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Page 27
The beautiful Serafina shook her head mournfully. It was not on those
points that she felt doubt or dismay. She believed most implicitly in
the Island of the Seven Cities, and trusted devoutly in the success of
the enterprise; but she had heard of the inconstancy of the seas, and
the inconstancy of those who roam them. Now, let the truth be spoken,
Don Fernando, if he had any fault in the world, it was that he was a
little too inflammable; that is to say, a little too subject to take
fire from the sparkle of every bright eye: he had been somewhat of a
rover among the sex on shore, what might he not be on sea? Might he
not meet with other loves in foreign ports? Might he not behold some
peerless beauty in one or other of those seven cities, who might efface
the image of Serafina from his thoughts?
At length she ventured to hint her doubts; but Don Fernando spurned at
the very idea. Never could his heart be false to Serafina! Never could
another be captivating in his eyes!--never--never! Repeatedly did he
bend his knee, and smite his breast, and call upon the silver moon to
witness the sincerity of his vows. But might not Serafina, herself, be
forgetful of her plighted faith? Might not some wealthier rival present,
while he was tossing on the sea, and, backed by the authority of her
father, win the treasure of her hand? Alas, how little did he know
Serafina's heart! The more her father should oppose, the more would she
be fixed in her faith. Though years should pass before his return, he
would find her true to her vows. Even should the salt seas swallow him
up, (and her eyes streamed with salt tears at the very thought,) never
would she be the wife of another--never--never! She raised her beautiful
white arms between the iron bars of the balcony, and invoked the moon as
a testimonial of her faith.
Thus, according to immemorial usage, the lovers parted, with many a vow
of eternal constancy. But will they keep those vows? Perish the doubt!
Have they not called the constant moon to witness?
With the morning dawn the caravels dropped down the Tagus and put
to sea. They steered for the Canaries, in those days the regions of
nautical romance. Scarcely had they reached those latitudes, when a
violent tempest arose. Don Fernando soon lost sight of the accompanying
caravel, and was driven out of all reckoning by the fury of the storm.
For several weary days and nights he was tossed to and fro, at the mercy
of the elements, expecting each moment to be swallowed up. At length,
one day toward evening, the storm subsided; the clouds cleared up, as
though a veil had suddenly been withdrawn from the face of heaven, and
the setting sun shone gloriously upon a fair and mountainous island,
that seemed close at hand. The tempest-tossed mariners rubbed their
eyes, and gazed almost incredulously upon this land, that had emerged so
suddenly from the murky gloom; yet there it lay, spread out in lovely
landscapes; enlivened by villages, and towers, and spires, while the
late stormy sea rolled in peaceful billows to its shores. About a league
from the sea, on the banks of a river, stood a noble city, with lofty
walls and towers, and a protecting castle. Don Fernando anchored off
the mouth of the river, which appeared to form a spacious harbor. In a
little while a barge was seen issuing from the river. It was evidently
a barge of ceremony, for it was richly though quaintly carved and gilt,
and decorated with a silken awning and fluttering streamers, while a
banner, bearing the sacred emblem of the cross, floated to the breeze.
The barge advanced slowly, impelled by sixteen oars, painted of a bright
crimson. The oarsmen were uncouth, or rather antique, in their garb, and
kept stroke to the regular cadence of an old Spanish ditty. Beneath the
awning sat a cavalier, in a rich though old-fashioned doublet, with an
enormous sombrero and feather. When the barge reached the caravel, the
cavalier stepped on board. He was tall and gaunt, with a long, Spanish
visage, and lack-lustre eyes, and an air of lofty and somewhat pompous
gravity. His mustaches were curled up to his ears, his beard was forked
and precise; he wore gauntlets that reached to his elbows, and a Toledo
blade that strutted out behind, while, in front, its huge basket-hilt
might have served for a porringer.
Thrusting out a long spindle leg, and taking off his sombrero with a
grave and stately sweep, he saluted Don Fernando by name, and welcomed
him, in old Castilian language, and in the style of old Castilian
courtesy.
Don Fernando was startled at hearing himself accosted by name, by an
utter stranger, in a strange land. As soon as he could recover from his
surprise, he inquired what land it was at which he had arrived.
"The Island of the Seven Cities!"
Could this be true? Had he indeed been thus tempest-driven upon the very
land of which he was in quest? It was even so. The other caravel, from
which he had been separated in the storm, had made a neighboring port of
the island, and announced the tidings of this expedition, which came to
restore the country to the great community of Christendom. The whole
island, he was told, was given up to rejoicings on the happy event; and
they only awaited his arrival to acknowledge allegiance to the crown of
Portugal, and hail him as Adelantado of the Seven Cities. A grand f�te
was to be solemnized that very night in the palace of the Alcayde or
governor of the city; who, on beholding the most opportune arrival of
the caravel, had despatched his grand chamberlain, in his barge of
state, to conduct the future Adelantado to the ceremony.
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