MARY O'CONNOR
Never was a large force of men driven from a very strong position,
carefully prepared and defended by a vast number of guns, so quickly and
easily as were the Portuguese before Oporto. The bishop, after rejecting
Soult's summons and disregarding his prayers to save the city from ruin,
suddenly lost heart, and after all his boasting, slipped away after dark
to the Serra Convent, leaving the command to the generals of the army. The
feint which Soult had made with Merle's division the night before against
the Portuguese left succeeded perfectly, the Portuguese massing their
forces on that side to resist the expected attack.
Soult's real intentions, however, were to break through the centre of the
line and then to drive the Portuguese right and left away from the town,
while he pushed a body of troops straight through the city to seize the
bridge and thus cut off all retreat. Accordingly he commenced the attack
on both wings. The Portuguese weakened their centre to meet these, and
then the central division of the French rushed forward, burst through the
intrenchments, and carried at once the two principal forts. Then two
battalions marched into the town and made for the bridge, while the rest
fell on the Portuguese rear. The French right carried in succession a
number of forts, took fifty pieces of artillery, and drove off a great
mass of the Portuguese from the town, while Merle met with equal success
on the other flank. Half the Portuguese, therefore, were driven up the
valley of the Douro, and the other half down towards the sea.
Maddened by terror, some of them strove to swim across, others to get over
in small boats. Lima, their general, shouted to them that the river was
too wide to swim, and that those who took to boats would be shot down by
the pursuing French. Whereupon his own troops turned upon him and murdered
him, although the French were but a couple of hundred yards away; they
then renewed their attempt to cross, and many perished. Similar scenes
took place in the valley above the town, but here the French cavalry
interposed between the panic-stricken fugitives and the river, and so
prevented them throwing away their lives in the hopeless attempt to swim
across. In the meantime incessant firing was going on in the city. The
French column arriving at the bridge, after doing their best to rescue the
drowning people, sacrificed to the heartless cowardice of the Portuguese
cavalry, speedily repaired the break caused by the sinking boats and
prepared to cross the river, while others scattered through the town.
The inhabitants fired upon them from the roofs and windows, and two
hundred men defended the bishop's palace to the last. Every house was the
scene of conflict. The French on entering one of the principal squares
found a number of their comrades, who had been taken prisoners and sent to
the town, still alive but horribly mutilated, some of them having been
blinded, others having legs cut off, and all mutilated in various ways.
This terrible sight naturally goaded them to such a state of fury that
Soult in vain endeavoured to stop the work of slaughter and pillage. This
continued for several hours, and altogether the number of Portuguese who
perished by drowning and slaughter in the streets was estimated at ten
thousand, of which the number killed in the defence of the works formed
but an insignificant portion.
Terence on his arrival at the camp in the wood resumed his uniform.
Herrara had, on the previous day, purchased a light waggon and two horses
for the use of the ladies, and as soon as the men had strapped on the
cloaks and blankets which they had left behind them when they advanced to
the defence of the bridge, the retreat began. Not until he had seen the
column fairly on its way did Terence ride up to speak to the occupants of
the waggon. He had not been introduced by Herrara to his friends, for on
his return from his encounter with the bishop the ladies had already
retired to their tent.
"I must introduce myself to you, Don Jose. I am Terence O' Connor, an
ensign in his Britannic Majesty's regiment of Mayo Fusiliers and an
aide-de-camp of General Cradock, a very humble personage, though at
present in command of these troops--irregular regiments of the Portuguese
army."
"Lieutenant Herrara has told us so much about you, Señor O'Connor, that we
have been looking forward with much pleasure to meeting you. Allow me to
present you to my wife and daughters, who have been as anxious as myself
to meet an officer who has done such good services to the cause, and to
whom it is due at the present moment that we are here, instead of being in
the midst of the terrible scenes that are no doubt at this moment being
enacted in Oporto."
Terence bowed deeply to the ladies, and then said to his cousin:
"I almost require introducing to you, for I caught but a glimpse of you as
we crossed the river, and you look so different now that you have got rid
of that hideous attire that I don't think that I should have known you."
"You have changed greatly, too, Señor O'Connor."
Terence burst into a laugh.
"My dear cousin, it is evident that you know very little of English
customs, though you speak English so well. We don't call our cousins Mr.
and Miss; you will have to call me Terence and I shall certainly call you
Mary. Macwitty brought you back to camp all right?"
"Yes; but it was terrible to hear all that firing, and I was wondering all
the time whether you were being hurt."
"There is a great deal of powder fired away to every one that gets hit."
"Do you know what has happened in the town?" Don Jose asked.
"I know no more than what my cousin has no doubt told you of that terrible
scene at the bridge. It is evident that the French burst through the lines
without any difficulty, as we saw no soldiers, except those cowardly
cavalrymen, before the French arrived. It is probable that the
intrenchments were carried in the centre, and Soult evidently sent a body
of soldiers straight through the town to secure the bridge. I think he
must have cut off the main body of the defenders of the intrenchments from
entering the town and must either have captured them or driven them off.
The fire of cannon had ceased over there before we retired, and it is
clear from that that the whole of the intrenchments must have been
captured. There was, however, a heavy rattle of musketry in the town, and
I suppose that the houses, and perhaps some barricades, were being
defended. It was a mad thing to do, for it would only excite the fury of
the French troops, and get them out of hand altogether. If there had been
no resistance the columns might have marched in in good order; but even
then I fear there might have been trouble, for unfortunately, your
peasants have behaved with such merciless cruelty to all stragglers who
fell into their hands, that the thirst for vengeance would in any case
have been irrepressible. Still, the officers might possibly have preserved
order had there been no resistance."
"Shall we be pursued, do you think, señor?" Don Jose's wife asked.
"I do not think so. Possibly parties of horse may scour the country for
some distance round, to see if there is a body of troops here, but we are
too strong to be attacked by any but a very numerous body of horse; and if
they should attempt it, you may be sure that we can render a very good
account of ourselves. We have beaten off the French horse once, and, as
since then we have had some stiff fighting, I have no fear of the men
being unsteady, even if all Franceschi's cavalry came down upon us. Of
that, however, there will be little chance; the French have their hands
full for some days, and a few scouting parties are all that they are
likely to send out."
"You speak Portuguese very well, Terence," Mary O'Connor said, in that
language, hesitating a little before she used his Christian name.
"I have been nearly nine months in the country, during most of which I
have been on the staff, and have had to communicate with peasants and
others, and for the past two months I have spoken nothing else; necessity
is a good teacher. Besides which, Lieutenant Herrara has been good enough
to take great pains in correcting my mistakes and teaching me the proper
idioms; another six months of this work and I have no doubt I shall be
able to pass as a native."
After marching fifteen miles the column halted, Terence feeling assured
that the French would not push out their scouting parties more than three
or four miles from Villa Nova. They halted at the edge of a forest, and a
party under one of the officers was at once despatched to a village two
miles away, and returned in an hour with a drove of pigs that had been
bought there, and a cart laden with bread and wine. Fires had already been
lighted, and after seeing that the rations were divided among the various
companies, Terence went to the tent. Herrara was chatting with his
friends, and Mary O'Connor came out at once and joined him.
"That is right, Mary; we will take a stroll in the wood and have a talk
together. Now tell me how you have got on. I had expected to find you
quite thin and almost starving."
"No, I have had plenty of bread to eat," she laughed; "the sisters kept me
well supplied. I am sure that most of them were sorry for me, and they
used to hide away some of their own bread and bring it to me when they had
a chance. The lady superior was very hard, and if I had had to depend
entirely on what she sent me up I should have done very badly. I always
ate as much as I could, as I wanted to keep up my strength; for I knew
that if I got weak I might give way and do what they wanted, and I was
quite determined that I would not, if I could help it."
"Macwitty told you, I suppose, how I came to hear where you were
imprisoned?"
"Yes; he said that the officer had given you the letter that I dropped to
him; yet how did he come to know that you were my cousin?"
"It was quite an accident; just the similarity of name. We were chatting,
and he said, casually, 'I suppose that you have no relatives at Oporto,'
and I at once said I had, for fortunately my father had been telling me
about your father and you, the last time I saw him, that is four months
ago. He was badly wounded at Vimiera and invalided home. Then Captain
Travers told me about getting your letter and what was in it, and I felt
sure that it was you, and of course made up my mind to do what I could to
get you out, though at the time I did not think that I should be in Oporto
until I entered with the British army."
"But I cannot think how you got us all to start, and walked along with the
lady superior as if you were a friend of hers. Macwitty had not time to
tell me that. I was so frightened and bewildered with the dreadful noise
and the strangeness of it all that I could not ask him many questions."
"It was by virtue of this ring," he said, holding up his hand.
"Why," she exclaimed in surprise, "that is the bishop's! I noticed it on
his finger when he came one day to me and scolded me, and said that I
should remain a prisoner if it was for years until my obstinate spirit was
broken. But how did you get it?"
"Not with the bishop's good-will, you may be sure, Mary," Terence laughed;
and he then told her how he had become possessed of it.
The girl looked quite scared.
"It sounds dreadful, doesn't it, Mary, to think that I should have laid
hands upon a bishop, and such a bishop, a man who regards himself as the
greatest in Portugal. However, there was no other way of getting the ring,
and I could not see how, without it, I could persuade the lady superior to
leave her convent with you all; and to tell you the truth, I would rather
have got it that way than any other. The bishop is, in my opinion, a man
who deserves no respect. He has terrorized all the north of Portugal, has
caused scores of better men than himself to be imprisoned or put to death,
and has now by his folly and ignorance cost the lives of no one knows how
many thousand men, and brought about the sack of Oporto."
"Did you hear anything of my mother?" the girl asked.
"No; my Portuguese was not good enough for me to ask questions without
risking being detected as a foreigner at once. She has behaved shamefully
to you, Mary."
"She never liked me," the girl said, simply. "She and father never got on
well together, and I think her dislike began by his taking to me, and my
liking to be with him and getting to talk English. There was a terrible
quarrel between them once because she accused him of teaching me to be a
Protestant, although he never did so. He did give me a Bible, and I used
to ask him questions and he answered them, that was all; but as it did
seem to me that he was much wiser in all things than she was, I thought
that he might be wiser in religion too. I would have given up the property
directly they wanted me to, if they would have let me go away to England;
but when they took me to the convent and cut off my hair, and forced me to
become a nun, I would not give way to them. I never took the vows,
Terence; I would not open my lips, but they went on with the service just
the same. I was determined that I would not yield. I thought that the
English would come some day, and that I might be freed then."
"What would you have done in England if you had gone there, Mary?"
"I should have found your father out, and gone to him. Father told me that
your father was his greatest friend, and just before he died he told me
that he had privately sent over all his own money to a bank at Cork, and
ordered it to be put in your father's name. It was a good deal of money,
for he would not give up the business when he married my mother, though
she wanted him to; but he said that he could not live in idleness on her
money, and that he must be doing something. And I know that he kept up the
house in Oporto, while she kept up her place in the country. He told me
that the sum he had sent over was £20,000. That will be enough to live on,
won't it?"
"Plenty," Terence laughed. "I had no idea that I was rescuing such an
heiress. I was sure that there was no chance of your getting your mother's
money, at any rate, as long as the bishop was leader of Oporto. However
just your claim, no judge would decide in your favour."
"Now tell me about yourself, Terence, and your home in Ireland, and all
about it."
"My home has been the regiment, Mary. My father has a few hundred acres in
County Mayo, and a tumble-down house; that is to say, it was a tumble-down
house when I saw it four years ago, but it had been shut up for a good
many years, and I should not be surprised if it has quite tumbled down
now. However, my father was always talking of going to live there when he
left the army. The land is not worth much, I think. There are five hundred
acres, and they let for about a hundred a year. However, my father has
been in the regiment now for about eighteen years; and as I was born in
barracks I have only been three or four times to Ballinagra, and then only
because father took a fancy to have a look at the old house. My mother
died when I was ten years old, and I ran almost wild until I got my
commission last June."
"And how did you come to be a staff-officer of the English general?" she
asked.
"I have had awfully good luck," Terence replied. "It happened in all sorts
of ways."
"Please tell me everything," she said. "I want to know all about you."
"It is a long story, Mary."
"So much the better," she said. "I know nothing of what has passed for the
last year, and I dare say I shall learn about it from your story. You
don't know how happy I am feeling to be out in the sun and in the air
again, and to see the country after being shut up in one room for a year.
Suppose we sit down here and you tell me the whole story."
Terence accordingly related the history of his adventures since he had
left England. The girl asked a great many questions, and specially
insisted upon hearing his own adventures very fully.
"It is no use your keeping on saying that it is all luck," she said when
he had finished. "Your colonel could not have thought that it was luck
when he wrote the report about that adventure at sea, and your general
could not have thought so, either, or he would not have praised you in his
despatch. Then, you know, General Fane must have thought that it was quite
out of the way or he would not have chosen you to be on his staff. Then
afterwards the other general must have been pleased with you, or he would
not have put you on his staff and sent you off on a mission to General
Romana. It is quite certain that these things could not have been all
luck, Terence. And anyhow, you cannot pretend that it was luck that this
regiment of yours fought so well against the French, while none of the
others seem to have fought at all. I suppose that you will say next that
it was all luck that you got me out of the convent."
"There was a great deal of luck in it, Mary. If that cowardly bishop
hadn't left Oporto secretly, after declaring that he would defend it until
the last, I could never have got his ring."
"You would have got me out some other way if he hadn't," the girl said,
with confidence. "No, Terence, you can say what you like, but I shall
always consider that you have been wonderfully brave and clever."
"Then you will always think quite wrong," Terence said, bluntly.
"I shall begin to think that you are a tyrant, like the Bishop of Oporto,
if you speak in that positive way. How old are you, sir?"
"I was sixteen six months ago."
"And I was sixteen three days ago," she said. "Fancy your commanding two
thousand soldiers and only six months older than I am."
"It is not I, it is the uniform," Terence said. "They obey me when they
won't obey their own officers, because I am on the English general's
staff. They know that we have thrashed the French, and that their own
officers know nothing at all about fighting, and they have no respect
whatever for them. More than that, they despise them because they know
that they are always intriguing, and that really, although they may be
called generals, they are but politicians. You will see, when they get
English officers to discipline them, they will turn out capital soldiers;
but they think so little of their own, that if anything goes wrong their
first idea is that their officers must be traitors, and so fall upon them
and murder them.
"You look older than I do, Mary. You seem to me quite a woman, while, in
spite of my uniform and my command, and all that, I am really only a boy."
"I suppose I am almost a woman, Terence, but I don't feel so. You see out
here girls often marry at sixteen. I know father said once that he hoped I
shouldn't marry until I was eighteen, and that he wanted to keep me young.
I never thought about getting almost a woman until the bishop told me one
day that if I chose to marry a señor that he would choose for me, he would
get me absolution from my vows, and that I need not then resign my
property."
"The old blackguard!" Terence exclaimed, angrily. "And what did you say to
him?"
"I said that, in the first place, I had never thought of marrying; that in
the second place, I had not taken any vows; and in the third place that
when I did marry I would choose for myself. He got into a terrible rage,
and said that I was an obstinate heretic, and that some day when I was
tired of my prison I would think better of it."
"I would have hit the bishop hard if I had known about that," Terence
grumbled. "If ever I fall in with him again I will pay him out for it.
Well, anyhow, I may as well take off his ring; it might lead to awkward
questions if anyone noticed it."
"I think that you had certainly better do so, Terence; it might cost you
your life. The bishop is a bad man, and he is a very dangerous enemy. If
he heard that an English officer was wearing an episcopal ring, and upon
inquiring found that that officer had been in Oporto at its capture, he
would know at once that it was you who assaulted him, and he would never
rest until he had your life. You had better throw it away."
"All right, here goes!" Terence said, carelessly, and he threw the ring
into a clump of bushes. "Now, Mary, it is getting dark, and I should think
supper must be waiting for us."
"Yes, it is late; we have been a long while, indeed," the girl said,
getting up hastily. "I forgot all about time."
"We are in plenty of time," Terence said, looking at his watch. "As we all
had some cold meat for lunch as soon as we arrived, I ordered dinner at
six o'clock, and it wants twenty minutes of that time now."
"It is shocking, according to our Portuguese ideas," she said, demurely,
"for a young lady and gentleman to be talking together for nearly three
hours without anyone to look after them."
"It is not at all shocking, according to Irish ideas," Terence said,
laughing, "especially when the young lady and gentleman happen to be
cousins."
They walked a short time in silence, then she said:
"I have obeyed you, Terence, and haven't uttered a word of thanks for what
you have done for me."
"That shows that you are a good girl," Terence laughed.
"Good girls always do as they are told; at least they are supposed to,
though as to the fact I never had any experience, for I have no sisters,
and there were no girls in barracks; still, I am glad that you kept your
promise, and hope that you will always do so. Being a cousin, of course it
was natural that I should try to rescue you."
"And you would not if I hadn't been a cousin?"
"No, I don't say that. I dare say I should have tried the same if I had
heard that any English or Irish girl was shut up here. I am sure I should
if I had seen you beforehand."
She coloured a little at the compliment, and said, lightly: "Father told
me once that Irishmen were great hands at compliments. He told me that
there was some stone that people went to an old castle to kiss--I think
that he called it the Blarney Stone--and after that they were able to say
all sorts of absurd things."
"I have never kissed the Blarney Stone," Terence said, laughing. "If I
wanted to kiss anything, it would be something a good deal softer than
that."
They were now entering the camp, and in a few minutes they arrived at the
tent.
"I began to think that you were lost, O'Connor," Herrara said, as they
came up.
"We had a lot to talk about," Terence replied. "My cousin has been
insisting upon my telling her my whole history, and all about what has
passed here since she was shut up a year ago, and, as you may imagine, it
was rather a long story."
A few minutes later they sat down on the ground to a meal in which roast
pork was the leading feature.
"This is what we call in England a picnic, señora," Terence said to Don
Jose's wife.
"A picnic," she repeated; "what does that mean? It is a funny word."
"I have no idea why it should be called so," Terence said. "It means an
open-air party. The ladies are supposed to bring the provisions, and the
gentlemen the wine. Sometimes it is a boating party; at other times they
drive in carriages to the spot agreed upon. It is always very jolly, and
much better than a formal meal indoors, and you can play all sorts of
tricks."
"What sort of tricks, señor?"
"Oh, there are lots of them. I was always having fun before I became an
officer. My father was one of the captains of the regiment, and I was
generally in for any amusement that there was. Once at a picnic, I
remember that I got hold of the salt-cellars and mustard-pots beforehand,
and I filled up one with powdered Epsom salts, which are horribly nasty,
you know, and I mixed the mustard with cayenne pepper. Nobody could make
out what had happened to the food. They soon suspected the mustard, but
nobody thought of the salt for a long time. The colonel was furious over
it, but fortunately they could not prove that I had any hand in the
matter, though I know that they suspected me, for I did not get an
invitation to a picnic for a long time afterwards."
The three girls laughed, but Don Jose said, seriously: "But you would have
got into terrible trouble if you had been found out, would you not?"
"I should have got a licking, no doubt, señor; but I was pretty accustomed
to that, and it did not trouble me in any way. At any rate, it did not
cure me of my love for mischief. I am afraid I never shall be cured of
that. I used to have no end of fun in the regiment, and I think that it
did us all good. It takes some thinking to work out a bit of mischief
properly, and I suppose if one can think one thing out well, one can think
out another."
"It seems to have succeeded well in your case, anyhow," Herrara laughed.
"Perhaps if it had not been for your playing that trick at the picnic you
would never have taken command of that mob, and we should never have gone
to Oporto, and my friends and your cousin would be there now--that is, if
they had not been killed."
"It may have had something to do with it," Terence admitted.
"And now, señor," Don Jose said, "which way are you going to take us?"
"We shall go straight on to Coimbra," Terence said, "unless we come upon a
British force before that. Two long days' march will take us there. After
that I must do as I am ordered; my independent command will come to an end
there. I hope that I shall soon hear that my regiment has returned from
England."
"And what is to become of me? I have not thought of asking," Mary O'Connor
said.
"That must depend upon circumstances, Mary. If I go down to Lisbon, I hope
that we shall all travel together, and I can then put you on board a
transport returning to England. I am sure to find letters from my father
there, telling me where he is and whether he is coming back with the
regiment."
"We shall be very happy, señor," Don Jose said, courteously, "to take
charge of the señora, until there is an opportunity for sending her to
England. I have, of course, many friends in Lisbon, and shall take a house
there the instant I arrive, and Donna O'Connor will be as one of my own
family."
"I am extremely obliged to you, Don Jose. I have been wondering all day as
I rode along what I should do with my cousin if, as is probable, I am
obliged to stay at Coimbra until I receive orders from Lisbon. Your kind
offer relieves me of a great anxiety. I think that it will be prudent for
her to take another name while she is at Lisbon. There will certainly be
no inquiries after her, for the lady superior of her convent will, of
course, conclude that she was accidentally separated from the others in
the crush, and that she was trampled on, or killed; and, indeed, there
will be such confusion in Oporto that the loss of a nun more or less would
fail to attract attention. At any rate, it is likely to be a long time
before any report the lady superior will make to the bishop will reach
him--months, perhaps, for she is not likely to take any particular pains
to tell him news that would certainly anger him.
"Still, if he goes to Lisbon, as no doubt he will, and by any chance
happens to hear that Miss O'Connor was one of those who had escaped from
the sack of Oporto, he might make inquiries, and then all sorts of trouble
might arise, even if he did not have her carried off by force, which would
be easy enough in a place so disturbed as Lisbon at present is."
"I think that you are right, señor," Don Jose said, gravely. "At any rate
it would be as well to avoid any risk. What name shall we call her?"
"You can call her Miss Dillon, señor, that is the name of an officer in
our regiment."
"But the bishop might meet her in the street by chance; what then?"
"I don't think that he would know me," Mary O'Connor put in. "I have seen
him, but I don't suppose that he ever noticed me until he saw me in my
nun's dress, and, of course, I look very different now. Still, he is very
sharp, and I will take good care never to go out without a veil."
"That will be the safest plan, Mary," Terence said, "though I don't think
anyone would recognize you. Of course, he supposes that you are still
snugly shut up in the convent; still, it is just as well not to run the
slightest risk."
They made two long marches and reached Coimbra early on the third morning,
bringing the first news that had been received there of the storming of
Oporto. Terence at once reported himself to the commanding officer.
"I was wondering where these two regiments came from, Mr. O'Connor," the
colonel said. "I watched them march in, and thought that they were the
most orderly body that I have seen since we came out here. Whose corps are
they?"
"Well, Colonel, they are my corps. I will tell you about it presently; it
is a long story."
"How strong are they?"
"The field state this morning made them two thousand three hundred and
fifty-five. They were two thousand five hundred to begin with; the rest
are either killed or wounded."
"Oh, you have had some fighting then."
"We have had our share, at any rate, Colonel, and I think I can venture to
say that no other Portuguese corps shows so good a record."
"We have a large number of tents in store, and I will order a sufficient
number to be served out to put all your men under canvas, with the
understanding that if the army advances this way the tents must be handed
back to us. There are quantities of uniforms also. There have been
ship-loads sent over for the use of the Portuguese militia, who were to
turn out in their hundreds of thousands, but who have yet to be
discovered. Would you like some of them?"
"Very much, indeed, Colonel. It would add very greatly to their
appearance; though, as far as fighting goes, I am bound to say that I
could wish nothing better."
"Really! Then all I can say is you have made a very valuable discovery.
Hitherto the fighting powers of the Portuguese have been invisible to the
naked eye. But if you have found that they really will fight under some
circumstances, we may hope that, now Lord Beresford has come out to take
command of the Portuguese army, and is going to have a certain number of
British officers to train and command them, they will be of some utility,
instead of being simply a scourge to the country and a constant drain on
our purse."
"Have you heard that Oporto is captured, sir?"
"No, you don't say so!"
"Captured in less than an hour from the time that the first gun was
fired."
"Just what I expected. When you have political bishops who not only
pretend to govern a country, but also assume the command of armies, how
can it be otherwise? However, you shall tell me about it presently. I will
go down with you at once to the stores and order the issue of the tents
and uniforms. My orders were that the uniforms were to be served out to
militia and ordenanças; under which head do your men come?"
"The latter, sir; that is what they really were, but they hung the three
men the Junta sent to command them, and placed themselves in my hands, and
I have done the best I could with them, with the assistance of Lieutenant
Herrara--who, as you may remember, accompanied me in charge of the
escort--and my own two troopers and his men, and between us we have really
done much in the way of disciplining them."
Two hours later the tents were pitched on a spot half a mile distant from
the town. By the time that this was done the carts with the uniforms came
up, to the great delight of the men.
"I have to go to the commandant again now, Herrara; let the uniforms be
served out to the men at once. Tell the captains to see to their fitting
as well as possible. I have no doubt that the colonel will come down to
inspect them this afternoon, and will probably bring a good many officers
with him, so we must make as good a show as possible."
Herrara's friends and Mary O'Connor had, on arriving at Coimbra, hired
rooms, as Don Jose had determined to stay for a few days before going on,
because his wife had been much shaken by the events that had taken place,
and his eldest daughter was naturally anxious to wait until she knew
whether Herrara would be able to return to Lisbon, or would remain with
the corps. By the time Terence returned to the colonel's quarters it was
lunch time.
"You must come across to mess, Mr. O'Connor," the commandant said.
"Everyone is anxious to hear your news, and it will save your going over
it twice if you will tell it after lunch. I fancy every officer in the
camp will be there."