CHAP. II.

It was long ere Sebastian could calm the anguish of her, who still

To the pang of parting, quickly succeeded the tortures of suspense; her child was at the mercy of an ocean whose horrors she had herself experienced too awfully not to apprehend similar disaster for others.

Aziek soon ceased to complain, but Sebastian’s watchful eyes marked the sudden alteration in hers at every blast of wind. Those wintry storms which formerly served to heighten the sublimity of their scenery, were now heard with horror: the pale cheek, the lifted eye, the scarce-breathed, half-checked apostrophe, all testified the suffering of an anxious mother.

Sebastian perceived the inutility of remonstrance and exhortation; these might teach her to conceal her grief, but they could not bring her to conquer it: he abandoned them therefore, contenting himself with winning her to other interests, and planning new calls upon her benevolence.

He talked perpetually of Blanche, he talked without gloom; he reverted to her sweet manners and virtues, he repeated the anecdotes of her childhood, (anecdotes, which a mother never ceases to hear with interest) he drew various imaginary pictures of her future destiny, and he took care to make those pictures pleasing. By degrees Kara Aziek learnt to associate the prospect of happiness with this temporary privation; she learnt to believe the sanguine fortunes he foretold, and her mind, permitted to dwell on one dear object, readily took the only way he chose should lead to it. If tears sometimes trickled down her cheek at the name of her far-distant treasure, they were tender tears, full of gratitude and hope.

The tedious months at length wore away, and letters arrived from Sicily.

What were the emotions of the parents when they saw the writing of their daughter, and were thus assured of her safety! for some time they could not read her letter; but they opened not any other, their child’s sentiments and situation absorbed all their interest. Having recovered himself, Sebastian read the letter aloud, though his voice and his hand yet betrayed signs of remaining agitation.

The letter contained an account of Blanche’s voyage, a warm acknowledgement of Gaspar’s cares, description of her reception by the Duchess of Medina Sidonia, and a confession of her pleasurable emotions on witnessing the customs and refinements of Europe.

To these details was added the most affecting expressions of love for her parents, and of sorrow at their wide separation: it was evident that the simple enjoyments of her native village yet held their place in her uncorrupted heart; the amusements of Sicily could not displace them, for these amusements only gratified her senses.

Charmed with the Duke and Duchess of Medina Sidonia, she described their kindness in glowing language: her delineation of their sentiments relieved Kara Aziek from many fears; with such noble persons she could trust her daughter’s heart.

The packets from De Castro and Gaspar were chiefly on business: Sebastian perused them attentively. They informed him that Queen Elizabeth’s favorable disposition yet remained unimpaired, but that being desirous of acting on certainties, and avoiding indiscreet reliance on her good faith, De Castro thought it expedient to return to London with his credentials from Sebastian, for the settlement of a final treaty between them; of which Princess Blanche should be the pledge on the side of Portugal, and an immediate loan of money, (for the furtherance of their schemes,) the guarantee on the part of England.

This arranged, he would instantly send for Blanche, who might be safely committed to Gaspar, and would be permitted to retain this watchful friend about her person, at the court of London.

Through the exertions of Lord Essex, some German Princes had promised to join the triple league against their common enemy, and Henry of France, (perhaps secretly favoring those principles he had weakly yielded up to gain a throne,) actually advanced an unconditional sum of money for the aid of Sebastian’s agents in their various missions.

A formidable expedition under the gallant Essex, was fitting out in the ports of England; the capture or destruction of Cadiz was its object. But the most extraordinary part of this communication, was contained in the following sentences.

“Amongst the volunteers in our expedition, there are two, at whose names your majesty will start. Antonio of Crato, and his son Don Christopher. For some time the prior had been upheld by the English, but on discovering the instability and levity of his character, they abandoned his interests: I found him living a neglected and private individual in London.

“He was unconscious that my exertions here were caused by any stronger motive than the abhorrence of the Spanish yoke, (for our secret goes not beyond a small circle) and he deemed it right to visit me—my reception was so cold, that he quickly left me, and we have never met since.

“He is embarked in the enterprize, foolishly believing that it is meant for his exaltation: Lord Essex is aware of the use which may be made of this folly, (as it indeed serves to mask the real candidate for Portugal) and suffers him therefore to boast as he will.

“Don Christopher is of a different stamp: there is an honourable melancholy about him, that touched me at first sight; it is easy to perceive that he blushes at the remembrance of his mother, and that the story of your majesty’s wrongs has reached his ears. He accompanies the Earl of Essex as his lieutenant: for he is a true patriot, and seems earnest to make some atonement for the sins of his parents. Let me, sire, bespeak your favor for him, when you meet him in Portugal.”

At this mention of his perfidious cousin, Sebastian felt an emotion long unknown: his blood ran cold, and hastily putting down the letter, he took up that of Gaspar.

Kara Aziek had no attention to bestow on the abject Prior of Crato: she was absorbed in grateful contemplation of the happy prospect before her. Don Emanuel had enumerated so many Spanish and Portuguese nobles, eager to assist in the re-establishment of Sebastian or his offspring, that it would have been criminal to refuse placing some confidence in their efforts. England, France, and Holland, were on their side, and nothing remained to be concluded, except the signing of a treaty, and the delivery of their mutual pledges.

With these prospects she was not merely consoled, she was inspirited: for the first time since the departure of Blanche her lovely eyes shone with happiness, and she smiled without effort. Her hopes were gay, her joy unclouded; for of the political world and its tumults, she had experienced too little to form a distant idea of its rapid mutations.

Sebastian on the contrary, though he abounded in hope also, formed an instantaneous picture of all the struggles and vicissitudes likely to follow the public proclamation of his claims. The lives, the fortunes, of every one embarked in his cause were now at stake: if Spain should feel in herself the strength adequate to resistance, she would certainly refuse to yield back the crown of Portugal, at the mere summons of England. War then, must decide it at last; that war which he had hitherto so carefully shunned!

To the painfulness of this reflection he opposed the chief argument of De Castro, which consisted in the horrible oppression of Philip: his extortions and cruelty, daily ruined or maddened some noble Portuguese; he carried their youth to fight against the Netherlands, and since not even personal safety was purchased by submission to his yoke, was it not better to shed their blood in brave resistance?

Aided by other powers, they would contend on equal terms, in point of physical strength: and the force of a powerful sentiment would surely give them superiority in all that related to opinion.

Revived by this reasoning, Sebastian banished the gloom of useless regret, yet he could not cease to occupy himself with conjecture and anticipation:—his mind was active and anxious, but that activity and that anxiety were full of cheerfulness.

From this day the discourses of Sebastian and Kara Aziek lost their pensive strain: they conversed more frequently together, and the theme they dwelt on was their return to Europe. Time seemed long to them, because they were eager, but it had ceased to be sad.

In these new emotions their former duties were not forgotten: as they anticipated a removal from Cachoeira, its peaceful inhabitants, formed by their care, and dependent on their goodness, became more interesting to them; the Guaymures had claims on their hearts, which neither Sebastian nor Kara Aziek were of a nature to disregard. They now redoubled their solicitude for their welfare; and Sebastian already decided on leaving part of his property in the hands of two respectable Portuguese, who had settled near his abode: to these men he might safely trust it, as a deposit for the promotion of public works, or as a fund in case of any unexpected calamity by fire.

Months had gone by, and the second appearance of ships from that quarter of the globe where all their interests was centered, was looked for eagerly by Sebastian and Kara Aziek: the ships arrived.

Assured of his daughter’s health by seeing her hand writing, and now deeply solicitous to learn the event of the pending negociation, Sebastian transferred her letter to his wife, and opened the packet from Don Emanuel.

It was written immediately after his second return from England: it was full of joyous expectation, Elizabeth had acceded to all the requests of the King of Portugal; she was ready to exchange a large subsidy for the person of the Princess Blanche; her expedition against Spain had sailed, and the moment she should obtain some advantage there, and have the presumptive heiress of Portugal in her possession, she meant to send and demand of Philip the restitution of her father’s kingdom.

De Castro was come back to Sicily for the purpose of securing his brother-in-law’s support to the measures of England: by the council of his nobles, Philip might be influenced to resign a crown which he could not keep without their assistance.

Affairs then were at their crisis; or rather that crisis was past, and at this moment, Blanche was either residing in the palace of her ancestors, and accepted as the representative of her father, or dwelling in England, while foreign armies were disputing for her father’s rights.

The agitation excited by this idea, was yet fresh in the hearts of Kara Aziek and her Sebastian, when a vessel with dispatches to the governor, brought intelligence that Cadiz was taken by the English, that it was suspected they meant to send out a fleet against Spanish America, and that consequently the governor was called on to prepare for obstinate defence.

These news reached Cachoeira by the messenger who brought a letter that had come in the same ship.

The letter was from Gaspar, and but a month later in date than that of De Castro: it was short and afflicting: Don Emanuel was dead. A long and violent fever with which he had been seized soon after his return to Messina, had delayed the departure of Blanche, and had at last terminated the life of her most valuable friend.

De Castro had died in the full belief that Providence favoured the cause of justice and his King; he had died at the brightest moment of their enterprize; he was therefore to be envied perhaps, if Providence should will a different fate, and ordain disappointment to the allies.

But what a shock was this event! what a loss! the grief of Sebastian was as profound as remembrance of De Castro’s past services, and dependence on his exertions might be expected to render it: he lamented not only the best of men, but the most zealous of friends. The sinew of his strength was gone; nay rather, was not De Castro the soul of every project?

A solemn check was here given to those anticipations which had so lately spread joy through Cachoeira: one blow, taught him who had been stricken by repeated misfortune, to expect another, and while he mourned the companion he loved, he trembled to imagine that new calamities might be in store for himself and others.

Kara Aziek entered into all his feelings; her daughter, deprived of this faithful protector, whom power and influence rendered more valuable than the humbler though equally devoted Gaspar, pressed on her heart, and called aloud for succour.

Upon the affection of the Duke and Duchess of Medina, she slightly calculated, (for we do not receive strong impressions by mere description, we must witness attachment, to rely on its existence) Kara Aziek only saw her inexperienced daughter, alone, desolate, and sad, going amongst strangers, to whose honour she must trust for generous treatment.

Distracted, bewildered, unconscious of what to wish or to propose, she fell into a passion of grief which Sebastian understood but too well. He was standing buried in thought: at the sound of her sobs he started, and approaching her to support her, said in a composed tone: “We have indeed lost our best friend, my Aziek! he cannot be replaced. Ought I not to consider his death as the vice of Heaven calling me to abandon this solitude and appear on the scene myself? Even in his most sanguine moments De Castro regarded England with suspicion, and knew her to be guided by self-interest: that base principle may as easily lead to her betraying my affairs, as to her advancing them. What then would be the fate of our Blanche? rouse yourself my beloved! we must stand the shock of peril together—my resolution is taken—I quit Brazil.”

At these words Kara Aziek flung herself on his bosom with a cry of joy; she had lost sight of every object except her daughter, and contemplating her desolate state, possible danger to her husband was forgotten. “O my Sebastian!” she exclaimed, “let us indeed brave the world united; give me back my child, and then whatever be the destiny awarded us, we shall meet it with courage. Here, our peaceful days are over—long, long have they been over, without Blanche we live on, bereft of our soul.—Shall we ever see her again? O thought too blissful!”

She ceased, overcome with an emotion which Sebastian endeavoured to moderate, by assuring her that when once they had regained their daughter, no political motive should induce him to resign her a second time.

The letter from Caspar was again read; and a long postscript which Sebastian had overlooked in his first consternation, now served to guide him in his plan for the future.

This postscript informed him that Juan (the cousin of Don Emanuel) had set off for England with the intelligence of their loss; and that the detention of Blanche had been agreed upon amongst them, until Queen Elizabeth should fulfil her promise by sending part of the stipulated subsidy. This caution, together with the length of time which must pass ere Don Juan could return, (in consequence of the secret and circuitous route by which all voyages to an enemy’s country were necessarily taken) animated Sebastian to hope that his daughter had not yet left Sicily, and that he might find her still at Messina.

It was his intention rather to become his own pledge of faith, than to risk the security of his child. Known in Sicily as the orphan ward of Don Emanuel, she had hitherto lived unsuspected, under the protection of his sister: it was true, most people concluded her to be the illegitimate offspring of her reputed guardian, but that conclusion excited no further inquiries, and threatened her with no danger: it was therefore the safest asylum in which affection could place her.

Having formed his resolution, Sebastian lost no time in beginning to act: he settled his arrangements at Cachoeira; he left the largest portion of his remaining property in the hands he had proposed, and preparing his mind for toils and troubles to which it was now disused, he bade an eternal farewel to Brazil.

It was a day of dismal sadness at Cachoeira, when its founder departed: the importunate lamentations of his Indians followed him even to St. Salvador; many of them petitioned to go with him, some refused to quit his side till they saw him embarked, others flung themselves into the sea and swam after the ship.

Sebastian had thanks and benedictions for them all: Kara Aziek repaid them with her tears, and affectionate though mournful smiles. She knew they were never to meet again, and her heart ached to think how delusive were the hopes of their return, which each ardent native continued to express, and demanded to have confirmed.

At length the sounds of sorrow no longer reached them from the receding shore, it became more distant every moment, it lessened to a speck, it sunk beneath the horizon! They looked back, and that vast continent was blotted out from their sight: nothing remained but their solitary vessel in the midst of that solemn and toiling ocean, beyond which they were going to court difficulty and danger.

Their situation was like that of a soul returning a second time into mortal life, after having long reposed on the calm of another world. Kara Aziek doubted whether she should have strength to encounter the cares inseparable from such a change; and Sebastian searched his spirit to discover some of that fire and decisiveness which once predominated in his character, though it had lain dormant at Cachoeira.

Bereft of Don Emanuel De Castro, he felt dependent chiefly on himself: (for Don Juan he remembered merely as a very young lord whose character was not yet developed when they sailed for Africa,) he shuddered to think what might ensue should the Duke of Medina fail him at this awful moment: should he have betrayed the secret of Blanche’s birth, her parents might be hastening only to hear that their innocent child was immured in a Castillian prison; but should he prove faithful, his counsel might in some measure atone for the loss of De Castro.

Sebastian revolved these thoughts with deep attention; for the period was critical, and he was about to play a solemn game that staked his liberty and his life, the safety of his wife and daughter, and the existence of Portugal.