Why is it that _Adventures_ are so generally repulsive to people of
meditative minds? It is for the same reason that any other want of law,
that any other anarchy is repulsive. Floating passively from action to
action, as helplessly as a withered leaf surrendered to the breath
of winds, the human spirit (out of which comes all grandeur of human
motions) is exhibited in mere _Adventures_, as either entirely laid
asleep, or as acting only by lower organs that regulate the _means_,
whilst the _ends_ are derived from alien sources, and are imperiously
predetermined. It is a case of exception, however, when even amongst
such adventures the agent reacts upon his own difficulties and
necessities by a temper of extraordinary courage, and a mind of
premature decision. Further strength arises to such an exception, if the
very moulding accidents of the life, if the very external coercions are
themselves unusually romantic. They may thus gain a separate interest of
their own. And, lastly, the whole is locked into validity of interest,
even for the psychological philosopher, by complete authentication
of its truth. In the case now brought before him, the reader must not
doubt; for no memoir exists, or personal biography, that is so trebly
authenticated by proofs and attestations direct and collateral. From the
archives of the Royal Marine at Seville, from the autobiography or the
heroine, from contemporary chronicles, and from several official sources
scattered in and out of Spain, some of them ecclesiastical, the
amplest proofs have been drawn, and may yet be greatly extended, of the
extraordinary events here recorded. M. de Ferrer, a Spaniard of much
research, and originally incredulous as to the facts, published about
seventeen years ago a selection from the leading documents, accompanied
by his _palinode_ as to their accuracy. His materials have been since
used for the basis of more than one narrative, not inaccurate, in
French, German and Spanish journals of high authority. It is seldom the
case that French writers err by prolixity. They _have_ done so in this
case. The present narrative, which contains no sentence derived from any
foreign one, has the great advantage of close compression; my own pages,
after equating the size, being as 1 to 3 of the shortest continental
form. In the mode of narration, I am vain enough to flatter myself
that the reader will find little reason to hesitate between us. Mine
at least, weary nobody; which is more than can be always said for the
continental versions.
On a night in the year 1592, (but which night is a secret liable to 365
answers,) a Spanish '_son of somebody_,' [Footnote: _i.e._ 'Hidalgo']
in the fortified town of St. Sebastian, received the disagreeable
intelligence from a nurse, that his wife had just presented him with a
daughter. No present that the poor misjudging lady could possibly have
made him was so entirely useless for any purpose of his. He had three
daughters already, which happened to be more by 2+1 than _his_ reckoning
assumed as a reasonable allowance of daughters. A supernumerary son
might have been stowed away; but daughters in excess were the very
nuisance of Spain. He did, therefore, what in such cases every proud
and lazy Spanish gentleman was apt to do--he wrapped the new little
daughter, odious to his paternal eyes, in a pocket handkerchief; and
then, wrapping up his own throat with a good deal more care, off he
bolted to the neighboring convent of St. Sebastian, not merely of that
city, but also (amongst several convents) the one dedicated to that
saint. It is well that in this quarrelsome world we quarrel furiously
about tastes; since agreeing too closely about the objects to be
liked and appropriated would breed much more fighting than is bred by
disagreeing. That little human tadpole, which the old toad of a father
would not suffer to stay ten minutes in his house, proved as welcome at
the nunnery of St. Sebastian as she was odious elsewhere. The superior
of the convent was aunt, by the mother's side, to the new-born stranger.
She, therefore, kissed and blessed the little lady. The poor nuns, who
were never to have any babies of their own, and were languishing for
some amusement, perfectly doated on this prospect of a wee pet. The
superior thanked the hidalgo for his very splendid present. The nuns
thanked him each and all; until the old crocodile actually began to
cry and whimper sentimentally at what he now perceived to be excess of
munificence in himself. Munificence, indeed, he remarked, was his foible
next after parental tenderness.
What a luxury it is sometimes to a cynic that there go two words to a
bargain. In the convent of St. Sebastian all was gratitude; gratitude
(as aforesaid) to the hidalgo from all the convent for his present,
until at last the hidalgo began to express gratitude to _them_ for their
gratitude to _him_. Then came a rolling fire of thanks to St. Sebastian;
from the superior, for sending a future saint; from the nuns, for
sending such a love of a plaything; and, finally, from papa, for sending
such substantial board and well-bolted lodgings, 'from which,' said the
malicious old fellow, 'my pussy will never find her way out to a thorny
and dangerous world.' Won't she? I suspect, son of somebody, that the
next time you see 'pussy,' which may happen to be also the last,
will not be in a convent of any kind. At present, whilst this general
rendering of thanks was going on, one person only took no part in them.
That person was 'pussy,' whose little figure lay quietly stretched out
in the arms of a smiling young nun, with eyes nearly shut, yet peering
a little at the candles. Pussy said nothing. It's of no great use to
say much, when all the world is against you. But if St. Sebastian had
enabled her to speak out the whole truth, pussy _would_ have said: 'So,
Mr. Hidalgo, you have been engaging lodgings for me; lodgings for life.
Wait a little. We'll try that question, when my claws are grown a little
longer.'
Disappointment, therefore, was gathering ahead. But for the present
there was nothing of the kind. That noble old crocodile, papa, was not
in the least disappointed as regarded _his_ expectation of having
no anxiety to waste, and no money to pay, on account of his youngest
daughter. He insisted on his right to forget her; and in a week _had_
forgotten her, never to think of her again but once. The lady superior,
as regarded _her_ demands, was equally content, and through a course of
several years; for, as often as she asked pussy if she would be a
saint, pussy replied that she would, if saints were allowed plenty of
sweetmeats. But least of all were the nuns disappointed. Everything that
they had fancied possible in a human plaything fell short of what pussy
realized in racketing, racing, and eternal plots against the peace of
the elder nuns. No fox ever kept a hen-roost in such alarm as pussy kept
the dormitory of the senior sisters; whilst the younger ladies were
run off their legs by the eternal wiles, and had their chapel gravity
discomposed, even in chapel, by the eternal antics of this privileged
little kitten.
The kitten had long ago received a baptismal name, which was Kitty; this
is Catharine, or Kate, or _Hispanice_ Catalina. It was a good name, as
it recalled her original name of pussy. And, by the way, she had also an
ancient and honorable surname, viz., _De Erauso_, which is to this day a
name rooted in Biscay. Her father, the _hidalgo_, was a military officer
in the Spanish service, and had little care whether his kitten should
turn out a wolf or a lamb, having made over the fee simple of his own
interest in the little Kate to St. Sebastian, 'to have and to hold,'
so long as Kate should keep her hold of this present life. Kate had
no apparent intention to let slip that hold, for she was blooming as
a rose-bush in June, tall and strong as a young cedar. Yet,
notwithstanding this robust health and the strength of the convent
walls, the time was drawing near when St. Sebastian's lease in Kate
must, in legal phrase, 'determine;' and any _chateaux en Espagne_,
that the Saint might have built on the cloisteral fidelity of his pet
Catalina, must suddenly give way in one hour, like many other vanities
in our own days of Spanish bonds and promises. After reaching her tenth
year, Catalina became thoughtful, and not very docile. At times she
was even headstrong and turbulent, so that the gentle sisterhood of St.
Sebastian, who had no other pet or plaything in the world, began to weep
in secret--fearing that they might have been rearing by mistake some
future tigress--for as to infancy, _that_, you know, is playful and
innocent even in the cubs of a tigress. But _there_ the ladies were
going too far. Catalina was impetuous and aspiring, but not cruel. She
was gentle, if people would let her be so. But woe to those that
took liberties with _her_! A female servant of the convent, in some
authority, one day, in passing up the aisle to matins, _wilfully_ gave
Kate a push; and in return, Kate, who never left her debts in arrear,
gave the servant for a keepsake a look which that servant carried with
her in fearful remembrance to her grave. It seemed as if Kate had tropic
blood in her veins, that continually called her away to the tropics. It
was all the fault of that 'blue rejoicing sky,' of those purple Biscayan
mountains, of that tumultuous ocean, which she beheld daily from the
nunnery gardens. Or, if only half of it was _their_ fault, the other
half lay in those golden tales, streaming upwards even into the
sanctuaries of convents, like morning mists touched by earliest
sunlight, of kingdoms overshadowing a new world which had been founded
by her kinsmen with the simple aid of a horse and a lance. The reader is
to remember that this is no romance, or at least no fiction, that he
is reading; and it is proper to remind the reader of real romances in
Ariosto or our own Spenser, that such martial ladies as the _Marfisa_,
or _Bradamant_ of the first, and _Britomart_ of the other, were really
not the improbabilities that modern society imagines. Many a stout man,
as you will soon see, found that Kate, with a sabre in hand, and well
mounted, was but too serious a fact.
The day is come--the evening is come--when our poor Kate, that had for
fifteen years been so tenderly rocked in the arms of St. Sebastian and
his daughters, and that henceforth shall hardly find a breathing space
between eternal storms, must see her peaceful cell, must see the holy
chapel, for the last time. It was at vespers, it was during the chanting
of the vesper service, that she finally read the secret signal for her
departure, which long she had been looking for. It happened that her
aunt, the Lady Principal, had forgotten her breviary. As this was in
a private 'scrutoire, she did not choose to send a servant for it, but
gave the key to her niece. The niece, on opening the 'scrutoire, saw,
with that rapidity of eye-glance for the one thing needed in any great
emergency, which ever attended her through life, that _now_ was the
moment for an attempt which, if neglected, might never return. There lay
the total keys, in one massive _trousseau_, of that fortress impregnable
even to armies from without. Saint Sebastian! do you see what your
pet is going to do? And do it she will, as sure as your name is St.
Sebastian. Kate went back to her aunt with the breviary and the key; but
taking good care to leave that awful door, on whose hinge revolved her
whole life, unlocked. Delivering the two articles to the Superior, she
complained of a headache--[Ah, Kate! what did you know of headaches,
except now and then afterwards from a stray bullet, or so?]--upon which
her aunt, kissing her forehead, dismissed her to bed. Now, then, through
three-fourths of an hour Kate will have free elbow-room for unanchoring
her boat, for unshipping her oars, and for pulling ahead right out of
St. Sebastian's cove into the main ocean of life.
Catalina, the reader is to understand, does not belong to the class of
persons in whom chiefly I pretend to an interest. But everywhere one
loves energy and indomitable courage. I, for my part, admire not, by
preference, anything that points to this world. It is the child of
reverie and profounder sensibility who turns _away_ from the world as
hateful and insufficient, that engages _my_ interest: whereas Catalina
was the very model of the class fitted for facing this world, and who
express their love to it by fighting with it and kicking it from year to
year. But, always, what is best in its kind one admires, even though the
kind be disagreeable. Kate's advantages for her _role_ in this life lay
in four things, viz., in a well-built person, and a particularly strong
wrist; 2d, in a heart that nothing could appal; 3d, in a sagacious head,
never drawn aside from the _hoc age_ [from the instant question of life]
by any weakness of imagination; 4th, in a tolerably thick skin--not
literally, for she was fair and blooming, and decidedly handsome, having
such a skin as became a young woman of family in northernmost Spain.
But her sensibilities were obtuse as regarded _some_ modes of delicacy,
_some_ modes of equity, _some_ modes of the world's opinion, and
_all_ modes whatever of personal hardship. Lay a stress on that word
_some_--for, as to delicacy, she never lost sight of the kind which
peculiarly concerns her sex. Long afterwards she told the Pope himself,
when confessing without disguise her sad and infinite wanderings to the
paternal old man (and I feel convinced of her veracity), that in this
respect, even then, at middle age, she was as pure as is a child. And,
as to equity, it was only that she substituted the equity of camps for
the polished (but often more iniquitous) equity of courts and towns. As
to the third item--the world's opinion--I don't know that you need lay
a stress on _some_; for, generally speaking, _all_ that the world did,
said, or thought, was alike contemptible in her eyes, in which, perhaps,
she was not so _very_ far wrong. I must add, though at the cost of
interrupting the story by two or three more sentences, that Catalina had
also a fifth advantage, which sounds humbly, but is really of use in a
world, where even to fold and seal a letter adroitly is not the least
of accomplishments. She was a _handy_ girl. She could turn her hand to
anything, of which I will give you two memorable instances. Was there
ever a girl in this world but herself that cheated and snapped her
fingers at that awful Inquisition, which brooded over the convents of
Spain, that did this without collusion from outside, trusting to nobody,
but to herself, and what? to one needle, two hanks of thread, and a very
inferior pair of scissors? For, that the scissors were bad, though Kate
does not say so in her memoirs, I knew by an _a priori_ argument, viz.,
because _all_ scissors were bad in the year 1607. Now, say all decent
logicians, from a universal to a particular _valet consequentia_, _all_
scissors were bad: _ergo_, _some_ scissors were bad. The second instance
of her handiness will surprise you even more:--She once stood upon a
scaffold, under sentence of death--[but, understand, on the evidence
of false witnesses]. Jack Ketch was absolutely tying the knot under her
ear, and the shameful man of ropes fumbled so deplorably, that Kate (who
by much nautical experience had learned from another sort of 'Jack'
how a knot _should_ be tied in this world,) lost all patience with the
contemptible artist, told him she was ashamed of him, took the rope out
of his hand, and tied the knot irreproachably herself. The crowd saluted
her with a festal roll, long and loud, of _vivas_; and this word _viva_
of good augury--but stop; let me not anticipate.
From this sketch of Catalina's character, the reader is prepared to
understand the decision of her present proceeding. She had no time to
lose: the twilight favored her; but she must get under hiding before
pursuit commenced. Consequently she lost not one of her forty-five
minutes in picking and choosing. No _shilly-shally_ in Kate. She saw
with the eyeball of an eagle what was indispensable. Some little money
perhaps to pay the first toll-bar of life: so, out of four shillings in
Aunty's purse, she took one. You can't say _that_ was exorbitant. Which
of us wouldn't subscribe a shilling for poor Katy to put into the first
trouser pockets that ever she will wear? I remember even yet, as a
personal experience, that when first arrayed, at four years old, in
nankeen trousers, though still so far retaining hermaphrodite relations
of dress as to wear a petticoat above my trousers, all my female friends
(because they pitied me, as one that had suffered from years of ague)
filled my pockets with half-crowns, of which I can render no account at
this day. But what were my poor pretensions by the side of Kate's? Kate
was a fine blooming girl of fifteen, with no touch of ague, and, before
the next sun rises, Kate shall draw on her first trousers, and made by
her own hand; and, that she may do so, of all the valuables in Aunty's
repository she takes nothing beside the shilling, _quantum sufficit_ of
thread, one stout needle, and (as I told you before, if you would please
to remember things) one bad pair of scissors. Now she was ready; ready
to cast off St. Sebastian's towing-rope; ready to cut and run for port
anywhere. The finishing touch of her preparations was to pick out the
proper keys: even there she showed the same discretion. She did do no
gratuitous mischief. She did not take the wine-cellar key, which would
have irritated the good father confessor; she took those keys only that
belonged to _her_, if ever keys did; for they were the keys that locked
her out from her natural birthright of liberty. 'Show me,' says the
Romish Casuist, 'her right in law to let herself out of that nunnery.'
'Show us,' we reply, '_your_ right to lock her in.'
Right or wrong, however, in strict casuistry, Kate was resolved to let
herself out; and _did_ so; and, for fear any man should creep in whilst
vespers lasted, and steal the kitchen grate, she locked her old friends
_in_. Then she sought a shelter. The air was not cold. She hurried into
a chestnut wood, and upon withered leaves slept till dawn. Spanish diet
and youth leaves the digestion undisordered, and the slumbers light.
When the lark rose, up rose Catalina. No time to lose, for she was still
in the dress of a nun, and liable to be arrested by any man in Spain.
With her _armed_ finger, [aye, by the way, I forgot the thimble; but
Kate did _not_]--she set to work upon her amply-embroidered petticoat.
She turned it wrong side out; and with the magic that only female hands
possess, she had soon sketched and finished a dashing pair of Wellington
trousers. All other changes were made according to the materials she
possessed, and quite sufficiently to disguise the two main perils--her
sex, and her monastic dedication. What was she to do next. Speaking of
Wellington trousers would remind _us_, but could hardly remind _her_,
of Vittoria, where she dimly had heard of some maternal relative.
To Vittoria, therefore, she bent her course; and, like the Duke of
Wellington, but arriving more than two centuries earlier, [though _he_
too is an early riser,] she gained a great victory at that place. She
had made a two days' march, baggage far in the rear, and no provisions
but wild berries; she depended for anything better, as light-heartedly
as the Duke, upon attacking, sword in hand, storming her dear friend's
entrenchments, and effecting a lodgment in his breakfast-room, should he
happen to have one. This amiable relative, an elderly man, had but
one foible, or perhaps one virtue in this world; but _that_ he had in
perfection,--it was pedantry. On that hint Catalina spoke: she knew
by heart, from the services of the convent, a few Latin phrases.
Latin!--Oh, but _that_ was charming; and in one so young! The grave Don
owned the soft impeachment; relented at once, and clasped the hopeful
young gentleman in the Wellington trousers to his _uncular_ and rather
angular breast. In this house the yarn of life was of a mingled quality.
The table was good, but that was exactly what Kate cared little about.
The amusement was of the worst kind. It consisted chiefly in conjugating
Latin verbs, especially such as were obstinately irregular. To show
him a withered frost-bitten verb, that wanted its preterite, wanted its
supines, wanted, in fact, everything in this world, fruits or blossoms,
that make a verb desirable, was to earn the Don's gratitude for life.
All day long he was marching and countermarching his favorite
brigades of verbs--verbs frequentative, verbs inceptive, verbs
desiderative--horse, foot, and artillery; changing front, advancing from
the rear, throwing out skirmishing parties, until Kate, not given to
faint, must have thought of such a resource, as once in her life she had
thought so seasonably of a vesper headache. This was really worse than
St. Sebastian's. It reminds one of a French gayety in Thiebault or
some such author, who describes a rustic party, under equal despair, as
employing themselves in conjugating the verb _s'ennuyer,--Je m'ennuie,
tu t'ennuies, il s'ennuit; nous nous ennuyons_, &c.; thence to
the imperfect--_Je m'ennuyois, tu t'ennuyois_, &c.; thence to the
imperative--_Qu'il s'ennuye_, &c.; and so on through the whole
melancholy conjugation. Now, you know, when the time comes that, _nous
nous ennuyons_, the best course is, to part. Kate saw _that_; and she
walked off from the Don's [of whose amorous passion for defective
verbs one would have wished to know the catastrophe], and took from his
mantel-piece rather move silver than she had levied on her aunt. But the
Don also was a relative; and really he owed her a small cheque on his
banker for turning out on his field-days. A man, if he _is_ a kinsman,
has no right to bore one _gratis_.
From Vittoria, Kate was guided by a carrier to Valladolid. Luckily, as
it seemed at first, but it made little difference in the end, here, at
Valladolid, were the King and his Court. Consequently, there was plenty
of regiments and plenty of regimental bands. Attracted by one of these,
Catalina was quietly listening to the music, when some street
ruffians, in derision of the gay colors and the form of her forest-made
costume--[rascals! one would like to have seen what sort of trousers
_they_ would have made with no better scissors!]--began to pelt her with
stones. Ah, my friends, of the genus _blackguard_, you little know who
it is that you are selecting for experiments. This is the one creature
of fifteen in all Spain, be the other male or female, whom nature, and
temper, and provocation have qualified for taking the conceit out of
you. This she very soon did, laying open a head or two with a sharp
stone, and letting out rather too little than too much of bad
Valladolid blood. But mark the constant villany of this world.
Certain Alguazils--very like some other Alguazils that I know nearer
home--having stood by quietly to see the friendless stranger insulted
and assaulted, now felt it their duty to apprehend the poor nun for
murderous violence: and had there been such a thing as a treadmill in
Valladolid, Kate was booked for a place on it without further inquiry.
Luckily, injustice does not _always_ prosper. A gallant young cavalier,
who had witnessed from his windows the whole affair, had seen the
provocation, and admired Catalina's behavior--equally patient at first
and bold at last--hastened into the street, pursued the officers, forced
them to release their prisoner, upon stating the circumstances of the
case, and instantly offered Catalina a situation amongst his retinue.
He was a man of birth and fortune; and the place offered, that of
an honorary page, not being at all degrading even to a 'daughter of
somebody,' was cheerfully accepted. Here Catalina spent a happy month.
She was now splendidly dressed in dark blue velvet, by a tailor that
did not work within the gloom of a chestnut forest. She and the young
cavalier, Don Francisco de Cardenas, were mutually pleased, and had
mutual confidence. All went well--when one evening, but, luckily, not
until the sun had been set so long as to make all things indistinct, who
should march into the ante-chamber of the cavalier but that sublime of
crocodiles, _Papa_, that we lost sight of fifteen years ago, and shall
never see again after this night. He had his crocodile tears all ready
for use, in working order, like a good industrious fire-engine. It was
absolutely to Catalina herself that he advanced; whom, for many reasons,
he could not be supposed to recognise--lapse of years, male attire,
twilight, were all against him. Still, she might have the family
countenance; and Kate thought he looked with a suspicious scrutiny into
her face, as he inquired for the young Don. To avert her own face, to
announce him to Don Francisco, to wish him on the shores of that ancient
river for crocodiles, the Nile, furnished but one moment's work to the
active Catalina. She lingered, however, as her place entitled her to
do, at the door of the audience chamber. She guessed already, but in a
moment she _heard_ from papa's lips what was the nature of his errand.
His daughter Catharine, he informed the Don, had eloped from the
convent of St. Sebastian, a place rich in delight. Then he laid open the
unparalleled ingratitude of such a step. Oh, the unseen treasure that
had been spent upon that girl! Oh, the untold sums of money that he had
sunk in that unhappy speculation! The nights of sleeplessness suffered
during her infancy! The fifteen years of solicitude thrown away in
schemes for her improvement! It would have moved the heart of a stone.
The _hidalgo_ wept copiously at his own pathos. And to such a height
of grandeur had he carried his Spanish sense of the sublime, that he
disdained to mention the pocket-handkerchief which he had left at St.
Sebastian's fifteen years ago, by way of envelope for 'pussy,' and
which, to the best of pussy's knowledge, was the one sole memorandum
of papa ever heard of at St. Sebastian's. Pussy, however, saw no use in
revising and correcting the text of papa's remembrances. She showed her
usual prudence, and her usual incomparable decision. It did not appear,
as yet, that she would be reclaimed, or was at all suspected for the
fugitive by her father. For it is an instance of that singular fatality
which pursued Catalina through life, that, to her own astonishment, (as
she now collected from her father's conference,) nobody had traced her
to Valladolid, nor had her father's visit any connection with suspicious
travelling in that direction. The case was quite different. Strangely
enough, her street row had thrown her into the one sole household in all
Spain that had an official connection with St. Sebastian's. That convent
had been founded by the young cavalier's family; and, according to the
usage of Spain, the young man (as present representative of his house)
was the responsible protector of the establishment. It was not to
the Don, as harborer of his daughter, but to the Don, as _ex officio_
visitor of the convent, that the hidalgo was appealing. Probably Kate
might have staid safely some time longer. Yet, again, this would but
have multiplied the clues for tracing her; and, finally, she would
too probably have been discovered; after which, with all his youthful
generosity, the poor Don could not have protected her. Too terrific was
the vengeance that awaited an abettor of any fugitive nun; but, above
all, if such a crime were perpetrated by an official mandatory of the
church. Yet, again, so far it was the more hazardous course to abscond,
that it almost revealed her to the young Don as the missing daughter.
Still, if it really _had_ that effect, nothing at present obliged him to
pursue her, as might have been the case a few weeks later. Kate
argued (I dare say) rightly, as she always did. Her prudence whispered
eternally, that safety there was none for her, until she had laid the
Atlantic between herself and St. Sebastian's. Life was to be for _her_
a Bay of Biscay; and it was odds but she had first embarked upon this
billowy life from the literal Bay of Biscay. Chance ordered otherwise.
Or, as a Frenchman says with eloquent ingenuity, in connection with this
story, 'Chance is but the _pseudonyme_ of God for those particular cases
which he does not subscribe openly with his own sign manual.' She crept
up stairs to her bed-room. Simple are the travelling preparations of
those that, possessing nothing, have no imperials to pack. She had
Juvenal's qualification for carolling gaily through a forest full of
robbers; for she had nothing to lose but a change of linen, that rode
easily enough under her left arm, leaving the right free for answering
any questions of impertinent customers. As she crept down stairs, she
heard the Crocodile still weeping forth his sorrows to the pensive ear
of twilight, and to the sympathetic Don Francisco. Now, it would not
have been filial or lady-like for Kate to do what I am going to suggest;
but what a pity that some gay brother page had not been there to
turn aside into the room, armed with a roasted potato, and, taking a
sportsman's aim, to have lodged it in the Crocodile's abominable mouth.
Yet, what an anachronism! There _were_ no roasted potatoes in Spain
at that date, and very few in England. But anger drives a man to say
anything.
Catalina had seen her last of friends and enemies in Valladolid. Short
was her time there; but she had improved it so far as to make a few of
both. There was an eye or two in Valladolid that would have glared with
malice upon her, had she been seen by _all_ eyes in that city, as she
tripped through the streets in the dusk; and eyes there were that would
have softened into tears, had they seen the desolate condition of the
child, or in vision had seen the struggles that were before her. But
what's the use of wasting tears upon our Kate? Wait till to-morrow
morning at sunrise, and see if she is particularly in need of pity.
What now should a young lady do--I propose it as a subject for a prize
essay--that finds herself in Valladolid at nighfall, having no letters
of introduction, not aware of any reason great or small for preferring
any street in general, except so far as she knows of some reason for
avoiding one or two streets in particular? The great problem I have
stated, Kate investigated as she went along; and she solved it with
the accuracy with which she ever applied to _practical_ exigencies. Her
conclusion was--that the best door to knock at in such a case was the
door where there was no need to knock at all, as being unfastened, and
open to all comers. For she argued that within such a door there would
be nothing to steal, so that, at least, you could not be mistaken in the
ark for a thief. Then, as to stealing from _her_, they might do that if
they could.
Upon these principles, which hostile critics will in vain endeavor to
undermine, she laid her hand upon what seemed a rude stable door. Such
it proved. There was an empty cart inside, certainly there was, but you
couldn't take _that_ away in your pocket; and there were five loads of
straw, but then of those a lady could take no more than her _reticule_
would carry, which perhaps was allowed by the courtesy of Spain. So Kate
was right as to the difficulty of being challenged for a thief. Closing
the door as gently as she had opened it, she dropped her person, dressed
as she was, upon the nearest heap of straw. Some ten feet further were
lying two muleteers, honest and happy enough, as compared with the lords
of the bed-chamber then in Valladolid: but still gross men, carnally
deaf from eating garlic and onions, and other horrible substances.
Accordingly, they never heard her, nor were aware, until dawn, that such
a blooming person existed. But she was aware of _them_, and of their
conversation. They were talking of an expedition for America, on the
point of sailing under Don Ferdinand de Cordova. It was to sail from
some Andalusian port. That was the very thing for _her_. At daylight she
woke, and jumped up, needing no more toilet than the birds that already
were singing in the gardens, or than the two muleteers, who, good,
honest fellows, saluted the handsome boy kindly--thinking no ill at his
making free with _their_ straw, though no leave had been asked.
With these philo-garlic men Kate took her departure. The morning was
divine: and leaving Valladolid with the transports that befitted such
a golden dawn, feeling also already, in the very obscurity of her exit,
the pledge of her escape; she cared no longer for the Crocodile, or
for St. Sebastian, or (in the way of fear) for the protector of St.
Sebastian, though of _him_ she thought with some tenderness; so deep is
the remembrance of kindness mixed with justice. Andalusia she reached
rather slowly; but many months before she was sixteen years old, and
quite in time for the expedition. St. Lucar being the port of rendezvous
for the Peruvian expedition, thither she went. All comers were welcome
on board the fleet; much more a fine young fellow like Kate. She was at
once engaged as a mate; and _her_ ship, in particular, after doubling
Cape Horn without loss, made the coast of Peru. Paita was the port of
her destination. Very near to this port they were, when a storm threw
them upon a coral reef. There was little hope of the ship from the
first, for she was unmanageable, and was not expected to hold together
for twenty-four hours. In this condition, with death before their faces,
mark what Kate did; and please to remember it for her benefit, when
she does any other little thing that angers you. The crew lowered the
long-boat. Vainly the captain protested against this disloyal desertion
of a king's ship, which might yet perhaps be run on shore, so as to save
the stores. All the crew, to a man, deserted the captain. You may say
_that_ literally; for the single exception was _not_ a man, being our
bold-hearted Kate. She was the only sailor that refused to leave her
captain, or the king of Spain's ship. The rest pulled away for the
shore, and with fair hopes of reaching it. But one half-hour told
another tale: just about that time came a broad sheet of lightning,
which, through the darkness of evening, revealed the boat in the very
act of mounting like a horse upon an inner reef, instantly filling,
and throwing out the crew, every man of whom disappeared amongst
the breakers. The night which succeeded was gloomy for both the
representatives of his Catholic Majesty. It cannot be denied by the
greatest of philosophers, that the muleteer's stable at Valladolid was
worth twenty such ships, though the stable was _not_ insured against
fire, and the ship _was_ insured against the sea and the wind by some
fellow that thought very little of his engagements. But what's the
use of sitting down to cry? That was never any trick of Catalina's. By
daybreak, she was at work with an axe in her hand. I knew it, before
ever I came to this place, in her memoirs. I felt, as sure as if I had
read it, that when day broke, we should find Kate hard at work. Thimble
or axe, trousers or raft, all one to _her_.
The Captain, though true to his duty, seems to have desponded. He gave
no help towards the raft. Signs were speaking, however, pretty loudly
that he must do something; for notice to quit was now served pretty
liberally. Kate's raft was ready; and she encouraged the captain to
think that it would give both of them something to hold by in swimming,
if not even carry double. At this moment, when all was waiting for
a start, and the ship herself was waiting for a final lurch, to say
_Good-bye_ to the King of Spain, Kate went and did a thing which some
misjudging people will object to. She knew of a box laden with gold
coins, reputed to be the King of Spain's, and meant for contingencies in
the voyage out. This she smashed open with her axe, and took a sum
equal to one hundred guineas English; which, having well secured in a
pillow-case, she then lashed firmly to the raft. Now this, you know,
though not _flotsam_, because it would not float, was certainly, by
maritime law, '_jetsom_.' It would be the idlest of scruples to fancy
that the sea or a shark had a better right to it than a philosopher, or
a splendid girl who showed herself capable of writing a very fair 8vo,
to say nothing of her decapitating in battle several of the king's
enemies, and recovering the king's banner. No sane moralist would
hesitate to do the same thing under the same circumstances, on board an
English vessel, though the First Lord of the Admiralty should be looking
on. The raft was now thrown into the sea. Kate jumped after it, and then
entreated the captain to follow her. He attempted it; but, wanting her
youthful agility, he struck his head against a spar, and sank like lead,
giving notice below that his ship was coming. Kate mounted the raft,
and was gradually washed ashore, but so exhausted, as to have lost all
recollection. She lay for hours until the warmth of the sun revived her.
On sitting up, she saw a desolate shore stretching both ways--nothing to
eat, nothing to drink, but fortunately the raft and the money had been
thrown near her; none of the lashings having given way--only what is the
use of a guinea amongst tangle and sea-gulls? The money she distributed
amongst her pockets, and soon found strength to rise and march
forward. But which _was_ forward? and which backward? She knew by the
conversation of the sailors that Paita must be in the neighborhood; and
Paita, being a port, could not be in the inside of Peru, but, of course,
somewhere on its outside--and the outside of a maritime land must be the
shore; so that, if she kept the shore, and went far enough, she could
not fail of hitting her foot against Paita at last, in the very darkest
night, provided only she could first find out which was _up_ and which
was _down_; else she might walk her shoes off, and find herself six
thousand miles in the wrong. Here was an awkward case, all for want of a
guide-post. Still, when one thinks of Kate's prosperous horoscope, that
after so long a voyage, _she_ only, out of the total crew, was thrown
on the American shore, with one hundred and five pounds in her purse of
clear gain on the voyage, a conviction arises that she _could_ not guess
wrongly. She might have tossed up, having coins in her pocket, _heads
or tails_? but this kind of sortilege was then coming to be thought
irreligious in Christendom, as a Jewish and a Heathen mode of
questioning the dark future. She simply guessed, therefore; and very
soon a thing happened which, though adding nothing to strengthen her
guess as a true one, did much to sweeten it if it should prove a false
one. On turning a point of the shore, she came upon a barrel of biscuit
washed ashore from the ship. Biscuit is about the best thing I know,
but it is the soonest spoiled; and one would like to hear counsel on one
puzzling point, why it is that a touch of water utterly ruins it, taking
its life, and leaving a _caput mortuum_ corpse! Upon this _caput_ Kate
breakfasted, though _her_ case was worse than mine; for any water that
ever plagued _me_ was always fresh; now _hers_ was a present from the
Pacific ocean. She, that was always prudent, packed up some of the
Catholic king's biscuit, as she had previously packed up far too little
of his gold. But in such cases a most delicate question occurs, pressing
equally on medicine and algebra. It is this: if you pack up too much,
then, by this extra burthen of salt provisions, you may retard for days
your arrival at fresh provisions; on the other hand, if you pack up too
little, you may never arrive at all. Catalina hit the _juste milieu;_
and about twilight on the second day, she found herself entering Paita,
without having had to swim any river in her walk.
The first thing, in such a case of distress, which a young lady does,
even if she happens to be a young gentleman, is to beautify her dress.
Kate always attended to _that_, as we know, having overlooked her in the
chestnut wood. The man she sent for was not properly a tailor, but one
who employed tailors, he himself furnishing the materials. His name was
Urquiza, a fact of very little importance to us in 1847, if it had stood
only at the head and foot of Kate's little account. But unhappily for
Kate's _début_ on this vast American stage, the case was otherwise. Mr.
Urquiza had the misfortune (equally common in the old world and the
new) of being a knave; and also a showy specious knave. Kate, who
had prospered under sea allowances of biscuit and hardship, was now
expanding in proportions. With very little vanity or consciousness on
that head, she now displayed a really fine person; and, when drest
anew in the way that became a young officer in the Spanish service, she
looked [Footnote: _'She looked,' etc_. If ever the reader should visit
Aix-la-Chapelle, he will probably feel interest enough in the poor, wild
impassioned girl, to look out for a picture of her in that city, and the
only one known _certainly_ to be authentic. It is in the collection of
Mr. Sempeller. For some time it was supposed that the best (if not the
only) portrait of her lurked somewhere in Italy. Since the discovery
of the picture at Aix-la-Chapelle, that notion has been abandoned. But
there is great reason to believe that, both in Madrid and Rome, many
portraits of her must have been painted to meet the intense interest
which arose in her history subsequently amongst all the men of rank,
military or ecclesiastical, whether in Italy or Spain. The date of these
would range between sixteen and twenty-two years from, the period which
we have now reached (1608.)] the representative picture of a Spanish
_caballador_. It is strange that such an appearance, and such a rank,
should have suggested to Urquiza the presumptuous idea of wishing that
Kate might become his clerk. He _did_, however wish it; for Kate wrote
a beautiful hand; and a stranger thing is, that Kate accepted his
proposal. This might arise from the difficulty of moving in those days
to any distance in Peru. The ship had been merely bringing stores to
the station of Paita; and no corps of the royal armies was readily to be
reached, whilst something must be done at once for a livelihood. Urquiza
had two mercantile establishments, one at Trujillo, to which he repaired
in person, on Kate's agreeing to undertake the management of the other
in Paita. Like the sensible girl, that we have always found her, she
demanded specific instructions for her guidance in duties so new.
Certainly she was in a fair way for seeing life. Telling her beads at
St. Sebastian's, manoeuvreing irregular verbs at Vittoria, acting as
gentleman-usher at Valladolid, serving his Spanish Majesty round Cape
Horn, fighting with storms and sharks off the coast of Peru, and now
commencing as book-keeper or _commis_ to a draper at Paita, does she not
justify the character that I myself gave her, just before dismissing
her from St. Sebastian's, of being a 'handy' girl? Mr. Urquiza's
instructions were short, easy to be understood, but rather comic; and
yet, which is odd, they led to tragic results. There were two debtors of
the shop, (_many_, it is to be hoped, but two meriting his affectionate
notice,) with respect to whom he left the most opposite directions. The
one was a very handsome lady; and the rule as to _her_ was, that she was
to have credit unlimited, strictly unlimited. That was plain. The other
customer, favored by Mr. Urquiza's valedictory thoughts, was a young
man, cousin to the handsome lady, and bearing the name of Reyes. This
youth occupied in Mr. Urquiza's estimate the same hyperbolical rank as
the handsome lady, but on the opposite side of the equation. The rule
as to _him_ was--that he was to have _no_ credit; strictly none. In this
case, also, Kate saw no difficulty; and when she came to know Mr. Reyes
a little, she found the path of pleasure coinciding with the path of
duty. Mr. Urquiza could not be more precise in laying down the rule
than Kate was in enforcing it. But in the other case a scruple arose.
_Unlimited_ might be a word, not of Spanish law, but of Spanish
rhetoric; such as '_Live a thousand years_,' which even annuity offices
hear, and perhaps utter, without a pang. Kate, therefore, wrote to
Trujillo, expressing her honest fears, and desiring to have more
definite instructions. These were positive. If the lady chose to send
for the entire shop, her account was to be debited instantly with
_that_. She had, however, as yet, not sent for the shop, but she
began to manifest strong signs of sending for the shop _man_. Upon the
blooming young Biscayan had her roving eye settled; and she was in a
course of making up her mind to take Kate for a sweetheart. Poor Kate
saw this with a heavy heart. And, at the same time that she had a
prospect of a tender friend more than she wanted, she had become certain
of an extra enemy that she wanted quite as little. What she had done to
offend Mr. Reyes, Kate could not guess, except as to the matter of the
credit; but then, in that, she only executed her instructions. Still Mr.
Reyes was of opinion that there were two ways of executing orders: but
the main offence was unintentional on Kate's part. Reyes, though as yet
she did not know it, had himself been a candidate for the situation of
clerk; and intended probably to keep the equation precisely as it was
with respect to the allowance of credit, only to change places with
the handsome lady--keeping _her_ on the negative side, himself on the
affirmative--an arrangement that you know could have made no sort of
pecuniary difference to Urquiza.
Thus stood matters, when a party of strolling players strolled into
Paita. Kate, as a Spaniard, being one held of the Paita aristocracy, was
expected to attend. She did so; and there also was the malignant Reyes.
He came and seated himself purposely so as to shut out Kate from all
view of the stage. She, who had nothing of the bully in her nature, and
was a gentle creature when her wild Biscayan blood had not been kindled
by insult, courteously requested him to move a little; upon which Reyes
remarked that it was not in his power to oblige the clerk as to that,
but that he _could_ oblige him by cutting his throat. The tiger that
slept in Catalina wakened at once. She seized him, and would have
executed vengeance on the spot, but that a party of young men interposed
to part them. The next day, when Kate (always ready to forget and
forgive) was thinking no more of the row, Reyes passed; by spitting at
the window, and other gestures insulting to Kate, again he roused
her Spanish blood. Out she rushed, sword in hand--a duel began in the
street, and very soon Kate's sword had passed into the heart of Reyes.
Now that the mischief was done, the police were, as usual, all alive
for the pleasure of avenging it. Kate found herself suddenly in a strong
prison, and with small hopes of leaving it, except for execution.
The relations of the dead man were potent in Paita, and clamorous for
justice, so that the _corregidor_, in a case where he saw a very poor
chance of being corrupted by bribes, felt it his duty to be sublimely
incorruptible. The reader knows, however, that, amongst the relatives
of the deceased bully, was that handsome lady, who differed as much from
her cousin in her sentiments as to Kate, as she did in the extent of her
credit with Mr. Urquiza. To _her_ Kate wrote a note; and, using one
of the Spanish King's gold coins for bribing the jailor, got it safely
delivered. That, perhaps, was unnecessary; for the lady had been already
on the alert, and had summoned Urquiza from Trujillo. By some means, not
very luminously stated, and by paying proper fees in proper quarters,
Kate was smuggled out of the prison at nightfall, and smuggled into a
pretty house in the suburbs. Had she known exactly the footing she
stood on as to the law, she would have been decided. As it was, she
was uneasy, and jealous of mischief abroad; and, before supper, she
understood it all. Urquiza briefly informed his clerk, that it would
be requisite for him to marry the handsome lady. But why? Because, said
Urquiza, after talking for hours with the _corregidor_, who was infamous
for obstinacy, he had found it impossible to make him 'hear reason,' and
release the prisoner, until this compromise of marriage was suggested.
But how could public justice be pacified for the clerk's unfortunate
homicide of Reyes, by a female cousin of the deceased man engaging to
love, honor, and obey the clerk for life? Kate could not see her way
through this logic. 'Nonsense, my friend,' said Urquiza, 'you don't
comprehend. As it stands, the affair is a murder, and hanging the
penalty. But, if you marry into the murdered man's house, then it
becomes a little family murder, all quiet and comfortable amongst
ourselves. What has the _corregidor_ to do with that? or the public
either? Now, let me introduce the bride.' Supper entered at that moment,
and the bride immediately after. The thoughtfulness of Kate was narrowly
observed, and even alluded to, but politely ascribed to the natural
anxieties of a prisoner, and the very imperfect state of liberation
even yet from prison _surveillance_. Kate had, indeed, never been in so
trying a situation before. The anxieties of the farewell night at St.
Sebastian were nothing to this; because, even if she had failed _then_,
a failure might not have been always irreparable. It was but to watch
and wait. But now, at this supper table, she was not more alive to the
nature of the peril than she was to the fact, that if, before the night
closed, she did not by some means escape from it, she never _would_
escape with life. The deception as to her sex, though resting on no
motive that pointed to these people, or at all concerned them, would be
resented as if it had. The lady would resent the case as a mockery;
and Urquiza would lose his opportunity of delivering himself from an
imperious mistress. According to the usages of the times and country,
Kate knew that in twelve hours she would be assassinated.
People of infirmer resolution would have lingered at the supper table,
for the sake of putting off the evil moment of final crisis. Not so
Kate. She had revolved the case on all its sides in a few minutes, and
had formed her resolution. This done, she was as ready for the trial at
one moment as another; and, when the lady suggested that the hardships
of a prison must have made repose desirable, Kate assented, and
instantly rose. A sort of procession formed, for the purpose of doing
honor to the interesting guest, and escorting him in pomp to his
bedroom. Kate viewed it much in the same light as the procession to
which for some days she had been expecting an invitation from the
_corregidor_. Far ahead ran the servant-woman as a sort of outrider.
Then came Urquiza, like a Pasha of two tails, who granted two sorts of
credit, viz. unlimited and none at all, bearing two wax-lights, one
in each hand, and wanting only cymbals and kettle-drums to express
emphatically the pathos of his Castilian strut. Next came the bride, a
little in advance of the clerk, but still turning obliquely towards him,
and smiling graciously into his face. Lastly, bringing up the rear,
came the prisoner--our Kate--the nun, the page, the mate, the clerk, the
homicide, the convict; and, for this day only, by particular desire, the
bridegroom elect.
It was Kate's fixed opinion, that, if for a moment she entered any
bedroom having obviously no outlet, her fate would be that of an ox once
driven within the shambles. Outside, the bullock might make some defence
with his horns; but once in, with no space for turning, he is muffled
and gagged. She carried her eye, therefore, like a hawk's, steady,
though restless, for vigilant examination of every angle she turned.
Before she entered any bedroom, she was resolved to reconnoiter it
from the doorway, and, in case of necessity, show fight at once, before
entering--as the best chance, after all, where all chances were bad.
Everything ends; and at last the procession reached the bedroom door,
the outrider having filed off to the rear. One glance sufficed to
satisfy Kate that windows there were none, and, therefore, no outlet
for escape. Treachery appeared even in _that_; and Kate, though
unfortunately without arms, was now fixed for resistance. Mr. Urquiza
entered first--'Sound the trumpets! Beat the drums!' There were, as we
know already, no windows; but a slight interruption to Mr. Urquiza's
pompous tread showed that there were steps downwards into the room.
Those, thought Kate, will suit me even better. She had watched the
unlocking of the bedroom door--she had lost nothing--she had marked that
the key was left in the lock. At this moment, the beautiful lady, as
one acquainted with the details of the house, turning with the air of
a gracious monitress, held out her fair hand to guide Kate in careful
descent of the steps. This had the air of taking out Kate to dance; and
Kate, at that same moment, answering to it by the gesture of a modern
waltzer, threw her arm behind the lady's waist, hurled her headlong down
the steps right against Mr. Urquiza, draper and haberdasher; and
then, with the speed of lightning, throwing the door _home_ within its
architrave, doubly locked the creditor and debtor into the rat-trap
which they had prepared for herself.
The affrighted out-rider fled with horror: she already knew that the
clerk had committed one homicide; a second would cost him still less
thought; and thus it happened that egress was left easy. But, when out
and free once more in the bright starry night, which way should Kate
turn? The whole city would prove but a rat-trap for her, as bad as
Mr. Urquiza's, if she was not off before morning. At a glance she
comprehended that the sea was her only chance. To the port she fled. All
was silent. Watchmen there were none. She jumped into a boat. To use
the oars was dangerous, for she had no means of muffling them. But she
contrived to hoist a sail, pushed off with a boat-hook, and was soon
stretching across the water for the mouth of the harbor before a breeze
light but favorable. Having cleared the difficulties of exit she lay
down, and unintentionally fell asleep. When she awoke the sun had been
up three or four hours; all was right otherwise; but had she not served
as a sailor, Kate would have trembled upon finding that, during her long
sleep of perhaps seven or eight hours, she had lost sight of land; by
what distance she could only guess; and in what direction, was to some
degree doubtful. All this, however, seemed a great advantage to the bold
girl, throwing her thoughts back on the enemies she had left behind.
The disadvantage was--having no breakfast, not even damaged biscuit; and
some anxiety naturally arose as to ulterior prospects a little beyond
the horizon of breakfast. But who's afraid? As sailors whistle for a
wind, Catalina really had but to whistle for anything with energy, and
it was sure to come. Like Caesar to the pilot of Dyrrhachium, she might
have said, for the comfort of her poor timorous boat, (though destined
soon to perish,) '_Catalinam vehis, et fortunas ejus_.' Meantime, being
very doubtful as to the best course for sailing, and content if her
course did but lie offshore, she 'carried on,' as sailors say, under
easy sail, going, in fact, just whither and just how the Pacific breezes
suggested in the gentlest of whispers. _All right behind_, was Kate's
opinion; and, what was better, very soon she might say, _all right
ahead:_ for some hour or two before sunset, when dinner was for once
becoming, even to Kate, the most interesting of subjects for meditation,
suddenly a large ship began to swell upon the brilliant atmosphere.
In those latitudes, and in those years, any ship was pretty sure to
be Spanish: sixty years later the odds were in favor of its being an
English buccaneer; which would have given a new direction to Kate's
energy. Kate continued to make signals with a handkerchief whiter
than the crocodile's of Ann. Dom. 1592, else it would hardly have been
noticed. Perhaps, after all, it would not, but that the ship's course
carried her very nearly across Kate's. The stranger lay-to for her. It
was dark by the time Kate steered herself under the ship's quarter;
and _then_ was seen an instance of this girl's eternal wakefulness.
Something was painted on the stern of her boat, she could not see
_what;_ but she judged that it would express some connection with the
port that she had just quitted. Now it was her wish to break the chain
of traces connecting her with such a scamp as Urquiza; since else,
through his commercial correspondence, he might disperse over Peru a
portrait of herself by no means flattering. How should she accomplish
this? It was dark; and she stood, as you may see an Etonian do at times,
rocking her little boat from side to side, until it had taken in
water as much as might be agreeable. Too much it proved for the boat's
constitution, and the boat perished of dropsy--Kate declining to tap it.
She got a ducking herself; but what cared she? Up the ship's side she
went, as gaily as ever, in those years when she was called pussy, she
had raced after the nuns of St. Sebastian; jumped upon deck, and told
the first lieutenant, when he questioned her about her adventures, quite
as much truth as any man, under the rank of admiral, had a right to
expect.
This ship was full of recruits for the Spanish army, and bound to
Concepcion. Even in that destiny was an iteration, or repeating memorial
of the significance that ran through Catalina's most casual adventures.
She had enlisted amongst the soldiers; and, on reaching port, the
very first person who came off from shore was a dashing young military
officer, whom at once by his name and rank, (though she had never
consciously seen him,) she identified as her own brother. He was
splendidly situated in the service, being the Governor-General's
secretary, besides his rank as a cavalry officer; and, his errand on
board being to inspect the recruits, naturally, on reading in the roll
one of them described as a Biscayan, the ardent young man came up with
high-bred courtesy to Catalina, took the young recruit's hand with
kindness, feeling that to be a compatriot at so great a distance was
to be a sort of relative, and asked with emotion after old boyish
remembrances. There was a scriptural pathos in what followed, as if it
were some scene of domestic re-union, opening itself from patriarchal
ages. The young officer was the eldest son of the house, and had left
Spain when Catalina was only three years old. But, singularly enough,
Catalina it was, the little wild cat that he yet remembered seeing at
St. Sebastian's, upon whom his earliest inquiries settled. 'Did the
recruit know his family, the De Erausos?' O yes, every body knew _them_.
'Did the recruit know little Catalina?' Catalina smiled, as she replied
that she did; and gave such an animated description of the little fiery
wretch, as made the officer's eye flash with gratified tenderness, and
with certainty that the recruit was no counterfeit Biscayan. Indeed, you
know, if Kate couldn't give a good description of 'Pussy,' who could?
The issue of the interview was--that the officer insisted on Kate's
making a home of his quarters. He did other services for his unknown
sister. He placed her as a trooper in his own regiment, and favored
her in many a way that is open to one having authority. But the person,
after all, that did most to serve our Kate, was Kate. War was then
raging with Indians, both from Chili and Peru. Kate had always done her
duty in action; but at length, in the decisive battle of Puren, there
was an opening for doing something more. Havoc had been made of her own
squadron: most of the officers were killed, and the standard was carried
off. Kate gathered around her a small party--galloped after the Indian
column that was carrying away the trophy--charged--saw all her own party
killed--but (in spite of wounds on her face and shoulder) succeeded in
bearing away the recovered standard. She rode up to the general and his
staff; she dismounted; she rendered up her prize; and fainted away, much
less from the blinding blood, than from the tears of joy which dimmed
her eyes, as the general, waving his sword in admiration over her head,
pronounced our Kate on the spot an _Alferez_, [Footnote: _Alferez_.
This rank in the Spanish army is, or was, on a level with the modern
_sous-lieutenant_ of France.] or standard-bearer, with a commission from
the King of Spain and the Indies. Bonny Kate! Noble Kate! I would
there were not two centuries laid between us, so that I might have the
pleasure of kissing thy fair hand.
Kate had the good sense to see the danger of revealing her sex, or her
relationship, even to her own brother. The grasp of the Church never
relaxed, never 'prescribed,' unless freely and by choice. The nun, if
discovered, would have been taken out of the horse-barracks, or the
dragoon-saddle. She had the firmness, therefore, for many years, to
resist the sisterly impulses that sometimes suggested such a confidence.
For years, and those years the most important of her life--the years
that developed her character--she lived undetected as a brilliant
cavalry officer under her brother's patronage. And the bitterest grief
in poor Kate's whole life, was the tragical (and, were it not fully
attested, one might say the ultra-scenical,) event that dissolved their
long connection. Let me spend a word of apology on poor Kate's errors.
We all commit many; both you and I, reader. No, stop; that's not civil.
You, reader, I know, are a saint; I am _not_, though very near it. I
_do_ err at long intervals; and then I think with indulgence of the many
circumstances that plead for this poor girl. The Spanish armies of that
day inherited, from the days of Cortez and Pizarro, shining remembrances
of martial prowess, and the very worst of ethics. To think little of
bloodshed, to quarrel, to fight, to gamble, to plunder, belonged to the
very atmosphere of a camp, to its indolence, to its ancient traditions.
In your own defence, you were obliged to do such things. Besides
all these grounds of evil, the Spanish army had just there an extra
demoralization from a war with savages--faithless and bloody. Do not
think, I beseech you, too much, reader, of killing a man. That word
'_kill_' is sprinkled over every page of Kate's own autobiography. It
ought not to be read by the light of these days. Yet, how if a man that
she killed were----? Hush! It was sad; but is better hurried over in a
few words. Years after this period, a young officer one day dining with
Kate, entreated her to become his second in a duel. Such things were
every-day affairs. However, Kate had reasons for declining the service,
and did so. But the officer, as he was sullenly departing, said--that,
if he were killed, (as he thought he _should_ be,) his death would lie
at Kate's door. I do not take _his_ view of the case, and am not moved
by his rhetoric or his logic. Kate _was_, and relented. The duel was
fixed for eleven at night, under the walls of a monastery. Unhappily the
night proved unusually dark, so that the two principals had to tie white
handkerchiefs round their elbows, in order to descry each other. In the
confusion they wounded each other mortally. Upon that, according to a
usage not peculiar to Spaniards, but extending (as doubtless the reader
knows) for a century longer to our own countrymen, the two seconds were
obliged in honor to do something towards avenging their principals. Kate
had her usual fatal luck. Her sword passed sheer through the body of her
opponent: this unknown opponent falling dead, had just breath left
to cry out, 'Ah, villain, you have killed me,' in a voice of horrific
reproach; and the voice was the voice of her brother!
The monks of the monastery, under whose silent shadows this murderous
duel had taken place, roused by the clashing of swords and the angry
shouts of combatants, issued out with torches to find one only of the
four officers surviving. Every convent and altar had a right of asylum
for a short period. According to the custom, the monks carried Kate,
insensible with anguish of mind, to the sanctuary of their chapel. There
for some days they detained her; but then, having furnished her with a
horse and some provisions, they turned her adrift. Which way should the
unhappy fugitive turn? In blindness of heart she turned towards the sea.
It was the sea that had brought her to Peru; it was the sea that would
perhaps carry her away. It was the sea that had first showed her this
land and its golden hopes; it was the sea that ought to hide from her
its fearful remembrances. The sea it was that had twice spared her life
in extremities; the sea it was that might now if it chose, take back the
bauble that it had spared in vain.