with the loss of his coronetted helmet and his horse, concealed
him from suspicion: he remained standing where they had left him,
supporting himself with difficulty upon the fragment of his sword.
His strength now ebbed apace: the blood pouring from a large cut on
his head, and oozing through the scarf with which his arm was bound,
sickened and enfeebled him; his very thoughts partook of the mortal
languor creeping over all his senses: a confusion of images, of
Gonsalva, of Stukeley, of his page Diego, swam through his brain; he
staggered a few paces, fell, and breathed no more!
CHAP. IV.
After the battle of Alcazar, there remained but fifty of the Portuguese
troops alive in Africa: most of these were prisoners to the Moors, and
the remainder gaining with difficulty the christian fortresses, at
length escaped homewards. The Moors in return lost above one-fifth of
their gigantic army, but the pillage of the christian camp, (filled
with all the riches of the East and West,) amply atoned, in their
opinion, for such a loss.
This memorable battle lasted from morning till long after mid-day, and
the sacking of the field of fight, continued till the next morning’s
dawn.
While the infidels were thus employed, a benevolent dervise, whose
piety was his authority and his protection, came to seek for such
christians as might yet remain capable of receiving assistance: on the
bank of the Lucos, among a heap of tall Lentiscos, he caught a gleam
of light as if the moon-beams fell upon arms: the dervise stooped, and
pushing away the shrubs, applied his lanthorn to the object. It was
the figure of a young man, in armour, which bore marks of heavy and
repeated blows; over his forehead curled a profusion of hair steeped in
blood; the white and polished brow was trenched with a gaping wound,
and the countenance lovely in death, was yet embellished by a look of
youthful sweetness, which melted the good Mahometan’s heart; he knelt
by the body, and gently raising it, dropped balsam upon the wounds; he
then poured a cordial into the lips.
Presently he thought the brows were contracted with returning
sensation: animated by this, he cautiously unfastened the knight’s
cuirass, and opened the silk shirt beneath it; under this he saw the
picture of a woman, which carefully putting aside, he exclaimed,
“alas! poor youth, here is one, doubtless, that will sorely lament
thee!” As he spoke he gently rubbed an aromatic liquid upon the
Christian’s chest; the experiment succeeded; by degrees the motion of
the heart was apparent--it increased--the body began to glow--and at
last the stranger visibly breathed.
Many minutes elapsed ere the benevolent mussulman saw the object of
his anxiety unclose his eyes; when he did so, he knew not that in
succouring a desolate stranger, he was bringing back to life the king
of Portugal, that foe to Mahomet.
Sebastian felt as if in a dream, but the last feeling to which he had
been conscious when he fell, was now the first he was sensible of: he
thought himself still pressing towards the river in search of Stukeley,
and impressed with that idea, uttered his name, and made an effort to
rise. Too feeble for exertion of any kind, he fell back upon the breast
of the dervise, who in bad Portuguese assured him that he was in
safety.
The unfortunate monarch bowed his head with a mournful smile of bitter
recollection, without speaking. Meanwhile a servant attending the
dervise, formed a litter of oak-branches, covering it with some of
these soft, high grasses, which grow abundantly throughout Barbary, and
placing Sebastian upon it, assisted his master in bearing him to their
dwelling.
This was a retired cave formed by nature’s hand in a rock almost wholly
overgrown with flowering shrubs; the entrance was shaded by lofty
sycamores, and above it was heard the cooling sound of waters issuing
from numerous springs.
Tranquillity, the tranquillity of perfect solitude, surrounded this
habitation; Sebastian found himself conveyed through one rocky
apartment, into an interior cell where he was laid upon a mattrass, and
having some weak cordial given to him, left to repose: his enfeebled
powers overcome with this simple nourishment, soon sunk into the
blessed oblivion of sleep.
The dervise now and then came to watch his slumbers, but staid not to
disturb them: whenever his patient awaked, he administered to him small
portions of Tourkia bread melted in wine, (which was easily swallowed
thus dissolved) and gently replacing his head upon the cushion of the
mattrass, watched to see him sink again into his medicinal slumber.
The sun was at its meridian height the next day, when the king of
Portugal fully awoke: the good mussulman sat by his bed-side. “How dost
thou feel, my son?” he asked with an air of compassion.
Sebastian drew a sigh from the very depths of his heart. “As one,”
he said, after a long pause; “as one deprived of all that makes life
precious. Tell me, father, what have become of the Christians? I have
yet one Portuguese in Africa?”
“Alas, my son!” replied the dervise, “they are all slain or taken
captives; but the great Muley Moloch is fallen--the Xeriffs who fought
against him, are also dead; and now his brother reigns in Morocco.”
Sebastian answered by a heavy groan, and threw himself back upon his
mattrass: the slaughter of his people, pierced him with unutterable
grief; though the consciousness of pious motives, and the certainty
that treachery alone had produced defeat, served to reconcile him to
himself.
Oppressed with apprehensions for the fate of Stukeley, and overcome
with the remembrance of many of his followers whom he had loved, and
had seen fall, the unhappy King uttered such deep and doleful groans,
that the dervise believing him concerned at the prospect of slavery,
bade him be of good cheer, and rest assured that he was still free.
“You are not fallen into the hands of a master, but of a friend,”
said the aged man, “I will but detain you, Sir Knight, till I have
healed your wounds, and then, with the blessing of our holy prophet,
we will journey together to the castle of Tangier: it will not be the
first time that Abensallah has conducted an unhappy christian to his
countrymen.”
“And art thou a Mahometan?” exclaimed Sebastian, half raising himself
with surprise, “how is it that thou breathest the very spirit of our
benevolent faith?”
“The same God which spake through the lips of thy _Sidie Messika_,”
replied the dervise, “inspires the hearts of all good men: besides, we
venerate thy prophet’s moral laws, though Mahomet, a greater prophet
than he, arose to outshine his brightness, as he had before outshone
that of Moses. We are not so unlike in our faith, young soldier, but we
might live in brotherhood on the earth. Would to God! that thy king,
Sebastian, had studied his prophet’s laws more, and his spiritual
superior’s less!”
“Hold, Moor!” cried the King, “I must not hear you impeach the
authority of the representative of St. Peter.”
“Ah, my son!” returned the old man, shaking his grey locks, “dost thou
not remember, that when this Peter struck off the ear of Malchus,
though in defence of his Lord’s sacred person, thy prophet rebuked his
zeal, bidding him put up the sword! How, then, dare the pontiff of Rome
turn his sheep-hook into a weapon of offence?”
Struck with the force of this remark, which he was not prepared to
answer, and disdaining to parry it, by retorting the bloody intolerance
of Mahometanism, Sebastian was silent.
The dervise continued: “But let us not talk of our different creeds
at this period; thou art sick and weak, and I should think of thy
suffering body.”
The good man then dressed his companion’s wounds afresh, and spread
before him palm leaves filled with fruit, together with a cordial drink
and some Pharouk bread: by moderately partaking of these, the King
was so refreshed, that he found himself able to rise, and walk up and
down the cell. As he walked, he conversed courteously with Abensallah,
though his discourse was mingled with many sighs, and he frequently
lost himself in other thoughts.
The dervise noted his dejected looks with benevolent curiosity. “Thou
hast lost, I fear, some dear kinsman in this fatal battle--some
brother, or father, perhaps; and thy young heart not yet enured to
sorrow.”--
“O, dervise!” exclaimed Sebastian, bursting into an agony of grief,
“every living soul in the Christian army were to me like fathers and
brothers. My countrymen, my brave countrymen! when you marched on so
gallantly, could I have foreseen that I was leading you to----,” he
stopped, then suddenly actuated by one of his rash impulses, abruptly
added--“Abensallah, you see before you, Sebastian of Portugal.”
The dervise prostrated himself at his feet, “Young monarch, I bow to
the lord’s anointed! thy misfortunes are thy security. Let the conduct
of Abensallah teach thee hereafter to believe that there may be charity
among mussulmen.”
Inexpressibly affected, the King motioned for him to rise,
“Abensallah,” he said, squeezing his hand between both his, “Africa
has already taught me a lesson I shall never forget: but I did not
wage war against your prince from a false notion that he ruled over
miscreants. I was actuated by zeal for that religion which, by limiting
the prerogative of kings and the obedience of subjects, bestows equal
blessings upon both. I would have conquered Africa to have freed
her people from tyrannical rulers and tyrannical errors, to have
afforded them opportunities of understanding our holy faith; not to
have established a new despotism, and swayed with the iron mace of
persecution--these ardent hopes are over; you see me here a fugitive,
but with God’s leave, a King still.”
As Sebastian spoke the last words, a noble imperiousness sat on his
youthful brow, his heart swelled with it, but quickly sunk again at
recollection of his companions in arms.
Anxious to learn the fate of Stukeley, he besought the dervise to
assist him in ascertaining whether he were dead, or captive; by
searching the field of battle he hoped to arrive at some certainty.
Abensallah in vain remonstrated against this hazardous enterprize,
but no arguments availed with the still imprudent Sebastian; he was
therefore reluctantly induced to propose their going on the night
of the ensuing day, when all the Moors would be engaged in the
celebration of one of their feasts, and the Portuguese monarch might
perhaps pass unnoticed in the dress of a servant.
During the remainder of the day, Sebastian carefully attended to all
the prescriptions of the dervise, he went soon to rest, and at break of
day rose to breathe the air in safety at the mouth of the cave.
But two short days before, how differently had the king of Portugal
beheld morning dawn!--then at the head of a gallant army, surrounded
by zealous friends, strong in youth, health, and hope: now, a solitary
fugitive, like some desolate wretch escaped from ship-wreck or an
earth-quake, sunk in despondency, and reduced to infantine feebleness.
As the light spread over the distant plain of Alcazar, and the grey
mists rose, from the stream of the Lucos, he could not refrain from
shedding some tears, they were sacred to the sorrows of all who had
lost friends on that luckless field: his softened heart then turned
fondly to the image of Gonsalva, a treasure which yet remained to
comfort him under affliction. Its heavenly beauty, the dewy smile
which sat upon the lips, the tearful tenderness of the eyes to which
a skilful painter had given all the effect of sadness, renovated his
fainting spirit; he kissed it repeatedly, exclaiming, “At sight of
thee, will not all this be forgotten?”
The appearance of the dervise, checked this lover-like weakness, he
concealed his picture, and advanced to meet him.
They proceeded together along a narrow valley, formed by the rocks
near the cavern, where frequently resting awhile, they breathed the
refreshing air of the trees, and gently returned homeward.
Whenever Abensallah and his servant went to their devotions in the
mosque of a neighbouring village, he fastened the entrance of his
dwelling, to prevent the intrusion of ill-intentioned persons: he now
left his Christian guest, with many intreaties that he would recruit
his strength with frequent nourishment, and continue to inhale the
fumes of Tauz Argent, a fragrant weed which in those days was esteemed,
when burned, sovereign for inward weakness.
Left a whole day alone, the King had leisure to revolve over the
extraordinary revolution of his fate: the uprightness of his intentions
(for it must be remembered that he measured his conduct by the rules of
the church of Rome) seemed to warrant him in believing, that had not
the treachery of Hamet interposed, his arms must have been successful,
and half Africa rescued from its tyrants: he did not therefore account
himself suffering under the wrath of Heaven, confident of whose favor
he was again ready to risk his crown and his life if required. The
kindness of the dervise appeared little less than a miracle worked for
his preservation, and he fondly trusted therefore, that his present
misfortunes were but passing trials.
Of the possibility of being betrayed by Abensallah he never once
thought, convinced that the man who has performed one act of solid
benevolence is incapable of being tempted by any reward to an act of
baseness.
As returning strength and calmer reflection continued to banish the
gloomy impressions under which he had first entered Abensallah’s
cave, his spirit rose with his hopes; he felt as if he could hazard
unheard-of perils for the sake of regaining Portugal, and ransoming
his captive soldiers. Fain would the sanguine monarch have persuaded
himself that most of his troops had escaped to the sea-coast; but
amongst these he could not hope to find Stukeley.--Stukeley, who had
sworn to follow him either into slavery or death!--
“And my poor little cousin!” he exclaimed aloud, “What is become of
him?--Ah noble boy, thou hast gained thy wish-perhaps!--yet surely
these barbarians would not kill a child!”--he sighed profoundly as he
spoke, for his heavy heart denied the confidence of his words.
Racked with fearful impatience, to him the day seemed insufferably
long: his devotions were merely short ejaculations breathed over a
plain cross of the order of Christus, which he had worn under his
cuirass, yet never at the foot of the golden crucifix in the church of
his ancestors, and surrounded by all the religious in Portugal, had he
prayed with such warmth or sincerity.
Abensallah did not appear to interrupt his meditations, till night was
begun: cautiously entering, he crossed the first chamber, and advancing
to the interior cell, saw with satisfaction that his guest was safe.
“Alla be praised!” he exclaimed, “I had fears for thee my son; for the
robbers of the mountains sometimes plunder even the dwellings of poor
solitaries.--We may now venture forth; every one is enjoying the last
hours of their feast, and we are, sure to pass unseen.”
Sebastian gratefully thanked him, and taking off the coarse vest and
cloak with which the dervise had replaced his uneasy coat of mail,
exchanged them for the still meaner attire of Ismael the servant. At
the mouth of the valley he saw a mule tied to a tree, which Abensallah
had provided for him to ride; this humane attention touched the King;
he was, indeed, ill able to walk far, but it cost him an effort to
accept such accommodation, when the venerable man had no other support
than his staff.
It may truly be said, that at the period which brought him to the
knowledge of Abensallah, Sebastian first tasted the sweet bitterness
of obligation.--Gratitude is a sentiment unknown to Kings; for having
all things in their power, they learn to believe that they have a right
to command all things. Sebastian, now stripped of that power, began
to feel the original equality of man, and found his heart warmed
by a perception of pure benevolence, hitherto unknown: from this
perception flowed nobler notions of human nature in general, which made
him welcome his new emotion of gratitude, not only as honorable but
delightful.
The moon shone cloudless above the rocks and rivulets which lay between
the cave and Alcazar; brightening the tops of the high palms, while
the ground beneath their branches was thrown into deep shadow. Some
fortresses, (visible from afar,) gave an air of warlike severity to
the scene. Sebastian proceeded in silence, for his thoughts were now
busied with mournful anticipations: Abensallah spoke not, and nothing
disturbed the universal stillness but remote bursts of rejoicing from
the Moorish villages.
As they moved among steep and thickly-wooded hills, a new and horrid
sound made the King pause, and look enquiringly at the dervise: “That
comes from amidst the unburied slain;” Abensallah faulteringly
observed--“It is the howling of hyenas and tygers.” While speaking, he
took a small harquebuss from under his garment, and prepared to load it.
For the first time in his life Sebastian’s cheek was completely
blanched and his nerves shaken; the ghastly image those words had
raised, momentarily unmanned him, but recovering, by a violent effort,
he quickened the pace of his mule, and came direct upon the plain of
Alcazar.
The moon shining above the arms and armour of the dead, covered them
with a sheet of light: Sebastian hastily put his hand to his eyes,
and remained a few moments without courage to look again; but at the
explosion of Abensallah’s harquebuss, he raised his head and beheld
the beasts of prey which that sound had alarmed, hurrying away, with
backward glare from their horrid banquet.
The dervise’s harquebuss was re-loaded and again fired, till every
savage animal had disappeared; he then assisted his shuddering
companion to dismount, and having fastened the mule to a tree,
supported him across the plain.
Their steps were soon impeded by scattered groups of horses and riders,
that had evidently perished in flight: these groups become more
frequent, till at length the ground was no where visible.
As Sebastian knelt down among these perishing bodies, his senses were
nearly overcome with their noisome exhalations and ghastly appearance:
some of them were half devoured by the wolves, and every trace of the
_divine image_ fearfully effaced: except by their shields and the
caparisons of their horses, he could not have known his most intimate
associates.
Grief and horror become now too strong for outward expression;
Sebastian neither spoke nor sighed, but moved from heap to heap with
fixed eyes and a wan cheek: sometimes he forgot his errand, and
remained gazing on a confusion of bodies, banners, and arms, till the
voice of the dervise recalled him. “This is a lesson for Kings!”--said
Abensallah;--Sebastian shuddered, and at that moment felt as if his
single hand had murdered every victim before him: his countenance
expressed this sentiment so strongly, that the dervise sought to change
the current of his feelings by suggesting, that his friend might have
escaped, since they had not yet found his corpse.--Revived by this
suggestion, the unfortunate monarch rallied his scattered spirits and
proceeded in his painful task.
Advancing a little onward, he stumbled against the venerable bodies of
the bishops of Coimbra and Porto, lying together, embracing the staff
of a standard, which had belonged to the holy banner: a few paces
beyond these, among a heap of swarthy moors,
“Like some white poppy sunk upon the plain,
Whose heavy head was overcharged with rain,”
lay his page, Diego. The noble boy had been killed at the moment his
master’s Arabian was shot, and now lay stretched out beneath it.
At this piteous sight Sebastian’s heart was wrung with an excess
of regret; he burst vehemently into tears, and bending to the fair
body as he raised it, repeatedly kissed the half-closed eyes:
their conversation on the morning of the battle was present to him
again.--Vain prophesy! here was its fulfilment!--
Overcome with this recollection, and with the thought of Diego’s
parents, Sebastian staggered as he arose, and was forced to catch at
the dervise for support; another shock awaited him; his eye fell on the
mangled body of Count Vimiosa: his limbs now shook violently, and the
idea of Donna Gonsalva’s grief, displaced every other image. Shocked by
his looks, the dervise caught his arm and hurried him away.
Insensible to any outward sensation, the King suffered himself to be
led along, till suddenly starting from his stupor, he found that they
were many paces from the slain. Abensallah would not hear of returning,
“We must pass three nights there instead of one,” said he, “before
we can examine half that woeful field.--Let us return then, my son,
trusting that the same merciful providence which succoured thee, has
preserved thy friend. Sorrow and fatigue overcome thee--lean on my
shoulder--if we can but reach yonder tower, its walls will shelter us.”
Without answering, Sebastian turned his head back and fixed an earnest
look upon the wide scene of slaughter behind them: fire kindled on his
cheek, and in his eyes:--it suddenly blazed out.--“Accursed beyond
hope of mercy,” he cried, “is the soul of him whose treachery caused
all these to perish! from this plain their blood will cry aloud for
vengeance, even at the last dreadful day!”
Exhausted with this momentary transport, the enfeebled monarch
suffered his head to fall against the shoulder of Abensallah, who
seized the opportunity of drawing him towards a resting place. The
watch-tower in ruins, and shaded by high cypress trees, stood dark and
noiseless; as they approached it, the sound of their steps alarmed
some goats that had lain down there, and they bounded away: in their
flight they rolled along a broken helmet, which Sebastian immediately
recognized; breaking from Abensallah, he flew to an object under the
tower, and beheld the corpse of Stukeley.--Throwing himself on the body
and clasping it in his arms, he exclaimed, “O gallant Stukeley, and art
thou too, fallen!”
The accidental circumstance of having perished alone, removed from
the contagion of other bodies, and sheltered from hot winds by the
tower and the trees, had preserved the chivalric Englishman from any
change: his features were indeed paler than when in life, but the same
character of wild sublimity was impressed on them. It seemed as if the
soul, in quitting its mortal habitation had left there the eternal
impress of its own greatness.
The armour of Stukeley was completely rusted with blood, by his side
lay a lance shivered to pieces, and his hand still grasped a broken
battle-axe.
Abensallah lifted up the helmet his companion had dropped, and saw that
it was beat in upon the top, as if with repeated blows of a mace: he
gently replaced it on the ground.
Meanwhile Sebastian hung over the remains of his friend in an agony
of blasted hopes, bitter retrospections, and unavailing regrets: it
was long ere he could command this tide of grief; but recovering by
degrees, he rose with a calmer air, and besought the dervise to lend
his aid in committing the honored clay to earth.
Without hesitation the charitable Mahometan consented to carry the
slaughtered warrior to his own dwelling, and there see him peacefully
buried.
“Moor!” exclaimed the young King, with passionate gratitude, “Should
I live to regain my kingdom, and with it my African possessions, your
countrymen will owe to you blessings and privileges hitherto unknown.”
Abensallah called on Allah to witness this promise, then hastened away
to bring the mule.
When Sebastian was left alone, he threw himself along the ground by
Stukeley’s body, and remained stedfastly looking on it: the well-known
face, the still ruin, the melancholy midnight, and the destructive
plain before him, together with the mournful sound of a neighbouring
rivulet, deepened the desolate sadness of that moment: he fastened his
lips on the chilling hand of his unconscious friend, while the hollow
echo of his own sighs rung through the neighbouring chambers.
Abensallah found him in the same mournful attitude. Having assisted
each other in placing Stukeley’s corse on the mule, they proceeded
slowly, by a longer though less toilsome way than they had come, to the
rocks.