THE RIGHT EYE OF THE COMMANDER
The year of grace 1797 passed away on the coast of California in asouthwesterly gale. The little bay of San Carlos, albeit sheltered bythe headlands of the blessed Trinity, was rough and turbulent; its foamclung quivering to the seaward wall of the Mission garden; the airwas filled with flying sand and spume, and as the Senor Commandante,Hermenegildo Salvatierra, looked from the deep embrasured window of thePresidio guardroom, he felt the salt breath of the distant sea buffet acolor into his smoke-dried cheeks.
The Commander, I have said, was gazing thoughtfully from the window ofthe guardroom. He may have been reviewing the events of the year nowabout to pass away. But, like the garrison at the Presidio, therewas little to review; the year, like its predecessors, had beenuneventful--the days had slipped by in a delicious monotony of simpleduties, unbroken by incident or interruption. The regularly recurringfeasts and saints' days, the half-yearly courier from San Diego, therare transport ship and rarer foreign vessel, were the mere details ofhis patriarchal life. If there was no achievement, there was certainlyno failure. Abundant harvests and patient industry amply supplied thewants of Presidio and Mission. Isolated from the family of nations,the wars which shook the world concerned them not so much as the lastearthquake; the struggle that emancipated their sister colonies on theother side of the continent to them had no suggestiveness. In short, itwas that glorious Indian summer of California history around which somuch poetical haze still lingers--that bland, indolent autumn ofSpanish rule, so soon to be followed by the wintry storms of Mexicanindependence and the reviving spring of American conquest.
The Commander turned from the window and walked toward the fire thatburned brightly on the deep ovenlike hearth. A pile of copybooks, thework of the Presidio school, lay on the table. As he turned over theleaves with a paternal interest, and surveyed the fair round Scripturetext--the first pious pothooks of the pupils of San Carlos--an audiblecommentary fell from his lips: "'Abimelech took her from Abraham'--ah,little one, excellent!--'Jacob sent to see his brother'--body of Christ!that upstroke of thine, Paquita, is marvelous; the Governor shall seeit!" A film of honest pride dimmed the Commander's left eye--the right,alas! twenty years before had been sealed by an Indian arrow. He rubbedit softly with the sleeve of his leather jacket, and continued: "'TheIshmaelites having arrived--'"
He stopped, for there was a step in the courtyard, a foot upon thethreshold, and a stranger entered. With the instinct of an old soldier,the Commander, after one glance at the intruder, turned quickly towardthe wall, where his trusty Toledo hung, or should have been hanging. Butit was not there, and as he recalled that the last time he had seen thatweapon it was being ridden up and down the gallery by Pepito, the infantson of Bautista, the tortilla-maker, he blushed and then contentedhimself with frowning upon the intruder.
But the stranger's air, though irreverent, was decidedly peaceful. Hewas unarmed, and wore the ordinary cape of tarpaulin and sea boots ofa mariner. Except a villainous smell of codfish, there was little abouthim that was peculiar.
His name, as he informed the Commander, in Spanish that was more fluentthan elegant or precise--his name was Peleg Scudder. He was master ofthe schooner GENERAL COURT, of the port of Salem in Massachusetts, ona trading voyage to the South Seas, but now driven by stress of weatherinto the bay of San Carlos. He begged permission to ride out the galeunder the headlands of the blessed Trinity, and no more. Water hedid not need, having taken in a supply at Bodega. He knew the strictsurveillance of the Spanish port regulations in regard to foreignvessels, and would do nothing against the severe discipline and goodorder of the settlement. There was a slight tinge of sarcasm in his toneas he glanced toward the desolate parade ground of the Presidio and theopen unguarded gate. The fact was that the sentry, Felipe Gomez, haddiscreetly retired to shelter at the beginning of the storm, and wasthen sound asleep in the corridor.
The Commander hesitated. The port regulations were severe, but he wasaccustomed to exercise individual authority, and beyond an old orderissued ten years before, regarding the American ship COLUMBIA, therewas no precedent to guide him. The storm was severe, and a sentiment ofhumanity urged him to grant the stranger's request. It is but just tothe Commander to say that his inability to enforce a refusal did notweigh with his decision. He would have denied with equal disregard ofconsequences that right to a seventy-four-gun ship which he now yieldedso gracefully to this Yankee trading schooner. He stipulated onlythat there should be no communication between the ship and shore. "Foryourself, Senor Captain," he continued, "accept my hospitality. Thefort is yours as long as you shall grace it with your distinguishedpresence"; and with old-fashioned courtesy, he made the semblance ofwithdrawing from the guardroom.
Master Peleg Scudder smiled as he thought of the half-dismantled fort,the two moldy brass cannon, cast in Manila a century previous, and theshiftless garrison. A wild thought of accepting the Commander's offerliterally, conceived in the reckless spirit of a man who never letslip an offer for trade, for a moment filled his brain, but a timelyreflection of the commercial unimportance of the transaction checkedhim. He only took a capacious quid of tobacco as the Commander gravelydrew a settle before the fire, and in honor of his guest untied theblack-silk handkerchief that bound his grizzled brows.
What passed between Salvatierra and his guest that night it becomes menot, as a grave chronicler of the salient points of history, to relate.I have said that Master Peleg Scudder was a fluent talker, and underthe influence of divers strong waters, furnished by his host, he becamestill more loquacious. And think of a man with a twenty years' budgetof gossip! The Commander learned, for the first time, how Great Britainlost her colonies; of the French Revolution; of the great Napoleon,whose achievements, perhaps, Peleg colored more highly than theCommander's superiors would have liked. And when Peleg turnedquestioner, the Commander was at his mercy. He gradually made himselfmaster of the gossip of the Mission and Presidio, the "small-beer"chronicles of that pastoral age, the conversion of the heathen, thePresidio schools, and even asked the Commander how he had lost his eye!It is said that at this point of the conversation Master Peleg producedfrom about his person divers small trinkets, kickshaws, and newfangledtrifles, and even forced some of them upon his host. It is furtheralleged that under the malign influence of Peleg and several glasses ofaguardiente, the Commander lost somewhat of his decorum, and behaved ina manner unseemly for one in his position, reciting high-flown Spanishpoetry, and even piping in a thin, high voice divers madrigals andheathen canzonets of an amorous complexion; chiefly in regard to a"little one" who was his, the Commander's, "soul"! These allegations,perhaps unworthy the notice of a serious chronicler, should be receivedwith great caution, and are introduced here as simple hearsay. That theCommander, however, took a handkerchief and attempted to show his guestthe mysteries of the SEMICUACUA, capering in an agile but indecorousmanner about the apartment, has been denied. Enough for the purposes ofthis narrative that at midnight Peleg assisted his host to bed with manyprotestations of undying friendship, and then, as the gale had abated,took his leave of the Presidio and hurried aboard the GENERAL COURT.When the day broke the ship was gone.
I know not if Peleg kept his word with his host. It is said that theholy fathers at the Mission that night heard a loud chanting in theplaza, as of the heathens singing psalms through their noses; that formany days after an odor of salt codfish prevailed in the settlement;that a dozen hard nutmegs, which were unfit for spice or seed, werefound in the possession of the wife of the baker, and that severalbushels of shoe pegs, which bore a pleasing resemblance to oats, butwere quite inadequate to the purposes of provender, were discoveredin the stable of the blacksmith. But when the reader reflects upon thesacredness of a Yankee trader's word, the stringent discipline ofthe Spanish port regulations, and the proverbial indisposition of mycountrymen to impose upon the confidence of a simple people, he will atonce reject this part of the story.
A roll of drums, ushering in the yea
r 1798, awoke the Commander. The sunwas shining brightly, and the storm had ceased. He sat up in bed, andthrough the force of habit rubbed his left eye. As the remembrance ofthe previous night came back to him, he jumped from his couch and ranto the window. There was no ship in the bay. A sudden thought seemed tostrike him, and he rubbed both of his eyes. Not content with this, heconsulted the metallic mirror which hung beside his crucifix. Therewas no mistake; the Commander had a visible second eye--a right one--asgood, save for the purposes of vision, as the left.
Whatever might have been the true secret of this transformation, butone opinion prevailed at San Carlos. It was one of those rare miraclesvouchsafed a pious Catholic community as an evidence to the heathen,through the intercession of the blessed San Carlos himself. That theirbeloved Commander, the temporal defender of the Faith, should be therecipient of this miraculous manifestation was most fit and seemly. TheCommander himself was reticent; he could not tell a falsehood--he darednot tell the truth. After all, if the good folk of San Carlos believedthat the powers of his right eye were actually restored, was it wise anddiscreet for him to undeceive them? For the first time in his life theCommander thought of policy--for the first time he quoted that textwhich has been the lure of so many well-meaning but easy Christians, ofbeing "all things to all men." Infeliz Hermenegildo Salvatierra!
For by degrees an ominous whisper crept though the little settlement.The Right Eye of the Commander, although miraculous, seemed to exercisea baleful effect upon the beholder. No one could look at it withoutwinking. It was cold, hard, relentless, and unflinching. More than that,it seemed to be endowed with a dreadful prescience--a faculty of seeingthrough and into the inarticulate thoughts of those it looked upon. Thesoldiers of the garrison obeyed the eye rather than the voice of theircommander, and answered his glance rather than his lips in questioning.The servants could not evade the ever watchful but cold attention thatseemed to pursue them. The children of the Presidio school smirchedtheir copybooks under the awful supervision, and poor Paquita, the prizepupil, failed utterly in that marvelous upstroke when her patron stoodbeside her. Gradually distrust, suspicion, self-accusation, and timiditytook the place of trust, confidence, and security throughout San Carlos.Whenever the Right Eye of the Commander fell, a shadow fell with it.
Nor was Salvatierra entirely free from the baleful influence of hismiraculous acquisition. Unconscious of its effect upon others, he onlysaw in their actions evidence of certain things that the crafty Peleghad hinted on that eventful New Year's eve. His most trusty retainersstammered, blushed, and faltered before him. Self-accusations,confessions of minor faults and delinquencies, or extravagant excusesand apologies met his mildest inquiries. The very children that heloved--his pet pupil, Paquita--seemed to be conscious of some hiddensin. The result of this constant irritation showed itself more plainly.For the first half-year the Commander's voice and eye were at variance.He was still kind, tender, and thoughtful in speech. Gradually, however,his voice took upon itself the hardness of his glance and its skeptical,impassive quality, and as the year again neared its close it was plainthat the Commander had fitted himself to the eye, and not the eye to theCommander.
It may be surmised that these changes did not escape the watchfulsolicitude of the Fathers. Indeed, the few who were first to ascribe theright eye of Salvatierra to miraculous origin and the special grace ofthe blessed San Carlos, now talked openly of witchcraft and the agencyof Luzbel, the evil one. It would have fared ill with HermenegildoSalvatierra had he been aught but Commander or amenable to localauthority. But the reverend father, Friar Manuel de Cortes, had nopower over the political executive, and all attempts at spiritualadvice failed signally. He retired baffled and confused from his firstinterview with the Commander, who seemed now to take a grim satisfactionin the fateful power of his glance. The holy Father contradictedhimself, exposed the fallacies of his own arguments, and even, it isasserted, committed himself to several undoubted heresies. When theCommander stood up at mass, if the officiating priest caught thatskeptical and searching eye, the service was inevitably ruined. Even thepower of the Holy Church seemed to be lost, and the last hold upon theaffections of the people and the good order of the settlement departedfrom San Carlos.
As the long dry summer passed, the low hills that surrounded the whitewalls of the Presidio grew more and more to resemble in hue the leathernjacket of the Commander, and Nature herself seemed to have borrowed hisdry, hard glare. The earth was cracked and seamed with drought; a blighthad fallen upon the orchards and vineyards, and the rain, long-delayedand ardently prayed for, came not. The sky was as tearless as theright eye of the Commander. Murmurs of discontent, insubordination, andplotting among the Indians reached his ears; he only set his teeth themore firmly, tightened the knot of his black-silk handkerchief, andlooked up his Toledo.
The last day of the year 1798 found the Commander sitting, at the hourof evening prayers, alone in the guardroom. He no longer attendedthe services of the Holy Church, but crept away at such times to somesolitary spot, where he spent the interval in silent meditation. Thefirelight played upon the low beams and rafters, but left the bowedfigure of Salvatierra in darkness. Sitting thus, he felt a small handtouch his arm, and looking down, saw the figure of Paquita, his littleIndian pupil, at his knee. "Ah, littlest of all," said the Commander,with something of his old tenderness, lingering over the endearingdiminutives of his native speech--"sweet one, what doest thou here? Artthou not afraid of him whom everyone shuns and fears?"
"No," said the little Indian, readily, "not in the dark. I hear yourvoice--the old voice; I feel your touch--the old touch; but I see notyour eye, Senor Commandante. That only I fear--and that, O senor, O myfather," said the child, lifting her little arms towards his--"that Iknow is not thine own!"
The Commander shuddered and turned away. Then, recovering himself, hekissed Paquita gravely on the forehead and bade her retire. A few hourslater, when silence had fallen upon the Presidio, he sought his owncouch and slept peacefully.
At about the middle watch of the night a dusky figure crept through thelow embrasure of the Commander's apartment. Other figures were flittingthrough the parade ground, which the Commander might have seen had henot slept so quietly. The intruder stepped noiselessly to the couch andlistened to the sleeper's deep-drawn inspiration. Something glittered inthe firelight as the savage lifted his arm; another moment and the soreperplexities of Hermenegildo Salvatierra would have been over, whensuddenly the savage started and fell back in a paroxysm of terror. TheCommander slept peacefully, but his right eye, widely opened, fixed andunaltered, glared coldly on the would-be assassin. The man fell to theearth in a fit, and the noise awoke the sleeper.
To rise to his feet, grasp his sword, and deal blows thick and fast uponthe mutinous savages who now thronged the room was the work of a moment.Help opportunely arrived, and the undisciplined Indians were speedilydriven beyond the walls, but in the scuffle the Commander received ablow upon his right eye, and, lifting his hand to that mysterious organ,it was gone. Never again was it found, and never again, for bale orbliss, did it adorn the right orbit of the Commander.
With it passed away the spell that had fallen upon San Carlos. The rainreturned to invigorate the languid soil, harmony was restored betweenpriest and soldier, the green grass presently waved over the serehillsides, the children flocked again to the side of their martialpreceptor, a TE DEUM was sung in the Mission Church, and pastoralcontent once more smiled upon the gentle valleys of San Carlos. Andfar southward crept the GENERAL COURT with its master, Peleg Scudder,trafficking in beads and peltries with the Indians, and offering glasseyes, wooden legs, and other Boston notions to the chiefs.