QUENTIN DEPARTS.
"Would ye my death? Can that avail you?
Or life? what life will ye to give?
For this existence, grief-embittered,
Doth hourly die, yet dying live.
My sorrows, if ye fain would slay me,
Your blows so fierce, so fast to deal,
It needs not: one the least, the lightest,
Would task endurance strong as steel."
_Portuguese of Rodriguez Lobo._
On the same evening when Quentin received the despatch from the
adjutant, with instructions to start forthwith by the nearest road
that led towards the frontier, Monkton was preparing to give a little
supper in his billet, and was superintending the cooking thereof in
person.
The house he occupied had belonged to some titulado of Portugese
Estremadura. The ceilings were lofty, and the cornices of the heavy
and florid Palladian style were elaborately gilded, and everywhere
the green fleur-de-lis of St. Avis (an order founded by Alphonso, for
defence against the Moors, from whom he took Santarem and Lisbon) was
reproduced among the decorations.
The floors were of polished oak; the furniture, in many instances
richly gilded, was all of crimson velvet stuffed with down, and the
cabinets of ebony were covered with carvings, some representing the
past discoveries, victories, and glories, real or imaginary, of the
kings of Portugal. Many fine paintings bore marks of additions
received from the French in the shape of bayonet stabs and bullet
holes, with finishing touches in burnt cork, by which Venuses and
Madonnas were liberally supplied with moustachios and so forth; while
the frescoes bore such lovely delineations of fair-skinned,
golden-haired, and ripe-lipped goddesses and nymphs, that, as Monkton
said, "they made one long for pagan times again." Over a Venus being
attired in scanty garments by some completely nude graces, was the
motto "_Si non caste tantum modo caute_."
"Which means?" asked Askerne, who had been trying to make it out.
"In good Portuguese, 'If you can't be chaste, at least be cautious,'
an old-fashioned aphorism," said Monkton.
"Poor Portugal!" said Askerne, thoughtfully; "she is left now but
with mere traditions of her past; a country without kings, warriors,
poets or painters. The land of Camoens, of Rodriguez Lobo, of
Antonio Ferreria, Bernardez, the captive of Alcazalquiver, of Andrade
de Cominha, cannot now produce one patriotic song!"
In one corner of the apartment a dark stain on the floor showed where
blood had been lately shed, and there were the marks of a woman's
hand upon the wall and oak boards, as if she had been dragged from
place to place, thus telling of some terrible outrage--an episode of
its recent occupants, the French.
"Now, what the devil is the meaning of this?" asked Monkton, looking
up from his culinary operations as Buckle entered; "Kennedy can't be
the first man for duty."
"No, he is not," replied Buckle, curtly, for having on his sword and
gorget, he felt and looked official.
"Then why the----"
"Why select him, you would ask, with the addition of some unpleasant
adjective?"
"Yes."
"Because a volunteer is always the first man for any duty that is
dangerous."
"And is this duty so?" asked Quentin, with very excusable interest.
"Undoubtedly--there is no use concealing the fact, as foreknowledge
will make you wary; and if successful, it will be reported favourably
to head-quarters, 'that negotiations with the formidable guerilla
chief--what's his infernal name--have been honourably concluded,
through the courage and diplomatic skill of that very distinguished
volunteer, Mr. Quentin Kennedy, now serving with the 25th Foot, whom
I recommend most warmly to your Royal Highness's most earnest and
favourable consideration'--that is the sort of thing," added the
adjutant, putting aside his sword and belt, as the odour of the
cooking reached his olfactory nerves.
"You think, Mr. Buckle, that the colonel will recommend me thus?"
asked Quentin, his young heart throbbing with delight.
"And Sir John Hope, too--of course; they can do nothing else," was
the confident reply, for the adjutant believed in what he said.
Hope, pride, and enthusiasm swelled up in the poor lad's breast as
the adjutant spoke.
"Ah," thought he, "I should have offered my hand to Cosmo, and shall
do so when I return."
"Congratulate me, major," he exclaimed, hastening to Middleton, who
entered at that moment; "I have been chosen for an important duty
already."
"So I have heard--so I have heard," he replied, quickly, shaking his
head and his pigtail with it.
"And what do you think of it? Here is the despatch, addressed 'Al
Senor Don Baltasar de Saldos, Herreruela, _viâ_ Valencia de
Alcantara.'
"You are particularly to avoid that town," said Buckle, emphatically.
"Why?"
"Because a French garrison occupy it--some of General de
Ribeaupierre's brigade."
"It is a little way across the frontier," said Quentin; "so, my dear
sir, what do you think of the duty?"
"Think--that the whole affair is a cruelty and a shame!" exclaimed
the old major, bluntly. "I've been looking at the map, and see that
the place is some miles beyond the frontier--in the enemy's country,
in fact."
"Come, major, don't discourage him," said Buckle; "he must go now,
and there is an end of it."
"I wish there was. Does he go in uniform?"
"Yes; it is safer."
"How?"
"In mufti he might be taken for a spy."
"Uniform did not protect my poor friend André of the 26th, when taken
on a similar mission."
"Come, come, I'll bet you a pony apiece that Kennedy comes off with
flying colours," said Monkton. "Some more butter, Askerne--where's
the pepper-box?--Quentin is a devilish sharp fellow, and always keeps
his weather eye open, as the sailors say."
"What is the distance between this and Herreruela?" asked Askerne,
who had hitherto remained silent.
"About thirty British miles, as a crow flies."
"And he is to proceed on foot?"
"But he can do so at leisure--there is no word of breaking up our
cantonments here yet."
"But in this country miles seem to vary very much, Mr. Buckle," said
Quentin; "when am I supposed to be back?"
"Back?" repeated Buckle, rather puzzled.
"Excuse my asking," said the lad, modestly; "but I am so ignorant of
the country, and so forth."
"True, Kennedy. Well, supposing that you see this Baltasar de
Saldos--fine melodramatic name, isn't it?--he is doubtless a fellow
in a steeple-crowned hat and seven-league boots, all stuck over
pistols and daggers--supposing you sec him at once, there is nothing
to prevent you being back in six days, at latest."
"So we are about to make a night of it, the first jolly one we have
had since landing at the mouth of the Maciera, and, damme, here is
poor Quentin going to leave us!" said Monkton, who in his shirt
sleeves was devilling a huge dish of kidneys over a brasero, for the
orthodox fuel of which (charcoal) he had substituted the shutter of a
window, torn down and broken to pieces. "One glass more of Oporto
for the gravy, another dash of pepper, and the banquet is complete.
You must have supper with us to-night, ere you go, Quentin."
The same readily found fuel was roasting on the marble slab of the
richly carved fireplace, a goodly row of sputtering castanos, which
were superintended by Rowland Askerne.
"Where is Pimple to-night?" he asked, looking up.
"With Colville, on the quarter guard," said Monkton; "and, rosaries
and wrinkles! where do you think they are stationed?"
"By your exclamation, opposite a convent, probably."
"Exactly--el Convento de Santa Engracia; but it hasn't a window to
the street, so they might as well have the wall of China to
contemplate."
A borrachio skin of Herrera del Duque (the famous wine of the Badajoz
district), of which Monkton had somehow become possessed, lay on the
beautiful marqueterie table, like a bloated bagpipe, while tin
canteens, silver-rimmed drinking-horns, tea-cups, everything but
crystal vessels, were ranged round to imbibe the contents from.
The plates and other appurtenances of the table were of the same
varied description, and were furnished by the guests themselves, as
the French had carried off or destroyed nearly everything in the
house. A canteen of brandy and a loaf of fine white bread completed
the repast, to which all brought good humour and appetites that were
quite startling, better than any they could ever procure for the
dainties of the mess-table at Colchester.
Servants were entirely dispensed with; thus the conversation was free
and unrestrained, like the jests and laughter.
"I can scarcely assure myself that you are actually going to-night,"
said the major to Quentin; "the whole arrangement is a black, burning
shame; an older man, one of more experience, one who has been longer
in the country and had served the campaign in Portugal, should have
been sent on this duty."
"But the greater is my chance of honour!" said Quentin, cheerfully.
"And peril too. Your health--and success, boy! This wine is
excellent, Monkton--but the service is going to the devil! we have
never been the men we were since the abolition of hair-powder and
pigtails, brigadier wigs and Nivernois hats! Think of a garrison
court-martial according four hundred and odd lashes to a poor devil
yesterday, for borrowing a loaf of bread like this, when we are all
so far in arrears of pay; and yet, I remember when we ate Jack
Andrews' baby in America, men were tucked up to the next tree for
just as little."
"Jack Andrews' baby," said Quentin, looking up from his devilled
kidneys at the familiar name.
"It is an old regimental story," said the major, laughing, as he
filled his horn with wine from the gushing borrachio; "it happened
when we were in garrison at Fort St. John on the Richelieu River (a
place I have often told you about); provisions were scarce, for the
Yankees had intercepted all our supplies, so that at times we were
literally starving, while to conciliate the colonists, strict orders
were issued against plundering. It was as much as your life was
worth if the provost marshal caught you stealing anything, even a
kiss from a girl in Vermont or New York, so such a thing as levanting
with a sucking-pig or a turkey-poult, was not to be thought of even
in our wildest dreams: moreover they would not have _sold_ a chicken
for thrice its weight in gold, to a red-coat!
"Some weeks passed over thus; we were getting very lanky and lean,
and though our lovely countenances were ruddied by the American
frost, we were always hungry, always thirsty, and longed in our
day-dreams for a cooper of the old mess port, or a devilled
drumstick; but these were only to be had at the head-quarters of the
Borderers and Cameronians, then far away in the Jerseys, in pursuit
of the rebels, under Lord Stirling; and we often shivered with hunger
as well as with cold under the ice-covered roofs of our wooden
barracks at night.
"Lord Rohallion of ours, had a servant named Jack Andrews, a knowing
old file, from his own place in Carrick, who contrived to make off
with a sheep. How or where Jack did it, the Lord only knows, and we
never enquired; but the owner, a Pennsylvanian quaker, made an outcry
about it, and the Provost's guard were speedily on poor Jack's track
with the gallows rope. A stab with a bayonet in the throat soon
silenced the sheep, and Jack brought it under his greatcoat to our
quarters, and while the provost, with Simon Pure, was overhauling the
soldiers' barrack, we tucked up the spoil in a cradle, with a blanket
over it and a muslin cap round its head. We set a piper's wife to
rock it, while Jack pretended to make caudle at the fire, and in this
occupation they were found, when the provost came in, intent on
death, and Broadbrim on retribution.
"Hush-a-by, baby, on the tree-top,
When the wind blows the cradle will rock,"
sung the piper's wife, patting the sheep tenderly.
"'Hush,' said Jack to the intruders; 'don't stir for the life that is
in you!'
"'Why--what is the matter with the baby?'
"'It's either measles or small-pox; we don't know which,' said Jack.
"'Yea verily--aye--ho, hum,' snivelled the Quaker.
"'All right,' said the provost, as he withdrew with his guard to
search elsewhere. The sheep was soon cut up, divided, and a
sumptuous supper Major André, Rohallion and a select few of us had
that night, and ere morning all traces of it had disappeared, save
the skin, which, to the rage of the provost, was found concealed, no
one knew by whom, between the sheets of his bed. Long after the fort
was taken by the Yankees, and none had a fear of coming to the
drumhead, the whole story came out, and many a laugh we had at the
provost marshal and Jack Andrews' baby."
The names mentioned thus incidentally by the good major recalled so
much of home and of old associations to Quentin, that his warm heart
swelled with kind and affectionate memories; and now, when on the eve
of departing from friends that he loved so well, and who had a regard
so great for him--departing on a lonely and decidedly perilous
duty--he was on the point of telling them the story of his earlier
life, so that, if aught occurred to him, his military companions
might write to Rohallion; but thoughts of the haughty Master chilled
him, and he repressed the suddenly-conceived idea.
And now the time came when he was compelled to depart.
He had three days' cooked provisions in his havresack, and he had
still money enough remaining for his wants in a land where he had to
journey almost by stealth, and where the French had left so little
either to buy or to sell.
He took with him his great-coat and forage-cap; in lieu of his heavy
musket, Askerne gave him a sword, and Middleton a pair of pistols;
and the former accompanied him nearly two miles on the road from
Portalegre.
"You dare danger fearlessly, Quentin," said he.
"I dare it as those who are friendless and alone do! The knowledge
that I have few, perhaps none, who would really regret me, renders
life of little value."
"Come, Kennedy, egad! this bitterness is ungrateful," said Askerne,
in a tone of reproach.
"True, my friend, forgive me! I believe that you, at least, with
Middleton and Warriston--he's on duty, remember me to him--Monkton,
and a few _others_ that are far, far away, have, indeed, a sincere
regard for me."
"Well, then, how many more, or what more would you have? The world
is not so bad after all," said Askerne, laughing, as he shook his
hand warmly and bade him adieu, after giving him much good advice
concerning prudence and care of consorting with strangers on the way;
for Askerne and his brother officers saw, or suspected that the
colonel's selection of the lad was the result of bad feeling; while
Quentin deemed it but a part of his hard and venturesome lot as a
gentleman volunteer.
Often he turned to wave a farewell to Askerne, whose erect and
soldier-like figure was lessening in the distance, as he walked back
to Portalegre. At last, a turn of the road, where it wound suddenly
between some olive groves, hid him entirely; and, for the first time,
an emotion of utter loneliness came over Quentin's heart as he
hastened towards the darkening hills.