MY CHARGER.
Although I felt my heart relieved of a heavy load by the confession I had
made to Power, yet still I shrank from meeting him for some days after;
a kind of fear lest he should in any way recur to our conversation
continually beset me, and I felt that the courage which bore me up for my
first effort would desert me on the next occasion.
My determination to join my regiment was now made up, and I sent forward a
resignation of my appointment to Sir George Dashwood’s staff, which I
had never been in health to fulfil, and commenced with energy all my
preparations for a speedy departure.
The reply to my rather formal letter was a most kind note written by
himself. He regretted the unhappy cause which had so long separated us, and
though wishing, as he expressed it, to have me near him, perfectly approved
of my resolution.
“Active service alone, my dear boy, can ever place you in the
position you ought to occupy; and I rejoice the more at your decision
in this matter, as I feared the truth of certain reports here,
which attributed to you other plans than those which a campaign
suggests. My mind is now easy on this score, and I pray you forgive
me if my congratulations are _mal à propos_.”
After some hints for my future management, and a promise of some letters to
his friends at headquarters, he concluded:--
“As this climate does not seem to suit my daughter, I have
applied for a change, and am in daily hope of obtaining it. Before
going, however, I must beg your acceptance of the charger which my
groom will deliver to your servant with this. I was so struck with
his figure and action that I purchased him before leaving England
without well knowing why or wherefore. Pray let him see some
service under your auspices, which he is most unlikely to do under
mine. He has plenty of bone to be a weight carrier, and they tell
me also that he has speed enough for anything.”
Mike’s voice in the lawn beneath interrupted my reading farther, and on
looking out, I perceived him and Sir George Dashwood’s servant standing
beside a large and striking-looking horse, which they were both examining
with all the critical accuracy of adepts.
“Arrah, isn’t he a darling, a real beauty, every inch of him?”
“That ‘ere splint don’t signify nothing; he aren’t the worse of it,” said
the English groom.
“Of coorse it doesn’t,” replied Mike. “What a fore-hand, and the legs,
clean as a whip!”
“There’s the best of him, though,” interrupted the other, patting the
strong hind-quarters with his hand. “There’s the stuff to push him along
through heavy ground and carry him over timber.”
“Or a stone wall,” said Mike, thinking of Galway.
My own impatience to survey my present had now brought me into the
conclave, and before many minutes were over I had him saddled, and was
cantering around the lawn with a spirit and energy I had not felt for
months long. Some small fences lay before me, and over these he carried me
with all the ease and freedom of a trained hunter. My courage mounted with
the excitement, and I looked eagerly around for some more bold and dashing
leap.
“You may take him over the avenue gate,” said the English groom, divining
with a jockey’s readiness what I looked for; “he’ll do it, never fear him.”
Strange as my equipment was, with an undress jacket flying loosely open,
and a bare head, away I went. The gate which the groom spoke of was a
strongly-barred one of oak timber, nearly five feet high,--its difficulty
as a leap only consisted in the winding approach, and the fact that it
opened upon a hard road beyond it.
In a second or two a kind of half fear came across me. My long illness had
unnerved me, and my limbs felt weak and yielding; but as I pressed into the
canter, that secret sympathy between the horse and his rider shot suddenly
through me, I pressed my spurs to his flanks, and dashed him at it.
Unaccustomed to such treatment, the noble animal bounded madly forward.
With two tremendous plunges he sprang wildly in the air, and shaking his
long mane with passion, stretched out at the gallop.
[Illustration: CHARLEY TRYING A CHARGER.]
My own blood boiled now as tempestuously as his; and with a shout of
reckless triumph, I rose him at the gate. Just at the instant two figures
appeared before it,--the copse had concealed their approach hitherto,--but
they stood now as if transfixed. The wild attitude of the horse, the not
less wild cry of his rider, had deprived them for a time of all energy; and
overcome by the sudden danger, they seemed rooted to the ground. What I
said, spoke, begged, or imprecated, Heaven knows--not I. But they stirred
not! One moment more and they must lie trampled beneath my horse’s
hoofs,--he was already on his haunches for the bound,--when, wheeling half
aside, I faced him at the wall. It was at least a foot higher and of solid
stone masonry, and as I did so I felt that I was perilling my life to save
theirs. One vigorous dash of the spur I gave him, as I lifted him to the
leap. He bounded beneath it quick as lightning; still, with a spring like
a rocket, he rose into the air, cleared the wall, and stood trembling and
frightened on the road outside.
“Safe, by Jupiter! and splendidly done, too,” cried a voice near me, that I
immediately recognized as Sir George Dashwood’s.
“Lucy, my love, look up,--Lucy, my dear, there’s no danger now. She has
fainted! O’Malley, fetch some water,--fast. Poor fellow, your own nerves
seem shaken. Why, you’ve let your horse go! Come here, for Heaven’s sake!
Support her for an instant. I’ll fetch some water.”
It appeared to me like a dream; I leaned against the pillar of the gate;
the cold and death-like features of Lucy Dashwood lay motionless upon my
arm; her hand, falling heavily upon my shoulder, touched my cheek. The
tramp of my horse, as he galloped onward, was the only sound that broke the
silence, as I stood there, gazing steadfastly upon the pale brow and paler
cheek, down which a solitary tear was slowly stealing. I knew not how the
minutes passed; my memory took no note of time, but at length a gentle
tremor thrilled her frame, a slight, scarce-perceptible blush colored her
fair face, her lips slightly parted, and heaving a deep sigh, she looked
around her. Gradually her eyes turned and met mine. Oh, the bliss
unutterable of that moment! It was no longer the look of cold scorn she had
given me last; the expression was one of soft and speaking gratitude. She
seemed to read my very heart, and know its truth; there was a tone of deep
and compassionate interest in the glance; and forgetting all,--everything
that had passed,--all save my unaltered, unalterable love, I kneeled beside
her, and in words burning as my own heart burned, poured out my tale
of mingled sorrow and affection with all the eloquence of passion. I
vindicated my unshaken faith,--reconciling the conflicting evidences with
the proofs I proffered of my attachment. If my moments were measured, I
spent them not idly. I called to witness how every action of my soldier’s
life emanated from her; how her few and chance words had decided the
character of my fate; if aught of fame or honor were my portion, to her I
owed it. As, hurried onwards by my ardent hopes, I forgot Power and all
about him, a step up the gravel walk came rapidly nearer, and I had but
time to assume my former attitude beside Lucy as her father came up.
“Well, Charley, is she better? Oh, I see she is. Here, we have the whole
household at our heels.” So saying, he pointed to a string of servants
pressing eagerly forward with every species of restorative that Portuguese
ingenuity has invented.
The next moment we were joined by the senhora, who, pale with fear, seemed
scarcely less in need of assistance than her friend.
Amidst questions innumerable; explanations sought for on all sides;
mistakes and misconceptions as to the whole occurrence,--we took our way
towards the villa, Lucy walking between Sir George and Donna Inez, while I
followed, leaning upon Power’s arm.
“They’ve caught him again, O’Malley,” said the general, turning half round
to me; “he, too, seemed as much frightened as any of us.”
“It is time, Sir George, I should think of thanking you. I never was so
mounted in my life--”
“A splendid charger, by Jove!” said Power; “but, Charley, my lad, no more
feats of this nature, if you love me. No girl’s heart will stand such
continual assaults as your winning horsemanship submits it to.”
I was about making some half-angry reply, when he continued: “There, don’t
look sulky; I have news for you. Quill has just arrived. I met him at
Lisbon; he has got leave of absence for a few days, and is coming to our
masquerade here this evening.”
“This evening!” said I, in amazement; “why, is it so soon?”
“Of course it is. Have you not got all your trappings ready? The Dashwoods
came out here on purpose to spend the day; but come, I’ll drive you into
town. My tilbury is ready, and we’ll both look out for our costumes.” So
saying, he led me along towards the house, when, after a rapid change of my
toilet, we set out for Lisbon.