A tale for Columbus Day (a bit late). As always, Columbus portrayed in grand style, and a moral is imparted. But the story gives a lovely description of the Spanish countryside and an imagining of what the Spanish court might look like.A lizard crept out of a cool crevice and then lay motionless in the sunwarmed purple hollow of a tall. reddish-blue rock jutting upward from a stony ridge which formed the northern wall of a wide valley. The little creature's eyes were like tiny jewels, flashing forth a green fire as he blinked in lazy enjoyment of the genial rays shining down from the cloudless blue of the Spanish sky. Beneath him, at the base of the rock, there was a low growth of young pines and silver-stemmed poplars, and now these rustled softly, like fluttering feathers, as a small body wriggled somewhat after the lizard's fashion out into the open.
Then, springing to her feet with an agile bound, Niña raised her hand to shade her eyes from the dazzling sunshine and peered eagerly down into the yellow plain spread out for miles and miles in front of her.
She was a lass of small stature for her dozen years, nevertheless there was a look of health and vigor about her slender, well-knit frame: red roses bloomed in her tanned cheeks, and their tint also touched her small, pretty mouth; there was no lack of strength and symmetry in her hare, brown limbs; grace was in her straight little back and in the way her slender neck carried a head with its tangle of silken, black curls.
Very shabbily clad was Niña; a ragged velveteen bodice, whose faded red lacings of cord revealed the white of a coarse linen underwaist, and a tattered skirt of orange-striped wool made the child look like some gay tropical bird whose plumage had once been bright, indeed, but now lacked its former sleek beauty.
However, just now little Niña was giving but scant heed to her attire; her large black eyes were directed far down the slope toward a squatty figure dressed in a voluminously flounced petticoat, the gaudy lemon-yellow tints of which were somewhat subdued by a shabby, black lace mantilla.
Half wrathfully, half roguishly, the little girl wagged a small brown forefinger at the broad back of the waddling woman. "Oho! haha!" she chuckled, and the sound was like the gurgle of a merry little brook. "There goes Juana, trying to look as youthful as a senorita and as stately as a marquesa! She spent a full half-hour draping her mantilla, and oh! the proud air with which she tucked a red rose just above her left ear and marched off with her fan! No doubt all the caballeros will nudge one another and hide their mouths behind the palms of their hands! Yes, poor old Juana means to have a fine time to-day. I only wish," here a little mist veiled the dark eyes, "I only wish that she 'd allowed me to accompany her! I, too, would like to see the queen, our good Isabella: they say she is to ride forth to-day to watch the knights display their skill. Roderick Herando told me this morning as he went by, driving his herd of goats to feed on the grassy slopes of Xoliar, that all last night there was much going on in the barraca; the armorers were at work on helmet and cuirass and polishing swords; grooms were making the splendid horses' sides shine like satin and tails and manes look like waving silk; heralds, drummers, and trumpeters were adding to the din. But woe is me! if it were exciting last night just among the servitors and pages and squires, what will it be to-day, when the nobles ride forth with royalty at their head!" And here Niña clapped her little brown hands together in sudden ecstasy.
Then her animated face clouded over again, and she shook her head mournfully as she continued:
"But ah, little good does all this fine preparation do me! I must abide here by the hut and watch the fowls, the goats, and the half-dozen fig-trees—for so ordered Juana! 'Be on the lookout for the Moors, child!' quoth she. 'They may swoop down at any time like hawks, the bold, black creatures!'"
Niña shuddered a little as she repeated old Juana's admonition, and sad bitterness was in her childish voice as she added in a whisper:
"Ah, the Moors! Truly, Juana need take no pains to warn me against them. Alas! did they not take my father and my mother from me, thus leaving me, in one dreadful day, a helpless orphan? War is a terrible thing; and this siege has lasted so long ! Will the city never yield?"
Looking outward, and beyond old Juana's rapidly receding figure, the little girl beheld, far in the distance, but plainly visible because of the clear, crystalline atmosphere, that jewel of Spanish cities, fair Granada.
On either side of it towered mountain-peaks, their stately shoulders wearing the ermine of the snow, though down in the vales below the summer sun made the golden air shimmer with heat.
The city itself glistened with whitened walls, while here and there was a gaily colored tile roof or gilded minaret, and contrasted to the brightness were the cool green shadows of cypress groves, orchards, vineyards, and beautiful gardens. But between the covert of the reddish-blue rocks where the little Spanish girl rested and the far-distant, splendid city, there stretched a wide vega—a plain yellow and brown with sun-parched grass, lined by dusty white roads, and spotted with the black desolation of burnt villages.
Here it was, in a certain year toward the close of the fifteenth century, the time of our story, that the army of King Ferdinand and Queen Isabella was encamped. Niña's sharp eyes could see the barraca—the rows and rows of tents, the hastily constructed huts roofed with straw and wattles. Standing in becoming dignity apart from them was the great pavilion above which fluttered the standards of Castile and Aragon, and surrounding it were many other tents, silken-fringed and surmounted by embroidered banners of divers colors and heraldic designs.
It was too far away to distinguish figures, moving or motionless, but now and then the wings of the wind brought to Niña's ears a faint sound of silver-throated trumpets, the thunderous roll of drums, and her vivid imagination pictured knightly figures in armor, mounted on gaily caparisoned horses, galloping here and there, doffing plumed helmets to fair ladies, and bowing low in the saddle before royalty.
Ah, so much was going on down there on the wide yellow plain! Old Juana, with the red rose stuck so coquettishly amid her coarse, iron-gray curls, could see it all, but she, poor little Niña, must stay up on the rocky hillside with only the cackling fowls and the greedily browsing goats for company! Really it was too bad!
But now, after all, because she was a sensible, fair-minded little lass, and, moreover, one disposed to make the best of things, Niña's face soon resumed its customary sunny expression, and she said cheerily:
"Eh, shall I call it night just because of one black cloud! 'T is not Christianlike for me to begrudge old Juana her day's outing. Surely she deserves it, for she has worked hard all the week at the mat-weaving and the garden-tending. Besides, she has been good to me, the woman has. Few and far between are the folk ready to give a poor orphan a home. I must not blame her because she thought it not wise to take me, a little maid, down among the noisy crowd. Besides, it was needful for somebody to abide at home to see to things, for, though there 's little chance of any of the swart, lawless Moors prowling around, with so many Spanish soldiers encamped between here and Granada, still the fowls are prone to steal into the garden and nip off the young leeks, while as for the goats, well, everybody knows what wanderers they are! And anyhow, Juana was very kind about one thing," here Nina's black eyes shone, "she left me something for a very good dinner. Yes, a fine feast I shall have indeed! After I have tidied up the hut and fed the fowls, I 'll take my victuals down to the ravine yonder, where it is so cool and shady, and eat my meal there."
Half an hour later found Niña seated in the shadow of a copse of oleanders, their pink rosettes, wind-fluttered, giving forth a delicate perfume.
She made a wreath of some of the flowers, and, placing it jauntily upon her shining black curls, leaned over with a smiling face to peer at her reflection in the clear dark waters of a little brook which flowed through the ravine.
The stream, at this part, had widened into a dark, mirror-like pool, motionless save for a slight ripple now and then or a tiny enlarging circle of silver bubbles as some fish rose to the surface for air, or to snap at the brown and azure-winged flies skimming across the water. But a few rods away, farther up the defile, the brook came down tumultuously over narrow, shelving ledges, making a leaping waterfall, its white foam rainbow-tinted where shafts of sunlight smote it.
The rush and ripple of the waters quite drowned all other sounds, and thus it was that Niña, smiling and dimpling at the radiant, pink-garlanded vision in the dark, shining pool, heard not the slightest noise, until the rattling of a pebble tumbling down the slope gave notice of an approaching footstep.
She sprang up aghast! Visions of gigantic, swarthy, fierce-eyed Moors, bearing down with gleaming sword or cruel lance, sent her heart a-fluttering.
Was she to be slain, or to be carried away a helpless captive maid, doomed to slave in some Moorish palace for years and years?
Trembling in every limb, yet with her eyes flashing and her head proudly erect,—for little Niña was of brave Spanish blood, having no taint of cowardice in it,—she stood staring in dreadful expectation toward the upper end of the irregular stony path, where a beetling crag, jutting out aslant, partly concealed the latter from view.
And now, around this turn, there came a figure, large in size, indeed, but plainly that of no Moor. For the intruder, stalwart and robust, was of ruddy countenance, noble in feature and expression, with deep blue eyes, eyes grave and gentle. Of not more than middle age was he; nevertheless, the auburn hair about his temples was already silvered, and he had the look of one whose years had been burdened with many ponderous thoughts.
The dignity and gentleness of his presence speedily banished all fears from Niña's breast. Surely, the new-comer was no black-browed, fierce Moor, nor was he a haughty, ruthless Spanish caballero. Evidently he was a stranger, a foreigner, doubtless, and yet—and yet—Niña passed her small brown hand across her forehead thoughtfully—had she not seen his face before? Once, amid crowds down in the vega, when she and Juana had ventured down there to sell pats of goat's-milk cheese to the soldiery, and a basketful of white and crimson roses to some of the fine dames—yes, was it not in the midst of a jostling, motley throng she had seen just such a benign face, whose owner had moved along in a quiet, self-absorbed way, quite regardless of bold stares and muttered comments of mingled praise and blame? Niña was not quite certain — and again she drew her hand across her brow in a puzzled fashion.
But now the stranger, reaching the base of the rocky slope and seeing the ravine occupied, spoke in a friendly tone and with the winsome smile of one whose heart warms at the sight of little children :
"Aha! a little maid, too, has sought the pleasant shelter of this cool retreat! Is she willing, I wonder, to share some of this refreshing water with a weary wayfarer?"
"Oh, surely, good sir," came the prompt reply; and then, hastily, "only wait a brief space, I pray you," for the man, laying aside the pack he carried upon his back—a pack containing clothing and sundry rolled-up parchments and various maps—was apparently in the act of kneeling down, in the slow, laborious manner of one whose limbs were stiff with weariness, in order to quaff the water with his hollowed hands.
Niña ran swiftly to where, in a green, mossy crevice between two boulders, she had stored the food for her feast; she drew forth a little cup fashioned from red clay, and, dipping it into the pool, held it brimful to the parched lips of the stranger. Two long draughts, and the cup was emptied. There was a grateful look in the grave blue eyes.
"Ah, that was good! Many thanks, little maid."
And here a genial smile, like sunshine, flashed from beneath the shaggy gray brows. "Of a truth, Ferdinand of Aragon has no more ready and courteous cup-bearer! As for the water, it is most refreshing—so cold that it almost seems to have a touch of ice in it."
The little girl nodded with a wise air.
"And no wonder, sir. Indeed, Juana says that the stream comes from the cold heart of yonder mountain," with a graceful gesture toward distant, white-crowned Valeta.
"I doubt it not! But who is Juana? Your elder sister?" with kindly interest.
Niña laughed mirthfully.
"She—Juana? Ah, no!" And then, with childish artlessness, the little girl went on to tell about her guardian, the humble, hillside home, her daily tasks, her joys and sorrows; and then, of course, there came forth the tale of the day's disappointment. The gray-haired stranger listened attentively, sympathetically.
"Yes, yes; I understand! So you wanted to go to the merry-making, the jousting, to see the gaiety and glitter of it all? Well, well, no wonder! And no blame to you, my dear! T'is a child's sport after all,—this waving of banners, blare of trumpets, and flaunting of tinseled attire, this mimicry and silly mockery,—all more suited to one of your years than it is to men and women over whom the war-cloud still hovers, black and ominous! For, my child, the Moors are not yet vanquished, nor is Granada fallen! Moreover, there are other things of mighty import to engage the minds of brave knights, thoughtful prelates, and wise, far-sighted monarchs. Yea, mighty schemes!" and here the speaker paused, a far-away look in his eyes, the look of one seeing visions. Then, with a little shrug of his broad shoulders, he turned to Niña, saying graciously:
"Pray lend me the cup again, my dear. The cold water is refreshing, and will help fill a stomach that has gone fasting for nigh twenty-four hours."
Niña complied with the request, but in silence; there was a perturbed look on her face. Fasting, forsooth! And was this fatherly, friendly man hungry? What a pity! She cast a furtive glance in the direction of the lichen-covered crevice in which lay hidden her small store of food.
A struggle was waged within her breast. Ought she to share her food, the bread, the figs, the dried fish, and the goat's-milk cheese, yes, the sugared cakes—the last such a treat!—given to her by old Juana, who had thoughtfully brought them home from Luisa de Mendoza's wedding festa—yes, ought she to share all these with a stranger? Why, this little feast was the only thing to balance her day's disappointment! And to talk about "sharing." Really, that which was an abundance for one small girl would be scarcely enough for so huge a man!
"Verily, he is of a goodly size!" Niña exclaimed to herself, with a solemn and calculating glance at her companion's generous circumference. "He could eat every crumb, and still leave much space!" she thought despairingly.
But then, he was a man no longer young; he looked sad, weary, and disappointed; somehow, she wanted to make him feel better in his mind and body—oh, truly, she wanted to! There was a strange impelling force within, her better self, that urged her onward. And now her brow cleared; the happy light came back to her dark eyes; she ran swiftly to the cool niche between the crags and drew forth the basket woven of osiers stained red and blue. She placed its contents on some broad plantain-leaves by the side of the stranger.
"How now, sir," she cried gaily, "say you not that I am a good little fairy? Here is food, and may it be quite to your liking. Eat, sir, I pray you!"
Then the man's eyes grew large with amazed delight.
"Fairy, indeed!" he exclaimed. "This is a feast fit for her Majesty, Queen Isabella! Truly, I am not sorry that I wandered into this ravine after losing my way trying to find a short course to Huelva. But, little maiden," in sudden hesitation, "doubtless this food was intended for yourself; it would be unkind in me to deprive you of it."
"Oh, give yourself no uneasiness," was Nina's hurried rejoinder. "We 'll eat together, an it please you, my dear sir. Behold, now I help myself to a bit of bread—some fish, too, just a tiny piece! I—I had a very hearty breakfast this morning. But as for you, sir, you have gone without for so long a time. Now partake heartily; you must be very hungry," solicitously.
Evidently the big, gray-haired man was very hungry; he seemed to require no more urging to help himself to the food. He ate, indeed, with no lack of appetite, but in a thoughtful, absorbed way, as if his body were a mere machine that needed repairing, a furnace that needed fuel, while all the time his mind was busy with things more important than victuals and drink!
So busily engaged was it that he failed to note how very sparingly his small companion partook of the fish and figs and sugared cakes, but this was due to no greed on his part, nor to any lack of kindness.
After the repast was finished and the few crumbs tossed to the birds circling around the shady nook, the man rose to his feet, saying gratefully:
"Many thanks, dear child! I am loath to leave such pleasant company, but I must be going. Truly, fine rest and refreshment have I found here. I was more weary than I thought. We mariners are more accustomed to treading the decks of our vessels that we are to climbing among the rock defiles of these mountains."
Mariners!
A sudden light flashed into Niña's brain. Again she recalled the remembrance of the portly frame and the ruddy, benign countenance and auburn hair, white-frosted, she had seen in the moving throng that day long ago!
She stared at the man intently, excitedly.
"Oh, now I know who you are!" she cried jubilantly. "You are Cristobal Colón, the sailor, the man everybody is talking about!"
A ruddier tint flushed the cheeks of her companion.
"Talking about? Not to my praise, I 'll warrant!" he muttered, with a mirthless smile and a little grimace. "And pray, what do they say? I 'm no woman, yet I have a share of curiosity!"
"Well," Niña went on frankly, "some of them did call you strange names, I remember. A—a—visionary—a fanatic. I know not what such things mean; nothing very bad, I am sure," with a winsome smile. Then she added shyly:
"But is it true, good sir, that you believe the world is round in its shape, and that if you were to keep on sailing and sailing westward, you 'd come to some land?"
"The first is true, most assuredly! And," slowly and soberly, "I hope to be able to say yes to your second question."
He paused a minute, a sad, yearning look in his clear, honest blue eyes, and then said:
"Little maid, tell me,—for it is said in Holy Writ that out of the mouths of babes cometh wisdom,—tell me, what ought a man to do when his whole being is filled with a mighty project, and yet when everything seems against him, when friends are fickle, foes violent, and royalty turns away coldly?"
Niña looked at him steadily, her shapely little head tilted sidewise, her eyes glistening with sympathy, radiant with earnestness.
"What ought he to do?" She repeated the words cheerily. "Why, sir, I am but a small maid, and have not much wisdom, but still I think the man must go right ahead, and never, never, never give up! I heard our good priest say once that 'no man fails as long as he keeps his heart pure and his faith and courage bright and strong.'"
Cristobal Colón laid his hand gently on the child's silken curls. Then he stooped and kissed her tenderly, almost reverently.
"Thank you, my little maid! Thank you for your food and drink, your courtesy and kindness, and, above all, for your brave words. And now, good-by. May God, Maker and Keeper of all seas and lands, bless and guard you always—always! As for me,"—this more to himself than to the child,—"as for me, I return to the court of Ferdinand and Isabella, once again to try—to try!"
Many, many months after this, a sudden glory flashed along from town to town on the sunny plains and vine-clad hills of Spain. Cristobal Colón—Christopher Columbus we of to-day call him—had proved his vision true!
The great gray Atlantic could no longer hide its secret; there was land indeed on its farther border—a new, vast country, rich in resources and in wonders!
And hearing the marvelous news, little Niña, of the dark eyes, clapped her hands jubilantly, while her heart sang within her, and, as she danced about gleefully, much to old Juana's amazement, she exclaimed:
"Oh, I am so glad that he did n't give up— that he kept on trying! And to think that one of his vessels—the smallest, they say—was named the Niña! Maybe it made him think of me; I 'm sure I hope it did! Anyhow, I am glad that I helped him a little,—just a little bit. No, it was n't much, but it was something like the story the good priest told us about, the story of the time of the Blessed Saviour, when the little lad gave up his loaves and fishes, so that, through a miracle, a great multitude might be fed! Yes, I am so glad and thankful that I could do a little bit toward giving strength and courage to dear, brave Cristobal Colón, so that he kept on trying—trying to find that big, new country!"
And now, I pray you, you who read this story, listen! If, away back in that dim, distant century, a poor little Spanish lass was self-denying and willing to do her bit of service toward the winning out of a struggle for a new land, may you little maids, who belong to that land and enjoy its rare blessings, prove your patriotism by keeping your hearts pure and good, true and loyal toward America, the well-beloved—the country brave Christopher Columbus discovered after much pain and patience, much suffering and self-sacrifice.
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