"White men like you."
"Spaniards in that case?"
"Yes, Spaniards."
"All the better," Fray Arsenio continued, whom the good news completely reassured; "are they numerous?"
"Five or six at least; they are proceeding like yourself, towards the hatto, where, as far as I could understand, they are very eager to arrive."
"That is famous; where are they at this moment?"
"Two stones' throw at the most. According to the direction they are following, they will pass the spot where you are now standing."
"Better still. In that case we have only to wait."
"You can do so, if you think proper; but I have no wish to meet them."
"That is true, my friend," the monk remarked, with a paternal air. "And possibly such a meeting would not be agreeable to you; so pray accept my thanks for the manner in which you have guided me hitherto."
"You are quite resolved on waiting for them, then? If you like, I can enable you to avoid them."
"I have no motive for concealing myself from men of my own colour. Whoever they may be, I feel sure that I shall find friends in them."
"Very good. Your affairs concern yourself, and I have nothing to do with them. But the sound is drawing nearer, and as they will speedily arrive, I will leave you, for it is unnecessary for them to find me here."
"Farewell."
"One last recommendation: if by chance they had a fancy to ask who served as your guide, do not tell them."
"It is not at all probable they will ask this."
"No matter. Promise me, if they do, to keep my secret."
"Very good. I will be silent, since you wish it; although I do not understand the motive for such a recommendation."
The monk had not finished the sentence, ere the Indian disappeared.
The horsemen were rapidly approaching. The galloping of their steeds echoed on the ground like the rolling of thunder. Suddenly several shadows, scarcely distinguishable in the obscurity, rose as it were in the midst of the darkness, and a sharp voice shouted—
"Who goes there?"
"A friend!" the monk answered.
"Tell your name,¡sangre de Dios!" the voice repeated, passionately, while the dry snap of a pistol being cocked, sounded disagreeably in the monk's ears. "At night there are friends in the desert!"
"I am a poor Franciscan monk, proceeding to the hatto del Rincón; and my name is Fray Arsenio Mendoza."
A hoarse cry replied to the monk's words—a cry whose meaning he had not the time to conjecture; that is to say, whether it was the result of pleasure or anger; for the horsemen came up with him like lightning, and surrounded him even before he could understand the reason of such a headlong speed to reach him.
"Why, señores," he exclaimed, in a voice trembling with emotion, "what is the meaning of this? Have I to do with theladrones?"
"Good! Good! Calm yourself, Señor Padre," a rough voice answered, which he fancied he recognised. "We are notladrones, but Spaniards like yourself; and nothing could cause us more pleasure than meeting you at this moment."
"I am delighted at what you say to me, caballero. I confess that at first the suddenness of your movements alarmed me; but now I am completely reassured."
"All the better," the stranger replied, ironically; "for I want to talk with you."
"Talk with me, señor?" he said, with surprise.
"The spot and the hour are badly chosen for an interview, I fancy. If you will wait till we reach the hatto, I will place myself at your disposal."
"Enough talking. Get off your horse," the stranger observed, roughly; "unless you wish me to drag you off."
The monk took a startled glance around him, but the horsemen looked at him savagely, and did not appear disposed to come to his help.
Fray Arsenio, through profession and temperament, was quite the opposite of a brave man. The way in which the adventure began was commencing seriously to alarm him. He did not yet know into what hands he had fallen, but everything led him to suppose that these individuals, whoever they might be, were not actuated by kindly feelings towards him. Still any resistance was impossible, and he resigned himself to obey; but it was not without a sigh of regret, intended for the Carib, whose judicious advice he had spurned, that he at length got off his horse, and placed himself in front of his stern questioner.
"Light a torch!" the strange horseman said. "I wish this man to recognise me, so that, knowing who I am, he may be aware that he cannot employ any subterfuge with me, and that frankness alone will save him from the fate that menaces him."
The monk understood less and less. He really believed himself suffering from an atrocious nightmare.
By the horseman's orders, however, one of his suite had lighted a torch of ocote wood.
So soon as the flame played over the stranger's feature, and illumined his face, the monk gave a start of surprise, and clasped his hands at the same time as his countenance suddenly reassumed its serenity.
"Heaven be praised!" he said, with an accent of beatitude impossible to render. "Is it possible that it can be you, Don. Stenio de Bejar? I was so far from believing that I should have the felicity of meeting you this night, Señor Conde, that, on my faith, I did not recognise you, and felt almost frightened."
The Count, for it was really he whom the monk had so unfortunately met, did not answer for the moment, but contented himself with smiling.
Don Stenio de Bejar, who had left Saint Domingo at full speed, for the purpose of going to the hatto del Rincón, in order to convince himself of the truth of the information given him by Don Antonio de la Ronda, thus found himself, by the greatest accident, just as he was reaching his destination, and when he least expected it, face to face with Fray Arsenio Mendoza; that is to say, with the only man capable of proving to him peremptorily the truth or falsehood of the assertions of the spy, who had denounced Doña Clara to her husband.
Fray Arsenio's reputation for poltroonery had long been current among his countrymen, and hence nothing seemed more easy than to obtain from him the truth in its fullest details.
The Count believed himself almost certain, by employing intimidation, to make Fray Arsenio confess what he knew: hence, so soon as the latter had mentioned his name, Don Stenio, warned by the spy, who rode at his side, resolved to terrify the monk, and thus render it impossible for him to resist the orders he might intimate to him.
We take pleasure in believing that in acting thus, the Count had not the slightest intention of treating the monk with a violence, which in any case would be deplorable, but dishonourable on the part of a man in his position. Unfortunately, through the unforeseen and incomprehensible resistance which, contrary to all probability, the monk offered him, the Count was led away by his passion, and gave orders against his better judgment, when harshness and even cruelty could in no case be justified.
After a silence of some seconds, Don Stenio fixed a piercing glance on the monk, as if he wished to read his very soul, and then seized him brutally by the arm.
"Where have you come from?" he asked him, in a rough voice. "Is it the custom for monks of your order to ramble about the country at this hour of the night?"
"My lord!" Fray Arsenio stammered, thrown off his guard by this question, which he was far from expecting.
"Come, come!" the Count continued; "Answer at once, and let us have no subterfuge or tergiversation."
"But, my lord, I do not at all understand this great anger which you appear to have with me. I am innocent, I vow!"
"Ah! ah!" he said, with an ironical laugh; "You are innocent!¡Viva Dios!you make haste to defend yourself before you are accused; hence you feel yourself guilty."
Fray Arsenio was aware of the Count's jealousy, which he concealed so poorly, that, in spite of all his efforts, it was visible to everybody. Hence he understood that Doña Clara's secret had been revealed to her husband; and he foresaw the peril that menaced him for having acted as her accomplice. Still, he hoped that the Count had only learnt certain facts, while remaining ignorant of the details of the Countess' voyage; and hence, though he trembled at heart at the thought of the dangers to which he was doubtless exposed, alone and defenceless, in the hands of a man blinded by passion and the desire of avenging what he regarded as a stain on his honour, he resolved, whatever might happen, not to betray the confidence which a woman had unhappily placed in him.
He raised his head and replied with a firm voice, and with an accent at which he was himself astonished—
"My lord, you are governor of Saint Domingo; you have a right to exercise justice over those placed under your rule. You possess almost sovereign power, but you have no right, as far as I know, to ill treat me, either by word or deed, or to make me undergo an examination at your caprice. I have superiors on whom I am dependant; have me taken before them; hand me over to their justice, if I have committed any fault they will punish me, for they alone have the right of condemning or acquitting me."
The Count had listened to the monk's long answer, while biting his lips savagely and stamping his foot with passion. He had not thought to find such resistance in this man.
"So, then," he exclaimed, when Fray Arsenio at length ceased speaking, "you refuse to answer me?"
"I refuse, my lord," he coldly replied, "because you have no right to question me."
"You forget, however, Señor Padre, that if I have not the right, I have the might, at least, at this moment."
"You are at liberty, my lord, to abuse that might, by applying it to an unhappy and defenceless man. I am no soldier, and physical suffering frightens me. I do not know how I shall endure the tortures you will perhaps inflict on me, but there is one thing of which I am certain."
"What is it, may I ask, Señor Padre?"
"That I will die, my lord, before answering any of your questions."
"We shall see that," he said, sarcastically, "if you compel me to have recourse to violence."
"You will see," he replied, in a gentle but firm voice, which denoted an irrevocable determination.
"For the last time, I deign to warn you: take care—reflect."
"All my reflections are made, my lord; I am in your power. Abuse my weakness as you may think proper, I shall not even attempt a useless defence. I shall not be the first monk of my order who has fallen a martyr to duty: others have preceded me, and others will doubtless follow me in this painful track."
The Count stamped his foot savagely; the spectators, dumb and motionless, exchanged terrified glances, for they foresaw that this scene would soon have a terrible denouement, between two men, neither of whom would make concessions; while the first of them, blinded by rage, would soon not be in a condition to listen to the salutary counsels of reason.
"My lord," Don Antonio de la Ronda murmured, "the stars are beginning to turn pale, and the day will soon dawn; we are still far from the hatto, would it not be better to set out without further delay?"
"Silence!" the Count answered, with a smile of contempt. "Pedro," he added, addressing one of his domestics, "a match."
The valet dismounted and advanced with a long sulphured match in his hand.
"The two thumbs," the Count said, laconically.
The domestic approached the monk; the latter offered his hands without hesitation, although his face was fearfully pale, and his whole body trembled.
Pedro coolly rolled the match between his two thumbs, passing it several times under his nails, and then turned to the Count.
"For the last time, monk," the latter said, "will you speak?"
"I have nothing to say to you, my lord," Fray Arsenio replied, in a soft voice.
"Light it," the Count commanded, biting his lips till they bled.
The valet, with the passive obedience distinguishing men of this class, set fire to the match.
The monk fell on his knees and raised his eyes to Heaven. His face had assumed an earthy tint, a cold perspiration beaded on his temples, and his hair stood on end. The suffering he experienced must be horrible, for his chest heaved violently, although his parched lips remained dumb.
The Count watched him anxiously.
"Will you speak now, monk?" he said to him in a hollow voice.
Fray Arsenio turned toward him a face whose features were distorted by pain, and gave him a look full of ineffable gentleness.
"I thank you, my lord," he said, "for having taught me that pain does not exist for a man whose faith is lively."
"My curses on you, wretch!" the Count exclaimed, as he hurled him down with a blow on the chest. "To horse, señores, to horse, so that we may reach the hatto before sunrise."
The cavaliers remounted, and went off at full speed, leaving, without a glance of compassion, the poor monk, who, vanquished by pain, had rolled fainting on the ground.
A triple expedition, so serious as that conceived by Montbarts, demanded, for its success, extreme care and precautions.
The few points occupied by the buccaneers on the Spanish isles, did not at all resemble towns; they were agglomerations of houses built without order, according to the liking or caprice of the owner, and occupying a space twenty-fold larger than they should have taken in accordance with the population. Hence, these points were spots almost impossible to defend against a well-combined attack of the Spaniards, if the thought occurred to the latter of finishing once for all with their formidable neighbours.
Port Margot, for instance, the most important point in the French possessions as a strategic position, was only a miserable hamlet, open to all comers, without police or organization, where every language was spoken, and which Spanish spies entered with the greatest facility without incurring a risk of discovery, and thus scented the plans of the filibusters.
Montbarts, before advancing and attacking the Spaniards, whom he correctly suspected of being already acquainted with the motive of his presence on the island, either through Don Antonio de la Ronda, or other spies, and not wishing, when he was preparing to surprise the enemy, to be himself surprised and see his retreat cut off by an unforeseen attack, resolved to shelter Port Margot from acoup de main.
The grand council of the filibusters was convened on board the admiral's lugger. In this way the resolutions formed by the council would not transpire outside, and not reach hostile ears, ever open to hear them.
Two days after the departure of Lepoletais, the council therefore assembled on the deck of the vessel, which had been prepared for the purpose, as the admiral's cabin had been judged too small to contain all those whom their wealth or their reputation authorized in being present at the meeting.
At ten in the morning, numerous skiffs left the shore and pulled alongside the lugger, boarding it on all sides simultaneously.
Montbarts received the delegates as they presented themselves, and led them beneath the awning prepared for them.
Ere long, all the delegates were assembled on board: they were forty in number; filibusters, buccaneers, and habitants, all adventurers who had lived for several years on the isles, and desperate enemies of the Spaniards. Their complexion, bronzed by the tropical sun, their energetic features, and flashing glances, made them resemble bandits rather than peaceful colonists; but their frank and decided manners allowed a guess at the prodigies of incredible daring which they had already accomplished, and were ready to accomplish again, when the moment for action arrived.
When all the members of the council were on board, Michael the Basque gave the skiffs orders to return ashore, and to come alongside again when they saw a large black and red flag hoisted at the mainmast of the lugger. A splendid lunch preceded the council, which, was held at table and during the dessert, so as to foil any indiscreet glances, which were doubtless watching what was going on aboard from the top of the cliffs.
When the repast was ended, and spirits, pipes, and tobacco had been laid on the table by the engagés, an order was given to remove the awning; the whole of the lugger's crew retired to the bows, and Montbarts, without leaving his seat, struck the table with his knife to request silence.
The delegates vaguely knew that grave interests were about to be discussed, hence they had only eaten and drunk for form's sake, and though the table offered all the appearances of a true filibustering orgy, their brains were perfectly clear, and their heads cool.
The road of Port Margot offered at this moment a strange spectacle, which was not deficient, however, in a certain picturesque and wild grandeur.
Thousands of canoes were lying on their oars, forming an immense circle, of which the filibustering squadron was the centre.
On shore, the cliffs and rocks were literally hidden by the confused and dense mass of spectators who had flocked from all the houses to watch, at a distance, this gigantic and Homeric feast, whose serious motive they were far from suspecting, beneath its frivolous appearance.
Montbarts, after calling his friends' attention in a few words, to the enormous crowd of spectators who surrounded them, and showing how correct he had been in taking his precautions in consequence, filled his glass, and rose, shouting in a sonorous voice—
"Brethren, the health of the king!"
"The health of the king!" the filibusters responded, as they rose, and clinked their glasses together.
At the same moment, all the guns of the lugger were discharged with a formidable noise; a loud clamour that rose from the beach proved that the spectators heartily joined in this patriotic toast.
"Now," the admiral continued, as he sat down, which movement was imitated by his companions, "let us talk of our business, and be careful in doing so, that our gestures may not allow a suspicion of what is occupying us, since our words cannot be overheard."
The council commenced its session. Montbarts, with the lofty views and clearness of expression he possessed, explained, in a few words, the critical position in which the colony would find it, unless energetic measures were taken, not only to place it in a position to defend itself, but also to hold out during the absence of the expedition.
"I can understand," he said in conclusion, "that so long as we merely purposed to hunt wild bulls, such precautions were unnecessary, for our breasts were a sure rampart for our habitations; but from today the position is changed, we wish to create for ourselves an impregnable refuge; we are going to attack the Spaniards in their homes, and must consequently expect terrible reprisals from enemies, who, from the way in which we act towards them, will soon comprehend that we wish to remain the sole possessors of this land, which they have accustomed themselves to regard as belonging to them legitimately; we must, therefore, be in a position, not alone to resist them, but to inflict on them such a chastisement for their audacity, that they will be for ever disgusted with any fresh attempts to regain the territory we have conquered. To effect this, we must build a real town, in the place of the temporary camp which has, up to the present, sufficed us; and, with the exception of the members of our association, no stranger must be allowed to introduce himself among us, for the sake of spying us, and repeating to our enemies our secrets, whatever their nature may be."
The filibusters warmly applauded these remarks, whose truth they recognized. They at length saw the necessity of setting order in their disorder, and entering the great human family, by themselves accepting some of those laws, from which they fancied they had enfranchised themselves for ever, and which are the sole condition of the vitality of society.
Under the omnipotent influence of Montbarts and the members of the association of the Twelve, who were scattered about the meeting, the urgent measures were immediately discussed and settled; but when everything was arranged, the council suddenly found itself stopped short by a difficulty of which it had not thought at all—who was to be entrusted with the duty of carrying out the measures, as no buccaneer had a recognized authority over the rest?
The difficulty was great; almost insurmountable. Still it was Montbarts who again smoothed down the difficulty to the general satisfaction.
"Nothing is more easy," he said, "than to find the man we want; this is an exceptional case, and we must act according to circumstances. Let us elect a chief, as for a dangerous expedition, let us choose one who is energetic and intelligent, which will be a trifle, as the only difficulty will be the choice among so many equally good. This chief will be elected by us, the first for a year, his successor for only six months, in order to guard against any abuse of power they might eventually be attempted to try. This chief will assume the title of governor, and in reality govern all civil matters, assisted by a council of seven members, chosen by the habitants, as well as by subaltern agents, nominated by himself. The laws he will employ exist, for they are those of our association; it is understood that the governor will watch, like a captain aboard his ship, over the safety of the colony, and, in the event of treachery, will be punishable with death. This proposition is, I believe, the only one that we can take into consideration; does it suit you, brothers? Do you accept it?"
The delegates replied by a universal affirmation,
"In that case let us at once proceed to the election."
"Pardon me, brothers," Belle Tête said, "with your permission, I have a few remarks to submit to the council."
"Speak, brother, we will hear you," Montbarts answered him.
"I offer myself," Belle Tête said frankly, "as governor, not through ambition, for that would be absurd, but because I believe that I am at this moment the best man for the place; you all know me, and hence I will not put forward my qualifications. Certain reasons urge me to try, if possible, to withdraw my promise, and not follow the expedition; to which, however, I feel convinced that I shall render great services, if you choose me as governor."
"You have heard, brethren," Montbarts said, "consult together, but fill your glasses first, you have ten minutes to reflect; at the end of that time all the glasses that have not been emptied will be considered as adverse votes."
"Ah, traitor," Michael the Basque said, leaning over to Belle Tête's ear, by whose side he was seated, "I know why you want to stop at Port Margot."
"You? Stuff," he answered with embarrassment.
"Zounds, it is not difficult to guess, you are caught, mate."
"Well, it is true, and you are right, that little devil of a woman I bought at St. Kitts has turned my head; she turns me round her little finger."
"Ah! love!" Michael said ironically.
"The deuce take love, and the woman too; a girl no bigger than that, whom I could smash with one blow."
"She is very pretty, you showed good taste; her name is Louise, is it not?"
"Yes, Louise; it was a bad bargain I made."
"Nonsense!" Michael said, with the utmost seriousness, "well, there is a way of arranging the matter."
"Do you think so?"
"Zounds, I am sure of it."
"I should like to know it, for I confess to you that she has completely upset my ideas; the confounded girl, with her bird's voice, and sly smile, turns me about like a whirligig: by Heaven, I am the most unfortunate of men—tell me your plan, brother."
"Why, sell her to me."
Belle Tête suddenly turned pale at this blunt offer, which, indeed, settled everything; but which, though he did not suspect it, Michael only made in a joke, and to try him; he frowned, and angrily replied in a voice trembling with emotion, and striking the table with his fist—
"Zounds, mate, that is a magnificent way you have found, but the fiend take me if I accept it; no, no, whatever sorrow the little witch causes me—have I not told you that she has bewitched me?—I love her! Blood and thunder, do you understand that?"
"Of course I understand it; but come, reassure yourself, I have not the slightest intention of depriving you of your Louise; what should I do with a wife? Besides, what I have seen of other men's love affairs, does not offer me the slightest inducement to try it on my own account."
"All right," Belle Tête replied, reassured by this frank declaration, "that is speaking like a man; and, after all, you are right, brother; although I would not consent for anything in the world to part with my Louise, still, after the experience I have of her, if the bargain was to be made again, hang me if I would purchase her."
"Stuff!" said Michael, with a shrug of his shoulders, "Men always say that, and when the moment arrives, they never fail to begin the same folly over again."
Belle Tête reflected for a moment, and then tapped Michael amicably on the shoulder, at the same time saying with a laugh—
"On my word that is true, brother; you are right, I believe that I should really behave as you say."
"I am certain of it," Michael replied, with another shrug of his shoulders.
During this aside, between the two adventurers, the ten minutes had elapsed.
"Brethren," said Montbarts, "we are about to proceed to an examination of the votes."
He looked: all the glasses were empty.
"You are unanimous," he said, "and that is well. Brother Belle Tête, you are elected governor of Port Margot."
"Brethren," the latter said, bowing all round, "I thank you for having given me your votes. I shall not deceive your expectations; our colony, even though I was obliged to bury myself beneath its ruins, shall never fall into the hands of the Spaniards, and you know me well enough not to doubt my oath. I intend to set to work this very day; for, as our admiral has very justly said, we have not a moment to lose. Confide the duty of guarding your interests to me."
"Before we separate," said Montbarts, "it would be as well, I fancy, to agree to keep our deliberations secret for a few days."
"You may divulge them tomorrow without danger," Belle Tête continued; "but allow me, brethren, to choose from among you the few assistants I shall require."
"Do so," the filibusters answered.
Belle Tête named eight adventurers, whose blind bravery he knew, and then addressed the delegates for the last time, who were already rising and preparing to leave the ship.
"You remember, I trust that I am considered by you the leader of an expedition."
"Yes," they replied.
"Consequently you owe me the most perfect obedience to all the orders I shall give you in the common interest."
"Yes," they repeated.
"You swear, then, to obey me without any hesitation or murmuring?"
"We do."
"Very good; now farewell for the present, brothers."
The boats had been recalled by a flag hoisted at the main yard, and a few minutes after all the delegates had left the ship, except Belle Tête and the eight officers chosen by him.
Montbarts and Belle Tête remained shut up for some hours, doubtless settling the measures which must be adopted in order to obtain the desired result as soon as possible; then, a little before sunset, the new Governor took leave of the Admiral, entered a boat prepared expressly for him, and returned ashore, followed by his officers.
About eleven o'clock in the evening, when the town appeared completely asleep, when all doors were shut, and lights extinguished, an observer in a position to see what was going on, would have noticed a strange spectacle.
Armed men glided gently out of the houses, casting inquiring glances to the right and left, that seemed trying to pierce the profound darkness by which they were surrounded. They proceeded separately on tiptoe to the principal square, where they joined other men armed like themselves, who, having arrived first, were waiting.
Ere long the number of these men, which was augmented every moment, became considerable; at an order, given in a low voice, they broke up into several parties, left the square by different outlets, went out of the town, and formed a wide circle all round it.
One last band of about forty men had remained in the square, however; this party was broken up in its turn, but, instead of also leaving the town, platoons, composed of ten men each, went from the square in four different directions, and entered the streets.
The latter were proceeding to pay domiciliary visits; no house escaped their vigilance, they entered all, searching them with the most scrupulous exactness, sounding the walls and flooring, and even opening cupboards and chests.
Such minute researches necessarily occupied a long time, and did not terminate till sunrise.
Eight Spanish spies had been discovered in the houses, and three arrested by the sentries at the moment when they attempted flight, or eleven in all.
The Governor had them temporarily put in irons aboard the lugger, so that they could not escape.
At sunrise, buccaneers, habitants, engagés, and filibusters, all armed with spades, pickaxes, and hatchets, set about digging a trench round the town.
This job, which was performed with extraordinary ardor, lasted three days; the trench was twelve feet wide, by fifteen deep, and the earth was thrown up on the side of the town; on thistalusstakes were planted, bound together with strong iron bands, embrasures being left to place guns, and for loopholes.
While the entire population thus laboured with the feverish ardor that accomplishes prodigies, large clearings had been effected in the woods surrounding the port; then the forest was fired, care being taken that the fire should not extend beyond a demi-league in all directions.
These gigantic works, which, in ordinary times, would demand a lengthened period, were finished at the end of ten days, which would seem incredible were not the fact stated in several records worthy of belief.
Port Margot was thus, thanks to the energy of its Governor, and the passive obedience with which the filibusters executed his orders, not only protected against acoup de main, but also rendered capable of resisting a regular siege. And this had been effected with such secrecy, that nothing had transpired abroad; and owing to the precautions taken at the outset, the Spaniards had no suspicion of the change so menacing to them, and which presaged an internecine war.
When the fortifications were finished, the Governor had eleven gallows erected, at a certain distance from each other, on the glacis. The unhappy Spanish spies were suspended from them, and their bodies were fastened to the gallows by iron chains, so that, as Belle Tête said, with an ill-omened smile, the sight of the corpses might terrify those of their compatriots, who might be tempted to follow their example, and introduce themselves into the town.
All the habitants were then convoked in the chief square, and Belle Tête mounted a platform erected for the purpose, and announced to them the determinations formed aboard the lugger, his nomination to the post of Governor, the measures he had thought it his duty to take for the general welfare, and ended by asking their approbation.
This approbation the inhabitants most willingly granted, because they found themselves in presence of accomplished facts, which did not in any way injure them.
The Governor, thus finding his undertakings sanctioned, invited the inhabitants to nominate a council of seven members chosen from among themselves; and this proposition they joyfully accepted, because they justly anticipated that these councillors would defend their interests.
The seven municipal councillors were therefore elected at once, and, by the Governor's invitation, took their seat by his side on the platform.
Then the Governor informed his audience that nothing was changed in the colony, which would continue to be governed by the laws in force among the filibusters, that everyone would live in the same liberty as in the past, and that the measures taken were solely intended to protect the interests of all, and in no way to annoy the colonists, or subject them to a humiliating yoke.
This final assurance produced the best effect on the crowd, and the Governor retired, amid shouts and the warmest protestations of devotion.
Although Montbarts had chosen to remain obstinately in the background, all these ameliorations were solely due to him; Belle Tête had merely been a passive and submissive agent in his hands.
When the Admiral, saw matters in the state he desired, he resolved to depart, and after a final interview with the Governor, he placed himself at the head of his filibusters, and left the town.
Michael the Basque had departed several hours previously, entrusted with a secret mission, and accompanied by ninety resolute men.
From this moment the expedition commenced; but what its result would be no one could as yet foretell.
Without taking the time to peruse the letters that were handed him, Don Sancho concealed them in his doublet, and proceeded hastily to his sister's apartment.
She was anxiously awaiting him.
"Here you are at last, brother," she exclaimed on perceiving him.
"What," the young man replied, as he kissed her hand, "were you expecting me?"
"Oh, yes, that I was; but you are very late—what has kept you so long?" she asked, in agitation.
"Where have I been? Why, s'death! I have been hunting, the only pleasure allowed a gentleman in this horrible country."
"What, at this hour?"
"Zounds, my dear Clara, a man gets home when he can, especially in this country, where we ought to feel very happy at reaching home again at all."
"You are speaking in enigmas, brother, and I do not at all understand you; be kind enough, therefore, to explain yourself clearly—have you fallen into bad company?"
"Yes, and very bad, too; but forgive me, my dear Clara, if you have no objection, let us proceed regularly. You desired to see me immediately on my return, and here I am at your orders; be kind enough, therefore, to tell me how I can possibly be of service to you, and then I will narrate the series of singular events with which my today's sport has been diversified. I will not hide from you that I have certain questions to ask of you, and certain explanations, which I feel sure you will not refuse to give me."
"What do you mean, Sancho?"
"Nothing at present; do you speak first, sister."
"Well, if you insist on it—"
"I do not insist at all, sister—I only request it."
"Very good, I yield to your request; I have received several letters."
"So I have; but I confess that I have not read them yet, and do not think they are of any great importance."
"I have read mine, and do you know what they tell me beside other news?"
"Indeed, no, unless it be my appointment to the post of Alcade Mayor of Hispaniola, which, I allow, would greatly surprise me," he said, laughingly.
"Do not jest so, Sancho; the matter is very serious."
"Really? In that case speak, little sister. You see I have as solemn a face as your dear husband."
"It is exactly to him I refer."
"Stuff! My brother-in-law? Has any accident happened to him in the performance of his noble and wearisome duties?"
"No, on the contrary, he is in better health than usual."
"In that case, all the better for him; I wish him no harm, though he is the most fastidious gentleman of my acquaintance."
"Will you listen to me—yes or no?" she asked, impatiently.
"Why, I am doing so, dear sister."
"You are really insupportable."
"Come, do not be angry—I have done; I will not laugh anymore."
"Have you seen the two Fifties encamped in front of the hatto?"
"Yes, and I must allow that I was greatly surprised to see them."
"You will be much more surprised on hearing that my husband is coming here."
"He? Impossible, sister! He did not say a word to me about the journey."
"Because it is secret."
"Ah, ah!" the young man remarked, with a frown; "And are you sure that he is coming?"
"Certain. The person who writes me so was present at his departure, which no one suspects; the courier who brought me the news, and to whom the greatest diligence was recommended, is only a few hours ahead of him."
"This is, indeed, serious," the young man muttered.
"What is to be done?"
"S'death!" the young man replied, carelessly, but gazing fixedly at Doña Clara—"Welcome him."
"Oh!" the lady exclaimed, twisting her hands despairingly, "I have been betrayed—he is coming to avenge himself!"
"Avenge himself? For what, sister?"
She gave him a look of strange significance, and then bent over him.
"I am ruined, brother," she said, in a hollow voice, "for this man knows everything, and will kill me."
Don Sancho, in spite of himself, was affected by this sorrow; he adored his sister, and felt ashamed of the part he was playing at this moment before her.
"And I, too, Clara," he said to her, "know everything."
"You! Oh, you are jesting, brother."
"No, I am not; I love you, and wish to save you, even if I gave my life to do so: hence, reassure yourself, and do not fix upon me eyes haggard with grief."
"What do you know, in heaven's name?"
"I know that which probably a traitor, as you called him, has sold to your husband, that is to say, that you left the hatto, went aboard a vessel, which conveyed you to Nevis, and there—"
"Oh! Not a word more, brother," she exclaimed as she fell into his arms; "you are really well informed, but I swear to you, brother, in the name of what is most sacred in the world, that, although appearances condemn me, I am innocent."
"I know it, sister, and never doubted it; what is your intention, will you await your husband here?"
"Never, never! Did I not tell you he would kill me?"
"What is to be done then?"
"Fly, fly without delay; at once."
"But where shall we go?"
"How do I know? To the cliff or the forest, live among the wild beasts sooner than remain any longer here."
"Very good, we will go, I know where to take you."
"You?"
"Yes, did I not tell you that sundry accidents happened to me today while hunting?"
"So you did; but what has that to do with it?"
"A great deal," he interrupted; "the Major-domo, who accompanied me, and I tumbled over an encampment of filibusters."
"Ah," she said, turning paler than she had been before.
"Yes, and I intend to conduct you to that encampment; besides, one of the buccaneers entrusted me with a message for you."
"What do you mean?"
"Exactly what I am saying, sister."
She appeared to reflect for an instant, and then turned resolutely to the young man.
"Well, be it so, brother, let us go to those men, though they are represented as so cruel; perhaps every human feeling has not been extinguished in their hearts, and they will take pity on me."
"When shall we go?"
"As speedily as possible."
"That is true, but the hatto is probably watched and the soldiers have doubtless secret orders, you may be a prisoner without suspecting it, my poor sister; for what other reason would the two Fifties be here?"
"Oh! In that case I am lost."
"Perhaps there is one way, and the orders given doubtless only affect you; but unfortunately the journey will be long, fatiguing, and beset with numberless perils."
"What matter, brother? I am strong, do not be anxious about me."
"Very good, we will try; you are absolutely determined on flight?"
"Yes, whatever may befall me."
"Well then, we will put our trust in heaven, wait for me a moment."
The young man left the room and returned a few minutes later, bearing a rather large bundle under his arm.
"Here are my page's clothes, I do not know how they happen to be in my possession, but my valet probably placed them in my portmanteau by mistake, for they are new, and I remember that the tailor brought them home a few minutes before my departure from Saint Domingo, but I thank accident for causing it to be so. Dress yourself, wrap yourself up in a cloak, put this hat on your head, I will answer for everything. Besides, this costume is preferable to your woman's clothes for crossing the savannah; mind and not forget to place these pistols and this dagger in your belt, for there is no knowing what may happen."
"Thanks brother! I shall be ready in a quarter of an hour."
"Good; during that time I will go and reconnoitre; do not open the door to anyone but me."
"You may depend upon me."
The young man lit a cigarette and left the apartment with the most careless air he could assume.
On entering the zaguán, the Count found himself face to face with the Major-domo. Señor Birbomono had such an anxious look that it did not escape Don Sancho; still he continued to advance, pretending not to notice it.
But the Major-domo came straight up to him.
"I am glad to meet you, Excellency," he said, "if you had not come within ten minutes, I should have knocked at the door of your apartment."
"Ah!" Don Sancho observed, "What pressing motive was there to urge you to such a step?"
"Is your Excellency aware of what is taking place?" the Major-domo continued, without appearing to notice the young man's ironical tone.
"What! Is there really anything happening?"
"Does not your Excellency know it?"
"Probably not, as I ask you; after all, as the news, I am sure, interests me but very slightly, you are quite at liberty not to tell it to me."
"On the contrary, Excellency, it interests you as well as all the inhabitants of the hatto."
"Oh! oh! What is it then?"
"It appears that the commander of the two Fifties, has placed sentries all round the hatto."
"Very good, in that case, we need not fear being attacked by the buccaneers, of whom you are so afraid, and I will thank the commandant for it."
"You are at liberty to do so, Excellency, but I fancy you will find it difficult."
"Why so?"
"Because orders are given to let anyone enter the hatto but nobody leave it."
A shudder ran through the young man's veins on hearing this; he turned frightfully pale, but recovering himself almost immediately, remarked carelessly,
"Stuff! that order cannot affect me."
"Pardon me, Excellency, it is general."
"In that case, you think that, if I tried to go out—"
"You would be stopped."
"Confound it, that is very annoying, not that I have any intention of going out, but as by my character, I am very fond of doing things which are prohibited—"
"You would like to take a walk, I suppose, Excellency?"
Don Sancho looked at Birbomono, as if trying to read his thoughts.
"And suppose such were my intention?" he resumed presently.
"I would undertake to get you out."
"You?"
"Yes, I; am I not the Major-domo of the hatto?"
"That is true; thus, the prohibition does not extend to you?"
"To me, as to the rest, Excellency; but the soldiers do not know the hatto as I know; I could Slip between their fingers, whenever I liked."
"I have strong inclination to try it."
"Do so, Excellency; I have three horses at a spot where no one but myself could find them."
"Why, three horses?" the young man asked, pricking up his ears.
"Because, doubtless, you do not wish to ride with me only, but will take someone with you."
Don Sancho, understanding that the Major-domo had penetrated his thoughts, made up his mind at once.
"Let us play fairly," he said, "can you be faithful."
"I am so, and devoted too, Excellency, as you have a proof."
"What assures me that you are not laying a trap for me?"
"With what object?"
"That of obtaining a reward from the Count."
"No, Excellency, no reward would induce me to betray my mistress; I may be anything you please, but I love Doña Clara, who has always been kind to me, and has often protected me."
"I am willing to believe you, and indeed have no time to discuss the point, but here are my conditions: a bullet through the head if you betray me, a thousand piastres if you are faithful; do you accept them?"
"I do, Excellency, the thousand piastres are gained."
"You know that I do not threaten in vain."
"I know you."
"Very good, what must we do?"
"Follow me, that is all; our flight will be most easy, for I prepared everything on my return; I had my suspicions on seeing those demons of soldiers, suspicions which were soon changed into certainty, after some skilful inquiries here and there; my devotion to my mistress rendered me clear sighted, and you see that I acted wisely in taking my precautions."
The accent with which the Major-domo pronounced these words, had such a stamp of truth, his face was so frank and open, that the young Count's last suspicions were dissipated.
"Wait for me," he said, "I will go and fetch my sister."
And he hurried away.
"Oh!" said Birbomono, with a grin, so soon as he was alone, "I do not know whether Señor don Stenio de Bejar will be pleased at seeing his wife escape in this way, when he felt so certain of holding her; poor señora! She is so good to us all, that it would be infamous to betray her, and then, after all, this is a good deed which brings me one thousand piastres," he added, rubbing his hands, "that is a very decent amount."
It was about eleven o'clock at night, all the lights in the hatto were extinguished by orders of the Major-domo, who had provided for everything; the slaves had been dismissed to their huts, and a solemn silence brooded over the landscape, a silence solely interrupted at regular intervals, by the sentries who challenged each other in a monotonous voice.
Don Sancho soon returned, accompanied by his sister, wrapped up like himself, in a long mantle.
Doña Clara did not speak, but on joining the Major-domo, she gracefully held out her right hand to him, on which he respectfully impressed his lips.
Although the officers had told the soldiers to keep a good guard, and watch carefully, not only the hatto, but its environs, the latter, slightly reassured by the darkness on one hand, and on the other, by the gloomy and mysterious depths of the forests that surrounded them, stood motionless behind the trees, contenting themselves with responding to the challenge, every half hour, but not venturing to go even a few yards from the shelter they had chosen.
The reasons for this apparent cowardice, were simple, and although we have explained them, we will repeat them here, for the sake of greater clearness.
In the early times of the buccaneers landing on Saint Domingo, the Fifties sent by the governor in pursuit of them, were armed with muskets; but after several encounters with the French, in which the latter gave them an awful thrashing, their terror of the adventurers became so great that, whenever they were sent on an expedition against these men, whom they almost regarded as demons, no sooner did they enter the forests, or the mountain gorges, or even the savannahs, where they might suppose the buccaneers to be ambushed, than they began to fire their pieces right and left, for the purpose of warning the enemies, and inducing them to withdraw.
The result of this clever manoeuvre was that the adventurers, thus warned, decamped in reality, and thus became intangible; the governor noticing this result, eventually guessed its cause, and hence, in order to avoid such a thing in future, he took the muskets away from the soldiers and substituted lances. This change, let us hasten to add, was not at all to the liking of these brave soldiers, who thus saw their ingenious scheme foiled, and were even more exposed to the blows of their formidable enemies.
It was almost without being obliged to take any other precaution than that of walking noiselessly and not speaking, that the Major-domo and the two persons he served as guide, succeeded in quitting the hatto on the opposite side to that on which the Fifties had established their bivouac.
Once the line of sentries was passed, the fugitives hurried on more rapidly, and soon reached a thicket in the midst of which three fully accoutred horses were so thoroughly hidden that unless known to be there, it would have been impossible to find them; for a greater precaution, and to prevent them from neighing, the Major-domo had fastened a cord round their nostrils.
So soon as the three were mounted, and before starting, Birbomono turned to Don Sancho,—
"Where are we going, Excellency?" he asked.
"Do you know the spot where the buccaneers we met today are bivouacked?" the young man replied.
"Yes, Excellency."
"Do you think you could succeed in finding the bivouac in the midst of the darkness?"
The Major-domo smiled.
"Nothing is more easy," he said.
"In that case lead us to those men."
"Very good; but, Excellency, be good enough not press your horse on at present, for we are still near the house, and the slightest imprudence would be sufficient to give an alarm."
"Do you think, then, that they would venture to pursue us?"
"Separately, certainly not; but as they are so numerous, they would not hesitate; the less so, because from what I heard them say, they feel certain that the buccaneers have never come into these parts. This redoubles their bravery, and they would perhaps not be sorry to furnish a proof of it at our expense."
"Excellent reasoning; regulate our pace, therefore, as you think proper, and we will only act in accordance with your judgment."
They set out; with the exception of the precautions they were obliged to take not to be discovered, the journey had nothing disagreeable about it, on a bright and perfumed night, beneath a sky studded with brilliant stars, and in the midst of a most delightful scenery, whose slightest diversities the transparency of the atmosphere allowed to be seen.
After an hour spent in a moderate trot, their pace became insensibly more rapid, and the horses growing gradually more excited, eventually broke into a gallop, at which their riders kept them for a considerable period.
Doña Clara bent over her horse's neck, and with her eyes eagerly fixed ahead, seemed to upbraid the slowness of this ride, which, however, had assumed the headlong speed of a pursuit: at times she leant over to her brother, who constantly kept by her side, and asked him in a choking voice—
"Shall we soon arrive?"
"Yes, have patience, sister," the young man said, suppressing a sigh of pity for the agony which preyed on his sister's heart.
And their pace grew more rapid than ever.
The stars were already expiring in the heavens, the atmosphere was growing refreshed, the horizon was striped by long mother-o'-pearl coloured bands, a light sea breeze brought up to the travellers its alkaline odours, and the night had passed. Suddenly, at the moment when the three riders were about to emerge from a thick wood, in which they had been following a track made by the wild cattle for nearly an hour, the Major-domo, who was a few yards ahead, pulled up his horse and leant back.
"Stop, in Heaven's name!" he exclaimed, in a low voice.
The young couple obeyed, though they did not comprehend this order.
The Major-domo went up to them.
"Look!" he muttered, and stretched out his arm toward the savannah.
A rapid gallop, that drew nearer every second, but which the noise of their own march had prevented them from hearing, now smote their ears, and almost at the same moment they saw through the screen of foliage which hid them from sight, several horsemen pass as if borne along by a hurricane.
A branch struck off the hat of one of the riders as he passed.
"Don Stenio!" Doña Clara exclaimed in horror.
"Zounds!" Don Sancho said, "We were just in time."
The horsemen had continued their wild course without perceiving the fugitives: one of them, indeed, at the cry uttered by Doña Clara, had made a gesture as if to stop his steed, but doubtless supposing that he had been mistaken, he followed his companions after a moment's hesitation, which was very fortunate for him, as Don Sancho had already drawn a pistol, with the resolution of blowing out his brains.
For some minutes the fugitives remained motionless, anxiously listening to the galloping of the horses, whose sound rapidly retired, and was soon lost in the distance, when it became confounded with the other noises of the night.
Then they breathed again, and Don Sancho put back in his holster the pistol which he had held in his hand up to this moment.
"Hum!" he muttered; "Only the thickness of a bush saved us from being discovered."
"Heaven be thanked!" Doña Clara said; "We are saved!"
"That is to say, my little sister, we are not caught," the young man replied, incapable of maintaining his seriousness for five minutes, however grave circumstances might be.
"They are going at a tremendous pace," the Major-domo now remarked; "we have nothing more to fear from them."
"In that case, let us be off," Don Sancho replied.
"Yes, yes, let us go," Doña Clara murmured.
They dashed out of the thicket which had offered them so sure a protection, and entered the plain.
The sky became lighter every moment; and although the sun was still beneath the horizon, its influence was beginning to be felt. Nature appeared to shake off her nocturnal sleep; some birds were already awake under the soft leaves, and preluding, by soft twittering, their matin chant; the dark outlines of savage animals bounded through the tall dew-laden grass; and the birds of prey, expanding their mighty wings, rose high in æther, as if they wished to go and meet the sun, and salute its advent: in a word, it was no longer night, without being fully day.
"Ah! What I do see at the foot of that mound?" Don Sancho suddenly said.
"Where?" Birbomono asked.
"There, straight in front of us."
The Major-domo placed his hands over his eyes, and looked attentively.
"¡Viva Dios!" he exclaimed, at the end of a moment, "It is a man!"
"A man?"
"On my word, yes, Excellency; and, as far as I can distinguish at this distance, a Carib savage."
"Zounds! What is he doing on that mound?"
"We shall be able to assure ourselves of that more easily directly, unless he thinks proper to keep out of our way."
"Well, let us go to him, in Heaven's name."
"Brother," Doña Clara objected, "what is the use of lengthening our journey, when we are so hurried?"
"That is true," the young man said.
"Reassure yourself, señora," the Major-domo observed; "that hillock is exactly on the road we must follow, and we cannot help passing it."
Doña Clara said no more, and the trio set out again.
They soon reached the mound, which they ascended at a gallop.
The Carib had not quitted the spot, but the riders stopped in stupor on perceiving that he was not alone.
The Indian, kneeling on the ground, appearing to be attending to a man stretched out before him, and who was beginning to regain his senses.
"Fray Arsenio!" Doña Clara exclaimed at the sight of this man. "Great Heavens! He is dead!"
"No," the Indian answered in a gentle voice, as he turned to her, "but he has been most horribly tortured."
"He! Tortured?" his hearers exclaimed, unanimously.
"Look at his hands," the Carib continued.
The Spaniards uttered a cry of horror and pity at the sight of the poor monk's bleeding and swollen thumbs.
"Oh, it is frightful!" they murmured, sadly.
"Wretch," Don Sancho said in his indignation, "you have brought him to this state!"
The Carib shrugged his shoulders disdainfully.
"The paleface is mad!" he replied; "My brothers do not torture the chiefs of prayer—they respect them. White men, like himself, have inflicted this atrocious punishment upon him."
"Explain yourself, in Heaven's name," Doña Clara continued; "how is it that we find this worthy monk here in such a pitiable state?"
"It will be better to let him explain himself when he has regained his senses. Omopoua knows but little."
"That is true," Doña Clara said, as she dismounted and knelt by the side of the wounded man. "Poor fellow! What frightful suffering he must be enduring."
"Can you not tell us anything, then?" Don Sancho asked.
"Almost nothing," the chief replied, "this is all that I know."
And he narrated in what way the monk had been confided to him, and how he had served as his guide, till they met the white men, when the monk discharged him for the purpose of joining them.
"But," he added, "I know not why, some secret foreboding seemed to warn me not to leave him: hence, instead of going away I hid myself in the shrubs, and witnessed, unseen, the tortures they had him undergo, while insisting on his revealing to them a secret, which he refused to divulge. Conquered by his constancy, they at length abandoned him half dead. Then I rushed from my hiding place, and flew to his help. That is all I know; I am a chief, I have no forked tongue, and a falsehood has never sullied the lips of Omopoua."
"Forgive me, Chief, the improper language I used at the first moment; I was blinded by anger and sorrow," said Don Sancho, holding out his hand.
"The paleface is young," the chief replied with a smile; "his tongue moves more quickly than his heart;" then he took the hand so frankly offered him, and pressed it cordially.
"Oh, oh!" the Major-domo said, with a shake of his head, and leaning over to Don Sancho's ear, "If I am not greatly mistaken, Don Stenio is mixed up in this affair."
"It is not possible," Don Sancho replied, with horror.
"You do not know your brother-in-law, Excellency; his is a weak nature, and all such are cruel; believe me, I am certain of what I state."
"No, no, it would be too frightful."
"Good Heaven," Doña Clara said, at this moment, "we cannot remain here any longer, and yet I should not like to abandon the poor man."
"Let us take him with us," Don Sancho quickly remarked.
"But will his wounds permit him to endure the fatigue of a long ride?"
"We are almost at our journey's end," the Major-domo said, and then, turning to the Carib, added—
"We are going to the bivouac of the two buccaneers, who were hunting on the savannah yesterday."
"Very good;" said the chief, "I will lead the palefaces by a narrow road, and they will arrive ere the sun reaches the edges of the horizon."
Doña Clara and her brother remounted. The monk was cautiously placed in front of the Major-domo, and the small party set out again at a foot pace, under the guidance of the Carib chief.
Poor Fray Arsenio gave no other signs of existence but deep sighs, which at intervals heaved his chest, and stifled groans torn from him by suffering.
At the end of three quarters of an hour they reached the boucan, by the near cut, which Omopoua indicated to them.
It was empty, but not deserted, as was proved by the bull hides, still stretched out on the ground, and held down by pegs, and the boucaned meat suspended from the forks of the branches.
The adventurers were probably away, hunting.
The travellers were considerably annoyed by this contretemps, but Omopoua relieved them of their embarrassment.
"The palefaces need not be anxious," he said, "the chief will warn his friends, the whitefraniis—in their absence the paler faces can use, without fear, everything they find here."
And, joining example to precept, the Carib prepared a bed of dry leaves, which he covered with skins, and, with the Major-domo's aid, carefully laid the wounded man upon it; then he lit a fire, and after, for the last time repeating to the fugitives the assurance that they had nothing to fear, he went off, gliding like a snake through the tall grass.
The Major-domo, who was tolerably well acquainted with the manners of the adventurers, with whom he had had some relations, though always against his will, for, brave though he was, or boasted of being, they inspired him with a superstitious terror—reassured the others as to their position, by declaring to them, that hospitality was so sacred with the buccaneers, that, if they were their most inveterate foes instead of quasi guests, as they had only come on their formal invitation, they would have nothing to apprehend from them.
In the meanwhile, thanks to the attention which Doña Clara had not ceased to bestow on him, the poor monk had returned to his senses. Although very weak at first, he gradually regained sufficient strength to impart to Doña Clara all that happened to him since their separation. This narration, whose conclusion coincided in the minutest details with that previously made by the Carib, plunged Doña Clara into a state of stupefaction, which soon changed into horror, when she reflected on the terrible dangers that menaced her.
In truth, what help could she expect? Who would dare to protect her against her husband, whose high position and omnipotence would annihilate every effort she might make to escape from his vengeance.
"Courage," the monk murmured, with a tender commiseration, "courage, my daughter, above man there is God. Have confidence in Him; He will not abandon you: and if everything fail you, He will come to your assistance, and interfere in your favour."
Doña Clara, in spite of her perfect faith in the power of Providence, only replied to this consolation by tears and sobs; she felt herself condemned.
Don Sancho was hurriedly walking up and down in the front of the ajoupa, twisting his moustache, stamping his foot passionately, and revolving in his head the maddest projects.
"Bah," he muttered, at last, "if that demon will not listen to reason, I will blow out his brains, and that will settle everything."
And highly pleased at having, after so many vain researches, discovered this expeditious mode of saving his sister from the violence, which the desire of vengeance would probably suggest to Don Stenio, the young man lit a cigarette, and patiently awaited the return of the buccaneers, feeling now quite calm and perfectly reassured about the future.
The Major-domo, who was almost indifferent as to what was going on around him, and delighted with the hope of the promised thousand piastres, had turned the time to a good use. Reflecting that on their return, the buccaneers, doubtless, would not be sorry to find their breakfast ready, he had placed in front of the fire an iron pot, in which he placed an enormous lump of meat, to boil, with a reasonable quantity of water; in lieu of bread, he had thrust several ignamas under the ashes, and then busied himself with preparing the pimentado, that absolutely necessary sauce for every buccaneer meal.
The fugitives had held possession of the boucan for nearly an hour and a half, when they heard furious barking, and some twenty dogs rushed howling toward them: but a sharp, though still distant whistle recalled them, and they went off again as quickly as they had come.
A few minutes later, the Spaniards perceived the two buccaneers; they were running up with a surprising speed, although both bore a load weighing upwards of a hundredweight, and were in addition embarrassed by their weapons and hunting equipment.