"I have not heard that they have. But hush! we have something here that
savours of romance," replied Macdonald, as they heard the notes of a
guitar sounding as if struck by a bold and firm hand; and immediately
(the prelude being over) a fine, clear, and manly voice sung a song,
which being in Spanish, was not understood by his listeners, excepting
the burden which he repeated at the end of every verse:--
"Yo acuerdo de te, querida,--
Adios! adios!"
"What cavaliero is this?" whispered Macdonald. "I thought that these
days of serenading had passed away, even in Spain."
"I know him: it is Alvaro de Villa Franca, a captain of the Spanish
cavalry. I see the tall outline of his figure now, and I well know his
helmet with the red horse-hair on its crest."
"Keep under the shadow of the houses, Stuart; perhaps he may sing again.
But he surely hears us; he is looking round."
The form of the Spanish officer, the outline of his high helmet, and his
large bullion epaulettes were now distinctly visible. When his song
ceased, a window above opened, a light flashed through the shutters, and
a lady appeared on the iron balcony; she clapped her hands and the
dragoon drew near, when a conversation, carried on in low and earnest
tones, ensued. The don had placed his hand on the lower part of the
balcony, preparatory to swinging himself up, when a noise in the street
caused the lady to start away, and close the shutters of the window with
the utmost precipitation.
"_Caramba!_" cried the Spaniard, fiercely turning round and endeavouring
to pierce the darkness which enveloped the stradi: but nothing could be
discovered. After a vain attempt again to obtain a hearing from the
lady, he took his guitar under his arm, and proceeded leisurely down the
street on the darkest side, as if to elude observation, still humming
the burden of his ditty, "Adios, querida,"[*] while his heavy spurs and
long steel scabbard clattered in accompaniment. The two British
officers had turned to pursue their way towards the Plaza, when a cry of
"_Diavolo! Ah, perros--ladrones! Carajo!_" burst from the Spaniard,
followed immediately by a clashing of steel blades, the noise of which
drew Ronald and Alister hastily to the spot. Here they found Don Alvaro,
with his back to the wall, contending fiercely with his single weapon
against six armed men, from whose swords and poniards he made the fire
fly at every stroke he dealt, keeping them at bay with admirable courage
and skill.
[*] Farewell, love.
"One, two, three--six to one! the rascally cowards! Draw,
Alister,--draw and strike in," cried Ronald, unsheathing his sword, an
example which his companion was not slow in following, and all three
were soon engaged, two to one, against the assailants of Alvaro, who
were surprised at this unexpected attack, and fought with double
desperation to escape. The whole of Ronald's long-nourished love of
tumult, his fiery spirit and inherent fierceness broke forth in this
martial fray, and indeed he was put to his mettle. No fewer than three
of the ruffians fell upon him pell mell, cutting and thrusting with
their long blades, while they watched every opportunity to use the
sharper stilettoes which armed their left hands. Ronald's regimental
gorget saved him from one deadly thrust at his throat, and the thick
folds of his plaid, where they crossed the iron plate of his left
epaulette-strap, saved him from more than one downright blow. Sweeping
his long claymore round him, with both his hands clenched in its basket
hilt, he fought with the utmost energy, but only on the defensive, and
was compelled to retire backwards step by step towards the quay of the
Guadiana, where he must have been inevitably drowned or slain, but for
the timely interference of a fourth sword, which mingling its strokes
with theirs, struck the three Spanish blades to shivers. Two of the
fellows immediately fled, and plunging into the river swam to the
opposite bank; the third would have followed, but Ronald, grasping him
by the throat, adroitly struck the poniard from his hand, and pinning
him to the earth, placed his foot upon his neck. At the same moment
Alister Macdonald passed his long claymore through the body of the
fourth, who fell shrieking--"_Santa Maria! O Dios! O Dios!_" and almost
instantly expired. The other two, who had been driven far off by the
Spanish officer, now fled, and the brawl was ended.
"Hot work this, gentlemen," said Campbell, in his usual jocular tone.
It was his sword which had intervened so opportunely between Ronald and
destruction. "The fray has been bravely fought and gallantly finished.
You have drawn your sword to-night for the first time, Stuart, and
proved yourself a lad of the proper stuff. Keep your foot tight upon
that growling scoundrel, and if he dares to stir, pin him to the
pavement. This affair beats hollow my brawl at Grand Cairo, when we were
in Egypt with Sir Ralph. By the by, what did the fray begin about?"
"I am sure I cannot say," replied Ronald, panting with his late
exertion; "but for your prompt assistance, major, it might have ended
otherwise. Alister, I am glad you have disposed of your opponent in so
secure a manner,--yet his horrid death-cry rings strangely in my ears."
A grim smile curled the handsome features of Macdonald, who wiped his
sword in his tartan plaid, and jerked it into the sheath in silence.
"_Senores--officiales_, I thank you for the good service you have
rendered me to-night," said the Spanish officer in good English, while
he made a low obeisance, "and am happy that you have all escaped
unharmed; but we must dispose of this remaining villain. Be pleased to
stand aside, senor, that I may run him through the heart. A fair thrust
from the blade of a noble cavaliero is too good a death for such a
fellow."
"Sir, I should be sorry to thwart you in your pleasure, but have a
little patience, pray," replied the major, laughing at the coolness of
the don's request, and parrying with his stick a thrust made at the
bravo, who lay prostrate under Ronald's foot. "As this fellow's skin is
whole, he may be inclined to let you know his employer, or what all this
row began about."
"Right, senor; I had forgotten that. Dog!" cried Don Alvaro, fiercely
dashing his guitar into a thousand fragments on the head of the bravo,
"tell me who employed your rascal hands against my person! You will not
answer? Well, we must prove what materials your skin is made of. By
Santiago! I will have it flayed off you with a red-hot sabre, if you do
not confess! The tortures of the Inquisition will be as nothing to what
I will inflict on your miserable body, if you are stubborn. Aid me,
noble senors, in taking this wretch to the Convento de San Juan de
Merida, in the Plaza: my troop is quartered there. 'Tis but a
pistol-shot from here."
It was impossible to refuse. Don Alvaro tied tightly with his silk sash
the hands of the captive, who was dragged without ceremony from street
to street, to the entrance of a narrow dark alley leading to the convent
of Saint John, the front of which looked towards the Plaza.
"_Quien vive?_" challenged the Spanish trooper on sentry with his
carbine in the Gothic porch.
"_Espana_," returned the don, as they passed into the gloomy body of the
building, in the vast extent of which their footsteps awoke a thousand
echoes.
"_Ho! there, saryentos y soldados!_" cried Alvaro. "Pedro Gomez, a
light--a light! Rouse,--do you hear me?"
A strange bustle immediately rose around them, and a sargento appeared
bearing a lamp, the light of which revealed his brown uniform, and
browner features. They found themselves in the chapel of the convent,
and the red glare of the blazing lamp was cast on its fluted columns,
groined arches, and Gothic ornaments, giving a wild and romantic
appearance to the scene, which was heightened by the presence of Don
Alvaro's troop. About sixty fine Spanish steeds, with flowing tails and
manes, stood ranged on each side of the nave of the building, saddled
and bridled, bearing the carbines, holsters, and valises of their
riders, who, muffled in their long brown cloaks, with their swords and
helmets beside them, were sleeping among the horse-litter, or looking up
surprised at the interruption. Every man lay beside his horse, and
their tall lances were reared against the shafted pillars, from which
military accoutrements, curry-combs, horse-brushes, &c. were suspended
from the necks of angels and other effigies that adorned them.
"Pedro Gomez, raise the light," said Alvaro, "and let us see the face of
this fellow, who to-night raised his hand against the life of your
captain."
"_Dios mio!_" cried Pedro, placing the lamp within an inch of the
prisoner's nose.
"The villain Narvaez, by heavens!" exclaimed Ronald, recoiling at the
expression of indescribable hatred and ferocity legible in the ruffian's
countenance, while his eyes shone with the sparkle of a demon's as the
sullen glare of the lamp fell on their black balls.
"How d'ye do, Senor Cifuentes? Speak up, man. You are the very prince
of rascals!" said the major, giving him a prod in the stomach with his
stick.
"What!" exclaimed Macdonald, scrutinizing him with disgust and
curiosity, "is this the fellow you told us about? the keeper of the
wine-house at Albuquerque?"
"Ay, the same," answered Ronald; "a wretch who slew in cold blood the
French officers. But he shall not escape us now."
"If I should, you shall live to repent it,--you shall, by the holy
mother of God!" said the bold ruffian with a scornful smile.
A few words made Don Alvaro acquainted with the story of Narvaez.
"Fellow!" said he sternly, "I might almost forgive you the slaughter of
the four Frenchmen,--I wish, however, that it had been done less
treacherously; but for this attempt on my own life you shall hang, and
that instantly, by San Juan of Merida! as a warning to all low-born
knaves to beware ere they draw their weapons on a noble hidalgo. Diego
de la Zarza, Pedro Gomez! bring hither a horse-halter, some of you,"
cried he to the astonished troopers who crowded round. "Run this fellow
up to the roof. Santos! do you hear?"
He had scarcely spoken before Pedro Gomez cast his horse's halter over
the neck of a gigantic stone angel, whose extended wings, carved on a
corbelled stone, supported one of the oak beams of the roof, and
prepared with ready hands a noose with a slip-knot to encircle the neck
of Narvaez, who beheld these summary preparations with considerable
trepidation; and he would soon have swung a corse, but for the
interference of the three British officers, who, natives of a clime
where the passions are less violent than in Spain, revolted at the idea
of so sudden an execution.
"Stay, Don Alvaro, and put off his exit until to-morrow," said Campbell.
"I do not admire such quick dispatch, although I have seen a Turk's head
fly off like a thistle's top, when I was in Egypt with Sir Ralph."
"It would be losing time in the morning, as we march by day-break,"
replied the Don; "but worthless as the villain is, I may alter my decree
if he gives me the name of his base employer."
"The husband of her whom you serenaded this night in the Calle de San
Juan," answered Narvaez in a guttural tone.
"What! the guerilla chief, Don Salvador Xavier de Zagala?" cried Alvaro
furiously, his eyes flashing tire. "Base coward! ignoble hidalgo! But
my sword shall reach him ere long, if he is to be found on this side of
the Pyrenees,--it shall, by the bones of the Cid! Your five rascal
comrades were guerillas of his band, thought I knew the scarlet caps of
the vagabonds."
"Noble cavalier! do not forget your promise," said Narvaez
supplicatingly. "What is now your decree?"
"That you shall be shot in the morning instead of being hanged to-night!
Sargento Gomez, see this carried into execution punctually, before the
trumpets sound 'to horse,' as you value your life."
With all the indifference that he assumed at first, Cifuentes was a
coward at heart, and piteous were the entreaties he made for mercy, and
the promises he gave of reformation for the future, if the cavalier
would spare his life; but they were unheeded. The dragoons thrust him
into a narrow dormitory adjoining the chapel, and a sentinel, with his
carbine loaded, was placed at the door.
"Send for the Padre, Alvarez; and let him make his peace with Heaven."
"Noble senor, it will be difficult to find the reverend Padre in his
sober senses at this hour," replied Gomez.
"You are right, Pedro; he has no longer the Holy Inquisition, of
terrible memory, to scare him from his cups. This fellow may die easily
enough, without the help of Latin. Should he make the slightest attempt
to escape, remember, Diego de la Zarza, to shoot him dead without fail.
And now, senors, let us retire and leave my troopers to repose, as we
must be all in our saddles at crow of the cock."
"What will be done with the fellow who lies dead in the street?" asked
Ronald, as they stumbled down the dark alley leading from the convent.
"What could we do with him, senor?" replied the don with surprise. "The
carcase will be found in the morning, and the finder will bury it for
the sake of the clothes, perhaps. To find a man stabbed in the street
is no marvellous matter in our Spanish towns. You saw how little notice
the clash of our swords attracted: scarcely a window opened, and no
person approached. We take these affairs coolly here, senor."
"So it seems, Don Alvaro," said the major. "But there is the clock of
the town-house striking the hour of eleven, and we have a weary route
before us in the morning; so the sooner we seek some place to roost in
the better. I left Colonel Cameron and the rest of ours preparing for
repose, under the bieldy side of a granite craig,--but I fear you don't
understand me,--at the confounded bivouac yonder; and the sooner we join
them, the longer rest we shall have."
"You shall have no bivouacking to-night, senors. One gets quite enough
of it in these times; and when a good billet comes in the way, it should
be accepted. I reside in Merida; my family mansion is at the corner of
the Plaza: you shall pass the night with me there. My sister, Donna
Catalina, will be most happy to entertain the preservers of her
brother,--three cavaliers who draw their swords for the freedom of
Spain."
"Certainly, Don Alvaro, we should be sorry to slight your offer," said
the major. "A comfortable quarter is a scarce matter in Spain just now;
and if Donna Catalina will not be incommoded by three soldados billeting
themselves upon her mansion without notice, we are very much at your
service. When I was in Egypt in 1801, I remember an adventure just such
as--"
"Take care of the curb, major," cried Ronald as the bulky field-officer
tripped against the side of the pavement.
"Just such as this. We were quartered at--"
"Grand Cairo," interrupted Ronald ruthlessly, for he disliked the
repetition of long stories, which was a failing of the worthy major's,
who lugged in Egypt and Sir Ralph Abercrombie on all occasions. "Ay, I
remember the story, and a capital one it is! But here is Don Alvaro's
house."
As he spoke, they halted before a large mansion, ornamented with lofty
columns and broad balconies, upon which the tall windows opened: through
the curtains bright rays of light streamed into the dark street. Alvaro
applied his hand to the large knocker hanging on the entrance door,
which appeared more like the portal of a prison than that of an
hidalgo's residence, being low, arched, and studded with iron nails.
"_Quien es?_" said a voice within.
"_Gente de paz!_" replied Alvaro, while the light from the passage
flashed through a little panel which was drawn aside, and through which
they were cautiously scrutinized.
The door was immediately opened by an aged and wrinkled female servant,
whose bright black eyes contrasted strangely with her skin, which was
shrivelled and yellow as an old drum-head. Old Dame Agnes, lamp in hand,
led them along a passage, up a broad wooden staircase, and into a noble
and spacious apartment, which displayed the usual combination of
elegance and discomfort, so common in the houses of Spanish nobles. The
ceiling presented beautifully painted panels, and a gorgeous cornice of
gilt stucco, supported by pilasters of the Corinthian order; while the
floor from which they rose was composed of large square red tiles. Four
large casements looked towards the Plaza; they were glazed with
glass,--a luxury in Spain, but their shutters were rough deal boards,
which were barely concealed by the rich white curtains overhanging them:
the furniture was oak,--massive, clumsy, and old as the days of Don
Quixote. Upon the panels of the ceiling, the bases of the pillars, and
other places, appeared the blazonry of coats armorial, displaying the
alliances of the family of Villa Franca.
On the table, beside a guitar, castanets, music books, &c., stood a
large silver candelabrum, bearing four tall candles, the flames of which
flickered in the currents of air flowing through many a chink and
cranny, as if to remind the three British officers that it was at home
only that true comfort was to be found. Heat was diffused through the
room by means of a pan of glowing charcoal placed in the centre of the
floor, and a lady, who sat with her feet resting upon it in the Spanish
manner, rose at their entrance.
*CHAPTER IX.*
*DONNA CATALINA.*
"Down from her head the long fair tresses flow,
And sport with lovely negligence below.
The waving ribands, which her buskins tie,
Her snowy skin with waving purple dye;
As crimson veils, in palaces displayed,
To the white marble lend a blushing shade."
_Ovid's Metamorphoses_.
As she stood erect, her velvet mantilla fell from her white shoulders,
displaying a round and exquisitely moulded form, tall and full, yet
light and graceful. The noble contour of her head, and the delicate
outline of her features, were shown by the removal of her black lace
veil, which she threw back, permitting it to hang sweeping down behind,
giving her that stately and dignified air so common to the Spanish
ladies, but of which our own are so deficient, owing, probably, to the
extreme stiffness of their head-dress. Her skin was fair, exceedingly so
for a Spaniard; but the glossy curls of the deepest black falling on her
neck, rendered it yet more so by contrast. Her crimson lips and the fine
form of her nostrils, her white transparent brow and full dark eyes,
shining with inexpressible brilliance, struck the three Scots mute with
surprise,--almost with awe. So showy a beauty had not met their gaze
since their departure from Edinburgh, and even Ronald, while keeping his
hand within the breast of his coat upon the miniature of Alice, felt his
heart beneath it strangely moved at the sight of the fair Spaniard.
"Don Alvaro, I think you might have spent with me the only night you
have been in Merida for this year past," said the young lady, pouting
prettily.
"Nay, my dear Catalina, you must not receive us thus," replied her
brother in Spanish, her knowledge of English being very slight. "Allow
me to introduce three British officers, to whom I am indebted for the
preservation of my life, which six bravoes, employed by old Salvador de
Zagala put in imminent peril to-night."
"Ah! you have been at your old affair,--you have been visiting the Calle
de San Juan. How often have I warned you! Well, and the bravoes?"
"One has been sent to purgatory to-night, and another shall be sent
somewhere else by daybreak." On Catalina hearing the story, she
thanked, in broken English, but in a voice of thrilling earnestness, the
three wearied soldados, who had seated themselves on the large
old-fashioned chairs, the crimson leather and gilding of which showed
them to be the work of the previous century.
"You must excuse, senors," said Catalina, "the very poor fare I have to
present you with. The French ladrones carried off almost every thing
with them this morning, and Merida will not soon forget their visit."
"Our fare, thanks to the lazy commissariat department, has been so hard
of late, that almost any thing will pass muster with us," replied
Ronald; "but here are dishes enough for a whole troop." While he spoke,
the oak table was laid in a twinkling with a variety of covers; of which
they could scarcely taste any, owing to the garlic and olive oil with
which the Spaniards, as well as the Portuguese, always season and cook
up their victuals.
"You do not seem to relish the pigeon, senor mio," said Donna Catalina
to the major, who was making wry faces at every mouthful he took. "Try
the piece of cold roasted meat on the cover near you."
"I thank you," answered Campbell, helping himself largely. "It would be
excellent to my taste, was it not for the olive oil and spices, not used
in our country, with which it is seasoned."
A hash and ragout were likewise attempted, but in vain; the garlic with
which they were dressed rendered it impossible for the three strangers
to taste them, but it was equally impossible to be displeased: the
polite apologies and regrets of the cavalier, and the condescending
sweetness of his beautiful sister, made ample amends. But the three
hungry Scots were very well pleased to see the first course replaced by
the second, which consisted of white Spanish bread of the purest flour,
dried grapes, and several large crystal jugs of the purple country wine,
sherry, and Malaga.
"You British are rather more fastidious than our Portuguese friends and
allies," said Alvaro laughing. "The last time the 6th Cacadores lay
quartered here, they left not a single cat uneaten,--a loss still
remembered with peculiar animosity by the housewives of Merida. The
Portuguese are not over nice in any thing, certainly, and we have a
proverb among us, 'that a bad Spaniard makes a good Portuguese.'"
"Sir, when I am sharp-set, I am not very apt to be particular myself,"
replied Campbell. "When I was in Egypt with Sir Ralph, on one occasion
I ate a very juicy steak cut from a horse's flank, and fried in a
camp-kettle lid. We were starving for want of rations, senor; and, I
dare say, even the holy camel on its way to Mecca, had it passed our
route, would have been gobbled up, hump and all."
Ronald, who had hitherto sat almost silent, began to dread a long
Egyptian story from the major; but this fear was removed by Don Alvaro's
filling up his horn, and drinking to the health of Lord Wellington and
the British forces,--the deliverers of Spain and Ferdinand the Seventh.
After this complimentary toast had been duly honoured, "A bumper,
gentlemen!" exclaimed the major; "fill up your glasses--regular
brimmers, and they must be drunk off with true Highland honours. _A la
libertad de Espana!_ hurrah!" and, springing up erect with native
agility, the three Scots, placing their left feet on their seats and
their right on the table, (a movement which considerably surprised the
grave don and his sister, who trembled for her crimson chairs), they
flourished their glasses aloft, and drank to the toast with what are
called _Highland honours_.
"_Viva! viva!_" cried the cavalier, in applause of the sentiment, though
rather puzzled at the mode of proclaiming it.
They drank to their fair hostess, and to all sorts of gallant and
martial toasts; and, as the wine-horns were filled and emptied again and
again, they grew more merry, the national gravity of the don
disappearing gradually as their conviviality increased. He laughed and
sung with the frankness of a soldier, and trolled forth more than once
the "Song of five hundred Horse," a Spanish military carol. At Ronald's
request, Catalina took her guitar from the back of her chair where it
hung, and, without requiring the entreaties necessary to obtain the same
favour from a British lady, the frank girl sung with a coquettish air,
which peculiarly became her, "My Mother wants no Soldiers here," a song
well known in Spain at the time our troops were campaigning there.
"She seems bent on making a conquest of you, Alister," whispered Ronald.