myself as I please?"
"Catalina, a thousand times I have told you that I prize your safety
before my own," said Ronald, kissing her forehead. "I will myself
travel with you to Idanha-a-Velha."
"I thank you, but it may not be. I may travel with a padre; but the
rules of society would not permit the cavalier or soldado to be my
patron or guardian."
"But this priest--"
"You judge of him harshly, indeed. I assure you that he prays very
devoutly, and I can trust myself with him without fear, especially for
so short a distance as from this to Truxillo. I have no fear of the
French, and neither robber nor guerilla in Spain will insult the
relative of so famous a cavalier as Don Alvaro de Villa Franca. Ah! had
Alvaro lived in the days when Spain was most glorious, when her chivalry
were the first in Europe, his deeds would have out-vied even those of
the Cid."
Ronald's indecision in this matter was ended by the arrival of an
orderly, saying that the colonel wished to see him as soon as possible.
"What a confounded predicament!" exclaimed the impatient Ronald when the
Highlander was gone. "I do not half like entrusting you with this
cunning priest; and yet I must,--there is no alternative. I believe I
am selected by Sir Rowland Hill to carry the account of this victorious
morning to Lord Wellington; and as I cannot protect you myself, I must
resign you to him."
Ronald racked his invention to find other schemes, but the young lady
had made up her mind, and was obstinate in consequence; therefore her
cavalier had to submit, and make such arrangements for her departure as
would enable him to repair immediately to Fassifern.
A few _duros_ procured D'Estouville's splendid black charger from a
Portuguese cacadore, whose share of plunder it had become, and a
side-saddle was placed upon it for the lady. The priest had his stout
mule, and another was procured for a ruddy brown-cheeked _paisana_ or
young peasant girl, whom Catalina had engaged to accompany her by the
way as a female attendant, and who, although she had a proper saddle,
thought it did not in the least savour of want of _vergueenza_ (modesty)
to ride, _a la cavalier_, in the Spanish manner.
Ronald having got all these matters arranged satisfactorily with
promptitude and dispatch, returned to bid adieu to Catalina, who drooped
upon his shoulder, and gave way to a passion of tears.
He was so much agitated by this display of affection and tenderness,
that he could scarcely persuade himself to separate from her, and with
difficulty restrained a strong inclination to make some rash and formal
proposal. But, as he pressed his lip to her pale cheek, he assured her
that he would in a very short time obtain leave of absence, and visit
her at Idanha-a-Velha.
But for some faint hopes and lingering love for Alice Lisle, Ronald
would at this exciting moment have brought matters to a climax with the
beautiful donna; and if it is possible for the heart to have _two_ loves
at once, his was certainly in that singular predicament. His case is
truly described in the words of the Scottish song,--
"My heart is divided between them,
I dinna ken which I wad hae;
Right willingly my heart I wad gien them,
But how can I gie it to twae?
My heart it is rugged and tormented,
I'd live wi' or die for them baith;
I've dune what I've often repented,
To baith I have plighted my aith."
They were reclining in the recess of the opening or window, through
which the vines straggled. Poor Catalina, as the hour of departure drew
nigh, no longer cared to conceal the sentiments of her heart, but hung
on Ronald's breast; while he returned her embrace with ardour, and their
glossy hair mingled together in the bright sunshine. At that moment the
door was opened, and Louis Lisle entered abruptly.
Having delivered over his prisoners to a cavalry guard among the
mountains, he had returned hastily to Almarez, anxious to see Ronald
Stuart, and bring about that long-delayed reconciliation and explanation
for which he so much yearned,--the few words spoken before the forts
were stormed having, to use a common-place phrase, 'broken the ice
between them.' Full of this frank intention, Lisle, after searching the
village, had found the cottage where Ronald was; and entering with that
unceremonious freedom, which is learned by a residence in camp or
quarters, found, to his no small surprise and indignation, that there
was one more there than he expected.
Catalina started from Ronald's arm, and hid her blushing cheek in
arranging the masses of her luxuriant hair. Ronald eyed the unwelcome
intruder with a look of surprise, which he was at no pains to conceal;
while the latter gave him a fierce glance of impatience, anger, and
dislike; and muttering,--"Pardon me. I am, I believe, under a mistake,
which will be explained when I have a fitting time and place," he
withdrew as hastily as he had entered.
Scarcely had he retired, when the monk of Merida brought his mule and
Catalina's horse to the door of the cottage. The lady fastened on her
sombrero, with its long veil and white feather. Ronald tied the ribbons
of the velvet mantilla, and leading her to the door, assisted her to
mount.
Her new attendant, the black-eyed paisana,--all blushes and smiles of
pleasure at the prospect of a Badajoz hat with a silver band, a pelisse
and frock of the best cloth from Arrago-de-Puerco, trimmed with lace,
etc., which her lady had promised her,--appeared mounted, as we have
before described, upon a mule, the housings of which were better than
the friar's, which consisted entirely of rope.
Poor Victor D'Estouville's black war-steed still had its embossed bit
and military bridle, with the outspread wings of the Imperial eagle on
its forehead and rich martingale,--which, with the saddle-cloth,
embroidered with the badges of the old Guard, formed a strange contrast
with the faded side-pad of coarse Zafra leather, which was girthed on it
for the lady's accommodation.
When they had departed, he watched their retiring figures as long as
they were in sight, until a turn of the road, as they entered the now
deserted pass of Miravete at a gallop, hid them from his view, and he
turned towards the bivouac on the mountain side, feeling a heaviness of
heart and presentiment of approaching evil, caused probably by a
re-action of the spirits after the fierce excitement of the morning, but
for which, at that moment, he could not account. His distrust of the
padre Jerome, the guide, increased when he recalled and reviewed many
suspicious and singular points of his character.
Communing with himself, he was slowly ascending the slope towards the
bivouac, forgetting altogether the orders of the colonel, and turning
now and then to view the little village of Almarez, embosomed among the
umbrageous groves that grew around it, and far up the sides of the
undulating Lina behind; the winding Tagus flowing in front, and the vast
expanse of landscape and blue sky beyond, were all pleasing objects, and
he gazed upon them with the delight of one who knew how to appreciate
their beauty. He was aroused from his reverie by hearing his own name
called, and on looking about, saw, to his surprise, Major Campbell,
reposing his bulky frame in a little grassy hollow. His neck was bare,
his coat was unbuttoned, and his belt, sash, etc., lay scattered about.
Near him his horse was grazing quietly, but the major seemed inflamed by
the utmost anger and excitement. Ronald advanced hastily towards him,
and perceived that his servant, Jock Pentland, was dressing a wound on
his neck, which was covered with blood.
"What has happened, Campbell?"
"Such an affair as never happened before, even in Egypt," replied the
other furiously, with a mighty oath--sworn in Gaelic, however.
"Nothing very bad, I hope?"
"Only a stab in the neck, three inches by one!"
"I knew not that you were wounded. Surely I saw you safe and sound
after the mine was sprung at Ragusa. But I had better send the surgeon,
or Stuart his assistant, to you."
"Oh, no! 'tis a mere scratch, which I would not value a brass bodle, had
I received it during the brush this morning; but to gain it as I
did,--d--n it! it excites all my fury. Did you see that blasted friar?"
"The guide? I left him but an hour ago. But who wounded you? Surely
not the priest?"
"An old acquaintance of yours."
"Of mine!"
"Of yours, by the Lord! The rascal is disguised as a priest of the
_Convento de todos Santos_ at Merida. A short time ago I met the rogue
leading a mule this way: his face was bare,--I knew him instantly and
strove to capture him, that the provost-marshal might in time become
acquainted with his throat, which I grasped. Quick as lightning he
unsheathed a poniard, and dealt a blow at my neck, which alighting
luckily on my gorget, glanced upwards, giving me a severe cut under the
ear."
"Misery! You have not yet told his name."
"Are you really so dull as not yet to have guessed who he is? Tighten
the bandage, Jock! I knew the cheat-the-woodie as well as I would have
done old Mohammed Djedda, Osmin Djihoun the shoe-maker at Grand Cairo,
or any queer carle it has been my luck to meet in campaigning. But come
to the bivouac, and I will give you a detailed account of the matter
over the contents of a keg of especial good _eau de vie_, which it was
my luck to capture this morning."
"'Tis Cifuentes! Powers above! and to him--a bandit and murderous
bravo, have I entrusted the guidance of Don Alvaro's sister! I must
follow and rescue her from this monster, ere worse may come of it."
"What is all this? Of what do you speak?" said the major, struck with
wonder at the other's vehemence and emotion.
"How shall I follow them? Withered be my hand, that it struck not the
cowl from his accursed visage, and discovered him ere he outwitted me in
such a manner!"
"By the tomb of the Campbells, he has a bee in his bonnet!" continued
the major with increased wonder; while even Jock Pentland (a
hard-featured Lowlander with high cheek-bones) stayed his employment to
stare at him.
"What tempted the villain to come hither, disguised as a priest?'
"The reward offered by Sir Rowland for a guide,--and perhaps he had some
design against your life. He bears you no good will."
"As he has failed in that by my vigilance, the brunt of his hate will
fall with double fury on Donna Catalina, to whose noble brother he is an
especial foe. This caused the presentiment, the secret feeling of
coming evil, which has haunted me this whole morning; and truly, it was
not for nought. Major, my resolution is taken: I will set off across
the hills in pursuit of them this instant. You must lend me your horse,
and make the best excuse for me you can to the colonel, as I shall not
be back till to-morrow perhaps. Ho! now for the chase! Narvaez is
likely to find a cairn among the mountains, if he comes within reach of
my sword."
He leaped upon Campbell's horse while speaking, and urging it towards
the hills was away in a moment, while the proprietor sprung from the
ground, exclaiming hastily, "Holloa! ho, man! What, the devil, is the
fellow mad? Halt, Stuart! By heavens! he will break his neck, and the
horse's wind, if he rides at that rate. And what shall I do without my
horse? I must visit the guards to-night on foot. What on earth can the
fellow mean? Surely the uproar of this morning's assault has crazed
him! You remember, Pentland, that two of the _Tow-rows_[*] went mad
outright after the battle of Alexandria, when we were in Egypt with Sir
Ralph."
[*] A familiar name for the grenadiers, as _Light-bobs_ for the light
infantry, and _Flat-foots_ for the battalion men. These old mess-room
phrases are going out of the service now.
Heedless alike of the cries, threats, and entreaties which the major
sent after him in a voice of no measured compass, on went Ronald, flying
at full speed through the bivouac of the 50th regiment, plunging right
through a large fire, scattering burning billets, camp-kettles, cook's
ration-meat, &c. in every direction. Overturning soldiers and piles of
arms in his progress, he drove recklessly on with headlong speed towards
the pass of Miravete, down the deep dark gorge of which he galloped just
when the purple sun was dipping beyond the western horizon, and the
notes of the bugles sounding the evening "retreat" died away on the
breeze behind him.
Onward he rode along the narrow mountain-path, the hills becoming darker
and loftier, the overhanging craigs more awful and precipitous on each
side as they heaved their black fronts over the road, filled with
yawning fissures and rents, growing black in the gloom of the evening.
But these had no terrors for the Scotsman,--he heeded not the increasing
depth of the shadows, or the wild appearance of the basaltic rocks; he
kept his eye fixed on the windings of the road, but no trace could he
discover of those of whom he was in pursuit. The line of march was
dotted with wounded soldiers, straggling on to Merida, (whither they had
been ordered to retire,) and some were dying on the road, unable to
proceed further, while others had expired outright, and were lying
neglected by the way-side.
Ronald returned not that evening, and when the troops were paraded next
day he was still absent; and the major's account of the singular manner
in which he galloped off among the mountains in no way tended to lessen
the anxiety which his friends felt at his unaccountable absence.
Cameron, who was a strict disciplinarian, was very indignant, and
resolved that the moment he did return, he should be deprived of his
sword and put under arrest. The despatch and captured colours of the
fortress, together with General Hill's earnest recommendation of Ronald,
which it was intended he should have carried to Lord Wellington himself,
were sent in charge of Captain Bevan. The same day the victors of
Almarez retired, to rejoin the rest of the division at Almendralejo,
where Sir William Erskine (who had been left in command) expected hourly
to be attacked by Marshal Soult, whose troops, however, never appeared,
but kept close within their cantonments in the neighbouring province.
Nine days elapsed before the regiments rejoined the division, and no
word was yet heard of the missing Stuart, although every inquiry was
made at Villa Maria, San Pedro, and Medellin, where they made long
halts. He was given over by his friends as a lost man, and poor Evan
Iverach was well nigh demented.
*CHAPTER IX.*
*THE MATADOR.*
"Her neck is bared, the blow is struck,
The soul has passed away;
The bright, the beautiful is now
A bleeding piece of clay."
_Summer and Winter Hours._
Ronald rode at a rapid gallop along the wild mountain-path which I have
already described. The evening was growing dark, and in that solitary
place the sound of the horse's hoofs alone broke the death-like
stillness, and awoke the echoes of the frowning rocks.
In one place lay dead a poor soldier of the 50th regiment. His wife and
three little children were clinging to his corpse, and lamenting
bitterly. Night was closing around them, and the desolate creatures
seemed terrified at its approach in such a wild spot, and called to
Ronald loudly as he rode past; but he was too eager to overtake Catalina
and her dangerous companion, to waste time unnecessarily. But he made
an involuntary stop a little further on, where a soldier of his own
company, a smart young fellow, named Archibald Logan, lay writhing in
agony across the road, with the dust of which his blood was mixing as it
oozed in heavy drops from a wound in the breast,--a musquet-shot having
passed through his left shoulder-belt. Ronald reined-in the animal he
rode, to stay for a moment and gaze upon him. He was the same young
soldier whose aged mother had accompanied him with such sorrow to the
beach at Leith, on the morning Major Campbell's detachment embarked, and
Ronald (under whose notice this circumstance had brought him) had always
admired his soldier-like smartness and steadiness. He was dying now,
and evidently in a state of delirium; broken sentences and wild
observations fell from his clammy lips. Ronald spoke to him:
"He heard it, but he heeded not; his eyes
Were with his heart, and that was far away."
"O mother! mother!" said he in piercing accents, "dinna upbraid me wi'
enlisting and leaving ye. Ye ken weel for what I did it,--to pay my
puir auld faither's debt to Peter Grippy, and to free him frae the
tolbooth o' Edinburgh. But he wadna allow me, and ca'ed the bounty his
bairn's bluid siller. Put yer face close to mine, mother; for I hear
yer greetin' and moanin', but I canna see the face I fain would look on.
Tell my faither to lay me in the sunny side o' the kirk-yard,--ye ken
the place weel. I aye loed to pu' the gowans and blue-bells that grew
there in simmer. Menie Ormelie lies there, amang the lang green deid
grass; lay me--lay me close to her. O mother! ye ken I loed her weel;
we herded the same kye, and--" His voice sunk away into a whisper, and
Ronald became deeply affected. After a pause, he continued in the same
tone of agony, "Bonnie Menie,--Menie wi' the gowden hair! She lies
between the muckle deid-stane o' the lairds o' Glencorse, and the vault
o' the auld folk o' Castle-Outer. Lay me close by her side, and plant
some o' the broon heather frae the bonnie Pentlands--the Pentlands I loe
sae weel--on the heavy howme that covers me." This was the last effort.
A gush of blood spouted from the wound, and he died without a groan.
Stuart could scarce refrain from tears at witnessing the fate of this
poor private soldier. Death, amidst the fierce excitement and tumult of
battle, where "the very magnitude of the slaughter throws a softening
disguise over its cruelties and horrors," is nothing to death when it
comes stealing over a human being thus, slowly and gradually, having in
it something at once awful and terribly impressive; and Ronald Stuart,
blunted and deadened as his feelings were by campaigning, felt this
acutely, as he turned away from the corse of his comrade and countryman.
His attention was next arrested by a monstrous raven, or corbie, which
sat on a fragment of rock, watching attentively the scene as if awaiting
his coming banquet; but Ronald compelled it to take to flight, by
uttering a loud holloa, which reverberated among the rocks of the
mountain wilderness. It was now night; but the moon arose above the
summits of the hills, glowing through openings in the thin clouds like a
shield of polished silver, and pouring a flood of pale light along the
pass of Miravete, casting into yet deeper shadow the rifted rocks which
overhung it. The speed at which he rode soon left the mountains far
behind him, and about midnight brought him close to the gloomy wood of
Jarciejo; but on all that line of road he had discovered no trace of
Donna Catalina, or the ruffian who had deceived her; and as the country
thereabouts was totally uninhabited, he met no one who could give him
the slightest information, and his mind became a prey to fear and
apprehension that some act of blood or treachery might be perpetrated
before he came up with them.
"There they are! Now, then, Heaven be thanked!" he exclaimed on seeing
figures on horseback standing at Saint Mary's well, a rude fountain at
the cross-road leading from Truxillo to Lacorchuela, which intersects
that from Almarez to Jarciejo. He loosened his sword in the scabbard,
but on advancing found that he was mistaken. He met a stout cavalier of
Lacorchuela escorting two ladies, whose singular equipage would have
inclined him to laugh, had he been in a merrier mood. They were seated
on two arm-chairs, slung across the back of a strong mule, and facing
outwards, rode back to back. They were enveloped in large mantillas,
and their bright eyes flashed in the moonlight, as they each withdrew
the _antifaz_, or mask of black silk, which covered their faces to
protect them from the dust, the heat of the sun, or the chill night-air
when travelling.
Ronald hastily saluted them, and asked their escort if a priest and two
females had passed that way? The cavalier, who was mounted on a fine
Spanish horse, raised his broad beaver, throwing back his heavy brown
cloak as he did so, as if to show that he was well armed by displaying
the glittering mountings of the pistols, long stiletto, and massive
Toledo sabre, which for protection he carried in the leathern baldric
encircling his waist. He said, that when he had first stopped at the
fountain to rest, about an hour ago, a priest and two ladies had passed,
and taken the road directly for the forest of Jarciejo.
Ronald waited to hear no more, but hurriedly muttering his thanks, urged
the good animal he rode to a gallop in the direction pointed out,
regardless as to whether or not the whole band of desperadoes
recognising Narvaez Cifuentes as their leader might be in the wood. He
had not ridden half a mile further when the horse of D'Estouville passed
him at a rapid trot, with its bridle-rein trailing on the ground and the
saddle reversed, hanging under its belly, girths uppermost. Some
terrible catastrophe must have happened! A groan broke from Ronald; and
in an agony of apprehension for the fate of the fair rider, he madly
goaded onward the horse he rode, using the point of his sword as a
substitute for spurs, which as a regimental infantry officer he did not
wear.
The mules of the priest and paisana, grazing the herbage at the entrance
of the wood, next met his view. The light-coloured garments of a female
form lying on the road, caused him to spring from the saddle in dismay.
It was not Catalina, but the poor peasant-girl of Almarez: her gilt
crucifix, which she had worn ostentatiously on her bare bosom, was gone,
as was likewise the trunk-mail which she had carried. She was lying
dead, stabbed by a dagger in the throat, where a ghastly wound appeared.
The feathers and veil of Catalina's hat lay fluttering near, and the
bruised and torn appearance of the grass and bushes bore evidence that
some desperate struggle had taken place here. These outrages seemed to
have been committed recently, as the cheek of the dead girl was yet warm
and soft, when Ronald touched it.
"God help you, Catalina! My thoughtlessness has destroyed you: 'tis I
that have done all this!" he exclaimed, as he struck his hand
passionately upon his forehead, and reeled against a tree.
"_O gracios caballero!_" said a decrepit and wrinkled old man, arrayed
in the garb of some religious order, emerging as if from concealment
among the trees; "a most horrible scene has been acted here. I saw it
from among the olive bushes, where I lay sleeping till the noise awoke
me."
"The donna, _mi amigo_,--the young lady, where is she? Tell me, for the
love of that Virgin you adore so much!"
"_O los infidelos!_ and dost not thou adore her?" asked the old man
querulously, while his sunken and bleared eyes kindled and lighted up.
"Trifle not, old man, but tell me instantly!" cried Stuart, in a hoarse
and furious voice.
"'Twas done in a moment,--_en quitam alia essas pajas_, as the proverb
says."
"Curse on your proverb--"
"'Tis no business of mine, _senor soldado_, and I will have nought to do
with it. _A otro perro con esse huesso_, says the proverb."
"Wretch! you will drive me distracted! Tell me what you have seen, or,
in despite of your grey hairs, I will cleave you to the teeth. The
senora--"
"Was dragged into the forest about an hour ago, and horrible noises have
come from it ever since, disturbing me and keeping me from sleep. 'Tis
hard for an old man to be annoyed: the proverb says--"
"Silence!" replied the other, placing his hand on the toothless mouth of
the poor dotard. "Surely I heard something!"
At that moment a despairing cry, such as it is seldom one's lot to hear,
arose from the dingles of the wood, and seemingly at no great distance.
Stuart waited to hear no more, but rushed with his drawn weapon towards
the spot, making the forest ring with threats, cries, and the bold
holloa with which he had learned to awake the echoes of his native hills
and rocks. His Highland habits as a forester and huntsman, acquired
under the tuition of Donald Iverach, when tracking the fox and the deer,
gave him good aid now, and unerringly he followed the direction of that
terrible cry.