A stepdaughter of Israel

Prologue

The wind swept howling along the desolate coast, hurling the raging water in white-crested masses on the long stretch of sandy beach and driving the hissing spume up to the very feet of the noble army of pines — sturdy giants, centuries old — that stood in close array on a gentle slope skirting the margin of the sound. They who had stood their ground in many a former fray shook their plumed heads and swung their great arms defiantly, seeming to rejoice in the fury of the conflict. A few dead and half-dead trees in the main body went down, and here and there some grand monarch of the woods, occupying an advanced post nearer the water’s edge, swayed to and fro like a drunkard and fell, to be seized by the tumultuous billows, tossed exultantly amid the shouting, clamorous voices of the tempest and borne away, mutilated and shorn of the glory of its majesty.

Soaring aloft, these huge coniferae spread their wire-like plumes to .^olus, who played upon them as upon a great harp, adding a sad, dirgelike monody to the raving and roaring of the elements.

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A mile inland, the furious swoop of the wind, the rush and lash of the waves, the never-ceasing, monotonous sighing and sobbing of the pines came as a murmur from afar. There in the depths of the forest, where the sombre shadows lay, all was still and peaceful, and a soft soughing among the close-locked limbs overhead was all that told of any unusual disturbance among the powers of earth and air. The denizens of the forest had fled to these inner solitudes — the birds of the air, the beasts of the field, and man — man in his savage state, a little higher than the beast, his cohabitant of the wilderness.

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The storm had subsided. The wind had spent its strength, and now sighed and panted like a weary giant. The waters were almost still, with a lazy, upheaving movement lapping the beach and making a soft, complaining murmur, as though craving forgiveness of the beautiful earth for the riotous excesses into which they had been led by their turbulent comrade.

The moon in her last quarter — a golden bow that sent a long shaft of light like a shining arrow across the sound — ^had not long risen. It was close upon the dawning of day. On a sandy spit which stretched far out into the water appeared a dark moving mass, from which arose a wild, wailing sound — an Ossian-like chant, such as men unacquainted with the art of harmony but with a knowledge of numbers might sing.

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Like the shadow of a cloud the dark mass moved on, the wild dirge rising with increasing volume as it advanced to the extreme point of the spit. It stayed not at the water’s edge, but floated on until gradually it disappeared, melting away, as the cloud-shadow would melt, the sad song dying on the cool night air in a feeble, faltering strain,

As the sun arose and stretched his warm arms out to embrace the blushing earth, a solitary Indian approached the seashore. Gliding stealthily from tree to tree, crawling on his belly like a serpent under the thick growth of palmettos, now and then pausing to peer cautiously about and listen, he advanced until he could see the gleam of water through the ribbon-like fronds. Stopping here he listened intently.

The shrieks of the sea-gulls, as they dipped in the waves and circled around each other, and the polyglot melody of a mocking bird, dancing airily on the leafless branch of a storm-racked oak, were the only sounds he heard, and pushing on to the very verge of the bank he parted the fronds with his hands and looked along the shore. Not a human being was to be seen. Then he stood boldly upon his feet. A stately deer walked with slow, majestic tread to the water’s edge and sniffed the salty breeze before wetting his lips, but the Indian heeded it not. He was in search of other quarry, and his fierce glance changed to one of surprise as he scanned the surrounding scene in every direction. Had he been less intent on distant objects he would have seen, in the shadow of a clump of palmettos close at hand, two bright, black eyes watching him with the timorous look of a hunted wild beast.

The Indian now ventured down on the open, sandy beach and walked along it. Presently he came to a place where the smoothness of the sand was disturbed by innumerable tracks — the footprints of men, women and children. The footprints came down from the woods above» He turned and followed them back to their starting point — cautiously, suspiciously, for the North American Indian is ever watchful, giving his enemy credit for possessing equal cunning with himself.

In a little while he came to a deserted camp, and looked at it with all the astonishment one of his race ever allows himself to show. Everything was intact, those who had left it not having thought it worth while to destroy their worldly goods. Then he turned and retraced his steps to the beach, following the tracks in the other direction until he came to the point of the low, sandy spit. There he saw that the tracks led out into the water, and waded out a little way himself. He could see the footprints still, through the clear shallow water, and, having satisfied himself that they continued outward, returned to the shore and ran to the woods, into which he disappeared.

An hour later the warrior reappeared, accompanied by other warriors and some squaws. The latter scattered about the deserted camp while the former followed the footprints as the first man had done, standing a long time on the point of the spit, looking seaward and talking to each other, then pursuing the trend of the beach further on, examining the ground as they went.

The women were busily engaged looking over the plunder that had thus unexpectedly fallen to them when they were startled by a sharp cry coming from the borders of the forest, some little distance away. Immediately some of them hastened in that direction and presently came upon a young girl ensconced among the gnarled limbs of a low-growing live-oak. She soon explained that in searching about among the palmettos — for what she did not say — she had suddenly come face to face with some kind of fierce beast.

'Tt is there r she said; ‘"there!’" pointing to a thick clump of the little dwarf palms.

One of the older women, knowing that no very dangerous creature could be hidden in such a place, ventured to go in and see what kind of beast it was. Firsts peeping through the interstices of the fronds, she saw a pair of bright eyes; then, clearing away the space in front of her, she looked closer, and, turning to her companions, pointed with a gesture of scorn to the maiden in the tree.

“What is it? What is it?'’ was the general cry, and, thrusting her hand into the hiding place,, she drew forth a reluctant and frightened little savage maid of four or five summers.

This is the tale that is told, even to this day„ of a tribe of savages who, hard-pressed and driven to desperation by their enemies, sought death in the deep sea.

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Chapter I. The Old World

Seville, the beautiful, half-Moorish, half- Gothic city, was decked in gala array.

The king, Philip the Second of Castile and Aragon, had at last decided to visit this, the sunny capital of the south, and her citizens, merchants who had grown rich on the trade of the Orient and the Occident, expended of their great wealth without stint to give him a reception worthy the great nation that he ruled. Since the discovery of America, more than half a century before, wealth had flowed into Spain in an uninterrupted stream, and Seville had got her full share of it; her merchants’ houses were palaces, her public squares gardens, and her name was the synonym of beauty throughout the length and breadth of Europe; yet Philip, who had been seated on the throne some years, had never visited her. Perhaps it was that very sunny loveliness for which she was celebrated that repulsed this gloomy ascetic; the dismal grandeur of the Alcazar, overlooking the barren wastes around Madrid, suited him better, and there he stayed when he was not in the Netherlands superin-

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tending — from a safe distance — the slaughter of rebellious Dutchmen.

But now he was coming, and all the streets through which he and his cortege of gallant knights and grandees of Spain would pass were decorated with banners, bannerets and gonfalons, and rich tapestries hung from windows and balconies, where all the beauty of the city was assembled, amid a profusion of flowers, anxiously awaiting his arrival.

At last he came, welcomed by the huzzas of the people, whom he despised, and the booming of cannon, of which he was afraid. Preceded by a pursuivant in the royal livery — who was followed at a little distance by a gallant troop of knights — he came, mounted on an ambling jennet — the war horse was not to his liking — caparisoned in a housing of cloth of gold, with bridle of velvet, bit of silver and saddle inlaid with precious stones.

Surrounded by the mighty men of his realm, all viewing with him in the splendor of their adorning and the adornings of their stately steeds, he came, and, heedless of the smiles of beauty or the plaudits of chivalry, passed on to the church to pray, thence to the bull-fight and the mto do fe.

With so many people collected along the royal route, the balance of the city appeared to be left to take care of itself. Scarce a human being was to be seen in the streets, while the caravels, xebecs and feluccas lying at the quays, although decked with flags and pennants, were deserted by their crews.

Out of one of the narrower streets debouching on the quay, when the excitement and enthusiasm in the city were at their height, came a girl, perhaps fifteen years of age. She was dressed in a black velvet bodice and short crimson silk skirt, with a sort of snood of the same color and material on her head — not having yet reached the age when it was deemed decorous for her to wear the lace mantilla with which it was customary for Spanish ladies to half hide their beauties. She was accompanied by a dog — a spaniel — which she held in check with a silken cord. It was a pretty creature, as was its mistress whose girlish loveliness promised to develop into a higher order of beauty in the future.

''Come, Carlos,'^ she said, "since we may not go to see the king because of the great throng that surrounds His Majesty, we must e’en content us with a look at the ships decked in all their bright flags — and a gallant show they make, too, senor.*'

While thus talking to the dog she stooped and loosed the cord from its collar.

Finding itself at liberty, the little animal immediately began to gambol about its mistress, yelping and barking for joy, she encouraging it by holding out her hand, to make it leap high in lO A STEP-DAUGHTER OF ISRAEL.

its efforts to lick it — the dog’s way of kissing: those it loves.

Laughing and enjoying the sport, the girl did not heed that she was approaching the edge of the quay on which they were, and she might have fallen into the water had not the dog, as heedless as herself, itself fallen in with a great splash.

''O, Carlos!” cried she, looking down at him,. ^Vhat hast thou done, foolish dog?”

He had fallen in a sort of dock that opened into the river — there was no vessel of any kind in it at the time — and had he swam out into the stream, would soon have found some place where he could have made a landing, but he did not do this; he essayed rather to get a foothold on the wall of the dock and climb out, and the maiden, kneeling down, tried to assist him. But the wall of the quay was too high and, in his frantic efforts to get at the loving hand extended to him, he soon began to show signs of exhaustion. Seeing this, the girl became frightened.

“O, my dog! my dog!” she cried, the tears, welling into her eyes, "'thou wilt drown. Holy Mother, what shall I do?” looking around in hopes of seeing some one whom she could call to her assistance.

But there was nobody near and, tearing the silken snood from her head, she held that down to the dog, who, with the instinct of self-preserva^ tion, seized it with his teeth. She did not en-

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deavor to lift him out of the water, feeling herself unequal to the task and fearing to lose this frail hold on his life, but keeping a firm grasp on her end of the bit of cloth, encouraged him to do ■likewise, looking round every now and then with a feeble cry for help.

The two had not been in this trying position long when a little boat shot into the dock from the river, and the next instant her dear friend and loving companion whom she had so nearly lost was lifted out of the water and laid at her feet.

So great was her astonishment and joy at first that she did not notice how this had happened,, but, taking the wet dog in her arms, covered it with caresses and kisses, while lavishing on it the most endearing terms; but then, the creature struggling to get away, so that it might shake .itself — for a dog that has been in the water is never content until it has done that — she recollected herself and, looking up, beheld standing beside her a handsome young cavalier.

This cavalier was altogether unlike the typical Spaniard. He was a tall, well-formed, broadshouldered young fellow, evidently strong and active, like most of the youths of the better class of that day — the warlike exercises then deemed necessary to the molding of a gentleman developing very stalwart men — but his complexion was fair, his eyes, though dark, not that intense black peculiar to the eyes of the Spanish race;

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and the girl saw, when he lifted his broad-brimmed, plumed hat for an instant, that his hair, which lay in soft, short curls on his head, was red, looking like rings of gold when the sun touched it.

‘‘Ah, your sehoria,” she said, the warm blood flushing through the soft, creamy skin of her cheeks as she rose to her feet, “I owe you thanks for saving my poor dog, and I was so foolishly glad to have him once more in my arms that I didn't even look to see to whom I was debtor. I crave your pardon, senor."

“I am glad to have been of service to you, senorita, to you and your little dog," said the cavalier, “and there is no great debt to be considered."

“What your senoria is pleased to say only proves that you understand not the value of the service you have done me," replied the girl. “Carlos is my only friend, and had I lost him I know not what I should have done. Truly, methinks, I should have leaped into the water with him had you not come when you did."

The young man looked at her seriously a moment; then he said, “Surely, life cannot be so barren to you already that you would sacrifice it for the sake of a dog!"

“Nay, senor," was the reply, “life is not barren ; it hath its pleasures, even for me, but I love my dog."

“Even for you?" he repeated, with an amused smile. ''Hath not life the same pleasures for you that it hath for other maidens of your degree?’'

She did not reply, but stood looking on the ground, and he continued, "Now, I pray you^ tell me, maiden, why you are here alone to-day,, when all Seville hath gone to welcome the King?"

"But nay, sehor, I am not alone, as your own eyes may see. There is Carlos — dear Carlos. But where is he?" looking about anxiously "Ah! there he is," as the dog came galloping to her,, barking and showing other signs of impatience; "he is tired of waiting for me. Be quiet, Carlos! Lie down, sirrah!"

The animal obediently crouched at her feet, whining, and evidently anxious to be gone.

"A dog is but a poor companion at the best," said the cavalier.

"Ah, think you so, sehor? But you scarcely know Carlos, and so I must e'en excuse your poor opinion of him. Indeed, your sehoria, he is my only friend, as I have already told you."

"Then must I crave his pardon, and yours, likewise, sehorita," was the response. "An’ that be so, which I doubt not, having the assurance from yourself, you do well to hold him dear, for truly friends be hard to find."

"Hath your sehoria found that out, too?" asked the girl, who, now observing his apparel more particularly, perceived that it was made of the plainest and cheapest materials then in use, judged that he was by no means rich.

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‘‘I am but a soldier of fortune/’ he said, ‘‘though of right good Castilian blood, and such are not blessed with many friends.”

“A soldier!” cried the girl, her beautiful eyes brightening, “but I might have known that: all brave cavaliers are soldiers now. But why should not a soldier of fortune have friends, sefior?”

“Truly, I know not, unless it be that we are for the most part poor, and each bent on winning his own way to fame and fortune.

“We have buenas camaradas, yet that signifieth not always true friends. But I know not why I have kept you standing here, sehorita, so I will bid you adios; the little dog, I am sure, will be glad when he sees the last of me.”

“Then will he be ungrateful,” said the dog’s mistress, “and thou art not ungrateful, art thou, Carlos?”

The dog acknowledged the notice bestowed upon him with a wag of his tail.

The cavalier had drawn his boat up by the rope which he held in his hand, and the girl, with a soft “Adios, sefior,” turned to go away. She had gone but a little way when she came running back.

“O, sehor,” she said, in a breathless, hesitating way, “should — a — should you need money— my grandfather, I doubt not, will gladly lend you some. He hath dealings with many cavaliers.”

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"'But he scarcely hath dealings with them who can give him no pledge for that which they borrow of him/’ replied the cavalier, laughing. "Thanks, sehorita, for your kind intent, but no man, I warrant, would willingly cast his money into the sea, unless he be mad, and, of a surety. I’ll not be the one to ask your good grandfather to do it.”

"But he’ll require no pledge of you, senor, when he knoweth how I am indebted to you.”

"You are indebted to me naught, sehorita, and, even were it so, the more reason that I should ask naught of him. But you can scarce understand the drift of my thoughts.”

"Ah, but I do,” said the girl. "Your sehoria is too proud to take by way of a loan that which you fear you may not be able to repay.”

"Perchance that is it,” said the young man. ^"But still I thank you, sehorita, for the kindness you intend,” and, taking the girl’s soft, white hand in his, he raised it to his lips; then, bidding her adois, leapt into his boat.

This act of simple courtesy, so common in those days, seemed to have a strange ef¥ect in this case. The girl, with heightened color, stood a few moments where the cavalier left her, as immobile as a statue, her eyes downcast, and the hand his lips had touched folded closely in the other. When she looked up he was far out in the stream, making his little boat spin under the quick, strong strokes of his oars, and, with a scarcely audible sigh, she turned away, softly kissing the hand he had kissed as she walked homeward, followed, unwillingly, by her dog.

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Chapter II. The New World

We of the present nineteenth century, who have become accustomed to things marvelous, almost miraculous, can hardly form a just idea of the effect produced throughout the length and breadth of Europe when the news was slowly filtered through its commercial arteries, that a new world, inhabited by people of a race hitherto unknown, had been discovered by a Genoese sailor. That this man — ^this crank, as he was considered — though then they had not the word — by all save a few, like Perez and Quintanilla, had exploded the time-honored notion that the earth was flat like a great pancake, and had set at rest forever the much-argued question whether or no a ship could sail very far in a westerly direction on the bosom of the Atlantic without coming to grief.

Soon, other adventurers following the path marked out on a pathless ocean by Colombo, the dove that went forth from the ark of the old world and returned with evidences of the existence of dry land beyond the watery waste, found their way to the new countries in search of El Dorados and fountains of perpetual youth.

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returning, some with fabulous wealth, others with fabulous tales, which latter, being judiciously handled, proved of quite as much value as the cargoes of gold and silver.

About three years after the visit of Philip II. to Seville, a galleon of the first class sailed from Cadiz and set her course for the Western World. She had about one hundred and fifty men on board, chiefly soldiers, and was commanded by Don Rudolfo de la Borla.

During the voyage to Hispaniola nothing unusual happened, but shortly after the galleon left that island, Don Rudolfo died, and the command devolved upon one Carlo Rossi, an Italian, who had the reputation of being a good soldier, and a soldier was generally chosen as chief of such expeditions, the navigation of the vessel being entrusted to an experienced mariner.

They were in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico when this sad event occurred, and shortly after the body of the commander was consigned to the restless waves, a storm arose that drove them to the northward. Three days they were buffeted about, and, at the end of that time, the wind still blowing a pretty stiff gale, found themselves in close proximity to some low-lying islands. The sea was running high, the galleon leaking badly, and their only chance of escape from death lay in driving her through the pass between two of these islands, and finding shelter under their lee. This the pilot with considerable difficulty succeeded in doing, when they found themselves in comparatively smooth water, where they lay to and looked into the condition of their craft. It was very evident that she could not be kept afloat much longer, and, the pilot advising it, she was run across the narrow strip of water in which they then were, to the mainland, two or three leagues away.

Here she was beached, and with the only boat left — the others had been lost during the storm — the soldiers and sailors were transported to the shore, where they made an easy landing, the beach being smooth and free from rocks or anything else to give them trouble. Of the one hundred and fifty men who had sailed from Cadiz twenty-six had perished, including two subordinate officers, and Carlo Rossi found himself the sole one in authority over a band of rough, hardened adventurers, already disposed to be jealous because of his Italian nationality, forgetting that the man who had opened this new field of enterprise to them and their like was himself an Italian.

The shore of the lake or sound into which they had brought their vessel was bordered by a thick growth of trees — chiefly pines — among which they caught an occasional glimpse of the wild-eyed natives peering at them curiously while the royal standard of Castile and Aragon was being unfurled to the breeze of a new world, the soldiers grouped around it lifting their

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gleaming swords and taking possession in the name of his catholic Majesty.

The natives were doubtless greatly impressed by the ceremony, which to them probably had some mystic significance, but had they understood the real meaning of it, and all of which it was the forerunner, they would have fallen upon these strangers then, while they were, in a measure, defenceless, and exterminated them.

As it was, they were shy, though not afraid, and it was some time before they could be induced to come near enough to hold any intercourse with them.

The first thing the white men did was to establish a temporary camp in the forest near where they had landed, and get ashore what they could from the galleon. The wind had laid and the tide had ebbed, leaving the vessel in water not more than three feet deep, so that it would have been an easy matter to have transported the entire cargo to the land had it been desired; but provisions and ammunition for their arquebuses was what they chiefly needed, and these were at once secured. This done, they began to look about them.

At first they had thought of repairing their vessel and getting her afloat again, but the impossibility of doing this soon became apparent. When they had brought her into the position in which she now was, the water, driven in by the wind, had been unusually high, and now it was

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found that she was stuck fast in the sand, and it would be impossible to move her; so, necessity compelling, they e'en made the best they could of the matter, and, having selected a place suitable for a permanent camp, proceeded to strip ‘her of sails, rigging and such provisions as were not spoiled, besides bringing away two small cannon, called falconets, with a sufficient supply of powder and ball, and abandoned her to her fate, which was settled by the next storm breaking her up and scattering her timbers for miles along the shore.

With regard to the future and what it might have in store for them, they never once gave it a •thought, not doubting that in time some ship bent on a voyage of discovery would come that way, or that whenever they felt so inclined they could march around by the coast line in an easterly direction until they came to a Spanish settlement. For the present they were only intent on enjoying the freedom of life ashore after their long confinement in the galleon and the rough treatment they had received from Boreas and Oceanus.

After a little while the natives became more told, and a few of the women ventured into the camp, when, being well received and presented with some trifling trinkets, they returned to their people with marvelous accounts of the goodness of the strangers, which induced others to come, and soon the intercourse between the white men

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and the savages was unreserved and free from fear or suspicion — at least on the part of the latter, who brought offerings of maize and game to the guests, whom they seemed delighted to honor.

The place the Spaniards had selected for their encampment was a point of land or cape that at its base was not more than three hundred yards across, which, in case of any interruption to their friendly relations with the Indians, would be easily defended.

The eastern side of the cape was washed by what they at first supposed to be the waters of an estuary of the sound, but which they afterward discovered to be one of the mouths of a river, the bank of which a little higher up was covered with a dense growth of trees — live-oaks,, gums, magnolias, bays and many other varieties, the drooping branches of the live-oaks almost touching the stream, the grey moss which hung pendent from them, like the beards of river gods, being constantly swept one way or the other by the tides as they ebbed or flowed.

Over these trees clambered vines, which, it being the season of spring, were gorgeous with blossoms ; the wistaria, hanging heavily with purple clusters, like a grape vine overladen with fruit; the yellow jasmine, loading low trees and shrubs with heaps of gold, and the trampet-vine, climbing high to flash its flaming banners in the sunshine.

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On the cape itself there was very little growth of any kind — a cluster of stunted, storm-torn live-oaks, one giant pine and a few clumps of palmettoes — that was all.

Two or three parties, under the guidance of natives, started out to explore the country and find out its resources, and while they were gone those who remained behind employed themselves building huts to shelter them from the weather, a dozen or more men under the direction of Rossi erecting a log house of two rooms, one of which was to be the commander's sleeping apartment, and the other a store room in which their provisions and ammunition were to be kept.