There was something in these few words, as well as in the tone in which

they were spoken, that sunk deeply in my heart. Was it that by some trick

of diplomacy he was endeavoring to compromise my honor and character? Was

it possible that my refusal might be construed into any other than the

real cause? I was too young, too inexperienced in the world to decide the

question for myself, and no time was allowed me to seek another’s counsel.

What a trying moment was that for me; my temples throbbed, my heart beat

almost audibly, and I stood afraid to speak; dreading on the one hand lest

my compliance might involve me in an act to embitter my life forever, and

fearful on the other, that my refusal might be reported as a trait of

cowardice.

He saw, he read my difficulty at a glance, and with a smile of most

supercilious expression, repeated coolly his former question. In an instant

all thought of Hammersley was forgotten. I remembered no more. I saw him

before me, he who had, since my first meeting, continually contrived to

pass some inappreciable slight upon me. My eyes flashed, my hands tingled

with ill-repressed rage, as I said,--

“With Captain Hammersley I am conscious of no quarrel, nor have I ever

shown by any act or look an intention to provoke one. Indeed, such

demonstrations are not always successful; there are persons most rigidly

scrupulous for a friend’s honor, little disposed to guard their own.”

“You mistake,” said he, interrupting me, as I spoke these words with a look

as insulting as I could make it,--“you mistake. I have sworn a solemn oath

never to _send_ a challenge.”

The emphasis upon the word “send,” explained fully his meaning, when I

said,--

“But you will not decline--”

“Most certainly not,” said he, again interrupting, while with sparkling eye

and elated look he drew himself up to his full height. “Your friend is--”

“Captain Power; and yours--”

“Sir Harry Beaufort. I may observe that, as the troops are in marching

order, the matter had better not be delayed.”

“There shall be none on my part.”

“Nor mine!” said he, as with a low bow and a look of most ineffable

triumph, he sprang into his saddle; then, “_Au revoir_, Mr. O’Malley,” said

he, gathering up his reins. “Beaufort is on the staff, and quartered at

Oporto.” So saying, he cantered easily down the slope, and once more I was

alone.

CHAPTER XLIX.

THE ROUTE CONTINUED.

I was leisurely examining my pistols,--poor Considine’s last present to me

on leaving home,--when an orderly sergeant rode up, and delivered into my

hands the following order:--

Lieutenant O’Malley will hold himself in immediate readiness to

proceed on a particular service. By order of his Excellency the

Commander of the Forces.

[Signed] S. GORDON, Military Secretary.

“What can this mean?” thought I. “It is not possible that any rumor of my

intended meeting could have got abroad, and that my present destination

could be intended as a punishment?”

I walked hurriedly to the door of the little hut which formed my quarters;

below me in the plain, all was activity and preparation, the infantry were

drawn up in marching order, baggage wagons, ordnance stores, and artillery

seemed all in active preparation, and some cavalry squadrons might be

already seen with forage allowances behind the saddle, as if only waiting

the order to set out. I strained my eyes to see if Power was coming, but no

horseman approached in the direction. I stood, and I hesitated whether I

should not rather seek him at once, than continue to wait on in my present

uncertainty; but then, what if I should miss him? And I had pledged myself

to remain till he returned.

While I deliberated thus with myself, weighing the various chances for and

against each plan, I saw two mounted officers coming towards me at a brisk

trot. As they came nearer, I recognized one as my colonel, the other was an

officer of the staff.

Supposing that their mission had some relation to the order I had so lately

received, and which until now I had forgotten, I hastily returned and

ordered Mike to my presence.

“How are the horses, Mike?” said I.

“Never better, sir. Badger was wounded slightly by a spent shot in the

counter, but he’s never the worse this morning, and the black horse is

capering like a filly.”

“Get ready my pack, feed the cattle, and be prepared to set out at a

moment’s warning.”

“Good advice, O’Malley,” said the colonel, as he overheard the last

direction to my servant. “I hope the nags are in condition?”

“Why yes, sir, I believe they are.”

“All the better; you’ve a sharp ride before you. Meanwhile let me introduce

my friend; Captain Beaumont, Mr. O’Malley. I think we had better be

seated.”

“These are your instructions, Mr. O’Malley,” said Captain Beaumont,

unfolding a map as he spoke. “You will proceed from this with half a troop

of our regiment by forced marches towards the frontier, passing through

the town of Calenco and Guarda and the Estrella pass. On arriving at the

headquarters of the Lusitanian Legion, which you will find there, you are

to put yourself under the orders of Major Monsoon, commanding that force.

Any Portuguese cavalry he may have with him will be attached to yours and

under your command; your rank for the time being that of captain. You will,

as far as possible, acquaint yourself with the habits and capabilities of

the native cavalry, and make such report as you judge necessary thereupon

to his Excellency the commander of the forces. I think it only fair to add

that you are indebted to my friend Colonel Merivale for the very flattering

position thus opened to your skill and enterprise.”

“My dear Colonel, let me assure you--”

“Not a word, my boy. I knew the thing would suit you, and I am sure I

can count upon your not disappointing my expectations of you. Sir Arthur

perfectly remembers your name. He only asked two questions,--

“‘Is he well mounted?’

“‘Admirably,’ was my answer.

“‘Can you depend upon his promptitude?’

“‘He’ll leave in half an hour.’ “So you see, O’Malley, I have already

pledged myself for you. And now I must say adieu; the regiments are about

to take up a more advanced position, so good-by. I hope you’ll have a

pleasant time of it till we meet again.”

“It is now twelve o’clock, Mr. O’Malley,” said Beaumont; “we may rely upon

your immediate departure. Your written instructions and despatches will be

here within a quarter of an hour.”

I muttered something,--what, I cannot remember; I bowed my thanks to my

worthy colonel, shook his hand warmly, and saw him ride down the hill

and disappear in the crowd of soldiery beneath, before I could recall my

faculties and think over my situation.

Then all at once did the full difficulty of my position break upon me. If

I accepted my present employment I must certainly fail in my engagement to

Trevyllian. But I had already pledged myself to its acceptance. What was to

be done? No time was left for deliberation. The very minutes I should have

spent in preparation were fast passing. Would that Power might appear!

Alas, he came not! My state of doubt and uncertainty increased every

moment; I saw nothing but ruin before me, even at a moment when fortune

promised most fairly for the future, and opened a field of enterprise my

heart had so often and so ardently desired. Nothing was left me but to

hasten to Colonel Merivale and decline my appointment; to do so was to

prejudice my character in his estimation forever, for I dared not allege

my reasons, and in all probability my conduct might require my leaving the

army.

“Be it so, then,” said I, in an accent of despair; “the die is cast.”

I ordered my horse round; I wrote a few words to Power to explain my

absence should he come while I was away, and leaped into the saddle. As I

reached the plain my pace became a gallop, and I pressed my horse with all

the impatience my heart was burning with. I dashed along the lines towards

Oporto, neither hearing nor seeing aught around me, when suddenly the clank

of cavalry accoutrements behind induced me to turn my head, and I perceived

an orderly dragoon at full gallop in pursuit. I pulled up till he came

alongside.

“Lieutenant O’Malley, sir,” said the man, saluting, “these despatches are

for you.”

I took them hurriedly, and was about to continue my route, when the

attitude of the dragoon arrested my attention. He had reined in his horse

to the side of the narrow causeway, and holding him still and steadily, sat

motionless as a statue. I looked behind and saw the whole staff approaching

at a brisk trot. Before I had a moment for thought they were beside me.

“Ah, O’Malley,” cried Merivale, “you have your orders; don’t wait; his

Excellency is coming up.”

“Get along, I advise you,” said another, “or you’ll catch it, as some of us

have done this morning.”

“All is right, Charley; you can go in safety,” said a whispering voice, as

Power passed in a sharp canter.

That one sentence was enough; my heart bounded like a deer, my cheek beamed

with the glow of delighted pleasure, I closed my spurs upon my gallant gray

and dashed across the plain.

When I arrived at my quarters the men were drawn up in waiting, and

provided with rations for three days’ march; Mike was also prepared for the

road, and nothing more remained to delay me.

“Captain Power has been here, sir, and left a note.”

I took it and thrust it hastily into my sabretasche. I knew from the

few words he had spoken that my present step involved me in no ill

consequences; so giving the word to wheel into column, I rode to the front

and set out upon my march to Alcantara.

CHAPTER L.

THE WATCH-FIRE.

There are few things so inspiriting to a young soldier as the being

employed with a separate command; the picket and outpost duty have a charm

for him no other portion of his career possesses. The field seems open for

individual boldness and heroism; success, if obtained, must redound to his

own credit; and what can equal, in its spirit-stirring enthusiasm, that

first moment when we become in any way the arbiter of our own fortunes?

Such were my happy thoughts, as with a proud and elated heart I set forth

upon my march. The notice the commander-in-chief had bestowed upon me had

already done much; it had raised me in my own estimation, and implanted

within me a longing desire for further distinction. I thought, too, of

those far, far away, who were yet to hear of my successes.

I fancied to myself how they would severally receive the news. My poor

uncle, with tearful eye and quivering lip, was before me, as I saw him read

the despatch, then wipe his glasses, and read on, till at last, with one

long-drawn breath, his manly voice, tremulous with emotion, would break

forth: “My boy! my own Charley!” Then I pictured Considine, with port

erect and stern features, listening silently; not a syllable, not a motion

betraying that he felt interested in my fate, till as if impatient, at

length he would break in: “I knew it,--I said so; and yet you thought to

make him a lawyer!” And then old Sir Harry, his warm heart glowing with

pleasure, and his good-humored face beaming with happiness, how many a

blunder he would make in retailing the news, and how many a hearty laugh

his version of it would give rise to!

I passed in review before me the old servants, as they lingered in the

room to hear the story. Poor old Matthew, the butler, fumbling with his

corkscrew to gain a little time; then looking in my uncle’s face, half

entreatingly, as he asked: “Any news of Master Charles, sir, from the

wars?”

While thus my mind wandered back to the scenes and faces of my early home,

I feared to ask myself how _she_ would feel to whom my heart was now

turning. Too deeply did I know how poor my chances were in that quarter to

nourish hope, and yet I could not bring myself to abandon it altogether.

Hammersley’s strange conduct suggested to me that he, at least, could not

be _my_ rival; while I plainly perceived that he regarded me as _his_.

There was a mystery in all this I could not fathom, and I ardently longed

for my next meeting with Power, to learn the nature of his interview, and

also in what manner the affair had been arranged.

Such were my passing thoughts as I pressed forward. My men, picked no less

for themselves than their horses, came rapidly along; and ere evening, we

had accomplished twelve leagues of our journey.

The country through which we journeyed, though wild and romantic in its

character, was singularly rich and fertile,--cultivation reaching to the

very summits of the rugged mountains, and patches of wheat and Indian corn

peeping amidst masses of granite rock and tangled brushwood. The vine

and the olive grew wild on every side; while the orange and the arbutus,

loading the air with perfume, were mingled with prickly pear-trees and

variegated hollies. We followed no regular track, but cantered along over

hill and valley, through forest and prairie, now in long file through some

tall field of waving corn, now in open order upon some level plain,--our

Portuguese guide riding a little in advance of us, upon a jet-black mule,

carolling merrily some wild Gallician melody as he went.

As the sun was setting, we arrived beside a little stream that flowing

along a rocky bed, skirted a vast forest of tall cork-trees. Here we called

a halt, and picketing our horses, proceeded to make our arrangements for a

bivouac.

Never do I remember a more lovely night. The watch-fires sent up a

delicious odor from the perfumed shrubs; while the glassy water reflected

on its still surface the starry sky that, unshadowed and unclouded,

stretched above us. I wrapped myself in my trooper’s mantle, and lay down

beneath a tree,--but not to sleep. There was a something so exciting, and

withal so tranquillizing, that I had no thought of slumber, but fell into

a musing revery. There was a character of adventure in my position that

charmed me much. My men were gathered in little groups beside the fires;

some sunk in slumber, others sat smoking silently, or chatting, in a low

undertone, of some bygone scene of battle or bivouac; here and there were

picketed the horses; the heavy panoply and piled carbines flickering in the

red glare of the watch-fires, which ever and anon threw a flitting glow

upon the stern and swarthy faces of my bold troopers. Upon the trees

around, sabres and helmets, holsters and cross-belts, were hung like

armorial bearings in some antique hall, the dark foliage spreading its

heavy shadow around us. Farther off, upon a little rocky ledge, the erect

figure of the sentry, with his short carbine resting in the hollow of his

arm, was seen slowly pacing in measured tread, or standing for a moment

silently, as he looked upon the fair and tranquil sky,--his thoughts

doubtless far, far away, beyond the sea, to some humble home, where,--

“The hum of the spreading sycamore,

That grew beside his cottage door,”

was again in his ears, while the merry laugh of his children stirred his

bold heart. It was a Salvator-Rosa scene, and brought me back in fancy to

the bandit legends I had read in boyhood. By the uncertain light of the

wood embers I endeavored to sketch the group that lay before me.

The night wore on. One by one the soldiers stretched themselves to sleep,

and all was still. As the hours rolled by a drowsy feeling crept gradually

over me. I placed my pistols by my side, and having replenished the fire by

some fresh logs, disposed myself comfortably before it.

It was during that half-dreamy state that intervenes between waking and

sleep that a rustling sound of the branches behind attracted my attention.

The air was too calm to attribute this to the wind, so I listened for some

minutes; but sleep, too long deferred, was over-powerful, and my head sank

upon my grassy pillow, and I was soon sound asleep. How long I remained

thus, I know not; but I awoke suddenly. I fancied some one had shaken me

rudely by the shoulder; but yet all was tranquil. My men were sleeping

soundly as I saw them last. The fires were becoming low, and a gray streak

in the sky, as well as a sharp cold feeling of the air, betokened the

approach of day. Once more I heaped some dry branches together, and was

again about to stretch myself to rest, when I felt a hand upon my shoulder.

I turned quickly round, and by the imperfect light of the fire, saw the

figure of a man standing motionless beside me; his head was bare, and his

hair fell in long curls upon his shoulders; one hand was pressed upon his

bosom, and with the other he motioned me to silence. My first impression

was that our party were surprised by some French patrol; but as I looked

again, I recognized, to my amazement, that the individual before me was the

young French officer I had seen that morning a prisoner beside the Douro.

“How came you here?” said I, in a low voice, to him in French.

“Escaped; one of my own men threw himself between me and the sentry; I swam

the Douro, received a musket-ball through my arm, lost my shako, and here I

am!”

“You are aware you are again a prisoner?”

“If you desire it, of course I am,” said he, in a voice full of feeling

that made my very heart creep. “I thought you were a party of Lorge’s

Dragoons, scouring the country for forage; tracked you the entire day, and

have only now come up with you.”

The poor fellow, who had neither eaten nor drunk since daybreak, wounded

and footsore, had accomplished twelve leagues of a march only once more to

fall into the hands of his enemies. His years could scarcely have numbered

nineteen; his countenance was singularly prepossessing; and though bleeding

and torn, with tattered uniform, and without a covering to his head, there

was no mistaking for a moment that he was of gentle blood. Noiselessly and

cautiously I made him sit down beside the fire, while I spread before him

the sparing remnant of my last night’s supper, and shared my solitary

bottle of sherry with him.

From the moment he spoke, I never entertained a thought of making him a

prisoner; but as I knew not how far I was culpable in permitting, if not

actually facilitating, his escape, I resolved to keep the circumstance a

secret from my party, and if possible, get him away before daybreak.

No sooner did he learn my intentions regarding him, than in an instant

all memory of his past misfortune, all thoughts of his present destitute

condition, seemed to have fled; and while I dressed his wound and bound up

his shattered arm, he chattered away as unconcernedly about the past

and the future as though seated beside the fire of his own bivouac, and

surrounded by his own brother officers.

“You took us by surprise the other day,” said he. “Our marshal looked for

the attack from the mouth of the river; we received information that your

ships were expected there. In any case, our retreat was an orderly one, and

must have been effected with slight loss.”

I smiled at the self-complacency of this reasoning, but did not contradict

him.

“Your loss must indeed have been great; your men crossed under the fire of

a whole battery.”

“Not exactly,” said I; “our first party were quietly stationed in Oporto

before you knew anything about it.”

“_Ah, sacré Dieu!_ Treachery!” cried he, striking his forehead with his

clinched fist.

“Not so; mere daring,--nothing more. But come, tell me something of your

own adventures. How were you taken?”

“Simply thus,--I was sent to the rear with orders to the artillery to cut

their traces, and leave the guns; and when coming back, my horse grew tired

in the heavy ground, and I was spurring him to the utmost, when one of your

heavy dragoons--an officer, too--dashed at me, and actually rode me down,

horse and all. I lay for some time bruised by the fall, when an infantry

soldier passing by seized me by the collar, and brought me to the rear. No

matter, however, here I am now. You will not give me up; and perhaps I may

one day live to repay the kindness.”

“You have not long joined?”

“It was my first battle; my epaulettes were very smart things yesterday,

though they do look a little _passés_ to-day. You are advancing, I

suppose?”

I smiled without answering this question.

“Ah, I see you don’t wish to speak. Never mind, your discretion is thrown

away upon me; for if I rejoined my regiment to-morrow, I should have

forgotten all you told me,--all but your great kindness.” These last words

he spoke, bowing slightly his head, and coloring as he said them.

“You are a dragoon, I think?” said I, endeavoring to change the topic.

“I was, two days ago, _chasseur à cheval_, a sous-lieutenant, in the

regiment of my father, the General St. Croix.”

“The name is familiar to me,” I replied, “and I am sincerely happy to be in

a position to serve the son of so distinguished an officer.”

“The son of so distinguished an officer is most deeply obliged, but wishes

with all his heart and soul he had never sought glory under such very

excellent auspices. You look surprised, _mon cher_; but let me tell you,

my military ardor is considerably abated in the last three days. Hunger,

thirst, imprisonment, and this”--lifting his wounded limb as he spoke--“are

sharp lessons in so short a campaign, and for one too, whose life hitherto

had much more of ease than adventure to boast of. Shall I tell you how I

became a soldier?”

“By all means; give me your glass first; and now, with a fresh log to the

fire, I’m your man.”

“But stay; before I begin, look to this.”

The blood was flowing rapidly from his wound, which with some difficulty I

succeeded in stanching. He drank off his wine hastily, held out his glass

to be refilled, and then began his story.

“You have never seen the Emperor?”

“Never.”

“_Sacrebleu!_ What a man he is! I’d rather stand under the fire of your

grenadiers, than meet his eye. When in a passion, he does not say much, it

is true; but what he does, comes with a kind of hissing, rushing sound,

while the very fire seems to kindle in his look. I have him before me this

instant, and though you will confess that my present condition has nothing

very pleasing in it, I should be sorry indeed to change it for the last

time I stood in his presence.

“Two months ago I sported the gay light-blue and silver of a page to the

Emperor, and certainly, what with balls, _bonbons_, flirtation, gossip,

and champagne suppers, led a very gay, reckless, and indolent life of it.

Somehow,--I may tell you more accurately at another period, if we ever

meet,--I got myself into disgrace, and as a punishment, was ordered

to absent myself from the Tuileries, and retire for some weeks to

Fontainebleau. Siberia to a Russian would scarcely be a heavier infliction

than was this banishment to me. There was no court, no levee, no military

parade, no ball, no opera. A small household of the Emperor’s chosen

servants quietly kept house there. The gloomy walls re-echoed to no music;

the dark alleys of the dreary garden seemed the very impersonation of

solitude and decay. Nothing broke the dull monotony of the tiresome day,

except when occasionally, near sunset, the clash of the guard would be

heard turning out, and the clank of presenting arms, followed by the roll

of a heavy carriage into the gloomy courtyard. One lamp, shining like a

star, in a small chamber on the second floor, would remain till near four,

sometimes five o’clock in the morning. The same sounds of the guard and

the same dull roll of the carriage would break the stillness of the early

morning; and the Emperor--for it was he--would be on his road back to

Paris.

“We never saw him,--I say we, for like myself some half-dozen others were

also there, expiating their follies by a life of cheerless _ennui_.

“It was upon a calm evening in April, we sat together chatting over the

various misdeeds which had consigned us to exile, when some one proposed,

by way of passing the time, that we should visit the small flower-garden

that was parted off from the rest, and reserved for the Emperor alone. It

was already beyond the hour he usually came; besides that, even should he

arrive, there was abundant time to get back before he could possibly reach

it. The garden we had often seen, but there was something in the fact that

our going there was a transgression that so pleased us all that we agreed

at once and set forth. For above an hour we loitered about the lonely and

deserted walks, where already the Emperor’s foot-tracks had worn a marked

pathway, when we grew weary and were about to return, just as one of the

party suggested, half in ridicule of the sanctity of the spot, that we

should have a game of leap-frog ere we left it. The idea pleased us and was

at once adopted. Our plan was this,--each person stationed himself in some

by-walk or alley, and waited till the other, whose turn it was, came and

leaped over him; so that, besides the activity displayed, there was a

knowledge of the _locale_ necessary; for to any one passed over a forfeit

was to be paid. Our game began at once, and certainly I doubt if ever those

green alleys and shady groves rang to such hearty laughter. Here would be

seen a couple rolling over together on the grass; there some luckless wight

counting out his pocket-money to pay his penalty. The hours passed quietly

over, and the moon rose, and at last it came to my turn to make the tour of

the garden. As I was supposed to know all its intricacies better than the

rest, a longer time was given for them to conceal themselves; at length the

word was given, and I started.

“Anxious to acquit myself well, I hurried along at top speed, but guess my

surprise to discover that nowhere could I find one of my companions. Down

one walk I scampered, up another, across a third, but all was still and

silent; not a sound, not a breath, could I detect. There was still one part

of the garden unexplored; it was a small open space before a little pond

which usually contained the gold fish the Emperor was so fond of. Thither

I bent my steps, and had not gone far when in the pale moonlight I saw, at

length, one of my companions waiting patiently for my coming, his head

bent forward and his shoulders rounded. Anxious to repay him for my own

disappointment, I crept silently forward on tiptoe till quite near him,

when, rushing madly on, I sprang upon his back; just, however, as I rose to

leap over, he raised his head, and, staggered by the impulse of my spring,

he was thrown forward, and after an ineffectual effort to keep his legs

fell flat upon his face in the grass. Bursting with laughter, I fell over

him on the ground, and was turning to assist him, when suddenly he sprang

upon his feet, and--horror of horrors!--it was Napoleon himself; his

usually pale features were purple with rage, but not a word, not a syllable

escaped him.

“‘_Qui êtes vous_?’ said he, at length.

“‘St. Croix, Sire,’ said I, still kneeling before him, while my very heart

leaped into my mouth.

“‘St. Croix! _toujours_ St. Croix! Come here; approach me,’ cried he, in a

voice of stifled passion.

“I rose; but before I could take a step forward he sprang at me, and

tearing off my epaulettes trampled them beneath his feet, and then he

shouted out, rather than spoke, the word ‘_Allez!_’

“I did not wait for a second intimation, but clearing the paling at a

spring, was many a mile from Fontainebleau before daybreak.”

CHAPTER LI.

THE MARCH.

Twice the _réveil_ sounded; the horses champed impatiently their heavy

bits; my men stood waiting for the order to mount, ere I could arouse

myself from the deep sleep I had fallen into. The young Frenchman and his

story were in my dreams, and when I awoke, his figure, as he lay sleeping

beside the wood embers, was the first object I perceived. There he lay,

to all seeming as forgetful of his fate as though he still inhabited the

gorgeous halls and gilded saloons of the Tuileries; his pale and handsome

features wore even a placid smile as, doubtless, some dream of other days

flitted across him; his long hair waved in luxurious curls upon his neck,

and his light-brown mustache, slightly curled at the top, gave to his

mild and youthful features an air of saucy _fierté_ that heightened their

effect. A narrow blue ribbon which he wore round his throat gently peeped

from his open bosom. I could not resist the curiosity I felt to see what it

meant, and drawing it softly forth, I perceived that a small miniature was

attached to it. It was beautifully painted, and surrounded with brilliants

of some value. One glance showed me,--for I had seen more than one

engraving before of her,--that it was the portrait of the Empress

Josephine. Poor boy! he doubtless was a favorite at court; indeed,

everything in his air and manner bespoke him such. I gently replaced the

precious locket and turned from the spot to think over what was best to

be done for him. Knowing the vindictive feeling of the Portuguese towards

their invaders, I feared to take Pietro, our guide, into my confidence. I

accordingly summoned my man Mike to my aid, who, with all his country’s

readiness, soon found out an expedient. It was to pretend to Pietro that

the prisoner was merely an English officer who had made his escape from the

French army, in which, against his will, he had been serving for some time.

This plan succeeded perfectly; and when St. Croix, mounted upon one of my

led horses, set out upon his march beside me, none was more profuse of his

attentions than the dark-brown guide whose hatred of a Frenchman was beyond

belief.

By thus giving him safe conduct through Portugal, I knew that when we

reached the frontier he could easily manage to come up with some part of

Marshal Victor’s force, the advanced guard of which lay on the left bank of

the Tagus.

To me the companionship was the greatest boon; the gay and buoyant spirit

that no reverse of fortune, no untoward event, could subdue, lightened many

an hour of the journey; and though at times the gasconading tone of the

Frenchman would peep through, there was still such a fund of good-tempered

raillery in all he said that it was impossible to feel angry with him.

His implicit faith in the Emperor’s invincibility also amused me. Of the

unbounded confidence of the nation in general, and the army particularly,

in Napoleon, I had till then no conception. It was not that in the profound

skill and immense resources of the general they trusted, but they actually

regarded him as one placed above all the common accidents of fortune, and

revered him as something more than human.

“_Il viendra et puis_--” was the continued exclamation of the young

Frenchman. Any notion of our successfully resisting the overwhelming might

of the Emperor, he would have laughed to scorn, and so I let him go on

prophesying our future misfortunes till the time when, driven back upon

Lisbon, we should be compelled to evacuate the Peninsula, and under

favor of a convention be permitted to return to England. All this was

sufficiently ridiculous, coming from a youth of nineteen, wounded, in

misery, a prisoner; but further experience of his nation has shown me

that St. Croix was not the exception, but the rule. The conviction in the

ultimate success of their army, whatever be the merely momentary mishap, is

the one present thought of a Frenchman; a victory with them is a conquest;

a defeat,--if they are by any chance driven to acknowledge one,--a

_fatalité_.

I was too young a man, and still more, too young a soldier, to bear with

this absurd affectation of superiority as I ought, and consequently was

glad to wander, whenever I could, from the contested point of our national

superiority to other topics. St. Croix, although young, had seen much of

the world as a page in the splendid court of the Tuileries; the scenes

passing before his eyes were calculated to make a strong impression; and

by many an anecdote of his former life, he lightened the road as we passed

along.

[Illustration: A TOUCH AT LEAP-FROG WITH NAPOLEON.]

“You promised, by-the-bye, to tell me of your banishment. How did that

occur, St. Croix?”

“_Ah, par Dieu!_ that was an unfortunate affair for me; then began all my

mishaps. But for that, I should never have been sent to Fontainebleau;

never have played leap-frog with the Emperor; never have been sent a

soldier into Spain. True,” said he, laughing, “I should never have had the

happiness of your acquaintance. But still, I’d much rather have met you

first in the Place des Victoires than in the Estrella Mountains.”

“Who knows?” said I; “perhaps your good genius prevailed in all this.”

“Perhaps,” said he, interrupting me; “that’s exactly what the Empress

said,--she was my godmother,--‘Jules will be a _Maréchal de France yet_.’

But certainly, it must be confessed, I have made a bad beginning. However,

you wish to hear of my disgrace at court. _Allans donc_. But had we not

better wait for a halt?”

“Agreed,” said I; “and so let us now press forward.”

CHAPTER LII.

THE PAGE.

Under the deep shade of some tall trees, sheltered from the noonday sun, we

lay down to rest ourselves and enjoy a most patriarchal dinner,--some dry

biscuits, a few bunches of grapes, and a little weak wine, savoring more of

the borachio-skin than the vine-juice, were all we boasted; yet they were

not ungrateful at such a time and place.

“Whose health did you pledge then?” inquired St. Croix, with a

half-malicious smile, as I raised the glass silently to my lips.

I blushed deeply, and looked confused.

“_A ses beux yeux!_ whoever she be,” said he, gayly tossing off his wine;

“and now, if you feel disposed, I’ll tell you my story. In good truth, it

is not worth relating, but it may serve to set you asleep, at all events.

“I have already told you I was a page. Alas, the impressions you may feel

of that functionary, from having seen Cherubino, give but a faint notion of

him when pertaining to the household of the Emperor Napoleon.

“The _farfallone amoroso_ basked in the soft smiles and sunny looks of the

Countess Almaviva; we met but the cold, impassive look of Talleyrand, the

piercing and penetrating stare of Savary, or the ambiguous smile, half

menace, half mockery, of Monsieur Fouché. While on service, our days were

passed in the antechamber, beside the _salle d’audience_ of the Emperor,

reclining against the closed door, watching attentively for the gentle

tinkle of the little bell which summoned us to open for the exit of some

haughty diplomate, or the _entrée_ of some redoubted general. Thus passed

we the weary hours; the illustrious visitors by whom we were surrounded

had no novelty, consequently no attraction for us, and the names already

historical were but household words with us.

“We often remarked, too, the proud and distant bearing the Emperor assumed

towards those of his generals who had been his former companions-in-arms.

Whatever familiarity or freedom may have existed in the campaign or in the

battle-field, the air of the Tuileries certainly chilled it. I have often

heard that the ceremonious observances and rigid etiquette of the old

Bourbon court were far preferable to the stern reserve and unbending

stiffness of the imperial one.

“The antechamber is but the reflection of the reception-room; and whatever

be the whims, the caprices, the littleness of the Great Man, they are

speedily assumed by his inferiors, and the dark temper of one casts a

lowering shadow on every menial by whom he is surrounded.

“As for us, we were certainly not long in catching somewhat of the spirit

of the Emperor; and I doubt much if the impertinence of the waiting-room

was not more dreaded and detested than the abrupt speech and searching look

of Napoleon himself.

“What a malicious pleasure have I not felt in arresting the step of M. de

Talleyrand, as he approached the Emperor’s closet! With what easy insolence

have I lisped out, ‘Pardon, Monsieur, but his Majesty cannot receive you,’

or ‘Monsieur le Due, his Majesty has given no orders for your admission.’

How amusing it was to watch the baffled look of each, as he retired once

more to his place among the crowd, the wily diplomate covering his chagrin

with a practised smile, while the stern marshal would blush to his very

eyes with indignation! This was the great pleasure our position afforded

us, and with a boyish spirit of mischief, we cultivated it to perfection,

and became at last the very horror and detestation of all who frequented

the levees; and the ambassador whose fearless voice was heard among the

councils of kings became soft and conciliating in his approaches to us; and

the hardy general who would have charged upon a brigade of artillery was

timid as a girl in addressing us a mere question.

“Among the amiable class thus characterized I was most conspicuous,

preserving cautiously a tone of civility that left nothing openly to

complain of. I assumed an indifference and impartiality of manner that no

exigency of affairs, no pressing haste, could discompose or disturb; and

my bow of recognition to Soult or Massena was as coolly measured as my

monosyllabic answer was accurately conned over.

“Upon ordinary occasions the Emperor at the close of each person’s audience

rang his little bell for the admission of the next in order as they arrived

in the waiting-room; yet when anything important was under consideration, a

list was given us in the morning of the names to be presented in rotation,

which no casual circumstance was ever suffered to interfere with.

“It is now about four months since, one fine morning, such a list was

placed within my hands. His Majesty was just then occupied with an inquiry

into the naval force of the kingdom; and as I cast my eyes carelessly

over the names, I read little else than Vice-Admiral So-and-so, Commander

Such-a-one, and Chef d’Escardron Such-another, and the levee presented

accordingly, instead of its usual brilliant array of gorgeous uniform and

aiguilletted marshals, the simple blue-and-gold of the naval service.

“The marine was not in high favor with the Emperor; and truly, my reception

of these unfrequent visitors was anything but flattering. The early part

of the morning was, as usual, occupied by the audience of the Minister of

Police, and the Duc de Bassano, who evidently, from the length of time

they remained, had matter of importance to communicate. Meanwhile the

antechamber filled rapidly, and before noon was actually crowded. It was

just at this moment that the folding-door slowly opened, and a figure

entered, such as I had never before seen in our brilliant saloon. He was a

man of five or six and fifty, short, thickset, and strongly built, with a

bronzed and weather-beaten face, and a broad open forehead deeply scarred

with a sabre-cut; a shaggy gray mustache curled over and concealed his

mouth, while eyebrows of the same color shaded his dark and piercing eyes.

His dress was a coarse cut of blue cloth such as the fishermen wear in

Bretagne, fastened at the waist by a broad belt of black leather, from

which hung a short-bladed cutlass; his loose trousers, of the same

material, were turned up at the ankles to show a pair of strong legs

coarsely cased in blue stockings and thick-soled shoes. A broad-leaved

oil-skin hat was held in one hand, and the other stuck carelessly in his

pocket, as he entered. He came in with a careless air, and familiarly

saluting one or two officers in the room, he sat himself down near the

door, appearing lost in his own reflections.

“‘Who can you be, my worthy friend?’ was my question to myself as I

surveyed this singular apparition. At the same time, casting my eyes down

the list, I perceived that several pilots of the coast of Havre, Calais,

and Boulogne had been summoned to Paris to give some information upon the

soundings and depth of water along the shore.

“‘Ha,’ thought I, ‘I have it. The good man has mistaken his place,

and instead of remaining without, has walked boldly forward to the

antechamber.’

“There was something so strange and so original in the grim look of the old

fellow, as he sat there alone, that I suffered him to remain quietly in his

delusion, rather than order him back to the waiting-room without; besides,

I perceived that a kind of sensation was created among the others by his

appearance there, which amused me greatly.

“As the day wore on, the officers formed into little groups of three or

four, chatting together in an undertone,--all save the old pilot. He had

taken a huge tobacco-box from his capacious breast-pocket, and inserting

an immense piece of the bitter weed in his mouth, began to chew it

as leisurely as though he were walking the quarter-deck. The cool

_insouciance_ of such a proceeding amused me much, and I resolved to draw

him out a little. His strong, broad Breton features, his deep voice, his

dry, blunt manner, were all in admirable keeping with his exterior.

“‘_Par Dieu_, my lad,’ said he, after chatting some time, ‘had you not

better tell the Emperor that I am waiting? It’s now past noon, and I must

eat something.’

“‘Have a little patience,’ said I; ‘his Majesty is going to invite you to

dinner.’

“‘Be it so,’ said he, gravely; ‘provided the hour be an early one, I’m his

man.’

“With difficulty did I keep down my laughter as he said this, and

continued.

“‘So you know the Emperor already, it seems?’

“‘Yes, that I do! I remember him when he was no higher than yourself.’

“‘How delighted he’ll be to find you here! I hope you have brought up some

of your family with you, as the Emperor would be so flattered by it?’

“‘No, I’ve left them at home. This place don’t suit us over well. We have

plenty to do besides spending our time and money among all you fine folks

here.’

“‘And not a bad life of it, either,’ added I, ‘fishing for cod and

herrings,--stripping a wreck now and then.’

“He stared at me, as I said this, like a tiger on the spring, but spoke not

a word.

“‘And how many young sea-wolves may you have in your den at home?’

“‘Six; and all of them able to carry you with one hand, at arm’s length.’

“‘I have no doubt. I shall certainly not test their ability. But you

yourself,--how do you like the capital?’

“‘Not over well; and I’ll tell you why--’

“As he said this the door of the audience-chamber opened, and the Emperor

appeared. His eyes flashed fire as he looked hurriedly around the room.

“‘Who is in waiting here?’”

“‘I am, please your Majesty,’ said I, bowing deeply, as I started from my

seat.

“‘And where is the Admiral Truguet? Why was he not admitted?’

“‘Not present, your Majesty,’ said I, trembling with fear.

“‘Hold there, young fellow; not so fast. Here he is.’

“‘Ah, Truguet, _mon ami!_’ cried the Emperor, placing both hands on the old

fellow’s shoulders, ‘how long have you been in waiting?’

“‘Two hours and a half,’ said he, producing in evidence a watch like a

saucer.

“‘What, two hours and a half, and I not know it!’

“‘No matter; I am always happy to serve your Majesty. But if that fine

fellow had not told me that you were going to ask me to dinner--’

“‘He! He said so, did he?’ said Napoleon, turning on me a glance like a

wild beast. ‘Yes, Truguet, so I am; you shall dine with me to-day. And you,

sir,’ said he, dropping his voice to a whisper, as he came closer towards

me,--‘and you have dared to speak thus? Call in a guard there. Capitaine,

put this person under arrest; he is disgraced. He is no longer page of the

palace. Out of my presence! away, sir!’

“The room wheeled round; my legs tottered; my senses reeled; and I saw no

more.

“Three weeks’ bread and water in St. Pélagie, however, brought me to my

recollection; and at last my kind, my more than kind friend, the Empress,

obtained my pardon, and sent me to Fontainebleau, till the Emperor should

forget all about it. How I contrived again to refresh his memory I have

already told you; and certainly you will acknowledge that I have not been

fortunate in my interviews with Napoleon.”

I am conscious how much St. Croix’s story loses in my telling. The simple

expressions, the grace of the narrative, were its charm: and these, alas!

I can neither translate nor imitate, no more than I can convey the strange

mixture of deep feeling and levity, shrewdness and simplicity, that

constituted the manner of the narrator.

With many a story of his courtly career he amused me as we trotted along;

when, towards nightfall of the third day, a peasant informed us that a

body of French cavalry occupied the convent of San Cristoval, about three

leagues off. The opportunity of his return to his own army pleased him far

less than I expected. He heard, without any show of satisfaction, that the

time of his liberation had arrived; and when the moment of leave-taking

drew near, he became deeply affected.

“_Eh, bien_, Charles,” said he, smiling sadly through his dimmed and

tearful eyes. “You’ve been a kind friend to me. Is the time never to come

when I can repay you?”

“Yes, yes; we’ll meet again, be assured of it. Meanwhile there is one way

you can more than repay anything I have done for you.”

“Oh, name it at once!”

“Many a brave fellow of ours is now, and doubtless many more will be,

prisoners with your army in this war. Whenever, therefore, your lot brings

you in contact with such--”

“They shall be my brothers,” said he, springing towards me and throwing his

arms round my neck. “Adieu, adieu!” With that he rushed from the spot, and

before I could speak again, was mounted upon the peasant’s horse and waving

his hand to me in farewell.

I looked after him as he rode at a fast gallop down the slope of the green

mountain, the noise of the horse’s feet echoing along the silent plain. I

turned at length to leave the spot, and then perceived for the first

time that when taking his farewell of me he had hung around my neck his

miniature of the Empress. Poor boy! How sorrowful I felt thus to rob him of

what he had held so dear! How gladly would I have overtaken him to restore

it! It was the only keepsake he possessed; and knowing that I would not

accept it if offered, he took this way of compelling me to keep it.

Through the long hours of the summer’s night I thought of him; and when

at last I slept, towards morning, my first thought on waking was of the

solitary day before me. The miles no longer slipped imperceptibly along; no

longer did the noon and night seem fast to follow. Alas, that one should

grow old! The very sorrows of our early years have something soft and

touching in them. Arising less from deep wrong than slight mischances, the

grief they cause comes ever with an alloy of pleasant thoughts, telling

of the tender past, and amidst the tears called up, forming some bright

rainbow of future hope.

Poor St. Croix had already won greatly upon me, and I felt lonely and

desolate when he departed.

CHAPTER LIII.

ALVAS.

Nothing of incident marked our farther progress towards the frontier of

Spain, and at length we reached the small town of Alvas. It was past sunset

as we arrived, and instead of the usual quiet and repose of a little

village, we found the streets crowded with people, on horseback and on

foot; mules, bullocks, carts, and wagons blocked up the way, and the oaths

of the drivers and the screaming of women and children resounded on all

sides.

With what little Spanish I possessed I questioned some of those near me,

and learned, in reply, that a dreadful engagement had taken place that day

between the advanced guard of the French, under Victor, and the Lusitanian

legion; that the Portuguese troops had been beaten and completely routed,

losing all their artillery and baggage; that the French were rapidly

advancing, and expected hourly to arrive at Alvas, in consequence of which

the terror-stricken inhabitants were packing up their possessions and

hurrying away.

Here, then, was a point of considerable difficulty for me at once. My

instructions had never provided for such a conjuncture, and I was totally

unable to determine what was best to be done; both my men and their horses

were completely tired by a march of fourteen leagues, and had a pressing

need of some rest; on every side of me the preparations for flight were

proceeding with all the speed that fear inspires; and to my urgent request

for some information as to food and shelter, I could obtain no other reply

than muttered menaces of the fate before me if I remained, and exaggerated

accounts of French cruelty.

Amidst all this bustle and confusion a tremendous fall of heavy rain set

in, which at once determined me, come what might, to house my party, and

provide forage for our horses.

As we pushed our way slowly through the encumbered streets, looking on

every side for some appearance of a village inn, a tremendous shout rose in

our rear, and a rush of the people towards us induced us to suppose

that the French were upon us. For some minutes the din and uproar were

terrific,--the clatter of horses’ feet, the braying of trumpets, the

yelling of the mob, all mingling in one frightful concert.

I formed my men in close column, and waited steadily for the attack,

resolving, if possible, to charge through the advancing files,--any retreat

through the crowded and blocked-up thoroughfares being totally out of the

question. The rain was falling in such torrents that nothing could be seen

a few yards off, when suddenly a pause of a few seconds occurred, and from

the clash of accoutrements, and the hoarse tones of a loud voice, I judged

that the body of men before us were forming for attack.

Resolving, therefore, to take them by surprise, I gave the word to charge,

and spurring our jaded cattle, onward we dashed. The mob fled right and

left from us as we came on; and through the dense mist we could just

perceive a body of cavalry before us.

In an instant we were among them; down they went on every side, men and

horses rolling pell-mell over each other; not a blow, not a shot striking

us as we pressed on. Never did I witness such total consternation; some

threw themselves from their horses, and fled towards the houses; others

turned and tried to fall back, but the increasing pressure from behind held

them, and finally succeeded in blocking us up among them.

It was just at this critical moment that a sudden gleam of light from a

window fell upon the disordered mass, and to my astonishment, I need not

say to my delight, I perceived that they were Portuguese troops. Before

I had well time to halt my party, my convictions were pretty well

strengthened by hearing a well-known voice in the rear of the mass call

out,--

“Charge, ye devils! charge, will ye? Illustrious Hidalgos! cut them down;

_los infidelos, sacrificados los!_ Scatter them like chaff!”

One roar of laughter was my only answer to this energetic appeal for my

destruction, and the moment after the dry features and pleasant face of old

Monsoon beamed on me by the light of a pine-torch he carried in his right

hand.

[Illustration: MAJOR MONSOON TRYING TO CHARGE.]

“Are they prisoners? Have they surrendered?” inquired he, riding up. “It is

well for them; we’d have made mince-meat of them otherwise; now they shall

be well treated, and ransomed if they prefer.”

“_Gracios excellenze!_” said I, in a feigned voice.

“Give up your sword,” said the major, in an undertone.

“You behaved gallantly, but you fought against invincibles. Lord love them!

but they are the most terrified invincibles.”

I nearly burst aloud at this.

“It was a close thing which of us ran first,” muttered the major, as he

turned to give some directions to an aide-de-camp. “Ask them who they are,”

said he, in Spanish.

By this time I came close alongside of him, and placing my mouth close to

his ear, holloed out,--

“Monsoon, old fellow, how goes the King of Spain’s sherry?”

“Eh, what! Why, upon my life, and so it is,--Charley, my boy, so it’s you,

is it? Egad, how good; and we were so near being the death of you! My poor

fellow, how came you here?”

A few words of explanation sufficed to inform the major why we were there,

and still more to comfort him with the assurance that he had not been

charging the general’s staff, and the conmander-in-chief himself.

“Upon my life, you gave me a great start; though as long as I thought you

were French, it was very well.”

“True, Major, but certainly the invincibles were merciful as they were

strong.”

“They were tired, Charley, nothing more; why, lad, we’ve been fighting

since daybreak,--beat Victor at six o’clock, drove him back behind the

Tagus; took a cold dinner, and had at him again in the afternoon. Lord love

you! we’ve immortalized ourselves. But you must never speak of this little

business here; it tells devilish ill for the discipline of your fellows,

upon my life it does.”

This was rather an original turn to give the transaction, but I did not

oppose; and thus chatting, we entered the little inn, where, confidence

once restored, some semblance of comfort already appeared.

“And so you’re come to reinforce us?” said Monsoon; “there was never

anything more opportune,--though we surprised ourselves today with valor, I

don’t think we could persevere.”

“Yes, Major, the appointment gave me sincere pleasure; I greatly desired

to see a little service under your orders. Shall I present you with my

despatches?”

“Not now, Charley,--not now, my lad. Supper is the first thing at this

moment; besides, now that you remind me, I must send off a despatch myself,

Upon my life, it’s a great piece of fortune that you’re here; you shall be

secretary at war, and write it for me. Here now--how lucky that I thought

of it, to be sure! And it was just a mere chance; one has so many things--”

Muttering such broken, disjointed sentences, the major opened a large

portfolio with writing materials, which he displayed before me as he rubbed

his hands with satisfaction, and said, “Write away, lad.”

“But, my dear Major, you forget; I was not in the action. You must

describe; I can only follow you.”

“Begin then thus:--

HEADQUARTERS, ALVAS, JUNE 26.

YOUR EXCELLENCY,--Having learned from Don Alphonzo Xaviero

da Minto, an officer upon my personal staff--

“Luckily sober at that moment--”

That the advanced guard of the eighth corps of the French

army--

“Stay, though, was it the eighth? Upon my life, I’m not quite clear as to

that; blot the word a little and go on--”

That the--corps, under Marshal Victor, had commenced a forward

movement towards Alcantara, I immediately ordered a flank

movement of the light infantry regiment to cover the bridge over the

Tagus. After breakfast--

“I’m afraid, Major, that is not precise enough.”

“Well--”

About eleven o’clock, the French skirmishers attacked, and drove

in our pickets that were posted in front of our position, and following

rapidly up with cavalry, they took a few prisoners, and killed old

Alphonzo,--he ran like a man, they say, but they caught him in

the rear.

“You needn’t put that in, if you don’t like.”

I now directed a charge of the cavalry brigade, under Don

Asturias Y’Hajos, that cut them up in fine style. Our artillery,

posted on the heights, mowing away at their columns like fun.

Victor didn’t like this, and got into a wood, when we all went

to dinner; it was about two o’clock then.

After dinner, the Portuguese light corps, under Silva da Onorha,

having made an attack upon the enemy’s left, without my orders,

got devilish well trounced, and served them right; but coming up

to their assistance, with the heavy brigade of guns, and the cavalry,

we drove back the French, and took several prisoners, none of whom

we put to death.

“Dash that--Sir Arthur likes respect for the usages of war. Lord, how dry

I’m getting!”

The French were soon seen to retire their heavy guns, and

speedily afterwards retreated. We pursued them for some time, but

they showed fight; and as it was getting dark, I drew off my forces,

and came here to supper. Your Excellency will perceive, by the

enclosed return, that our loss has been considerable.

I send this despatch by Don Emanuel Forgales, whose services--

“I back him for mutton hash with onions against the whole regiment--”

--have been of the most distinguished nature, and beg to recommend

him to your Excellency’s favor.

I have the honor, etc.

“Is it finished, Charley? Egad, I’m glad of it, for here comes supper.”

The door opened as he spoke, and displayed a tempting tray of smoking

viands, flanked by several bottles,--an officer of the major’s staff

accompanied it, and showed, by his attentions to the etiquette of the

table and the proper arrangement of the meal, that his functions in his

superior’s household were more than military.

We were speedily joined by two others in rich uniform, whose names I now

forget, but to whom the major presented me in all form,--introducing me,

as well as I could interpret his Spanish, as his most illustrious ally and

friend Don Carlos O’Malley.

CHAPTER LIV.

THE SUPPER.

I have often partaken of more luxurious cookery and rarer wines; but never

do I remember enjoying a more welcome supper than on this occasion.

Our Portuguese guests left us soon, and the major and myself were once

more tête-a-tête beside a cheerful fire; a well-chosen array of bottles

guaranteeing that for some time at least no necessity of leave-taking

should arise from any deficiency of wine.

“That sherry is very near the thing, Charley; a little, a very little

sharp, but the after-taste perfect. And now, my boy, how have you been

doing since we parted?”

“Not so badly, Major. I have already got a step in promotion. The affair at

the Douro gave me a lieutenancy.”

“I wish you joy with all my heart. I’ll call you captain always while

you’re with me. Upon my life I will. Why, man, they style me your

Excellency here. Bless your heart, we are great folk among the Portuguese,

and no bad service, after all.”

“I should think not, Major. You seem to have always made a good thing of

it.”

“No, Charley; no, my boy. They overlook us greatly in general orders

and despatches. Had the brilliant action of to-day been fought by the

British--But no matter, they may behave well in England, after all; and

when I’m called to the Upper House as Baron Monsoon of the Tagus,--is that

better than Lord Alcantara?”

“I prefer the latter.”

“Well, then, I’ll have it. Lord! what a treaty I’ll move for with Portugal,

to let us have wine cheap. Wine, you know, as David says, gives us a

pleasant countenance; and oil,--I forget what oil does. Pass over the

decanter. And how is Sir Arthur, Charley? A fine fellow, but sadly

deficient in the knowledge of supplies. Never would have made any character

in the commissariat. Bless your heart, he pays for everything here as if he

were in Cheapside.”

“How absurd, to be sure!”

“Isn’t it, though? That was not my way, when I was commissary-general about

a year or two ago. To be sure, how I did puzzle them! They tried to audit

my accounts, and what do you think I did? I brought them in three thousand

pounds in my debt. They never tried on that game any more. ‘No, no,’ said

the Junta, ‘Beresford and Monsoon are great men, and must be treated with

respect!’ Do you think we’d let them search our pockets? But the rogues

doubled on us after all; they sent us to the northward,--a poor country--”

“So that, except a little commonplace pillage of the convents and

nunneries, you had little or nothing?”

“Exactly so; and then I got a great shock about that time that affected my

spirits for a considerable while.”

“Indeed, Major, some illness?”

“No, I was quite well; but--Lord, how thirsty it makes me to think of it;

my throat is absolutely parched--I was near being hanged!”

“Hanged!”

“Yes. Upon my life it’s true,--very horrible, ain’t it? It had a great

effect upon my nervous system; and they never thought of any little pension

to me as a recompense for my sufferings.”

“And who was barbarous enough to think of such a thing, Major?”

“Sir Arthur Wellesley himself,--none other, Charley?”

“Oh, it was a mistake, Major, or a joke.”

“It was devilish near being a practical one, though. I’ll tell you how it

occurred. After the battle of Vimeira, the brigade to which I was attached

had their headquarters at San Pietro, a large convent where all the church

plate for miles around was stored up for safety. A sergeant’s guard was

accordingly stationed over the refectory, and every precaution taken to

prevent pillage, Sir Arthur himself having given particular orders on the

subject. Well, somehow,--I never could find out how,--but in leaving the

place, all the wagons of our brigade had got some trifling articles of

small value scattered, as it might be, among their stores,--gold cups,

silver candlesticks, Virgin Marys, ivory crucifixes, saints’ eyes set in

topazes, and martyrs’ toes in silver filagree, and a hundred other similar

things.

“One of these confounded bullock-cars broke down just at the angle of the

road where the commander-in-chief was standing with his staff to watch the

troops defile, and out rolled, among bread rations and salt beef, a whole

avalanche of precious relics and church ornaments. Every one stood aghast!

Never was there such a misfortune. No one endeavored to repair the mishap,

but all looked on in terrified amazement as to what was to follow.

“‘Who has the command of this detachment?’ shouted out Sir Arthur, in a

voice that made more than one of us tremble.

“‘Monsoon, your Excellency,--Major Monsoon, of the Portuguese brigade.’

“‘The d--d old rogue, I know him!’ Upon my life that’s what he said. ‘Hang

him up on the spot,’ pointing with his finger as he spoke; ‘we shall see

if this practice cannot be put a stop to.’ And with these words he rode

leisurely away, as if he had been merely ordering dinner for a small party.

“When I came up to the place the halberts were fixed, and Gronow, with a

company of the Fusiliers, under arms beside them.

“‘Devilish sorry for it, Major,’ said he; ‘It’s confoundedly unpleasant;

but can’t be helped. We’ve got orders to see you hanged.’

“Faith, it was just so he said it, tapping his snuff-box as he spoke, and

looking carelessly about him. Now, had it not been for the fixed halberts

and the provost-marshal, I’d not have believed him; but one glance at them,

and another at the bullock-cart with all the holy images, told me at once

what had happened.

“‘He only means to frighten me a little? Isn’t that all, Gronow?’ cried I,

in a supplicating voice.

“‘Very possibly, Major,’ said he; ‘but I must execute my orders.’

“‘You’ll surely not--’ Before I could finish, up came Dan Mackinnon,

cantering smartly.

“‘Going to hang old Monsoon, eh, Gronow? What fun!’

“‘Ain’t it, though,’ said I, half blubbering.

“‘Well, if you’re a good Catholic, you may have your choice of a saint,

for, by Jupiter, there’s a strong muster of them here.’ This cruel allusion

was made in reference to the gold and silver effigies that lay scattered

about the highway.

“‘Dan,’ said I, in a whisper, ‘intercede for me. Do, like a good, kind

fellow. You have influence with Sir Arthur.’

“‘You old sinner,’ said he, ‘it’s useless.’

“‘Dan, I’ll forgive you the fifteen pounds.’

“‘That you owe _me_,’ said Dan, laughing.

“‘Who’ll ever be the father to you I have been? Who’ll mix your punch with

burned Madeira, when I’m gone?’ said I.

“‘Well, really, I am sorry for you, Monsoon. I say, Gronow, don’t tuck him

up for a few minutes; I’ll speak for the old villain, and if I succeed,

I’ll wave my handkerchief.’

“Well, away went Dan at a full gallop. Gronow sat down on a bank, and

I fidgeted about in no very enviable frame of mind, the confounded

provost-marshal eying me all the while.

“‘I can only give you five minutes more, Major,’ said Gronow, placing his

watch beside him on the grass. I tried to pray a little, and said three or

four of Solomon’s proverbs, when he again called out: ‘There, you see it

won’t do! Sir Arthur is shaking his head.’

“‘What’s that waving yonder?’

“‘The colors of the 6th Foot. Come, Major, off with your stock.’

“‘Where is Dan now; what is he doing?’--for I could see nothing myself.

“‘He’s riding beside Sir Arthur. They all seem laughing.’

“‘God forgive them! what an awful retrospect this will prove to some of

them.’

“‘Time’s up!’ said Gronow, jumping up, and replacing his watch in his

pocket.

“‘Provost-Marshal, be quick now--’

“‘Eh! what’s that?--there, I see it waving! There’s a shout too!’

“‘Ay, by Jove! so it is; well, you’re saved this time, Major; that’s the

signal.’

“So saying, Gronow formed his fellows in line and resumed his march quite

coolly, leaving me alone on the roadside to meditate over martial law and

my pernicious taste for relics.

“Well, Charley, this gave me a great shock, and I think, too, it must have

had a great effect upon Sir Arthur himself; but, upon my life, he has

wonderful nerves. I met him one day afterwards at dinner in Lisbon; he

looked at me very hard for a few seconds: ‘Eh, Monsoon! Major Monsoon, I

think?’

“‘Yes, your Excellency,’ said I, briefly; thinking how painful it must be

for him to meet me.

“‘Thought I had hanged you,--know I intended it,--no matter. A glass of

wine with you?’

“Upon my life, that was all; how easily some people can forgive themselves!

But Charley, my hearty, we are getting on slowly with the tipple; are they

all empty? So they are! Let us make a sortie on the cellar; bring a candle

with you, and come along.”

We had scarcely proceeded a few steps from the door, when a most vociferous

sound of mirth, arising from a neighboring apartment, arrested our

progress.

“Are the dons so convivial, Major?” said I, as a hearty burst of laughter

broke forth at the moment.

“Upon my life, they surprise me; I begin to fear they have taken some of

our wine.”

We now perceived that the sounds of merriment came from the kitchen,

which opened upon a little courtyard. Into this we crept stealthily, and

approaching noiselessly to the window, obtained a peep at the scene within.

Around a blazing fire, over which hung by a chain a massive iron pot, sat a

goodly party of some half-dozen people. One group lay in dark shadow; but

the others were brilliantly lighted up by the cheerful blaze, and showed

us a portly Dominican friar, with a beard down to his waist, a buxom,

dark-eyed girl of some eighteen years, and between the two, most

comfortably leaning back, with an arm round each, no less a person than my

trusty man Mickey Free.

It was evident, from the alternate motion of his head, that his attentions

were evenly divided between the church and the fair sex; although, to

confess the truth, they seemed much more favorably received by the latter

than the former,--a brown earthen flagon appearing to absorb all the worthy

monk’s thoughts that he could spare from the contemplation of heavenly

objects.

“Mary, my darlin,’ don’t be looking at me that way, through the corner of

your eye; I know you’re fond of me,--but the girls always was. You think

I’m joking, but troth I wouldn’t say a lie before the holy man beside me;

sure I wouldn’t, Father?”

The friar grunted out something in reply, not very unlike, in sound at

least, a hearty anathema.

“Ah, then, isn’t it yourself has the illigant time of it, Father dear!”

said he, tapping him familiarly upon his ample paunch, “and nothing to

trouble you; the best of divarsion wherever you go, and whether it’s

Badahos or Ballykilruddery, it’s all one; the women is fond of ye. Father

Murphy, the coadjutor in Scariff, was just such another as yourself, and

he’d coax the birds off the trees with the tongue of him. Give us a pull at

the pipkin before it’s all gone, and I’ll give you a chant.”

With this he seized the jar, and drained it to the bottom; the smack of his

lips as he concluded, and the disappointed look of the friar as he peered

into the vessel, throwing the others, once more, into a loud burst of

laughter.

“And now, your rev’rance, a good chorus is all I’ll ask, and you’ll not

refuse it for the honor of the church.”

So saying, he turned a look of most droll expression upon the monk, and

began the following ditty, to the air of “Saint Patrick was a Gentleman”:--

What an illegant life a friar leads,

With a fat round paunch before him!

He mutters a prayer and counts his beads,

And all the women adore him.

It’s little he’s troubled to work or think,

Wherever devotion leads him;

A “pater” pays for his dinner and drink,

For the Church--good luck to her!--feeds him.

From the cow in the field to the pig in the sty,

From the maid to the lady in satin,

They tremble wherever he turns an eye.

He can talk to the Devil in Latin!

He’s mighty severe to the ugly and ould,

And curses like mad when he’s near ‘em;

But one beautiful trait of him I’ve been tould,

The innocent craytures don’t fear him.

It’s little for spirits or ghosts he cares;

For ‘tis true as the world supposes,

With an Ave he’d make them march down-stairs,

Av they dared to show their noses.

The Devil himself’s afraid, ‘tis said,

And dares not to deride him;

For “angels make each night his bed,

And then--lie down beside him.”

A perfect burst of laughter from Monsoon prevented my hearing how Mike’s

minstrelsy succeeded within doors; but when I looked again, I found

that the friar had decamped, leaving the field open to his rival,--a

circumstance, I could plainly perceive, not disliked by either party.

“Come back, Charley, that villain of yours has given me the cramp, standing

here on the cold pavement. We’ll have a little warm posset,--very small and

thin, as they say in Tom Jones,--and then to bed.”

Notwithstanding the abstemious intentions of the major, it was daybreak

ere we separated, and neither party in a condition for performing upon the

tight-rope.

CHAPTER LV.

THE LEGION.

My services while with the Legion were of no very distinguished character,

and require no lengthened chronicle. Their great feat of arms, the repulse

of an advanced guard of Victor’s corps, had taken place the very morning I

had joined them, and the ensuing month was passed in soft repose upon their

laurels.

For the first few days, indeed, a multiplicity of cares beset the worthy

major. There was a despatch to be written to Beresford, another to

the Supreme Junta, a letter to Wilson, at that time with the corps of

observation to the eastward. There were some wounded to be looked after, a

speech to be made to the conquering heroes themselves, and lastly, a few

prisoners were taken, whose fate seemed certainly to partake of the most

uncertain of war’s proverbial chances.

The despatches gave little trouble; with some very slight alterations, the

great original, already sent forward to Sir Arthur, served as a basis for

the rest. The wounded were forwarded to Alcantara, with a medical staff; to

whom Monsoon, at parting, pleasantly hinted that he expected to see all the

sick at their duty by an early day, or he would be compelled to report the

doctors. The speech, which was intended as a kind of general order, he

deferred for some favorable afternoon when he could get up his Portuguese;

and lastly, came the prisoners, by far the most difficult of all his cares.

As for the few common soldiers taken, they gave him little uneasiness,--as

Sir John has it, they were “mortal men, and food for powder;” but there

was a staff-officer among them, aiguilletted and epauletted. The very

decorations he wore were no common temptation. Now, the major deliberated a

long time with himself, whether the usages of modern war might not admit of

the ancient, time-honored practice of ransom. The battle, save in glory,

had been singularly unproductive: plunder there was none; the few

ammunition-wagons and gun-carriages were worth little or nothing; so that,

save the prisoners, nothing remained. It was late in the evening--the

mellow hour of the major’s meditations--when he ventured to open his heart

to me upon the matter.

“I was just thinking, Charley, how very superior they were in olden times

to us moderns, in many matters, and nothing more than in their treatment of

prisoners. They never took them away from their friends and country;

they always ransomed them,--if they had wherewithal to pay their way. So

good-natured!--upon my life it was a most excellent custom! They took any

little valuables they found about them, and then put them up at auction.

Moses and Eleazar, a priest, we are told, took every piece of gold, and

their wrought jewels,--meaning their watches, and ear-rings. You needn’t

laugh, they all wore ear-rings, those fellows did. Now, why shouldn’t

I profit by their good example? I have taken Agag, the King of the

Amalekites,--no, but upon my life, I have got a French major, and I’d let

him go for fifty doubloons.”

It was not without much laughing, and some eloquence, that I could persuade

Monsoon that Sir Arthur’s military notions might not accept of even the

authority of Moses; and as our headquarters were at no great distance,

the danger of such a step as he meditated was too considerable at such a

moment.

As for ourselves, no fatiguing drills, no harassing field-days, and no

provoking inspections interfered with the easy current of our lives.

Foraging parties there were, it was true, and some occasional outpost duty

was performed. But the officers for both were selected with a tact that

proved the major’s appreciation of character; for while the gay, joyous

fellow that sung a jovial song and loved his _liquor_ was certain of being

entertained at headquarters, the less-gifted and less-congenial spirit had

the happiness of scouring the country for forage, and presenting himself as

a target to a French rifle.

My own endeavors to fulfil my instructions met with but little

encouragement or support; and although I labored hard at my task, I must

confess that the soil was a most ungrateful one. The cavalry were, it is

true, composed mostly of young fellows well-appointed, and in most cases

well-mounted; but a more disorderly, careless, undisciplined set of

good-humored fellows never formed a corps in the world.

Monsoon’s opinions were felt in every branch of the service, from the

adjutant to the drumboy,--the same reckless, indolent, plunder-loving

spirit prevailed everywhere. And although under fire they showed no lack of

gallantry or courage, the moment of danger passed, discipline departed with

it, and their only conception of benefiting by a victory consisted in the

amount of pillage that resulted from it.

From time to time the rumors of great events reached us. We heard that

Soult, having succeeded in re-organizing his beaten army, was, in

conjunction with Ney’s corps, returning from the north; that the marshals

were consolidating their forces in the neighborhood of Talavera; and that

King Joseph himself, at the head of a large army, had marched for Madrid.

Menacing as such an aspect of affairs was, it had little disturbed the

major’s equanimity; and when our advanced posts reported daily the

intelligence that the French were in retreat, he cared little with what

object of concentrating they retired, provided the interval between us

grew gradually wider. His speculations upon the future were singularly

prophetic. “You’ll see, Charley, what will happen; old Cuesta will pursue

them, and get thrashed. The English will come up, and perhaps get thrashed

too; but we, God bless us! are only a small force, partially organized and

ill to depend on,--we’ll go up the mountains till all is over!” Thus did

the major’s discretion not only extend to the avoidance of danger, but he

actually disqualified himself from even making its acquaintance.

Meanwhile our operations consisted in making easy marches to Almarez,

halting wherever the commissariat reported a well-stocked cellar or

well-furnished hen-roost, taking the primrose path in life, and being, in

words of the major, “contented and grateful, even amidst great perils!”

CHAPTER LVI.

THE DEPARTURE.

On the morning of the 10th July a despatch reached us announcing that Sir

Arthur Wellesley had taken up his headquarters at Placentia for the purpose

of communicating with Cuesta, then at Casa del Puerto; and ordering me

immediately to repair to the Spanish headquarters and await Sir Arthur’s

arrival, to make my report upon the effective state of our corps. As for

me, I was heartily tired of the inaction of my present life, and much as I

relished the eccentricities of my friend the major, longed ardently for a

different sphere of action.

Not so Monsoon; the prospect of active employment and the thoughts of being

left once more alone, for his Portuguese staff afforded him little society,

depressed him greatly; and as the hour of my departure drew near, he

appeared lower in spirits than I had ever seen him.

“I shall be very lonely without you, Charley,” said he, with a sigh, as we

sat the last evening together beside our cheerful wood fire. “I have little

intercourse with the dons; for my Portuguese is none of the best, and only

comes when the evening is far advanced; and besides, the villains, I fear,

may remember the sherry affair. Two of my present staff were with me then.”

“Is that the story Power so often alluded to, Major; the King of Spain’s--”

“There, Charley, hush; be cautious, my boy. I’d rather not speak about that

till we get among our own fellows.”

“Just as you like, Major; but, do you know, I have a strong curiosity to

hear the narrative.”

“If I’m not mistaken, there is some one listening at the door,--gently;

that’s it, eh?”

“No, we are perfectly alone; the night’s early; who knows when we shall

have as quiet an hour again together? Let me hear it, by all means.”

“Well, I don’t care; the thing, Heaven knows! is tolerably well known; so

if you’ll amuse yourself making a devil of the turkey’s legs there, I’ll

tell you the story. It’s very short, Charley, and there’s no moral; so

you’re not likely to repeat it.”

So saying, the major filled up his glass, drew a little closer to the fire,

and began:--

“When the French troops, under Laborde, were marching, upon Alcobaca,

in concert with Loison’s corps, I was ordered to convey a very valuable

present of sherry the Duo d’Albu-querque was making to the Supreme

Junta,--no less than ten hogsheads of the best sherry the royal cellars of

Madrid had formerly contained.

“It was stored in the San Vincente convent; and the Junta, knowing a little

about monkish tastes and the wants of the Church, prudently thought it

would be quite as well at Lisbon. I was accordingly ordered, with a

sufficient force, to provide for its safe conduct and secure arrival, and

set out upon my march one lovely morning in April with my precious convoy.

“I don’t know, I never could understand, why temptations are thrown in our

way in this life, except for the pleasure of yielding to them. As for me,

I’m a stoic when there’s nothing to be had; but let me get a scent of

a well-kept haunch, the odor of a wine-bin once in my nose, I forget

everything except appropriation. That bone smells deliciously, Charley; a

little garlic would improve it vastly.

“Our road lay through cross-paths and mountain tracts, for the French were

scouring the country on every side, and my fellows, only twenty altogether,

trembled at the very name of them; so that our only chance was to avoid

falling in with any forage parties. We journeyed along for several days,

rarely making more than a few leagues between sunrise and sunset, a scout

always in advance to assure us that all was safe. The road was a lonesome

one and the way weary, for I had no one to speak to or converse with, so I

fell into a kind of musing fit about the old wine in the great brown casks.

I thought on its luscious flavor, its rich straw tint, its oily look as it

flowed into the glass, the mellow after-taste warming the heart as it went

down, and I absolutely thought I could smell it through the wood.

“How I longed to broach one of them, if it were only to see if my dreams

about it were correct. ‘May be it’s brown sherry,’ thought I, ‘and I am

all wrong.’ This was a very distressing reflection. I mentioned it to the

Portuguese intendant, who travelled with us as a kind of supercargo; but

the villain only grinned and said something about the Junta and the galleys

for life, so I did not recur to it afterwards. Well, it was upon the third

evening of our march that the scout reported that at Merida, about a league

distant, he had fallen in with an English cavalry regiment, who were on

their march to the northern provinces, and remaining that night in the

village. As soon, therefore, as I had made all my arrangements for the

night, I took a fresh horse and cantered over to have a look at my

countrymen, and hear the news. When I arrived, it was a dark night, but I

was not long in finding out our fellows. They were the 11th Light Dragoons,

commanded by my old friend Bowes, and with as jolly a mess as any in the

service.

“Before half an hour’s time I was in the midst of them, hearing all about

the campaign, and telling them in return about my convoy, dilating upon the

qualities of the wine as if I had been drinking it every day at dinner.

“We had a very mellow night of it; and before four o’clock the senior

major and four captains were under the table, and all the subs, in a state

unprovided for by the articles of war. So I thought I’d be going, and

wishing the sober ones a good-by, set out on my road to join my own party.

“I had not gone above a hundred yards when I heard some one running after,

and calling out my name.

“‘I say, Monsoon; Major, confound you, pull up.’

“‘Well, what’s the matter? Has any more lush turned up?’ inquired I, for we

had drank the tap dry when I left.

“‘Not a drop, old fellow!’ said he; ‘but I was thinking of what you’ve been

saying about that sherry.’

“‘Well! What then?’

“‘Why, I want to know how we could get a taste of it?’

“‘You’d better get elected one of the Cortes,’ said I, laughing; ‘for it

doesn’t seem likely you’ll do so in any other way.’

“‘I’m not so sure of that,’ said he, smiling. ‘What road do you travel

to-morrow?’

“‘By Cavalhos and Reina.’

“‘Whereabouts may you happen to be towards sunset?’

“‘I fear we shall be in the mountains,’ said I, with a knowing look, ‘where

ambuscades and surprise parties would be highly dangerous.’

“‘And your party consists of--’

“‘About twenty Portuguese, all ready to run at the first shot.’

“‘I’ll do it, Monsoon; I’ll be hanged if I don’t.’

“‘But, Tom,’ said I, ‘don’t make any blunder; only blank cartridge, my

boy.’

“‘Honor bright!’ cried he. ‘Your fellows are armed of course?’

“‘Never think of that; they may shoot each other in the confusion. But if

you only make plenty of noise coming on, they’ll never wait for you.’

“‘What capital fellows they must be!’

“‘Crack troops, Tom; so don’t hurt them. And now, good-night.’

“As I cantered off, I began to think over O’Flaherty’s idea; and upon my

life, I didn’t half like it. He was a reckless, devil-may-care fellow; and

it was just as likely he would really put his scheme into practice.

“When morning broke, however, we got under way again, and I amused myself

all the forenoon in detailing stories of French cruelty; so that before we

had marched ten miles, there was not a man among us not ready to run at the

slightest sound of attack on any side. As evening was falling we reached

Morento, a little mountain pass which follows the course of a small river,

and where, in many places, the mule carts had barely space enough to pass

between the cliffs and the stream. ‘What a place for Tom O’Flaherty and his

foragers!’ thought I, as we entered the little mountain gorge; but all was

silent as the grave,--except the tramp of our party, not a sound was heard.

There was something solemn and still in the great brown mountain, rising

like vast walls on either side, with a narrow streak of gray sky at top and

in the dark, sluggish stream, that seemed to awe us, and no one spoke. The

muleteer ceased his merry song, and did not crack or flourish his long whip

as before, but chid his beasts in a half-muttered voice, and urged them

faster, to reach the village before nightfall.

“Egad, somehow I felt uncommonly uncomfortable; I could not divest my mind

of the impression that some disaster was impending, and I wished O’Flaherty

and his project in a very warm climate. ‘He’ll attack us,’ thought I,

‘where we can’t run; fair play forever. But if they are not able to get

away, even the militia will fight.’ However, the evening crept on, and no

sign of his coming appeared on any side; and to my sincere satisfaction, I

could see, about half a league distant, the twinkling light of the little

village where we were to halt for the night. It was just at this time that

a scout I had sent out some few hundred yards in advance came galloping up,

almost breathless.

“‘The French, Captain; the French are upon us!’ said he, with a face like a

ghost.

“‘Whew! Which way? How many?’ said I, not at all sure that he might not be

telling the truth.

“‘Coming in force!’ said the fellow. ‘Dragoons! By this road!’

“‘Dragoons? By this road?’ repeated every man of the party, looking at each

other like men sentenced to be hanged.

“Scarcely had they spoken when we heard the distant noise of cavalry

advancing at a brisk trot. Lord, what a scene ensued! The soldiers ran

hither and thither like frightened sheep; some pulled out crucifixes and

began to say their prayers; others fired off their muskets in a panic; the

mule-drivers cut their traces, and endeavored to get away by riding; and

the intendant took to his heels, screaming out to us, as he went, to fight

manfully to the last, and that he’d report us favorably to the Junta.

“Just at this moment the dragoons came in sight; they came galloping up,

shouting like madmen. One look was enough for my fellows; they sprang to

their legs from their devotions, fired a volley straight at the new moon,

and ran like men.

“I was knocked down in the rush. As I regained my legs, Tom O’Flaherty was

standing beside me, laughing like mad.

“‘Eh, Monsoon! I’ve kept my word, old fellow! What legs they have! We shall

make no prisoners, that’s certain. Now, lads, here it is! Put the horses

to, here. We shall take but one, Monsoon; so that your gallant defence of

the rest will please the Junta. Good-night, good-night! I will drink your

health every night these two months.’

“So saying, Tom sprang to his saddle; and in less time than I’ve been

telling it, the whole was over and I sitting by myself in the gray

moonlight, meditating on all I saw, and now and then shouting for my

Portuguese friends to come back again. They came in time, by twos and

threes; and at last the whole party re-assembled, and we set forth again,

every man, from the intendant to the drummer, lauding my valor, and saying

that Don Monsoon was a match for the Cid.”

“And how did the Junta behave?”

“Like trumps, Charley. Made me a Knight of Battalha, and kissed me on both

cheeks, having sent twelve dozen of the rescued wine to my quarters, as a

small testimony of their esteem. I have laughed very often at it since. But

hush, Charley? What’s that I hear without there?”

“Oh, it’s my fellow Mike. He asked my leave to entertain his friends before

parting, and I perceive he is delighting them with a song.”

“But what a confounded air it is! Are the words Hebrew?”

“Irish, Major; most classical Irish, too, I’ll be bound!”

“Irish! I’ve heard most tongues, but that certainly surprises me. Call him

in, Charley, and let us have the canticle.”

In a few minutes more, Mr. Free appeared in a state of very satisfactory

elevation, his eyebrows alternately rising and falling, his mouth a little

drawn to one side, and a side motion in his knee-joints that might puzzle a

physiologist to account for.

“A sweet little song of yours, Mike,” said the major; “a very sweet thing

indeed. Wet your lips, Mickey.”

“Long life to your honor and Master Charles there, too, and them that

belongs to both of yez. May a gooseberry skin make a nightcap for the man

would harm either of ye.”

“Thank you, Mike. And now about that song.”

“It’s the ouldest tune ever was sung,” said Mike, with a hiccough, “barring

Adam had a taste for music; but the words--the poethry--is not so ould.”

“And how comes that?”

“The poethry, ye see, was put to it by one of my ancesthors,--he was a

great inventhor in times past, and made beautiful songs,--and ye’d never

guess what it’s all about.”

“Love, mayhap?” quoth Monsoon.

“Sorra taste of kissing from beginning to end.”

“A drinking song?” said I.

“Whiskey is never mentioned.”

“Fighting is the only other national pastime. It must be in praise of

sudden death?”

“You’re out again; but sure you’d never guess it,” said Mike. “Well, ye

see, here’s what it is. It’s the praise and glory of ould Ireland in the

great days that’s gone, when we were all Phenayceans and Armenians,

and when we worked all manner of beautiful contrivances in gold and

silver,--bracelets and collars and teapots, elegant to look at,--and read

Roosian and Latin, and played the harp and the barrel-organ, and eat and

drank of the best, for nothing but asking.”

“Blessed times, upon my life!” quoth the major; “I wish we had them back

again.”

“There’s more of your mind,” said Mike, steadying himself. “My ancesthors

was great people in them days; and sure it isn’t in my present situation

I’d be av we had them back again,--sorra bit, faith! It isn’t, ‘Come

here, Mickey, bad luck to you, Mike!’ or, ‘That blackguard, Mickey Free!’

people’d be calling me. But no matter; here’s your health again, Major

Monsoon--”

“Never mind vain regrets, Mike. Let us hear your song; the major has taken

a great fancy to it.”

“Ah, then, it’s joking you are, Mister Charles,” said Mike, affecting an

air of most bashful coyness.

“By no means; we want to hear you sing it.”

“To be sure we do. Sing it by all means; never be ashamed. King David was

very fond of singing,--upon my life he was.”

“But you’d never understand a word of it, sir.”

“No matter; we know what it’s about. That’s the way with the Legion; they

don’t know much English, but they generally guess what I’m at.”

This argument seemed to satisfy all Mike’s remaining scruples; so placing

himself in an attitude of considerable pretension as to grace, he began,

with a voice of no very measured compass, an air of which neither by name

nor otherwise can I give any conception; my principal amusement being

derived from a tol-de-rol chorus of the major, which concluded each verse,

and indeed in a lower key accompanied the singer throughout.

Since that I have succeeded in obtaining a free-and-easy translation of the

lyric; but in my anxiety to preserve the metre and something of the spirit

of the original, I have made several blunders and many anachronisms. Mr.

Free, however, pronounces my version a good one, and the world must take

his word till some more worthy translator shall have consigned it to

immortal verse.

With this apology, therefore, I present Mr. Free’s song:

AIR,--_Na Guilloch y’ Goulen_.

Oh, once we were illigint people,

Though we now live in cabins of mud;

And the land that ye see from the steeple

Belonged to us all from the Flood.

My father was then King of Connaught,

My grand-aunt Viceroy of Tralee;

But the Sassenach came, and signs on it,

The devil an acre have we.

The least of us then were all earls,

And jewels we wore without name;

We drank punch out of rubies and pearls,--

Mr. Petrie can tell you the same.

But except some turf mould and potatoes,

There’s nothing our own we can call;

And the English,--bad luck to them!--hate us,

Because we’ve more fun than them all!

My grand-aunt was niece to Saint Kevin,

That’s the reason my name’s Mickey Free!

Priest’s nieces,--but sure he’s in heaven,

And his failins is nothin’ to me.

And we still might get on without doctors,

If they’d let the ould Island alone;

And if purple-men, priests, and tithe-proctors

Were crammed down the great gun of Athlone.

[Illustration: MR. FREE’S SONG.]

As Mike’s melody proceeded, the major’s thorough bass waxed beautifully

less,--now and then, it’s true, roused by some momentary strain, it swelled

upwards in full chorus, but gradually these passing flights grew rarer, and

finally all ceased, save a long, low, droning sound, like the expiring sigh

of a wearied bagpipe. His fingers still continued mechanically to beat time

upon the table, and still his head nodded sympathetically to the music;

his eyelids closed in sleep; and as the last verse concluded, a full-drawn

snore announced that Monsoon, if not in the land of dreams, was at least in

a happy oblivion of all terrestrial concerns, and caring as little for the

woes of green Erin and the altered fortunes of the Free family as any Saxon

that ever oppressed them.

There he sat, the finished decanter and empty goblet testifying that his

labors had only ceased from the pressure of necessity; but the broken,

half-uttered words that fell from his lips evinced that he reposed on the

last bottle of the series.

“Oh, thin, he’s a fine ould gentleman!” said Mike, after a pause of some

minutes, during which he had been contemplating the major with all the

critical acumen Chantrey or Canova would have bestowed upon an antique

statue,--“a fine ould gentleman, every inch of him; and it’s the master

would like to have him up at the Castle.”

“Quite true, Mike; but let us not forget the road. Look to the cattle, and

be ready to start within an hour.”

When he left the room for this purpose I endeavored to shake the major into

momentary consciousness ere we parted.

“Major, Major,” said I, “time is up. I must start.”

“Yes, it’s all true, your Excellency: they pillaged a little; and if they

did change their facings, there was a great temptation. All the red velvet

they found in the churches--”

“Good-by, old fellow, good-by!”

“Stand at ease!”

“Can’t, unfortunately, yet awhile; so farewell. I’ll make a capital report

of the Legion to Sir Arthur; shall I add anything particularly from

yourself?”

This, and the shake that accompanied it, aroused him. He started up, and

looked about him for a few seconds.

“Eh, Charley! You didn’t say Sir Arthur was here, did you?”

“No, Major; don’t be frightened; he’s many a league off. I asked if you had

anything to say when I met him?”

“Oh, yes, Charley! Tell him we’re capital troops in our own little way in

the mountains; would never do in pitched battles,--skirmishing’s our forte;

and for cutting off stragglers, or sacking a town, back them at any odds.”

“Yes, yes, I know all that; you’ve nothing more?”

“Nothing,” said he, once more closing his eyes and crossing his hands

before him, while his lips continued to mutter on,--“nothing more, except

you may say from me,--he knows me, Sir Arthur does. Tell him to guard

himself from intemperance; a fine fellow if he wouldn’t drink.”

“You horrid old humbug, what nonsense are you muttering there?”

“Yes, yes; Solomon says, ‘Who hath red eyes and carbuncles?’ they that mix

their lush. Pure _Sneyd_ never injured any one. Tell him so from me,--it’s

an old man’s advice, and I have drunk some hogsheads of it.”

With these words he ceased to speak, while his head, falling gently forward

upon his chest, proclaimed him sound asleep.

“Adieu, then, for the last time,” said I, slapping him gently on the

shoulder. “And now for the road.”