from these daring pirates?"
"Pardon me, Excellency; Don Fernando de Toledo, admiral of the fleet, sacked, by the king's orders, the island of St. Christopher, the refuge of the ladrones, carried off all he could seize, and did not leave one stone on the other in the colony they had founded."
"Ah, ah!" said the Count, rubbing his hands, "That was well done, it appears to me."
"No, Excellency, and for this reason. These ladrones, scattered but not destroyed, spread over the other islands; some of them, it is true, returned to St. Christopher, but the greater part of them had the audacity to seek a refuge in Hispaniola itself."
"Yes, but they have been expelled, I hope."
"It has been tried, at any rate, Excellency, but without success; since that period they have managed to maintain themselves in the part of the island they invaded, and have resisted all the forces sent against them. Instead of being assailed they have become assailants, and pushed on to the Spanish frontier, burning, plundering and sacking everything they met on their passage; they did this the more easily, because they inspire our soldiers with extreme terror, who as soon as they see them or even hear them, take to flight without looking behind them. This has reached such a pitch, Excellency, that the Count de Bejar, our governor, has been compelled to take their fusils from the detachments called the Fifties, ordered to protect the frontiers, and arm them with lances."
"What! Take away their fusils! And for what motive? Great heaven! this seems to me almost too incredible."
"Still, it can be easy understood, Excellency—the soldiers feel so great a terror of the ladrones, that when they found themselves in regions frequented by them, and were consequently afraid of meeting them, they discharged their fusils, expressly to warn them of their presence, and thus invite them to retire, which the ladrones never failed to do; and knowing in this way the position of the soldiers, they went off to plunder in another direction, certain of not being disturbed."
"It is almost incredible. Do you fear their visit here?"
"They have not yet come on this side; still, it is as well to be on one's guard."
"I believe so—that is excessively prudent, and I approve of it; but now let us return to the story you were telling me when I interrupted you to give me this valuable information; you were saying that a Spanish man-o'-war had arrived at Saint Domingo, having on board several ladrones as prisoners."
"Yes, Excellency. Now, you must know that the ladrones are hung so soon as they are caught."
"That measure is very wise."
"These were reserved to make an example of on the island itself, and terrify their accomplices; they were, therefore, landed, and placed in Capilla, while awaiting their execution. It was Fray Arsenio who undertook to reconcile the wretches with Heaven if it were possible."
"A rude task; but who is Fray Arsenio?"
"The confessor of my lady Countess."
"Very good; proceed."
"Just imagine, Excellency, that these ladrones are very pious men; they never attack a vessel without offering up prayers to Heaven, and sing the Magnificat and other church hymns while boarding; hence Fray Arsenio had no difficulty in making them perform their religious duties. The Governor had decided that, in order that the example should benefit the rest, these ladrones should be hung on the Spanish frontier; they were, therefore, taken out of prison, securely bound, and traversed the town in carts, guarded by a numerous escort, and passing through the crowds, who overwhelmed them with maledictions and cries of anger and threatening. But the ladrones seemed to pay no attention to this manifestation of the public hatred; they were five in number, young, and apparently very powerful. All at once, at the moment when the carts, which were going very slowly, owing to the crowd, arrived in front of the Governor's palace, the ladrones rose altogether, uttered a loud cry, and, leaping into the street, took refuge in the palace, whose guard they disarmed, and closed the gates after them; they had succeeded in cutting their bonds, no one knew how. There was at first a moment of profound stupor among the crowd on seeing such a desperate deed, but ere long the soldiers regained their courage, and marched boldly on the palace, where the ladrones received them with musket shots. The fight was bravely carried on on both sides, but all the disadvantage was on the side of our men, who were exposed to the shots of invisible enemies, and renowned marksmen, every shot from whom brought down a victim. Some twenty dead, and as many wounded, were already lying on the square; the soldiers hesitated to continue this deadly contest, when the Governor, warned of what was going on, came up at full speed, followed by his officers. Fortunately for him, the Count was not at home when the ladrones seized his palace; but the Countess was there, and the Count trembled lest she should fall into the hands of these villains. He summoned them to surrender; they only replied by a discharge, which killed several persons by the Governor's side, and slightly wounded himself."
"The daring villains!" the Count muttered—"I hope they were hung."
"No, Excellency; after holding all the forces of the town in check for two hours, they proposed a capitulation, which was accepted."
"What!" the Count exclaimed, "Accepted! Oh! This is too much."
"It is the exact truth, however, Excellency; they threatened, unless they were allowed to retire in peace, to blow themselves up with the palace, which would have entailed the general ruin of the town, and to cut the throats of the prisoners in their power—that of the Countess first of all; the Governor tore out his hair with rage, but they only laughed."
"Why they are not men!" the Count exclaimed, stamping his foot passionately.
"No, Excellency, I told you, they are demons. The Count's officers persuaded him to accept the capitulation; the bandits insisted that the streets should be cleared for their passage; they had horses brought for them, and two for the Countess and one of her servants, whom they retained as hostages till they were in safety; and they went out well armed, leading in their midst my poor mistress, trembling with terror, and more dead, than alive. The ladrones did not hurry, they went at a foot pace, laughing and talking together, turning round, and even stopping now and then to stare at the crowd, which followed them at a respectful distance. They left the town in this way, but religiously kept their promise; two hours later, my lady the Countess, to whom they had behaved with great courtesy, returned to Saint Domingo, accompanied to the palace by the acclamations and glad shouts of the populace, who fancied her lost. The next day the Count ordered me to accompany the Countess here, where the physicians recommended her to live for a while, in order to rest from the terrible emotions she had doubtless experienced while she was in the power of the bandits."
"And since your installation at the hatto I presume nothing extraordinary has occurred?"
"Yes, Excellency, something has happened, and that is why I told you at the beginning that I alone knew the event which had modified my mistress's mode of living. One of the ladrones had a very long interview with her before they left her, an interview I saw, too far off to hear what was said, it is true, but near enough to judge of the interest she felt in it, and the impression it produced on her, for I had followed my mistress, resolved not to abandon her, and help her, were it necessary, at the risk of my life."
"That is the behaviour of a good servant, Birbomono, and I thank you for it."
"I only did my duty, Excellency; so soon as the ladrones left her alone I approached my mistress, and escorted her back to the town. A few days after our arrival here my mistress dressed herself in man's clothes, left the hatto unseen, only followed by myself and Fray Arsenio, who had refused to leave her, and led us to a secluded bay on the coast, where one of the ladrones was awaiting us. This man had another long conversation with my mistress, then, bidding us get into a canoe, he took us to a Spanish brigantine, tacking in sight of the coast. I afterwards learnt that this brigantine had been freighted by Fray Arsenio by my mistress's orders. So soon as we were on board this vessel, sail was set, and we put out to sea; theladrónhad returned ashore in the canoe."
"Nonsense!" the young man violently interjected; "What fables are you telling me, Birbomono?"
"Excellency, I am only telling you the truth you asked of me, without adding or omitting anything."
"Well, I am willing to believe you, incredible though the whole affair appears."
"Shall I break off here, Excellency, or continue my narration?"
"Go on, in the Fiend's name! Perhaps some light will eventually issue from all this chaos."
"Our brigantine began tacking between the islands, at a great risk of being snapped up as it passed by the ladrones; but, through some incomprehensible miracle, it succeeded in passing unseen, so that in eight days it reached an island in the form of a mountain, called Nevis, I believe, and only separated by a narrow channel from St. Kitts."
"But, from what you told me yourself, St, Christopher is the den of the ladrones."
"Yes, Excellency, and so it is; the brigantine did not anchor, it merely backed sails, and lowered a boat. My mistress, the monk, and I, got into it, and we were landed on the island; but, as she put her little foot on land, the Countess turned to me, and fixing on me a glance which nailed me to the boat I was on the point of leaving, she said—'Here is a letter, which you will carry to St. Christopher, there you will inquire for a celebrated Chief of the ladrones, whose name is Montbarts: you will have him pointed out to you; follow him, and place this letter in his own hands. Go, I count on your fidelity.' What could I do? Only obey: you will agree with me, Excellency. The sailors in the boat, as if warned beforehand, conveyed me to St. Christopher, where I landed unseen: I was lucky enough to meet this Montbarts, and hand him the letter, and then I slipped away; the boat which had been waiting for me took me back to Nevis, and the Señora thanked me. At sunset Montbarts arrived at Nevis; he talked for nearly an hour with the monk, while Doña Clara was concealed in a tent, and then went away: a few minutes later, the Countess and Fray Arsenio returned aboard the brigantine, which conveyed us back to Hispaniola with the same good fortune. The monk remained in the French part of the island, for some reason I do not know, while my mistress and I, as soon as we landed, returned to the hatto, where we arrived just ten days ago."
"And then?" the Count asked, seeing that the Major-domo was silent.
"That is all, Excellency," he answered; "since then Doña Clara has remained shut up in her apartments, and nothing has happened to trouble the monotony of our existence."
The Count rose without replying, walked up and down the room in considerable agitation, and then turned to Birbomono.
"Very good, Major-domo," he said to him—"I thank you; keep your mouth shut about this, and now you can retire. Remember, that no one in the household must suspect the importance of the conversation we have had together."
"I shall be dumb, Excellency," the Major-domo answered, and retired with a respectful bow.
"It is evident," the young man muttered, so soon as he was alone, "that there is at the bottom of this affair a frightful secret, of which my sister in all probability will condemn me to take my share. I am afraid that I have fallen into a trap. Hang it all! Why could not Clara let me live at my ease in Saint Domingo?"
On the morrow, Doña Clara appeared, if not completely recovered from her previous emotion, at least in a far more satisfactory state of health than her brother had dared to hope after the fainting fit of which he had been witness.
No allusion was made, however, by one or the other to the previous evening's conversation. Doña Clara, although very pale, and excessively weak, affected gaiety and even merriment; she carried matters so far as even to take a short walk in the garden, leaning on her brother's arm.
But the latter was not deceived by this conduct; he understood that his sister, vexed at having talked to him too frankly, was trying to lead him astray as to her condition, by affecting a gaiety far from her heart. Still, he did not let anything be seen, and when the great heat of the day had passed, he pretended a desire to visit the surrounding country, in order to give his sister a little liberty: taking his fusil, he mounted his horse, and rode out, accompanied by the Major-domo, who offered to act as his guide during his excursion.
Doña Clara made but a faint effort to keep him at home; in her heart she was pleased to be alone for a few hours.
The young man galloped across country with a feverish impatience. He was in a state of excitement, for which he could not account to himself; in spite of his egotism, he felt himself interested in his sister's misfortune; so much humble resignation involuntarily affected him, and he would have been happy to infuse a little joy into this heart crushed by grief; on the other hand, the Major-domo's singular story incessantly returned to his mind, and aroused his curiosity in the highest degree. Still he would not for anything in the world have questioned his sister about the obscure parts of this narrative, or merely let her know that he was aware of her relations with the filibusters of St. Kitts.
The two men had entered the savannah territory, and talking of indifferent topics; but as the Count could not get rid of the recollection of what the Major-domo had told him, he turned sharply toward him at a certain moment.
"By the way," he asked him sharply, "I have not yet seen my sister's confessor. How do you call him?"
"Fray Arsenio, Excellency; he is a Franciscan monk."
"Yes, that's it, Fray Arsenio. Well, why does he persist in remaining invisible?"
"For an excellent reason, Excellency; the reason I had the honour of explaining to you last evening."
"That is possible—I do not say you did not; but everything is so confused in my mind," he said, with feigned indifference, "that I no longer remember what you told me on the subject; you will therefore oblige me by repeating it."
"That is easy, Excellency. Fray Arsenio left us at the moment when we landed, and has not reappeared at the hatto since."
"That is singular: and does not Doña Clara appear alarmed and vexed at so long an absence?"
"Not at all, Excellency; the señora never speaks of Fray Arsenio, and does not inquire whether he has returned or not."
"It is strange," the young man muttered to himself; "what is the meaning of this mysterious absence?"
After this aside, the Count suddenly broke off the conversation and resumed the chase. They had been absent from the hatto for some hours, and had insensibly gone a very considerable distance; the sun was nearing the horizon, and the Count was preparing to turn back, when suddenly a great noise of breaking branches was heard at the skirt of the forest, from which they were only separated by a few shrubs, and several wild oxen dashed on to the savannah, pursued, or, to speak more correctly, hunted, by a dozen hounds, which barked furiously while snapping at them.
The oxen, seven or eight in number, passed like a tornado two horse lengths from the Count, to whom this unexpected apparition caused such a surprise, that he remained for a moment motionless, not knowing what to do.
The savage animals, still harassed by the hounds, which did not leave them, made a sudden wheel, and turning back, seemed trying to enter the forest at the spot where they had left it; but they had hardly resumed their flight in that direction, when a fusil was discharged, and a bull, struck in the head, fell dead on the ground.
At the same instant a man emerged in his turn from the forest, and walked up to the animal, which was lying motionless and nearly hidden in the tall grass, without appearing to notice the two Spaniards, and reloading as he walked along the long fusil he had, in all probability, just employed so adroitly.
This hunting episode was accomplished more quickly than it has taken us to describe it, so that Don Sancho had not quite recovered from his surprise, when the Major-domo bent down to his side and said in a low voice, half choked with terror—
"Excellency, you wanted to see aladrón. Well, look carefully at that man, he is one."
Don Sancho was endowed with undaunted courage. When his first surprise had passed, he became again completely master of himself, and regained all his coolness.
After securing his seat on the saddle, he advanced slowly toward the stranger, while examining him curiously. He was a man still young, of middle height, but well and powerfully built; his regular, majestic, and rather handsome features displayed boldness and intelligence. Cold, heat, rain, and sunshine to which he had doubtless for a long time been exposed, had given his face a decided bistre hue; and although he wore his full beard, it was cut rather short.
His dress, of almost primitive simplicity, so to speak, was composed of two shirts, breeches, and jacket, all of canvas, but so covered with spots of blood and grease, that it was impossible to recognise its original colour. He wore a leathern belt, from which hung on one side a case of crocodile skin, containing four knives and a bayonet; on the other, a large calabash, stopped with wax, and a hide bag containing bullets. He wore across his shoulders a small coat of fine canvas, rolled up and reduced to its smallest compass; and in lieu of shoes, boots made of untanned oxhide. His long hair, fastened with avíboraskin, escaped from under a fur cap which covered his head, and was protected by a peak in front.
His fusil, whose barrel was four and a half feet in length, could be easily recognized through the strange form of its stock, as turned out by Brachie, of Dieppe, who with Gélin, of Nantes, had the monopoly of manufacturing arms for the adventurers. This fusil was of the calibre of sixteen to the pound.
The appearance of this man, thus armed and accoutred, had really something imposing and formidable about it.
You instinctively felt yourself in face of a powerful nature, of a chosen organization, accustomed only to reckon on oneself, and which no danger was great enough to astound or even affect.
While continuing to advance toward the bull, he took a side glance at the two horsemen; then, without paying any further attention to them, he whistled to his dogs, which at once gave up their pursuit of the herd, and after drawing a knife from his sheath, he began skinning the animal lying at his feet.
At this moment the Count came up to his side.
"Eh," he said to him in a sharp voice, "who are you, and what do you here?"
The buccaneer, for he was one, raised his head, looked sarcastically at the man who addressed him so peremptorily, and then shrugged his shoulders with disdain.
"Who I am?" he replied, mockingly; "You see that I am a buccaneer, and what I am doing. I am flaying a bull I have slain. What next?"
"I want to know by what right you hunt on my land?"
"Ah! This land is yours? I am very glad to hear it. Well, I am hunting here because I think proper. If that does not suit you, I feel sorry for it, my pretty gentleman."
"What do you mean?" the Count continued, haughtily; "And how do you dare to assume such a tone with me?"
"Probably, because it is the one that suits me best," the buccaneer replied, drawing himself up quickly; "go your road, my fine sir, and take some good advice; if you do not wish your handsome jerkin to be filled with broken bones within five minutes, do not trouble yourself about me more than I do about you, and leave me to attend to my business."
"I will not allow it," the young man answered, violently; "the land you are trespassing on so impertinently belongs to my sister, Doña Clara de Bejar; I will not suffer it to be invaded with impunity by vagabonds of your description.¡Viva Dios!You will decamp at once, my master, or, if not—"
"If not?" the buccaneer asked, with eyes flashing fire, while the Major-domo, foreseeing a catastrophe, prudently glided behind his master.
As for the latter, he stood cool and impassive before the buccaneer, resolved to take the offensive vigorously, if he saw him make the slightest suspicious gesture. But, contrary to all expectation, the adventurer's menacing look became almost suddenly calm, his features resumed their usual expression of nonchalance; and it was in an almost friendly tone, in spite of its roughness, that he said—
"Halloh! What name was that you mentioned, if you please?"
"That of the owner of this savannah."
"I suppose so," the adventurer replied, laughing; "but may I ask you to repeat the name?"
"That is of no consequence, my master," the young man said disdainfully, for he fancied that his adversary was backing out of the quarrel; "the name I uttered is that of Doña Clara de Bejar of Sousa."
"Et cetera," the buccaneer said, with a laugh, "these devils of gavachos have names for every day in the year. Come, don't be angry, my young cock," he added, remarking the flush which the expression he had employed spread over the Count's face; "we are, perhaps, nearer an understanding than you imagine—what would you gain by a fight with me? Nothing; and you might, on the contrary, lose a great deal."
"I do not understand your words," the young man answered drily, "but I hope you are about to explain them."
"It will not take long, as you shall see," the other said tauntingly, and, turning to the forest, he raised his hands to his mouth in the shape of a speaking trumpet.
"Eh! L'Olonnais!" he shouted.
"Hola!" a man immediately answered, whom the denseness of the forest in which he was hidden rendered invisible.
"Come here, my son," the buccaneer continued, "I believe we have found your little matter."
"Ah, ah!" L'Olonnais, still invisible, replied, "I must have a look at it."
The young Count did not know what to think of this new incident which seemed about to change the state of affairs; he feared a coarse jest on the part of these half-savage men. He hesitated between giving way to the passion that was boiling within him, or patiently awaiting the result of the buccaneer's summons; but a secret foreboding urged him to restrain himself and act prudently with these men, who did not appear animated by an evil design against him, and whose manners, though quick and rough, were still friendly.
At this moment L'Olonnais appeared; he wore the same dress as the buccaneer: he advanced hurriedly toward the latter, and without troubling himself about the two Spaniards, asked him what he wanted, while throwing on the ground a wild bull's hide, which he was carrying on his shoulders.
"Did you not tell me something about a letter which Bowline sent you this morning by the hands of Omopoua?"
"It is true, Lepoletais. I spoke to you about it," he said, "and it was settled between us that as you know the country, you were to lead me to the person to whom I have to deliver this accursed slip of paper."
"Well, then, my son, if you like, your commission is performed," Lepoletais continued, as he pointed to Don Sancho, "he is the brother, or at least calls himself so, of the person in question."
"Stuff," L'Olonnais replied, fixing alight glance on the young man, "that gay springald?"
"Yes, he says so; for as you know, the Spaniards are such liars, that it is not possible even to trust to their word."
Don Sancho blushed with indignation.
"Who gave you the right to doubt mine?" he exclaimed.
"Nothing has done so up to the present, hence I am not addressing myself to you, but speaking generally."
"So," L'Olonnais asked him, "you are the brother of Doña Clara de Bejar, the mistress of the hatto del Rincón?"
"Once again, yes, I am her brother."
"Good! And how will you prove it to me?"
The young man shrugged his shoulders.
"What do I care whether you believe me or not?" he said.
"That is possible, but it is of great consequence to me to be certain of the fact; I am entrusted with a letter for that lady, and wish to perform my commission properly."
"In that case hand me the letter, and I will deliver it myself."
"You found that out all by yourself," the engagé said mockingly, "a likely notion that I should give you the note on your demand," and he burst into a hearty laugh, in which Lepoletais joined.
"These Spaniards doubt nothing," the buccaneer said.
"In that case go to the deuce, you and your letter," the young man exclaimed passionately, "it does not make any difference to me if you keep it."
"Come, come, don't be savage, hang it all," L'Olonnais continued in a conciliatory tone; "there is possibly a means of arranging matters to the general satisfaction; I am not so black as I look, and I have good intentions, but I do not wish to be duped, that is all."
The young man, in spite of the visible repugnance with which the adventurers inspired him did not dare to break suddenly with them; the letter might be very important, and his sister, doubtless would not pardon him if he acted petulantly in this matter.
"Come," he said, "speak, but make haste; it is late—I am far from the hatto, where I wish to return before sunset, so as not to alarm my sister unnecessarily."
"That is the conduct of a good brother," the engagé answered with an ironical smile; "this is what I propose to you: tell the little lady in question that Montbart's engagé has orders to deliver a letter to her, and that if she wishes to have it, she need only come and fetch it."
"What! Fetch it, where?"
"Here; zounds! Lepoletais and I will set up a boucan at this spot; we will wait for the lady all tomorrow here: it seems to me that what I propose is simple and easy."
"And do you believe," he answered ironically, "that my sister will consent to accept such an appointment made by a wretched adventurer? why, you must be mad!"
"I do not believe anything, I make you a proposal, which you are free to accept or refuse, that is all: as for the letter, she shall only have it by coming to fetch it herself."
"Why not accompany me to the hatto, that would be more simple, I fancy?"
"It is possible, and that was my intention at first, but I have changed my mind; so settle what you will do."
"My sister respects herself too much to take such a step, I am certain beforehand that she will indignantly refuse."
"Well, you may be mistaken, my friend," the engagé said, with a knowing smile, "who ever knows what women think!"
"Well, to cut short an interview which has already lasted too long, I will inform her of what you have said to me; still, I do not conceal from you that I shall make every effort to prevent her coming."
"You can do as you please, it does not concern me; but be assured that if it be her wish to come, as I believe, your arguments will be of no use."
"We shall see."
"Mind not to forget to tell her that the letter is from Montbarts."
During this conversation, which possessed no interest for him, Lepoletais, with the characteristic coolness and carelessness of buccaneers, was engaged in cutting down branches, and planting stakes to make theajoupaunder which they would camp for the night.
"You see," the engagé added, "that my comrade has already set to work; so good-bye till tomorrow, as I have no time for further talk, I must help to prepare the boucan."
"Do as you please, but I am persuaded that you are wrong in reckoning on the success of the commission I have undertaken."
"Well, you will see; at any rate mention it to the Señora. Ah! By the way, one word more, mind, no treachery."
The young man did not condescend a reply: he shrugged his shoulders disdainfully, leaped on his horse, and galloped off in the direction of the hatto, closely followed by the Major-domo.
On getting some distance away, he looked back: the ajoupa was already finished, and, as L'Olonnais had said, the two buccaneers were busily engaged in establishing their boucan, without paying any more attention to the Spaniards, who were doubtless prowling about the neighbourhood, than if they had been five hundred leagues from any habitation.
Then he continued to advance thoughtfully in the direction of the hatto.
"Well, Excellency," the Major-domo said presently, "you have seen the ladrones, what do you think of them now?"
"They are rough men," he said, shaking his head sadly, "possessing brutal and indomitable natures, but relatively frank and honest, at least from their point of view."
"Yes, yes, you are right, Excellency; and thus they gain more ground every day, and if they were left alone, I am afraid that the whole island would soon belong to them."
"Oh, we have not reached that point yet," he said with a smile.
"Pardon me, Excellency, for asking you the question, but do you intend to inform the Señora of this meeting?"
"I should like not to do so; unfortunately, after what you had told me of the things that have taken place between my sister and these men, my silence might have very serious consequences for her. Hence it is better, I believe, to tell her frankly all about it, and she will be a better judge than I of the line of conduct she should pursue."
"I believe you are right, Excellency. The Señora has perhaps a great interest in knowing the contents of that letter."
"Well, let us trust in Heaven!"
It was an hour past nightfall when they reached the hatto.
They noticed with surprise an unusual movement round the house. Several fires lighted on the plain illumined the darkness. On approaching, the Count perceived that these fires were lit by soldiers, who had established their bivouac there.
A confidential servant was watching for the Count's arrival. So soon as he saw him, he handed him several letters that had arrived for him, and begged him to go at once to the Señora, who was impatiently expecting him.
"What is there new here?" he asked.
"Two fifties arrived at sunset, Excellency," the servant answered.
"Ah!" he remarked, with a slight frown. "Very good. Inform my sister that I shall be with her in an instant."
The domestic bowed and retired. The young gentleman dismounted, and went to the apartments of Doña Clara, considerably puzzled by the unforeseen arrival of these troops at a spot which apparently enjoyed great tranquillity, and where their presence was unnecessary.