his wounds, that he could with difficulty gain its entrance: Ismael
met them, and lifted their lamented burthen into the second chamber.
There the king watched it for the remaining hours, while Ismael and the
dervise were digging the last bed of the hero.
Two hours after day light the grave was finished, Stukeley was buried
with his sword and spurs, as the peculiar badges of knighthood,
which was supposed swift to succour and strong to avenge; his body
was wrapped in a coarse shroud of Moorish cloth, but his head was
uncovered; the thick glossy hair gave beauty still to the now marble
features:--Sebastian thought of the time when he had hoped to have
decorated that majestic head with a crown.
When the grave was closed, he placed upon it a rude cross of wood which
he had shaped during the night, and kneeling down by it pronounced a
prayer for the gallant soul. Abensallah and Ismael moved away.
Rising from his knees, the young King attentively surveyed the place,
that he might remember it at a future day; it was particularized by a
few marks not easily forgotten: the place itself was a narrow recess
turning out of the valley; it was half encircled by perpendicular
heights of stupendous steepness, the sides of which were only clothed
with mosses, and at their feet flowed an inconsiderable rivulet;
towards the lower end grew a cluster of locust trees, between which and
the mountain rose Stukeley’s grave.--So concealed, it was not likely
that any human eye would ever discover or disturb the sacred cross.
Somewhat soothed by this thought, and the consciousness of having
performed the last duties to a faithful friend, Sebastian rejoined the
dervise with less emotion. “We must now dismiss painful recollections,”
said the worthy Abensallah, “let us think of nothing, my son, but your
perfect recovery and your safe conveyance from Africa.”
“Ah father,” exclaimed Sebastian, “you speak like a man without hopes
and without regrets!--Your holy life, exempt from particular affections
or selfish wishes, places _you_ beyond the reach of that grief which
renders it impossible for me _to dismiss painful recollections_.”
“I am not, therefore, free from sorrow,” replied the dervise, “heedless
youth! I do mourn--but it is for human nature in general: alas, I mourn
more for its frailties than for its miseries.”
“True--true--” repeated Sebastian, smiting his breast--“you say right,
Abensallah; had we no errors we should have but few sufferings.”
Our dervise, more solicitous to impress humane sentiments than eager to
propagate peculiar tenets, seized this opportunity of discoursing with
much wisdom upon the duties of a sovereign: his companion listened with
attention and replied with frankness.
He detailed with simplicity some of his own plans for diffusing comfort
in more equal proportions through all ranks of his subjects, and noted
the salutary reforms already made by him in the Portuguese government;
he described the liberal mode in which he had intended to conduct his
African conquests, mixing these details with so many just and noble
observations, that Abensallah could not help lamenting the battle of
Alcazar.
To have lived under the rule of a King (though Christian,) who would
have ameliorated the Moor’s condition by parental care, and sought to
win them into schools and churches, without prohibiting their mosques,
appeared an object of desire, when compared with the grinding tyranny
of their native Xeriffs, and the brutish ignorance to which their laws
condemned them.
Abensallah continued to hear his royal guest with that complacent
pleasure with which virtuous old age perceives generous principles
in youth; but he had lived long enough in the world to know that
youth does not always act in conformity with its principles, nay,
that its most amiable qualities may be wrought by interested persons
into a foundation for the opposite vices. So blindly devoted to the
infallibility of papal authority, and so abhorrent of any religion
which disputed it, Abensallah rightly doubted whether Sebastian, in
the event of complete success, would have persevered in his system of
moderation: intolerant persecution might have been easily brought to
bear the aspect of religious duty, and that commanded or recommended by
a spiritual superior, would soon have swept away every barrier opposed
by a character naturally candid.
Such reflections as these, by teaching the dervise to consider his
companions’ misfortunes as a necessary discipline, silenced any further
regret; yet Sebastian’s sweet and animated manner had so won upon his
affections, that he could not help exclaiming, “I shall be loth to part
with thee, my son; but we shall meet again in paradise.”
Touched by such kindness, the king pressed Abensallah to accompany him
into Portugal, adding to many arguments the entreaties and promises of
a grateful spirit, conscious of possessing in his own dominions the
means of fulfilling them all.
“Did I live only for myself, answered the dervise, I should
perhaps gladly leave a land where I see nothing but misery, but
the more miserable it is, the more I am called upon to remain. My
holy profession, and the peaceful life I lead, gives me frequent
opportunities of assisting captives to escape, or of conveying
intelligence from them to the Christian fortresses; if the old man of
the rocks were gone, what would become of these poor strangers?--Added
to this, I am frequently able to terminate the bloody feuds of my
countrymen--to restore harmony amongst brethren, and bring back
rebellious children to their parents; these are my treasures, King!
which would be poorly exchanged for all your benefits. I shall however,
bless you daily; and I will preserve from injury the grave of your
departed friend.”
At this mention of Stukeley, clouds gathered over the face of
Sebastian; making an effort to dispel them, he hastily uttered
some grateful expressions, and then discoursed upon the means of
discovering such of his subjects as might have survived the battle.
Abensallah promised to make diligent search for such captives, and to
use all his influence for their release.
Sebastian squeezed his hand, exclaiming with generous warmth, “Slacken
not your exertions Abensallah for the meanest of my people; I stand
indebted to every man whom I brought from Portugal for his liberty.
If I part with the whole of my revenue, pawn the jewels of my crown,
make myself a debtor to half the monarchs in Christendom, and after
all, become a beggar throughout my own dominions for contributions and
gifts, I will do it to ransom these gallant sufferers.--Should I reach
Lisbon, my first step will be to raise money and send it over to the
governor of Tangier; from his hands you will then receive whatever sums
may be needful.”
“And should I in my inquiry, find Christians of other nations, perhaps
aged men bowed down with sorrow and toil, languishing to die in their
native land--”
“Ransom them--ransom them!” interrupted Sebastian, tears glistering
in his eyes, “first restore liberty to my Portuguese, for remember,
freedom is a debt I owe them--then take all the superflux, and
purchase with it happiness for others. There are two noble Portuguese,
Abensallah, whom I pray you to search for with a father’s anxiety: one
is my dearly-loved cousin, the prior of Crato, the other Don Emanuel
de Castro; he saved my life at Alcazar. When you find these, shew them
this ring, and say that he who gave it you, is alive, and then I hope,
in Portugal.”
“How shall I know these gallant gentlemen?” asked the dervise, “you may
know Don Emanuel de Castro,” replied Sebastian, “from all the world:
though you should behold him in the vilest habit and employment, yet
will such an air of nobleness shine through them, that you cannot help
discovering in him an extraordinary man. He is of larger proportions
than I, his visage oval and full of thought, his complexion dark olive,
his eyes dark grey, somewhat melancholy but very sweet; on his left
hand he has a deep scar, got in the wars of India.
“The prior of Crato is of a different mould: though some years older
than De Castro, he has preserved almost the roundness and floridness
of boyhood; his fair curling hair, light blue eyes, and jovial manner,
will soon point him out: he will rejoice to see this ring!--and so will
De Castro,” added the King, after a pause, “as it is a token of my
safety, he will rejoice, though it was a gift of Gonsalva’s.”
“’Tis a fanciful ring for a warrior,” observed the dervise, curiously
eying the bauble, which after the gaudy fashion of those times was
formed by various precious stones into a miniature garland of flowers.
“Oh father!” exclaimed Sebastian, passionately fixing his eyes on it
also, “that ring was given me by the loveliest and most beloved of
women.--I have no other token to send to my friends, or I would not
part with that--it must serve too, as a pledge for the governor of
Tangier: she who gave it knows I would have defended it with my life,
and therefore would not resign it but for the sake of fulfilling a
duty.”
Hurried away in thought to the beautiful creature whom this incident
recalled, Sebastian forgot every thing else and sunk into silence: he
dwelt with tender delight upon the unequivocal proof she had given him
of her attachment, which bestowed and avowed ere she could suspect
his royal station, carried with them the charm of disinterestedness.
He then reproached himself for those fantastic jealousies to which
he had sometimes given way, when he saw her dancing with another, and
confessed now, that her apparent insensibility at times, had arisen
only from a little female coquetry, delighting in power, and willing to
prove its extent.
Thus satisfied with her affection, he felt no apprehension of being
coldly received, because he returned not a conqueror; the Moors
themselves attested his gallant conduct in the field, and the
brilliant success of their onset had shewn, that but for the perfidy
of Hamet, the day would have been won by the Christians.--What then
had he to fear? perhaps given up as lost, he would return to revive
his Gonsalva’s widowed heart; she would love him the more for his
dangers and distresses, and that delicate pride which had stifled the
expressions of tenderness to a powerful, splendid monarch, would impel
her to the same monarch, become poor and unfortunate.
Observing his guest absorbed in reflections, which from the
expression of his countenance did not appear unpleasant, the worthy
Abensallah gently removed into his outer chamber, for the purpose of
giving audience to some distressed people who came to implore his
counsel.--Meanwhile Sebastian remained leaning on his rude couch, his
ideas wandering from late sorrow, over the enchanted ground of the more
distant past, till gently wearied, thought glided into dreams, and
dreams at last ended in long and profound sleep.
The wounds of Sebastian and his consequent feebleness now daily
disappeared, and Abensallah was therefore enabled to make longer
excursions from the cave, for the sake of gaining information for his
guest: his habitation, always considered sacred, was not likely to
excite suspicion as a Christian’s hiding place; and even if it did so,
the inner apartment was a secure retreat, being so contrived as to
deceive the most prying observer.--Ismael’s fidelity had been too often
tried in similar circumstances to be doubted now, so that Abensallah
left him without apprehension, to attend Sebastian; whom, however, he
knew only as a Portuguese knight.
On the good dervise’s return from Alcazar-quiver, he brought strange
intelligence.--After the fatal battle, Hamet Abdulcrim, the new
emperor, had strictly enquired for the King of Portugal; he was told
that he had fallen: this assertion having been made by Don Nugno De
Mascarenhas, the King’s chief equerry, he was sent to the field in
order that he might produce a proof of his veracity by finding the
King’s body.
In the place he described, was indeed found a corpse in green armour,
much maimed and disfigured: the Portuguese who saw it, confessed it
to be that of their sovereign, and therefore assured Hamet Abdulcrim
that any farther search for Sebastian alive, was useless.--Information
of his nephew’s death was now forwarded to Philip of Spain, (the late
Xeriff having been in alliance with him,) and when Abensallah heard
the tale, a messenger from Madrid was hourly expected to beg the body,
and to procure the release of some Castillian prisoners.
On first hearing this account, Sebastian’s inflammable blood took fire,
for he believed himself wilfully abandoned by his people; but the next
instant made him cool again. It was impossible not to perceive that
Marcarenhas, who had always loved his master, could be only actuated
by the desire of facilitating his concealment in Barbary, should he be
living, and seeking the means of escape; this well-meant deceit had
evidently given a hint to the other persons examined by the Xeriff, and
to it, probably Sebastian might finally owe his preservation.
Neither the King nor the dervise could approve of absolute falsehood;
though they were tempted to think it excusable, under such peculiar
circumstances as the present, flowing as it did from loyal zeal and
patriotic considerations.
Alarmed at the diffusion of such an error throughout Europe,
Sebastian’s anxiety to revisit Portugal became extreme; but as they
must travel on foot, Abensallah assured him that it would be culpable
rashness to commence a long journey before he was completely restored
to health; Arzile, the nearest Christian fortress, lay at some leagues
distance, and to avoid notice, they must take a circuitous route
thither, hiding themselves in the day, and proceeding through the
changeable air of night.
Sebastian’s impatient nature was ill-suited to any delay, but necessity
is an imperious mistress; he was therefore obliged to turn his
attention towards acquiring health; and by obliging Abensallah on that
point, facilitate the hour of their departure.
Each night and morning he now tried his strength among the mountains,
in excursions of increasing length, gradually habituating himself to
heat, fatigue, and evening damps: his wounds were at last thoroughly
healed, and even the dervise could no longer refuse assent to the fresh
glow that began to mantle on his cheek.
Sebastian’s eagerness had nobler sources than selfish satisfaction; he
lamented every hour thus wasted at a distance from the kingdom where
all his duties were centred, he wished to ease the hearts of such
as mourned him dead, and above all to commence the promised work of
liberation for his followers: it must be confessed that the prospect of
again beholding Donna Gonsalva, and of restoring her to happiness, gave
additional ardour to those honourable anxieties.
When his importunity finally prevailed on Abensallah to fix the day for
their departure, pleasure sparkled in his eyes; it was the first time
pleasure had appeared there since he had seen the dervise.
“Ah my son!” exclaimed the holy man, “thou must suffer many more
sorrows I fear, ere the spirit that breaks forth in that bright light
is finally quenched.”
“And why should it be quenched?” asked the young monarch.
“Because, replied Abensallah, it is full of an extravagant hope of
such unfading raptures as are only to be found in paradise. ’Tis the
very spirit of youth which falsely believes all it loves, immutable:
Time that shews thee the mutability of every thing, even of human
character (for alas! how insecure sometimes is virtue herself,) will
extinguish, or give a new direction to this erring fire.--Hast thou
my son never felt, even in the midst of what is called felicity, a
sort of feebleness in thy power of enjoyment, which seemed to make
happiness mock thy very grasp? commune with a beloved friend, behold
this glorious scene of earth and heaven, and thou wilt acknowledge,
even at the moment of liveliest emotion, that in all sublunary things
we feel the want of some faculty by which we might enjoy or possess
them more intimately: this faculty, whatever it may be, is doubtless
reserved for another state of being. Turn and plant thy thoughts then
on sublimer objects: with views thus changed, thou wilt no longer hurry
impatiently through life, in search of that blessedness for which our
souls are expressly formed, but will journey calmly on towards the
eternal abiding place, where our Creator treasures up for the faithful,
raptures ineffable.”
“I am not unmindful of that glorious eternity, be assured, good
father,” returned the King, “yet I frankly acknowledge, that unless I
were to believe in the permanence of human excellence, long known and
long tried, life would not merely lose its charm, but become hateful
to me. In yon humble grave lies one, who, had he lived, I could have
anchored my soul on. Yes, gallant Stukeley! our knot of love was soon
broken, but the memory of thy noble and endearing qualities can never
leave me!”
At this short apostrophe to his friend, Sebastian’s animation
disappeared, and a train of reflections succeeded, well calculated to
amend and to enlarge his heart.
The ensuing night having been fixed on for their journey, Abensallah
and Ismael went in the evening of the present day, to a neighbouring
village, for the purchase of such portable provisions as would be
requisite to take with him: left free to range over the valley,
Sebastian’s steps naturally turned to the resting place of his friend,
as he was so soon to quit it never to return; but it was among his
mental promises to have the honoured dust transferred to Portugal when
he should return thither.
The shadows of evening were now deepening, the gloom of the rocks as
he passed along; though the sun had been long set, the air burnt like
a furnace; the ground too was scorching; and the colour of the verdure
being lost in the grey of twilight, contributed with this unrelenting
heat, to give an air of savage sterility to the scene.
Dried up by powerful suns, the mountain stream was known only by its
stony channel; Sebastian hastily crossed it, and pushing through the
matted boughs of the locust trees, a solitary bird shot from amongst
them, and startled him with her piercing cry; long after she was flown,
he stood listening to her fearful echo.
What a spot for the last bed of a hero! yet Stukeley slept in it
undisturbed!
Never before, had death been so impressed on the senses of the young
monarch. The desolation of the place, its now awful stillness, the
deepening twilight, the devouring element by which he was surrounded,
(for he knew not how to deem it air) and the strong contrast to them
in his own animated hopes and busy thoughts, agitated him strangely; he
stood as if transfixed, gazing on the mound of earth, without venturing
to pollute what seemed to him so sacred, even by an embrace.
He was roused from this trance by the sound of voices; one resembled
that of the dervise, and it was calling on Alla for succour: regardless
of personal risque (though unarmed,) Sebastian rushed into the valley,
and soon reached the spot whence these cries proceeded; an aged Moor
was struggling with a band of robbers; though not Abensallah, he could
not refrain from bursting upon the plunderers, and attacking them with
the limb of a tree, which, blown off by some storm, had lain luckily in
his path.
The blows of this unwieldy club, falling with inconceivable rapidity
on every side, soon obliged the robbers to quit their prey, and turn
on their new antagonist; they surrounded him, attacked him fiercely
with their horrid knives, and one of them, succeeding in stabbing him
behind, he dropped from loss of blood.
Enraged at the escape of their first victim, (a rich merchant, who
had been coming to ask the prayers of Abensallah,) the Alarbes, or
mountain dwellers, as they are called, were on the point of wholly
sacrificing the royal Portuguese to their vengeance, when a faint flash
of lightning cast a gleam over his breast, and discovered through the
folds of his coarse galebia, the costly setting of Donna Gonsalva’s
picture; the head of the band immediately seized this precious prize,
and soon lost in admiration of the diamonds all ideas of slaughter; he
now ordered _the Christian dog_ (as he scornfully termed his captive,)
to be lifted on a mule, directing one of the men to bandage his wound,
and ride on the same beast.
Totally unconscious of what was doing, having fainted from effusion of
blood, the ill-starred monarch was lifted up, and placed before one of
the Alarbes; the fellow spurred his beast, and followed by the whole
troop, set off on full gallop out of the valley.
CHAP. V.
When Sebastian was again capable of observation, he found himself
in the heart of almost impenetrable mountains, surrounded by savage
tribes, living in tents made of the bark and leaves of the palm-tree.
These wretches seemed to have just as much civilization amongst them
as rendered their vices more hideous, by taking from them the plea of
ignorance: their business was plunder and murder; their pleasures,
drunkenness and debauchery.
The habits of such a people were a constant source of horror and
indignation to Sebastian; of their barbarous jargon indeed he knew
nothing, but the force of these robbers’ passions imparted a detestable
expressiveness to every action of their bodies and features, which
made him but too well comprehend their ferocity and their profligacy.
Hitherto a surly old woman had dressed his wound, and supplied him
with food, and from her he vainly attempted to obtain by signs Donna
Gonsalva’s picture: she either did not or would not understand him.
Maddened by this loss, and desperate of release, ignorant of the place
where he was, and hopeless therefore of escaping, he began to disregard
life: neither the threats nor the violence of the Alarbes prevailed to
alter his resolution of never submitting to the base occupations they
assigned him; he was a monarch still, though deprived of his people and
of liberty; and whether he lived or died, he was resolved to live or
die undebased by submission to miscreants.
The firmness with which he endured all their torments, at first
astonished, and at length exasperated, his brutal captors; they
suffered him to behold the beautiful image of Gonsalva (now robbed
of its setting) polluted by their brutish admiration, but steadily
withheld it, in defiance of his frantic entreaties, his rash attempts
to regain it, or his offer of treasures in exchange.
One day when Sarhamet the chief had exasperated him beyond controul, by
deridingly kissing the picture, his fury burst forth so fearfully, that
the Alarbe sprung out of his reach, and hastily dashed the contested
object into one of the neighbouring torrents: nothing short of
regaining his treasure could have given the captive King such joy; his
wrath suddenly ceased, he dropt the arm just raised to elance a mortal
blow, and approaching the torrent, beheld with satisfaction the divine
colours of the portrait effaced by its foaming waters; he then turned
quietly away, and returned to his former station.
Tranquillized by the certainty that his Gonsalva’s representative was
thus rescued from profanation, he was able to controul his indignation
at other circumstances, and to strive at obtaining his own freedom; but
though he endeavoured to explain to these banditti, that if they would
convey him to a Christian fortress they should be liberally paid, and
loaded with gifts, they either did not comprehend, or much mistrusted
his veracity: at length, wearied, out by his stedfast character, and
tempted by the great price given for handsome Europeans by the Moorish
grandees, Sarhamet meditated selling him.
This information, which was meant to vex, rather gratified their
prisoner; to be again brought into the plains, was to be once more
placed within prospect of liberty, and chance of meeting the reverend
Abensallah: Sebastian’s health returned with hope; for though his last
wound had been deep, it had been skilfully managed; and the purity of a
good constitution, adding force to an invincible spirit, enabled him to
bear without injury the piercing mountain air, and the frequent fasts
to which the Alarbes had wantonly doomed him.