He waived his hand--the chasseurs resumed a place at either side--and

one took my bridle in his hand. The commandant addressed them--

“Should this gentleman endeavour to get away, or should an attempt be

made to rescue him that seems likely to succeed, shoot him on the spot.

We lost one that we should have captured; we must not lose another.

Look first, to this gentleman’s security; and secondly, to his comfort.

Impose no unnecessary restraint--but deliver him safely at Toledo, or,

mark the consequences!--your lives shall be the forfeit of his liberty,”

he said--spurred his horse forward, and took his place at the head of

the column, which had now left Casa Mora in its rear.

The line of march ran through a country, wild, picturesque, and

difficult. A sierra of steep ascent was immediately in our front--the

summit crowned with broken crags--and the sides clothed thickly with

ilex, cork, and olive trees. As we advanced, the woods grew thicker, and

the road was surmounted by rocks on either hand. It seemed as if it had

been originally a great water-course, which human labour had converted

into a passage through the mountain. We approached the gorge of the pass

with military caution. Videttes preceded the advanced guard; and, on

either side, voltigeurs were thrown out in extended order, to feel the

woods, and keep the flanks secure. Colonel La Coste, after making every

disposition against surprise, joined the centre of the column, where I

was riding with my friends the chasseurs, who had been so particularly

entrusted with the pleasant duty of dispatching me on the first alarm.

The Colonel ordered them to fall back once more; and, satisfied that we

were secure from any molestation, he indulged again in fresh details of

some of the many scenes and services which he had passed through during

his adventurous career. Still, evidently he was not at ease; and as we

entered the defile, he could not repress feelings of apprehension.

“What an infernal guerilla-pass it is!” he half spoke, half-muttered

to himself: “The country and the men seem formed for each other,

and designed for cut-throat warfare. And the manner the road winds,

too,--you cannot see fifty yards in front for rocks and thickets. We’re

near the summit. Heaven be praised!--for, sooth to say, Mr. O’Halloran,

this is not exactly the place where I should wish to have the honour of

trying conclusions with your esteemed friend, the Empecinado.”

The road made here a wide and sudden sweep, dipping into a hollow in the

mountain-ridge. Right in front, a pinnacle of rock appeared to bar all

farther passage, and the path was scarped from its side. The hollow way

on either side was bordered by thick underwood--and nothing eould be

more suspicious-looking than this wild and difficult gorge. Again

Colonel La Coste rode forward to the front, to restore the order of the

column, which had become crowded and disordered, from the narrowness and

ruggedness of the path.

Before, however, the commandant could reach his advanced guard, a

vidette galloped hastily back, and announced that the road in front was

entirely blocked up with trees, formed into a strong abatis, impassable

to cavalry. The chasseurs were halted, and the light infantry ordered

forward to remove the barrier by which the further-progress of the

column had been thus arrested. Nearly at the same moment, the rear-guard

were suddenly fired on from thickets on either side, while a number of

partidas rushed from their previous concealments, and, in a few minutes,

effectually closed up the narrow road which the detachment had already

passed, by throwing trees and rocks across it. That the French party

were completely surprised, was now but too apparent. The voltigeurs, in

attempting to force the abatis, had been shot down by dozens; and every

knoll, or rock, which overlooked the pass, swarmed with guerillas, who

commenced a murderous fire from their long-barrelled fowling-pieces, and

that, too, upon the close ranks of an enemy where every bullet told.

The old republican had ridden forward to encourage the voltigeurs to

force the abatis, that the column might fight its way through the gorge

in which it had been entangled--but he was shot through the heart, and

dropped dead from his charger. The suddenness of the attack--the fall

of their leader--the appearance of countless enemies on every side,

completed the panic, and paralysed exertions which, under ordinary

circumstances, the enemy would have made. To a stern demand to

surrender, the voltigeurs replied by throwing down their arms, while

the chasseurs hastily dismounted, and endeavoured to obtain protection

behind their horses, from a constant and deadly fusilade. Some had

endeavoured to escape through the underwood--and a few succeeded in the

attempt--but the greater number were cut down; and presently resistance

ceased.

The suddenness of the surprise--and the rapidity with which the affair

had terminated in the destruction or capture of the French detachment,

seemed magical.--No attempt had been made to carry the orders of Colonel

La Coste into execution, and my danger was confined to the ordinary

chances of receiving a flying bullet by mistake.--From the moment a shot

was heard, my captors lost all heart, and appeared to consider their

situation desperate: generally mercy was extended--and in a time

inconceivably short, the prisoners were secured, and stripped of every

thing that was deemed worthy of notice by the guerillas.

From the neat and uniform appointments of the French soldiers, the eye

turned in surprise on the strange and motley appearance the guerilla

band presented. Every individual was dressed and armed after his

especial fancy. All were differently equipped; and had not sad realities

presented themselves, the whole might have been imagined a military

masquerade. The costumes of several countries were united in a single

dress. The flaring scarlet and light blue jacket of an Estremaduran

hussar--the shaco of a French chasseur--pistols and saddle of English

manufacture--the long straight sword of the cuirassier--the brown

Spanish sash, and leathern cartouch-box, with an Arragonese or Catalan

escopeta, were not unfrequent equipments of the same brigand, as the

French invariably entitled them. *

* Leith Hay.

Although none of the captives escaped plunder, and many were cruelly

insulted in the operation, it was singular that all the partidas treated

me with respect, and left me unscathed in person or effects. Presently

a buzz around me attracted my attention. A man was forcing a passage

through the crowd, and the guerillas civilly made way for him. He was

dressed and armed in the same wild and incongruous style which marked

the costume of these irregular partisans; and he looked as much the

brigand as if he had served a regular apprenticeship to the profession.

Great, therefore, was my astonishment when I heard him pronounce my

name; but greater still, when he seized both my hands in his, and

half said, half sobbed--“Hector, _avourneeine!_--Have I found my

foster-brother once more?” It was, indeed, the lost Mark Antony; and, as

far as one could judge by appearances, the fosterer had neither received

damage in the late affray, nor in his morning swim over the Sedana.

“Holy Mary!” he exclaimed. “Is this yourself, Master Hector? Well, I

never expected to see you alive; though that black gentleman, with the

long name, strove all he could to give me comfort. May the Lord reward

him for the same!--and upon my soul, for a perfect stranger, he showed

the greatest affection for us both After we were safe out of fire, and

taking breath for a minute in the cork-wood, I asked him, fair and

easy, what he thought had become of ye? ‘’Gad,’ says he, ‘I think its a

toss-up between shooting and hanging. The chances are, that your master

was finished in the affray; but if he escaped that, he is sure to be

throttled in the morning. Don’t be cast down,’ says he, ‘if they string

up our absent friend, I’ll hang twelve Frenchmen in his place, and you

shall keep the reckonin’.’ It was very civil on the gentleman’s part,

but, ‘faith, I was better pleased, an hour afterwards, when a goatherd

brought us intelligence that you were safe and sound, and the other poor

devils dead as a door-nail. But here he comes--a mighty pleasant sort

of friend, but sorra worse enemy one would meet in a month of Sundays.

Indeed, I have no reason to complain of him; a better comrade I never

travelled with--I have lived like a fighting-cock since we came

together; and as my clothes were made ribbons of in the skrimmage, here

I am rigged out anew from top to toe.”

As he spoke, the partida leader approached, wrung my hand ardently with

his, and warmly congratulated me on my safe deliverance from French

bondage, and in having escaped any material injury in our outbreak from

the posada, and the more recent attack. Confiding the duty of removing

the prisoners, horses, and plunder to Villa Toro, he requested me to

walk with him to the head of the pass. As we proceeded along the scene

of action--if such an affair might so be termed, where the loss was

entirely on one side, and no resistance had been offered--I was struck

with the strange alteration the appearance of the road had undergone.

Ten minutes since it had been strewn with dead chasseurs and

sharpshooters, dressed in their showy uniforms, and fully and

effectively equipped. Not a soldier could be discovered now; but in

their places numerous corpses might be seen stripped of every covering,

and in a state of nudity, that almost rendered identity impossible.

One body, however, I distinctly recognised:--the white hair, and stern

expression of countenance, even after death, could not be mistaken:--the

dead soldier was the old Republican--Colonel La Coste.

CHAPTER XXXI. THE TRIAL.

“Proceed to judgment; by my sou!, I swear.

There is no power in the tongue of man

To alter me.”

SHAKSPEARE.

|I could not pass the still bleeding corpse of the old commander without

gazing for a moment on the body, and expressing my sympathy aloud. The

Empecinado directed a careless look at the fallen Frenchman.

“Yes,” he said, “La Coste has fought his last battle; and he who would

wish that the event were otherwise, would be indeed his enemy. I have

one weak point of character, Mr. O’Halloran, and occasionally, forget

the man in the soldier. The Spaniard who struck for freedom had in La

Coste a ruthless foe. By the orders of him and another, I have lost, as

you know, two brave companions; and within an hour after ‘the Student’

breathed his last, the dying commands of my friend were carefully

conveyed to me. Vengeance he demanded--vengeance I swore should be

exacted--and I doomed his murderers accordingly. From my fixed purpose

no earthly intervention could have saved the devoted commander--but

the chances of war have averted an ignominious end. He died a soldier’s

death--I don’t regret it;--and the halter, designed for him, is reserved

for some less fortunate camarado. No more--the morning has been a busy

one. Come, we need refreshment. Follow me!”

He led the way through an opening in the _abatis_ made by the removal

of a tree, ascended the steep rock behind it, and when we gained the

summit, we found there a guerilla _déjeuné_ prepared. The scene and meal

were wild alike. Substantial viands, a leathern bottle of capacious size

filled with wine of superior excellence, a few rude platters, the rock

our table, the sky, cloudless and blue, the canopy--while a rivulet,

clear as crystal, trickled at our feet through the deep hollow of a

mountain ravine, whose volume of water varied at seasons from a torrent

to a thread. Above, the rugged pinnacles of the wild Sierra overhung

the place we occupied--while below, the broken road wound through the

underwood, which by turns revealed or hid it. The lower portion was

crowded with the guerillas and their prisoners in march to Villa Moro,

but the upper presented a less pleasing spectacle. It was thickly

studded with the bodies of the slain--an hour ago “instinct with life,”

but now mutilated, cold, and naked.

We found two chosen friends of Juan Diez waiting to share the morning

meal. As the dark complexion of the guerilla leader had given the

Empecinado his by-name, so also, the person or profession of his

companions had obtained for each a _sobriquet_. One was a low-sized man,

of extraordinary muscular proportions, who, from a distortion of his

left hand, was termed El bianco, or “The Maimed.” The other retained the

title of his former calling; and although the missal had long since been

abandoned for the sword, he still was designated “El Cura.” Than the

respective dresses and appearance of these partida chiefs, nothing

could be more dissimilar. The “Maimed One” wore the simple costume of

an Estremduran peasant--while the rich uniform of a _chef-d’escadron_ of

Joseph’s lancers of the guard, was adopted by the churchman, whose tall

and martial figure seemed never intended for one, whose sphere of action

should be confined to the drowsy duties of cell and cloister.

At the invitation of Juan Diez, we assumed a Roman attitude, and

stretched ourselves upon the rock; the fosterer modestly falling back,

as if he considered himself unworthy of breakfasting in such goodly

presence. The Spaniard noticed his secession.

“What ho!” he exclaimed, with a smile,--“hast thou no appetite

to-day?--or after sticking stoutly to a comrade in the fray, wouldst

thou desert him afterwards at feasting time?’Tis not the world’s way in

general--and men love to see the cork drawn, who hate the sparkle of a

sabre. Sit thee down,” and he pointed to a place beside himself. Then

turning to his companions, the Empecinado thus continued:--

“I told you, my friends, how narrowly I avoided the trap which French

gold and Spanish treachery had baited for me. I planned and led a

desperate effort at escape--and never was man more gallantly supported.

This youth and I succeeded. ‘Twas all mere accident. We kept our

legs and gained the river. My brave friend here,” (I coloured at the

compliment like a peony,) “and our murdered brethren, were beaten down

and captured. It is marvellous how the whistle of a passing bullet

accelerates one’s speed--and faith, I never fancied I could run so

fast. If my camarado here proved that in the fray he could use his arms

stoutly, in flight nothing but a goatherd could keep him company. Fast

as I ran, he still ran faster--and we fairly outstripped pursuit, save

that of two rascally voltigeurs, who had thrown away their musquets, and

thus lightened, were enabled to keep close at our heels. We neared the

river--ten paces more would gain the bank--and then escape would be

pretty certain. I turned my head to see what number of the enemy pursued

us. A score came straggling after at various distances, and, fifty yards

ahead of their companions, those two accursed sharpshooters led the

chase. I wished the scoundrels hamstrung; but, thanks to our Lady! the

Sedana was at hand. Alas! it seemed fated that I should not reach its

waters. An infernal vine-root crossed the path--it caught my foot--down

I came; and, as I believed, my doom was sealed,--captivity first, and

death afterwards. My young companion heard my fall; and checking his

course, he boldly turned to assist me to escape, or share my fate if

taken. With a blow he felled the leading voltigeur, and while the other

hesitated to close with two desperate men, I regained my feet, and

in another moment I and my brwe preserver were breasting the swollen

stream, and jive minutes found us in safety on its farther side. Yes, my

stout comrade--but for thee, France would have been freed of one of her

worst enemies, and Spain have lost a faithful son. Juan Diez owes thee a

life--and the dearest wish of his heart is, that a time may come when he

can repay thy gallant service.”

“On their own merits modest men are dumb,” and therefore, in the

Empecinado’s narrative of our outbreak from the posada, I omit that

honourable mention was made of the superior style in which I finished a

chasseur, and rendered a second member of the same distinguished

corps _hors de combat_. But decidedly, Mark Antony was the lion of the

morning. Before his high deserts, mine sank immeasurably--and from the

gentleman with the maimed hand, and his pious _confrère_. El Cura, we

both received flattering tokens of friendship and respect. As to me,

there was not a French throat in the peninsula, were it only to be got

at, that would not be slit at my solicitation; and had the fosterer made

the request, the French detachment would have been decimated without

a doubt, to prove the high place he held in the personal esteem of the

Empecinado.

We despatched our breakfast, the guerillas prepared to move, called for

their horses, and provided a couple for Mark Antony and me, which an

hour before had carried different riders--namely, poor La Coste and his

aid-de-camp. As we wound down the mountain-road, leading to Villa Moro,

the Empecinado pointed out the thickets his followers had occupied, and

dwelt with evident satisfaction on the plan and execution of his late

successful surprise. And yet, like an unskilful engineer, the mine he

had charged for the ruin of another, had nearly caused his own. The

alcade and postmaster were false to their country, and in the pay of the

invaders. They knew that a French scouting party had secretly advanced

within two leagues of Villa Moro, on the night we arrived at the

posada--and having gained imperfect information that a guerilla movement

was contemplated, they suspected that the late visitors at the village

inn were probably connected with the attempt, and despatched our

muleteer, to apprise the French commandant that suspicious strangers

were in the venta, where they could be easily apprehended.--Acting

on this intelligence--correct enough so far as it extended--La Coste

executed a rapid night march, which failed in its object, and terminated

in disaster and defeat.

Before we reached the little town, the prisoners, with a numerous

escort, had crossed the Sedana, directing their march upon the mountains

which divide Murcia from Toledo. As we rode slowly down the streets,

_Vivas_ greeted us on every side--the women being the loudest in their

acclamations. One circumstance I afterwards had cause to recollect.

Nearly in the centre of the village, I observed a house of superior

appearance, having a court yard in front, with a beech-tree of unusual

size, whose spreading branches extended nearly over the whole area of

the enclosure. The Empecinado turned a careless glance on the building

and the tree.--“That beech will answer”--he muttered--and without

another observation, rode forward and entered the yard of the posada.

It was crowded with dismounted partidas, whose horses were picketed and

feeding--and in my life I never saw more savage countenances than

those which were half hidden and half seen beneath the shadow of their

dark-plumed sombreros. In a remote corner, some dozen French voltigeurs,

bound two and two, were drawn up. An ominous silence prevailed--in the

pale faces of the prisoners, intense anxiety was marked--their guards

only conversed in whispers--and it appeared that all were in expectation

of some coming event, which seemed dependent on the arrival of the

Empecinado.

From the living my eye turned to the direction where I had witnessed

the execution of “the Student” and his friend.--The bodies, however,

had been removed,--but the spot where they had fallen was readily

discovered, for here and there, patches of cement had fallen on the

ground, detached from the wall where the bullets of the firing party had

struck the brick-work.--Juan Diez cast a gloomy look from the place his

friends had met their death to that captive group, whose suspense as to

their fate the presence of the dreaded chief would presently remove--and

without uttering a word, he entered the well-remembered kitchen of the

posada--the curate and El Maneo following, and the fosterer and I with a

few partidas bringing up the rear.

It appeared that this singular chamber was destined to present

alternately images of life and death, and in quick succession the venta

became the house of mourning and of feasting.--On the same table where

I had supped with the Empecinado and La Coste, the bodies of the dead

guerillas were laid out side by side, the village priest kneeling at

their feet, land offering a mass for their souls’ repose. Until the

religious duty was performed, the partida leaders observed a respectful

silence--but when the Cura rose up and departed, the Empecinado

addressed his companions:--

“You have heard,” he said, “the dying injunction of our lost comrade,

when he confided to me the sacred duty of executing vengeance on those

who murdered him. That hour is come, and ere high noon, blood shall

be repaid with blood. To those without, their doom shall be speedily

communicated; and on the same spot, and by the same means by which our

brethren perished, their slayers shall be slain. So much for retribution

on the enemy. Another task is to be performed--greater criminals

remain--and justice sternly demands her victims. Diego,” he continued,

pulling out his watch, and turning to one of the partidas, who seemed to

follow his movements as an orderly, “Go out--apprise the condemned that

in fifteen minutes they will be in eternity. The time is short--the

priest must be the busier. Deliver this watch to Juan de Castro; and

when this hand stands there--he knows the rest--and then conduct the

other prisoners hither.”

He whom the Empecinado had addressed as Diego made no reply, but bowed,

and left the kitchen. In a few minutes he returned, and we looked

anxiously to the door to discover who the other criminals might be.

The first who presented himself, from dress and appearance, was

evidently a hidalgo, or Spanish gentleman. The second bore a lower

Stamp, and appertained to the middle order of society. The third, to our

unbounded astonishment, was our quondam fellow-traveller, the muleteer.

The arms of each prisoner were bound behind his back with a common

halter, the end of which the partida, who conducted the criminal, held

within his grasp.

On the countenances of the prisoners despair was plainly written; and

if one ray of hope still remained unextinguished in their bosoms, the

chilling address of Juan Diez would have quenched it.

In dead silence they were placed in a line, and at the foot of the

table, where the bodies of “the Student” and his comrade were extended.

Bending on the devoted wretches a scowl of indescribable ferocity, the

Empecinado thus addressed them:--

“Spaniards--but in name--false to your God, faithless to your

country!--have ye aught to say why a felon death should not be instantly

awarded?”

The hopeless agony which the faces of the criminals thus addressed

exhibited, shall never fade from my memory. Colourless--wordless--their

white lips moved; but not a syllable was articulated but the single

supplication, half lost, half heard, of “mercy!”

“Mercy!” returned their stern judge, “Mercy!”--and he laughed.

_Oh! what a laugh it was!--“Mercy, and from me!_ Look round gaze upon

your victims--and then ask mercy from Juan Diez But softly, we must be

just. The mockery of a trial was extended to our comrades, and a similar

act of justice shall be meted out to you. I shall be the accuser, and

those shall be your judges and he pointed to El Manco and the Curate.

Yes, justice ye shall have; and I swear, by the decree only of these

worthy gentlemen, life or death shall be determined!”

He placed his hand within his jacket, and then slowly pulling out

several written documents, selected two or three, and then proceeded

with his address.

“Answer me briefly--speak truth--for, remember, the first falsehood

ensures the transfer of yonder halters from arm to neck. Jose de Toro,”

he continued, turning to the postmaster, “knowst thou this handwriting?”

The person questioned gave a hurried look at the well remembered

characters, and, with the sickly hope that, leaning on a straw, still

clings desperately to life, he at once determined to betray his guilty

companion.

“Noble sir,” he muttered, “that writing is the alcades.”

“Thou hearest,” said the Empecinado, handing the fatal document to

the Cura. “Honest Sancho thou wert bearer of a letter, two nights ago,

addressed to Captain St. Pierre. Wouldst thou know it, honest Sancho?”

and the word _honest_ hissed sarcastically between his teeth.

To the unfortunate muleteer, life was dear as to the postmaster. He

took the fatal packet in his hand, looked at it attentively, and then

replied, that he had indeed received it from Jose de Toro, under a

promise of ten dollars for its safe delivery, which promise had been

faithfully fulfilled.

“Ho! Ho!” exclaimed the Empecinado, “said I not truly that thou wert

_honest?_ ‘Tis marvellous what virtue lies in a yard or two of hemp.

There, Cura, read that letter also, and then thou and El Manco will know

what will be due to justice. What proves the alcade’s letter?”

“That the writer is a traitor, and in French pay,” was the brief reply.

“And what, the worthy postmaster’s?”

“That he is a sworn confederate.”

“And what, Cura, wouldst thou term the caitiff who advisedly was bearer

of treacherous intelligence?”

“I would say that, in effecting the villany of others, he was on a par,

in guilt, with the traitors who employed him.”

“And now, El Manco, be it thy duty to pronounce sentence on these

offenders.”

The maimed one answered this appeal by directing a concentrated look of

hatred and vengeance at the convicted. Neither the alcade or De Toro had

power to speak a word; but the luckless muleteer cried lustily, and in

the name of every saint, for mercy and forgiveness.

“Well,” said the partida chief, “‘twere wrong to keep you in suspense,

as one fate awaits ye. But we will justly apportion it according to your

respective ranks.”

Here the muleteer, under fallacious expectations, broke in with a loud

torrent of future loyalty and everlasting gratitude.

“Stay, fellow, keep thyself cool awhile,” said El Manco, drily. “Thou

know’st the proverb, surely--‘Hallo not until ye clear the forest;’

and now listen to your sentences. With due consideration for thy rank,

alcade, thou shalt ornament a topping branch of your own beech tree. The

postmaster must needs content himself with a lower bough. And for thee,

good fellow,” and he addressed himself to the trembling muleteer, “no

matter to what limb they attach thy worthless carcase, provided thy

feet clear the court-yard by a yard or two. Off with them--let them have

_five_ minutes; and, by San Jago, that will be longer by _four_ than the

knaves deserve!”

Never, on a shorter trial, were men condemned, nor sentence more

savagely delivered. To a ruthless judge, appeal or remonstrance would

have been equally unwailing; and they were removed from the posada to

the tree in a sort of sullen and stupid unconsciousness. Their shrift

was short--the last sad ceremony hurried over--and, as the fosterer

afterwards observed, “they were hanged before they could find time to

bless themselves!”

The passing scene was one that would dwell long upon the fancy.--One

may view the dead with indifference--the trial’s over--the goal

is past.--But who can look upon “a thing of life,” whose thread of

existence a few short minutes will sever, without recoiling at the

thought? So much had these sad reflections occupied my mind, that I

forgot there were others besides those on whom I had just looked my

last, who were standing on the confines of eternity. But these musings

were interrupted. Without, a rolling volley was suddenly delivered. It

knelled the doom of the luckless voltigeurs--and by a similar impulse,

Mark Antony and I sprang from the bench, and rushed forward to the

casement which looked out upon the courtyard.

For a moment the smoke from the guerilla muskets partially obscured our

view--but as it rose upwards, we saw the unhappy sufferers stretched in

a line before the wall--dead, or rolling in the agonies of death. There

was one singular exception;--an officer appeared to have escaped--for he

stood upright and firmly on his feet, with his hand across his bosom. In

military executions, some loaded muskets are always reserved to abridge

the sufferings of the condemned, should the volley of the firing party

fail to end existence. But the partidas were willing executioners--every

piece had been discharged--and though the Frenchman boldly called on

them to “fire!”--the order was not obeyed.

[Illustration: 0346]

To rescue the gallant victim was my instant determination, and I

appealed warmly to the Empecinado in his favour. The Spaniard shook his

head--and the Cura and El Manco protested against any exercise of mercy.

The guerillas commenced reloading--in a few brief moments the deed

would be effected, and remonstrance of no avail--but a sudden impulse of

generous ardour eventually proved successful. The fosterer bounded from

the casement to the courtyard--sprang through the crowd, passed along

the front of the firing party, clasped the condemned soldier in his

arms, and swore in very excellent Irish, and by every saint he could

remember at the time, that to reach the Frenchman’s body, the bullets

must pass first through his.

There was not a partida in that wild band who did not personally

estimate Mark Antony as the saviour of their chief--but still the

fosterer’s was a dangerous and doubtful experiment. It was interposing

between the tiger who has tasted blood, and the victim already

underneath his paw. Dark looks were turned upon the preserved and the

preserver--and muttered oaths were heard, like the distant growl which

heralds the bursting of a thundercloud. The Empecinado, who witnessed

the occurrence from the casement, however, lulled the coming storm--and

in a voice that to be heard was to be obeyed, he commanded the surviving

prisoner to be conducted to his presence; and next moment Lieutenant

Cammaran entered the kitchen of the pesada--on one side guarded by a

guerilla--on the other supported by the honest fosterer, who still, for

better security, encircled the Frenchman with his arm.

Scott says that “a kinsman is part of a man’s body, but a fosterbrother

is a piece of his heart.” The truth of the remark never came so home to

me before. In infancy, the same bosom had sustained us,--in childhood,

our joys and sorrows were the same,--in youth, Mark Antony had followed

my fortunes, and in manhood preserved my life. No wonder, that for

him mine was indeed a brother’s love. But I never felt so proud of our

relationship, as when I saw the fosterer confront the guerilla chiefs,

with his arm locked firmly round the poor French voltigeur.

CHAPTER XXXII. THE PARDONED VOLTIGEUR.

“_Portia_.--It must not be; there is no power in Venice

Can alter a decree established;

‘Twill be recorded for a precedent;

And many an error, by the same example,

Will rush into the state--it cannot be.”

Merchant or Venice.

|I never met a man who appeared to have made his mind up to die with

more dignity and determination than Lieutenant Cammaran. He had already

almost undergone the bitterness of death; as yet his fate was an

uncertainty--the sword continued suspended by a hair--and still the

expression of his manly countenance was perfectly undisturbed, and

neither lip nor eye-lid trembled, he planted his foot firmly on the

floor, and, calmly and resolved, awaited a doubtful result--the turn of

the die, on which life and death depended.

How he had escaped mortal injury seemed the miracle: two balls had

passed through his chaco, his epaulette was divided by another, the

jacket perforated by several, and yet not one bullet of a dozen aimed

at him had even razed the skin! In such a presence, and under such

circumstances, to remain unmoved, required a powerful exercise of moral

courage. Few there were, who bore the name of Frenchman, who would have

coveted an interview with Juan Diez. El Manco, in desperate severity

towards the invaders, bore even a more terrible reputation than the

Empecinado; and although the Cura was a learned and pious churchman,

as it might have been presumed, still, from divers exploits ascribed

to him, in which unbounded liberties had been taken with life and limb,

there was not a follower of the intruder who would not have preferred an

interview with the archenemy himself.

“Thou hast been condemned to death,” said Juan Diez, addressing the

prisoner.

“I have,” replied the captive, steadily, “and the only marvel is that

the sentence has not been yet completed.”

“Humph! But for the thoughtless interference of this rash young man,

that marvel would have been ended speedily,” returned the Empecinado.

“Hast thou aught to ask before----” And he made a pause.

“The experiment shall be tried more successfully,” said the Frenchman,

coolly. “Yes; I have an orphan daughter! My poor Pauline!--thou hast no

mother to protect thee--and in an hour thou wilt be fatherless! I would

send her all I have--my parting blessing; and, with your permission,

write a brief letter, which this kind and gallant youth will, I have no

doubt, endeavour to get safely conveyed to Paris.”

“_Mona sin diaoul!_” exclaimed the fosterer, drawing the back of his

hand across his eyes, “Miss Pauline shall get it, though I walked every

inch of the road, and committed highway robbery for my expenses.”

“Thy request is granted. Diego, bring my portefeuille hither. And make

the letter short,” continued El Manco, coldly; “I have some ten leagues

to ride after thy execution; I’ll wait until it’s over, for I hate to

leave a job half done.”

“Gracious God!” I exclaimed; “surely this cannot be serious! Pause,

Don Juan!--One so miraculously preserved--the very hand of Providence

visible in his escape!--Would you slay him?--deliberately, coldly, slay

him? No, no, I can’t--I won’t believe it. You are brave!--the brave

are not assassins; and this would be an act of butchery! You would not

sanction it. Did I conceive it possible that you would, by Heaven, the

worst remembrance of my life would be, to think that you and I had ever

fought side by side, and hand and heart together!”

The Spaniard coloured; but a sarcastic smile was the only reply he

vouchsafed.

“I am too warm, Don Juan; like that of your own land, Irish blood is

hot. Forgive me if I have offended you.” A gracious smile from the

Empeeinado was returned, and conveyed a gracious pardon. “Now let me ask

a favour: make me in gratitude your debtor; I have a claim on you. From

the surprise, three nights ago, _I_ risked nothing but captivity; by the

French I should have been honourably respected; and had I determined

on escape, a fitter time and better opportunity would have been readily

found to attempt it. With _you_ circumstances were different, nay,

desperate. With you ‘twas but a choice of deaths--the sword or halter

the alternative--while I had only to remain quiet, and not a hair of

my head would have suffered injury. Did I fail you then?--Did my foster

brother? No; we perilled all, fought by your side, and hewed out a path

by which you escaped a death more certain, even than that which now

awaits this unfortunate gentleman.”

“Stop, Mr. O’Halloran,” said Juan Diez, interrupting me. “All you have

stated is correct; and the only difficulty in the case is to

reconcile gratitude with duty. I see a course by which matters may be

accommodated; and, from your interference on his behalf, I will save

this Frenchman; that is, provided he accedes to terms. There are none

here but those he may rely on. Listen, prisoner, and pause before you

answer me.” He took an open packet from his breast. “These papers,

in cypher, were found carefully concealed upon the body of your late

commander: you were his secretary, and know the key; give me the means

of reading the contents, and thou art free as yonder bird.” A pigeon

passed the casement at the moment. “Hast thou not the key?”

“I have,” returned the captive.

“Speak--disclose it--liberty is thine; and none shall ever know the

means by which I obtained a knowledge of the secret.”

“First, may this tongue be palsied!” And the captive drew himself

proudly up.

“To the court-yard, then!” returned the Einpecinado. “No more, sir,” he

said, perceiving I was about to urge anew my claims upon him for late

service, “have I your final answer to my proposal?” he continued,

turning to the condemned.

“Fixed and final!” was the firm reply.

“And upon my conscience, as a true Catholic,” exclaimed the fosterer,

“a dirtier proposal, Mister Empecinado, I never listened to!--you would

have the honest lad here turn traitor, after hanging three dacent men of

the same profession scarcely half an hour ago!--Arrah, have ye neither

conscience nor decency, Don Juan?”

“What ho!” returned the Spaniard, “art thou, too, upon me?”

“Mr. Empecinado--and God sees I’m not quite certain whether I’m right or

wrong in mistering you--but if it’s wrong, why leave it on my ignorance.

We have been comrades for three days, and from the little I know of

ye, I would go through fire and water to serve you; more by token, the

coldest swim I ever had, I took in your company over that river the

other morning. No matter about that--the glass of brandy we had from

that friend of yours in the cork wood set all to rights afterwards.

Well, as I was saying, ye spoke civilly of me not two hours ago fornent

these gentlemen--him with the crooked claw, and his reverence in the

colonel’s jacket. Now all I ask you is a trifle. Honour bright, Don

Juan! Don’t ye mind, after the swim, and over a glass of brandy-nate,

you offered to hang a dozen Frenchmen as a mark of friendship to me and

Master Hector there? It’s not much I want; only just let one neck alone.

Do, Empecinado, _avourneine_! Arrah, do, and take my blessing! Why, man,

it would be murder, out and out, to harm him. Arrah, just look at the

state ye have reduced him to!--you have drove two bullets through his

cap; and as to his jacket--and may be the best the crature has in

the world--it’s cut into so many ribbons, that, upon my conscience, a

respectable scarecrow would be ashamed to wear it in a wheat-field on a

Sunday. You know I’m the last man that would interfere in matters that

don’t concern me.--Did I part my lips, good nor bad, when ye sent the

three gentlemen to the gallows a while ago?--and if you hanged raff of

their kind out of the face--for as well as I could understand they were

bailiffs or attorneys--sorra one of me would blame ye if ye strung them

by the score. But this poor crature--let him go--and take Mark Antony’s

blessing.”

Warm as was the fosterer’s appeal, it did not shake the stern resolution

of the Empecinado; and a cold movement of his head negatived the

supplication for mercy.

“And won’t ye, then, be after letting him off?” continued Mark Antony,

warming into Hibernian eloquence, while his cheek flushed, and his dark

eyes kindled. “Ye spoke a while ago about my doing you a civil turn--let

this poor fellow free, and I’ll do ye twenty more, if you’ll only put

me in the way. But if ye’re baste enough to murder him--_mona bin

diaoul!_--the next time you’re in a skrimmage, and tumble over an ould

tree, may the divil pick ye up for Mark Antony O’Toole. That’s all I

have to say--Tiggum thu?” *

* Anglice, “Do ye understand?”,

The speaker paused. Most of the fosterer’s address Juan Diez

comprehended; and such portion of the speech as had been delivered in

Irish, being expletive, were not very material. To the appeal, however,

he turned a deaf ear, and directed, that after his letter had been

written, the prisoner’s sentence should be carried into immediate

effect. I was about to remonstrate, but Mark Antony, having the ear of

the Court, thus continued:--

“And is this your answer?” he exclaimed. “Ah, then, Empecinado, I have

done with ye! Ay--and for all your fine speeches, I’m be-ginning to

think you’re no great shakes, after all; and as to your promises,

they’re very like what they call pig-shaving in Connaught--much noise

and little wool. Come along, Hector, jewel! we won’t remain to see this

poor gentleman fairly murdered. God forgive the whole of ye! I put

the sign of the cross betune us.” And here the fosterer made a crusial

flourish with his thumb in the direction of the guerilla chiefs. “I can

only say, that if there are three gentlemen in Spain certain of a warm

corner in the next world, I’m just at present taking a parting peep at

them. Good morning to ye all. I’ll be obliged if you’ll send one of your

understrappers to put us on the right road; and I hope, Mister Diez,

that the next dacent lad ye tatter out of bed at cock-crow, to drag into

a _rookarn_ first, and a river afterwards--why--that you’ll trate him

civiller than ye did me.”

There are few who are proof against eloquence, natural or acquired; and

on all it has power alike, whether it be exercised in the fish-market

or the Four Courts. On some men it may have opposite effects; and the

florid appeal that carries away the judgment of the one, will only alarm

the suspicions of another; and thus, the same jury, that on the showing

of Mr. Charles Phillips, values an abstracted lady at a thousand pounds,

after a prosy address from Sergeant Roundabout, will estimate a similar

loss only at a sixpence. Mark Antony had very awkward judges to address;

like his greater namesake, “he was no orator,” and possibly it was all

the better for his client. We have some doubts, had Mr. Joseph Hume

denounced the international illegality of despatching Lieutenant

Cammaran of the 16th Voltigeurs, with the arithmetical precision with

which, in the House of Commons, he would calculate the waste of human

breath, that the brass band of the Guards inflicts on this distressed

country,--we have doubts, up say, whether the Empecinado would have been

a convert. Had the Liberator of Ireland blessed or banned for an hour

by Shrewsbury clock, it would have been all the same to El Manco--and to

the remonstrance of the Bench of Bishops, aided by a rescript from the

Pope, the Cura would have irreverently played “deaf adder.” And yet,

with such unmanageable authorities to deal with, Mark Antony’s eloquence

prevailed.

“Stop!” cried Juan Diez, as the fosterer turned his back sullenly

round, to wait while the condemned soldier conveyed to his orphan a last

farewell.--“Will nothing but this Frenchman’s life acquit the service

that I owe thee?”

“Nothing,” returned Mark Antony.--“what other favour could ye grant

me? Hav’n’t I the free use of my limbs, and ten dollars besides in my

pocket?”

“Well--if it must be so--I will not let thee leave me in thy debt.

Frenchman--thou art saved!”

“Then, Pauline, thou mayst yet receive from living lips, that blessing

which a dying hand was tracing!” and springing from the bench, the

voltigeur flung his arms around the fosterer, and pressed him to his

bosom.

“Heaven forbid,” said Juan Diez, addressing Mark Antony--“that I had

many creditors like thee! Well--no matter--have I now acquitted all

claims upon me to the full?”

“No, Empecinado,” I returned--“I am as yet unpaid.”

“Go on, my friend.--What wouldst thou have me do?” said the Spaniard,

graciously.

“Complete the favour--and add liberty to life.”

Juan Diez paused--looked at El Maneo and the Cura.

“What shall I answer? I swore that nothing should avert his doom--and

thought nothing could have shaken the resolution.”

“I _know_ that nothing human should have shaken _mine_,” observed El

Maneo. “Life spared, liberty is a trifle--grant it, Juan Diez, if you

please.”

“And I,” said the Cura, “will not object.--Great men have occasional

weaknesses, and at times, I have found myself rather softer hearted than

I should be. Empecinado,’tis sinful to break an oath,--but Holy Church

is merciful.--Hang me the first half dozen of these robbers who fall

into your hands, and thou shalt have absolution; the penance--that thou

shalt fast from flesh meat the first day when you cannot conveniently

find it.”

At this merciful annunciation of the worthy clerk, Juan Diez laughed.

“I thank thee, Cura,” he replied; “but when I make my shrift, I will

seek another confessor. Come, the morning passes, and ‘tis time we were

wending towards the mountains. Gentlemen,” he continued, turning to

the fosterer and me, “our short companionship is about to terminate. If

gallantry could attach me to brwe men, and make me regret a separation,

I should have abundant reason to grieve that I am about to lose ye; but,

sooth to say, for our wild warfare you are not exactly fitted, and, like

my excellent camarado, the Cura, you have a little too much softness at

the heart. From intelligence I have received since we first met, I would

advise you to abandon your original intention of crossing the mountains

to Valencia. Suchet’s movements are suspicious,--the roads are

unsafe--crowded with ladrones--all desperate men, who would respect

no passports, were they guaranteed by every authority in Spain. If you

choose to persevere----”

“No, Don Juan,” I replied; “I will return to the allied cantonments. I

have, in obedience to orders, endeavoured to reach my regiment. I

have failed; and, to say truth, I don’t regret it. I shall resign my

commission, if required, and serve under Lord Wellington a volunteer.”

“Such being your intention, I would recommend that you return by the

shortest and openest route. Should you touch upon a French outpost, this

gentleman will protect you,” and he pointed to Lieutenant Cammaran; “if

you fall in with the allied cwalry, you will return the compliment; and

should you tumble upon any friends of ours during the journey, you carry

a passport that every partida on the peninsula will respect. Ho, Diego!

bring me yonder writing-case. Fortunately, sir, you do not require it at

present,” and the Empecinado smiled as he addressed the reprieved one.

“Thanks to these noble Englishmen, I do not,” returned the lieutenant.

“I beg your pardon,” replied Mr. O’Toole; “I can’t exactly tell what

countryman I am, because I was born at sea.”

“Wine!” cried the Empecinado. “Ho, landlord! stir thyself. Thou know’st

my taste--none of that sorry stuff that would poison a Manolo. Let’s

have some fit for Christian men. Remember, honest Gonsalvez, thou hast

rarely such honourable guests. Here are three foreigners of distinction;

and there a holy churchman. Of my friend here,” and he pointed to El

Manco, “I shall say nothing: and modesty forbids me speaking of myself.

Come, let thy wine be good, or, by San Juan, we’ll quit thy venta

altogether.”

With a low bow, the alarmed innkeeper hurried off. As he passed us, the

expression of his countenance was ridiculously intelligent; and to the

last sentence of the Empecinado, said, or seemed to say, “I wish to

Heaven you would!”

The wine that the host produced no doubt was excellent, for its effect

upon the company was marvellous. Juan Diez jested with the Curate; the

Frenchman and fosterer conversed in broken English; occasionally El

Manco vouchsafed a relaxation of the facial muscles, which he intended

to represent a smile. All seemed happy but the innkeeper; and on his

dull countenance terror and anxiety were imprinted. On him the lively

sallies of his distinguished visitors were lost; and the only occurrence

at which his sombre features lightened was when a guerilla entered the

apartment, and announced that the horses were saddled in the yard.

While the party resumed their cloaks and weapons, the Empecinado

beckoned to me, and I retired with him to a corner.

“Is there aught in which I can oblige you? Speak freely,” he said.

I thanked him, and answered him in the negative.

“How is thy pocket lined, my child?” was his next question.

I assured him my purse was liberally supplied.

“I can spare thee a dozen pistoles,” he added.

I acknowledged the kindness, but declined the offered subsidy.

He looked suspiciously around, and then took a packet from his bosom,

and placed it in my hand, unseen.

“Conceal these papers, and deliver them carefully, with my duty to

Lord Wellington. They are written in cipher; but I know that he has a

key that will unravel their contents. I feel assured that they contain

important information, for I have learned through a channel where I

never was deceived, that the expedition of La Coste was originally

intended for no other purpose, than to enable him to communicate with

another commandant to whom he was directed to transfer these papers

safely. A movement of two strong detachments to secure the delivery of

a letter is a sufficient guarantee, my friend, that the contents are

momentous. Let us go. El Manco is impatient. Outside the village we

part--thou, to the low country; I to the mountains.”

“Art thou hearing a confession in yonder corner, Empecinado?” inquired

the monk.

“No, Cura, I would not usurp the functions of the church with one of its

brightest ornaments immediately beside me. I was merely giving my young

friend here a slight hint of what Juan Diez has experienced, and I’ll

once more repeat it.” Then, turning to me, he added aloud, “‘Tis an

uncertain world, and many a brilliant opening in a young life has darkly

closed. Should fortune frown, friends fall off, enemies prevail--in

short, should thy young career be darkened as mine was suddenly, take

thy chance with Juan Diez; and thou, my friend,” and the Spaniard

addressed the fosterer, “thou, too, wilt any time be welcome; and, as we

crossed the Sedana, we’ll swim or sink together.”

So saying, the guerilla pointed to the door. We took the hint, and

passed on. There the worthy host stood, cap in hand, bowing us out, as

it became customers of distinction. I would have stopped and demanded a

reckoning, but Mark Antony was of opinion that such a proceeding

might have been an offence in the sight of our patrons and protectors.

Certainly, I saw no bill paid or delivered; and I have reason to believe

that the guerilla leaders were of the school of ancient Pistol, and

consequently gentlemen of too good taste to stoop to an inquiry into

accounts. And yet proofs of disinterested regard were not wanting to

Senhor Velasquez. I overheard the Empecinado, as he passed, impress on

this favoured innkeeper the immediate necessity of replenishing his bins

with better wine, and restoring his stable-loft, which needed repair

sorely. In my presence certainly none of the circulating medium passed;

and, to use fashionable parlance, I verily believe the unfortunate

proprietor of the posada was regularly victimized by all.

We entered the court-yard; and, thank Heaven, for the last time. A score

of guerillas, mounted and dismounted, were in waiting. Cammaran passed

through with averted eyes; but I ventured a look at the well-remembered

spot which, within eight-and-forty hours, had witnessed a double

execution. The voltigeurs were lying as they fell; the bodies weltering

in a pool of blood, or exhibiting, in other cases, no mark of violence

whatever. One I passed by was a mere lad. His death must have been

instantaneous--one fracture in the jacket was opposite the heart--the

countenance was tranquil; and a smile played upon the lip. Could that be

death? I knew it was, or I could have fancied well that he was dreaming

of absent friends, and calmly indulging in a siesta.

I was delighted when we cleared the court-yard. El Manco and the Cura

were waiting for us--presently, Juan Diez rode up; and, followed by an

escort of some score of cavalry, we, for the last time, passed along the

street of Villa Moro.

I had witnessed enough of guerilla life to render it thoroughly

disgusting. War at best is bad; but “war to the knife” is only tolerable

for savages. All the romance of partida daring had passed away. I had

seen it in its naked light, and found its real character--a ruthless,

reckless disregard to every feeling which binds mankind by a common

tie--by turns suffering without complaint, and inflicting without

compunction. Such were my impressions as I slowly rode along the village

street; and had they needed any confirmation, the scene reserved for me

would have been quite enough.

On the huge beech tree I had already remarked in front of the house

of the chief magistrate, three human bodies were suspended. The

Empecinado’s passing observation, and El Manco’s sarcastic address while

dooming the unhappy offenders, came back vividly to my recollection.

The sentence had indeed been executed to the very letter, and alcade,

postmaster, and muleteer, were hanging precisely as the “maimed one” had

decreed it.

The worst feature of the savage picture remained--six wretched orphans

who had witnessed the expiring agonies of their father were still

screaming from the windows from which they had seen him die, and from

fear, insensibility, or both, their immediate neighbours dared not, or

did not, offer the slightest mark of sympathy under a berewement that

would have touched all but savage hearts. The fosterer turned pale; the

Frenchman shuddered; the Empecinado regarded the dead men with a marble

look.

“El Manco,” observed the Cura with a smile, “Jack Hangman has done thy

bidding, and the alcade overtops his friends.”

“Ay,” returned the ‘maimed one;’ “this ever be the fate of traitors!

Would that every oak in Spain bore such acorns as yonder beech tree!”

I was sick, nauseated, disgusted. Death--death in every shape! and

from the bottom of my heart, I blessed God that my acquaintance with

my excellent friends was to determine so speedily. Until we cleared the

village I preserved an unbroken silence; and when Juan Diez pointed to

a place where our respective roads branched off at the distance of a

furlong, my bosom felt as if it were lightened of a load, and, as Doctor

Pangloss says, “I breathed again.”

CHAPTER XXXIII. THE GUERILLA’S GIFT.

Bring forth the horse!--the horse was brought;

In truth, he was a noble steed.”

Mazeppa.

|A few minutes’ easy riding brought us to the spot where the roads

diverged, and where it had been previously arranged that we should

part company. We took leave of El Manco and the Cura; the fosterer and

Frenchman turning their horses’ heads in the direction of Toledo, while

the partidas took the mountain route. Consequently, the Empecinado and

I were left alone, the escort passing on, with the exception of a single

horseman.

“I know not wherefore, Mr. O’Halloran, but I feel more reluctance in

saying the word ‘farewell’ than is my wont. The chances against our ever

meeting in this world are enormous. Well, it matters not--‘tis but a too

frequent occurrence in life’s history--the parting from those we esteem.

Believe me, I shall ever look back on our brief acquaintance with

pleasure, and wish you the best fortunes that attend a soldier--death

or distinction. If I live, you will hear of the Empecinado.

The tale may not be flattering; it may be of enemies destroyed, of

villages laid in ashes. Men will speak of him as of a demon, and women

cross themselves when they hear his name pronounced; and yet, Mr.

O’Halloran, I was once such another as thyself. Mine, at thy own age,

was the same ardent and disinterested courage, that at the posada risked

life to save a stranger; and when the flush of blood had cooled, I would

have recoiled, like thyself, from treading on a worm. And I was happy. I

had a home on the sweet banks of the Huebra. I had a wife--a child. The

Madonna’s features at the altar, where we plighted our bridal vows, were

not lovelier than Camilla’s--the infant’s on the holy Virgin’s knees,

not sweeter than my boy’s. I lost both, Mr. O’Halloran--lost them--but

_don’t ask how!_ In one brief day, Juan Diez’s nature changed, and he

became what he is, cold to the misery he inflicts on others, from the

fearful remembrance of what he underwent himself. But enough; sometimes

recall the Einpecinado to thy recollection, and think on the inn of

Villa Moro. Thou shalt have one token to bring me to thy memory--‘tis

this horse. He is a titling gift; black as the rider he carried in

safety through as great extremity--ay, even as that we encountered the

first morning that we met.”

I thanked him warmly, but declined to accept the charger.

“Well, it would appear that in turn Juan Diez is to ask a favour and be

refused,” he remarked, with an appearance of disappointment.

“Not so, Empecinado. I am too grateful for the past to incur fresh

obligations. Why, look but at the value of the animal! My foster

brother, as we rode together, was observing, that he doubted whether

there was a more beautiful charger in Spain.”

“I question if there be; and yet I got him cheap enough. He cost me but

a three hours’ ride. To be sure, the night was dark, and the road the

worst on the frontier. He was the fwourite steed of one of Spain’s worst

enemies; and the pistols, which you will find loaded in the holsters,

were a gift from Napoleon to his minion. On the borders of Portugal

I cut off a small detachment, escorting plundered property for better

security to Ciudad Rodrigo. Of these spoils, Junot was the chief

proprietor. I divided them among my band, but kept this charger, partly

from personal regard for the French marshal, and partly as a memento of

my success.”

Still I declined the Empecinado’s present.

“Well, let us change the terms. If you will not receive, you shall

purchase; for I am determined to get rid of him. Are you aware that I

have increased my stud this morning by eighty-three? I think I can spare

one. Come, will you accept or purchase?”

I smiled; and jestingly replied that a long price was beyond the means

of a young subaltern.

“But we can afford _long_ credit,” said the Empecinado, in the same

playful mood.

“Worse still, Don Juan. My father is an old soldier, and in his

catalogue of military offendings, debt holds a prominent place.”

“Pause, my friend, until you hear the terms of sale. To your companion,

I owe a life. His shall be the horse. Settle the price with him, and to

_him_ transfer the value. But no more of this. The roads are sometimes

puzzling to a stranger, and that follower of mine”--he pointed to the

mounted guerilla--“will accompany you to the first town where mules and

a guide are procurable. You may trust him implicitly; in everything he

will direct you; he is true as steel, and could lead you blindfolded

from one end of Toledo to the other.”

He pressed my hand, sprang into the saddle of the troop-horse I had just

vacated, and, with a kind adieu, cantered after his companions, who were

now fully half a mile ahead, and, in a round trot, hurrying towards the

highlands. A turn in the road speedily concealed him--and it was the

last I ever saw of Juan. Diez.

I soon overtook my fellow-travellers. On what subjects they had

previously occupied themselves I cannot guess, but my advent caused the

fosterer to be rather anxious to hurry what seemed an undecided monetary

transaction to its close.

“Oh! the divil a _shurrich_ they would leave ye--the thieves!” observed

Mark Antony to Lieutenant Cammaran.

“_Shurreeke!_” repeated the Frenchman,--“what you mean by _shurreeke?_”

“Not a music,” said the fosterer, in explanation.

“Music--music!” and Lieutenant Cammaran shrugged his shoulders.

“That is--not the king’s picture in your pocket, to keep the divil out

of it,” continued Mark Antony.

“The devil in my pocket, and the king to keep him out--I do not

understand at all,” said the Frenchman, with a sigh.

“Oh,” cried the fosterer, in despair, “it’s all useless knocking sense

into the head of a foreigner. What a loss it is the man does not speak

Irish, and I’d make him comprehend me in a jiffy. I was just mentioning,

that as these guerillas had cleaned him out, he would be all the better

of five or six dollars till he got home, poor fellow. But why are ye

riding the dark gentleman’s horse? Lord, what a figure! If I ever get

hanged for horse-stealing, it will be for borrowing such another. But

where’s that Mister Empecinado, as they call him?”

“Trotting as briskly to the mountains as a thick-winded French

troop-horse will carry him,” I replied.

“Do you mean the one you rode?”

“I mean it;--we have made an exchange.”

“An exchange?” The fosterer gwe a whistle. “So it was jockeying you

were? Well, God sees I never suspected that Mister Diez was in the line,

and fancied that he used halters on two-legged animals only. Did you

stand a knock?--and what did he allow ye for the old trooper?”

“Nothing.”

“‘Well, let me see if he’s all right. You offered him _eighty?_--and

you’ll pay the money if anybody leaves you a fortune.”

“Eighty!--Pshaw! Look again, Mark.”

The fosterer made a circuit, and examined that horse which erstwhile had

not borne “the weight of Antony,” but the Due d’Abrantes.

“Oh, upon my conscience, I’m fairly puzzled. He’s up to fourteen stone

with fox-hounds; and, unless he’s a deceiver, he has _the go_ in him.

May be, ye promised a _hundred?_”

“A hundred! Why, Mark, I fancied you knew something of a horse--_a

hundred?_”

“Stop for a minute. Mister Cammaran, would ye be so civil as to hold the

bridle?” and down got the fosterer. “I’ll just slip my hands over his

hocks. Clean as a whistle! What’s that, inside the off leg?--It’s a

lump of clay. Feaks, I thought it looked like a splint at first. Did you

examine his wind?”

“Never asked a question about it,” I observed, carelessly.

“Then ye’r done to a turn. Oh! Mister Empecinado, may the divil’s luck

attend ye! Spakin people fair and asy, and only waiting to walk into

them afterwards! Did ye even get an engagement?”

“Not a line;--I took the horse on chance!”

“Feaks! and ye might as well, I fancy; for I suppose if he was a regular

roarer” (here be it understood the horse and not the Empecinado was

meant), “all the attorneys in Connaught couldn’t find Mister Diez out,

and serve him with a latitat.”

“But what is the horse worth, Mark? Never mind latitats and attorneys.”

“Worth? In Balinasloe he would fetch a hundred readily.”

“Only a hundred?”

“Well, if he took the pound-wall kindly, ye might lay on thirty more.

Did he gwe you a dacent luck-penny?”

“Not a farthing,” I replied.

“Well, after all, the Spaniards are shabby divils in horse-dealing.”

“Mr. O’Toole,” I said gravely,--“without allusions to luck-pennies,

pound-walls, splints or spavins,--what is this horse worth?”

Mark Antony scratched his head, an invariable remedy resorted to by an

Irishman in a puzzle. “If he’s all right--feeds well--”

“Come, come--take all for granted.”

“Well,” said Mark Antony, “hee’s value for a hundred and fifty, or he’s

the biggest thief on earth. But I know there’s not a wink on Mr. Diez,

and he laid it on pretty heavy.”

“Which, light or heavy, you ingrate, will be yours,” and I repeated the

terms of the bargain.

The fosterer was confused.

“Well, in faith, Master Hector, they’re the quarest people to deal with

I ever met with. One while ye’r drinking with them fair and asy; the

next jumping into a river to save ye’r life. Here, half-a-score of men

are shot: there, another batch are hanged. The fellow that sleeps beside

you to-night is dead as a mackarel the next morning. All--hanging and

shooting--and you can nather make head nor tail of what it’s all about.

That _critch_ * they call El Manco strings up the postmaster, I suppose,

because he mislays a letter; and the Curate throttles the mule-driver

for no other reason than that he delivered another safely. Troth, I’m

right glad that we have parted company, although grately obliged to Mr.

Diez for his civility. Indeed, I think he’s the best of the batch. El

Manco has the gallows in his face; and if it wouldn’t be sinful to spake

ill of the clargy, that father what-do-ye-call-him in the colonel’s

coat, is one of the loosest-looking parish-priests I ever came across.

But, come, let us jog on; the evening appears gloomy, and the Lord only

knows where we are to put up to-night. If one could get into some quiet

house for a wonder--not that I expect to sleep--for sorra thing I’ll

drame of for a month of Sundays, but gallowses, guerillas, dead men, and

every kind of divilry besides.”

* Anglice--“cripple.”

Before Mark Antony had done speaking, the partida rode up, pointed to

the dark appearance of the sky, and intimated that we had three leagues

to ride before we should reach our intended quarters. We took the hint

accordingly’, and spurred forward in the hope of reaching our halting

place before the rain came on.

We were disappointed. On the verge of the horizon, distant lightning

began to scintillate like northern-lights; and, hardly audible, now and

again the growl of a coming storm fell upon the ear. Momentarily the

flashes became more vivid, the thunder became more distinct, large drops

fell, and the guide declared that the tempest must burst immediately,

and the first shelter we could reach would be a happy deliverance. There

was a venta immediately beside us. It was remote, ill-kept, and bore but

an indifferent reputation. If we could put up with bad fare and other

inconveniences, there we would find shelter. If, however, we would risk

a drenching for more comfort, we must abide the storm, and push on. We

held a brief consultation. Suddenly the sky appeared to open; a flash of

blue lightning issued from the riven cloud--we felt its heat distinctly;

a peal of thunder, such as I had never heard before, succeeded; and with

one voice we cried out for the neighbouring venta. The guerilla turned

instantly sharp off into a narrow and neglected road, diverging on the

left from the main route. We followed on the spur, and just as the rain

began to fall we galloped into the yard of an inn, which had been once

an establishment of considerable extent.

Unpromising as it might appear, that evening it was eagerly desired.

A furlong off we saw half-a-dozen horsemen spurring down the hill, and

evidently bound for the same destination. As precedency belongs to

the first comers, we were determined to secure that best point in

law--possession; and while the guerilla and Mark Antony led the horses

to the stable, the French voltigeur and I entered the house, occupied

the best corners of a bad kitchen, and made immediate inquiries into

the actual state of the larder and wine bins. Alas! neither question

was replied to satisfactorily. All was answered in the past. On Tuesday,

there had been a side of goat--three travelling merchants pronounced it

excellent; on Wednesday, the same trwellers finished a pig--the best

the landlord had killed since St. Stephen’s; on Thursday, there had been

partridges; (Friday, being a meagre day, was omitted in the account;)

on Saturday, pigeons and a podrida. Sunday, Monday, and Tuesday,

every thing was also excellent, and so varied that the host could not

correctly enumerate the delicacies under which the table groaned. But,

unluckily, to-day, and by a most calamitous fatality, nothing was to be

had, good, bad or indifferent!

Before this miserable report had been concluded, a bustle in the yard

announced the arrival of the wayfarers whom we had observed pricking

down the hill; and while we were still listening to some wretched

expedients which the landlord was proposing as an apology for a supper,

two of the new comers made their _entrée_. They approached the fire,

after having laid their wet riding cloaks aside; and the difference

between the external appearances of the twain was so very ridiculous,

that, by mutual impulse, Cammaran and I interchanged a smile.

One seemed an hildalgo of the Quixotic school--a thin, tall, shabby

half-starved looking gentleman. His gait was stiff and lofty; and at

first, the unhappy man seemed to labour under a delusion that we would

resign a corner in his favour. Speedily that error of opinion was

removed; and he ascertained, that upon us the imprint of his dignity

was lost. He therefore contented himself with taking a place before the

fire, demanding, in lordly tones, attendance, and more fuel,--“but none

did come, though he did call for them.”

The other was a round, stumpy, well-fed, happy-looking little man, now

touching close upon the grand climacteric. The world had evidently

gone well with him, to judge by what, in Ireland, they would term “a

cozey-character” of countenance. He poked the fire, but complained not;

talked of the wild evening, and blessed the saints he was under shelter;

hoped, rather than expected, that we might obtain a supper; concluding

with a Christian-like expression of resignation, that really would

have done honour to a Turk. New appeals were in the interim made to the

landlord. The hidalgo swaggered; well, as the fancy say, it was “no go.”

The voltigeur stormed--the answer invariably was, “I don’t understand

ye.” The little man was responded to by a shrug; and all we could learn

from him of the posada was, that the past had been a land of Goshen--the

future bade fair to exceed it--but that the present was a dreary blank,

which might be beneficially employed for the soul’s health in the shape

of mortification. As for me, I should have objected, in Falstaff’s vein,

to fast “upon compulsion,” when the door opened, and in came our partida

escort, the fosterer, and three of the most ferocious-looking scoundrels

I ever laid an eye upon, “armed to the teeth.”

“Why, how now,” exclaimed one of them,--“nothing like supper yet?”’

“Don’t be in any hurry.” said the little man; “Senhor!--there was one

here, I think last Tuesday, and very excellent--roast pig, a podrida,

and some partridges; and should you happen to pass this way within a

fortnight, you’ll come in for a leg of a very promising porker, provided

they can only catch him in the beech-wood.”

The strangers began to storm; the host appeared, reluctantly underwent a

searching examination; and nothing transpired, but that there had been,

and would be, entertainment. A most unsatisfactory discussion ensued.

The hectoring of the ill-looking gentlemen, who had just joined us, had

no effect; and as they say in England, that there is a certain “Duke

Humphrey,” who keeps a most inhospitable table, I began to fancy that

he had another establishment in the peninsula, and that for our sins, we

had unluckily stumbled on the house; but, glory to the Empecinado! I was

again beholden to him for a supper.

Taking the host aside, the partida commenced a whispering conversation.

What was the subject none could guess, but momentarily the argument

waxed warmer. The guerilla gesticulated--the landlord drew up his

shoulders to his ears. At last the horseman’s countenance assumed a look

of ferocity that threatened ruin to the venta and all appertaining

to the same; and plunging his hand into his bosom, he suddenly

produced--not a knife, as the host apprehended, to judge from the

rapidity of his retreat--but a paper, of small dimensions, whose writing

appeared to possess a cabalistic influence.

“Read!” cried the partida, furiously. “And if thou wouldst not have this

old building reduced to ashes, and afterwards swing at thy own sign-post

before eight and forty hours pass, lead these gentlemen to a fitting

chamber, and prepare their supper incontinently. Dost thou hesitate,

fellow?--be it so--I will faithfully acquaint the Empecinado how

willingly his orders were obeyed.”

“By every saint in the calendar!” exclaimed the unhappy innkeeper, “you

wrong me, sir. A dog sent hither by that most respected gentleman, would

be more welcome than another man’s horse. I fly to obey your orders. Oh!

that we had but killed the pig this morning! But the will of Heaven be

done!”

The effect of Juan Diez’ name upon the host was scarcely more potent

than it appeared upon the guests generally. The hidalgo lost a moiety of

his self-importance, the handy-looking little man became uncomfortable,

the audacity of the spados vanished, and every look in the company was

turned deferentially towards me, the Frenchman, and the fosterer.

That this honest innkeeper had not held promise only to the ear, was

forthwith evidenced. Culinary operations commenced, and the whole venta

was immediately in an uproar. After despatching a sorry meal of black

bread and goat’s-milk cheese, washed down with a glass or two of _aqua

ardiente_, the ill-visaged trwellers pleaded business, and took their

departure, although the rain fell fast, and the next house of call was

more than two leagues distant. Presently the host appeared, and, with

a profound bow, announced that the chamber for our reception was in

readiness. We rose and left the kitchen, and were conducted into a

half-ruined sort of hall, to which, however, a tolerable wood fire and

spread table gave a comfortable air. A leathern bottle was on the table,

to which we immediately applied; and, with an assurance that all haste

consistent with superior cookery should be employed in the preparation

of an excellent supper, the host left us to ourselves.

“Not bad wine, by Saint Anthony!” exclaimed Lieutenant Cammaran.

“You have had some experience of Juan Diez as an enemy,” I replied; “now

what think you of him as a friend?”

“Think of him?” said the voltigeur: “why, that I would rather travel

Spain with his letter of introduction in my pocket, than even with an

autograph of the Emperor’s. He is a most estimable gentleman, were

it not for that infernal fancy he has of using hemp and gunpowder

so liberally. No matter: as my neck’s safe, here’s your health,

_Empecinado_!”

“But,” observed the fosterer, “did you remark the effect the first

whisper of his name had upon the thieves who set out upon their travels

for the evening? They’re regular highwaymen, for a hundred,--up to

everything, from stripping a priest of his vestment, to stealing a

pinafore from a child. By the Lord! I thought they would have choaked

themselves struggling with cheese that would have soled a shoe. But

here’s the old fellow of the inn,--I hope to tell us something about

supper.”

The host announced the welcome tidings that in a few minutes our repast

should be paraded: and further added, that he was commissioned to

inquire whether we would permit the two gentlemen who had remained in

the kitchen, to join our company--and the host was ready, even upon

oath, to guarantee their respectability. The lineage of the hidalgo was

so ancient, that all traces of it were lost; and of the doctor, Fame

spake loudly, as a personage who could do anything but raise the dead.

To this double application I returned a gracious reply; and in five

minutes a powerful odour of garlic and onions was felt in the direction

of the kitchen, and the innkeeper re-entered with a huge turreen.

heralding to our presence the descendant of Don Quixote, and his friend

the short stout gentleman.

CHAPTER XXXIV. FARTHER ADVENTURES--MEMOIR OF THE VOLTIGEUR.

“She turned her face unto the wall.

Her colour changed to pallid clay;

Long ere the dews began to fall.

The flower of Ettriek lifeless lay.”

The Queen’s Wake.

|Never was a Lord Mayor’s dinner put on a table with more ceremony,

than that with which our supper was served up; and yet, the whole

entertainment was embodied in one tureen. What its contents were, none,

save those who designed and fabricated the medley, could even pretend

to guess at. In an ocean of oleaginous liquid, a lean fowl was floating,

surrounded by shapeless substances, which might possibly be either

“fish, flesh, or good salt herring.” It looked grease, and smelt

garlic. The host, however, praised it excessively, and so would an

Esquimaux; but I am morally certain, it was the last thing, in the shape

of a light supper, that either Paris or Abernethy would have recommended

to a dyspeptic patient.

And yet it was marvellous how much the lean hidalgo and the little

doctor, “who all but raised the dead,” managed to consume, and seemed

delighted with their fare. To me, it was an unspeakable relief when

the abominable composition was totally removed; and indeed, for an hour

afterwards, the apartment was not endurable.

Early, the hidalgo and physician were summoned to their dormitory and

withdrew; and we agreed generally that it was a prudent step on the

gentleman’s part, the mess he had swallowed considered, to sleep with

his doctor in the apartment.

From the general appearance of the establishment, we had no reason to

expect that the sleeping department would be an exception to the rest,

and consequently we were in no hurry to make the experiment. Some very

wretched wine was exchanged for better, on a hint from the guerilla,

that there was such a person as the Empecinado in existence. The

Frenchman was exceedingly companionable; the night was wet and stormy;

the partida heaped on wood, as if the host had been proprietor of a

forest; and we still sate on, regardless of sundry intimations from the

innkeeper, that the clock of a neighbouring monastery had “gone twelve.”

“And was this your first adventure, gentlemen?” inquired the voltigeur.

“Our first in Spain,” I replied; “and certainly, in no smaller portion

of human life could more unexpected incidents have been crowded, than

into those which have just occurred.”

“It is true,” returned the Frenchman; “the opening of my military career

was sufficiently eventful, but yours exceeds it far.”

“May I ask where the scene lay?” I demanded of the lieutenant.

“It commenced,” he replied, “under the most brilliant successes which

ever intoxicated a conqueror--in Germany--only to witness the greatest

reverses which ever overtook insatiable ambition. I served, gentlemen,

in that accursed country, where the bones of three hundred thousand

gallant men are blanching--that grave to the glory of France, that

boundary to the ambition of Napoleon--Russia.”

“And were you engaged in that luckless expedition?” I inquired.

“I was. Mine is but a brief history; and as you heard me, under peculiar

circumstances, make allusions to my orphan child, I will, in a few

words, tell you her father’s story, and briefly detail the adventures of

THE VOLTIGEUR.”

“Like most of the distinguished officers in our service--but do not,

gentlemen, suppose for a moment that I include myself in the list--I am

humbly born. My mother was the daughter of a vine-dresser--my father,

ranger of a forest. You see that I lay no claim to ancestry--but the

villagers assert that my parents were the handsomest and fondest couple

in the commune. Their course of love and life was brief alike. My mother

died in giving me birth--and three years afterwards my father was shot

accidentally by a _chasseur_, while hunting in the forest of which he

had the charge.

The grief felt and expressed by the Seigneur at this unfortunate

occurrence was deep and lasting. At once he adopted me, and I became an

inmate of the chateau. There I was brought up and educated; and having

evinced an early taste for music, that talent was cultivated, and

at eighteen I played on several instruments, and my singing was

particularly admired.

The Seigneur had an only child, a daughter. He had been early left a

widower; and naturally of retired habits and sombre disposition,

he lived in comparative seclusion, dividing his time between two

all-engrossing objects, the chase and his daughter’s education.

Pauline was now fourteen, and of very opposite temperament to her

father--sprightly, spirited, and affectionate--every action was the

effect of impulse. Poor Pauline! like many in the world, she acted

first, and thought of it afterwards.

With the father and the child I was equally a favourite. To the

forest I accompanied the Seigneur, when he hunted: and for Pauline,

I dressed her flower-garden, sang _chanson d’amour_, and played in the

evening on the flute. How long, in that remote domain, I might have

continued to dream life thus away I know not. The great event in my

history occurred--I was drawn in the conscription, and the guitar was

exchanged for the musket.

For three years I followed the eagles of the Emperor. Battle after

battle was won, and kingdom after kingdom submitted, and was partitioned

or disposed of in whatever way was pleasing to the conqueror. Europe was

almost at Napoleon’s feet; and, save to England alone--that indomitable

enemy to his colossal strides towards the subjugation of a world--his

voice was law. After the signature of the treaty of Tilsit, there came a

short and deceitful calm. Many of the soldiery obtained leave to revisit

that land a Frenchman loves so dearly. I was of the number; and one

sweet September evening, he who had left the chateau, half-huntsman

half-troubadour, presented himself to the Seigneur and Pauline, a

sous-lieutenant.

What a change three years had wrought upon us all! The Seigneur had

become grey as a badger. I left Pauline a girl--I found her a woman; and

the bud of beauty was now mature. On me the alteration was still more

striking: and in the countenance of the dark-browned soldier, bronzed by

climate, and marked with a sword-scar, it would have been difficult to

recall the laughing features of the youth, whose morn was passed idly in

the chase, and his evening in singing love-ditties to the moon.

The poor Seigneur knew nothing of the world. The hunter boy was a safe

companion for his daughter--the soldier a dangerous one. No suspicion

crossed his mind. I again took up my residence in the chateau.

Pauline was more than pretty; the place was sadly remote; we were both

musical--youth, loveliness, and music! Pshaw! these cleared his way, and

Love slipped in.

The Seigneur was rich--and on wealth he set great value. His lineage was

old; and nobody in Provence attached more importance to descent. He had

began to fancy that it would soon be time to look for an alliance

for his daughter; and he occasionally made sly inquiries touching the

ancestry and rent-rolls of his neighbours. Great, however, was our

surprise, one afternoon, when he suddenly announced that he had nearly

concluded a marriage treaty between Pauline and a wealthy proprietor.

This information, at first astounding, only precipitated what would have

more tardily occurred. We were married secretly, the next evening;

under other circumstances, we might have been dreaming of it for another

fortnight.

It was fortunate for us that the Seigneur was proverbially slow in all

his movements; and his intended son-in-law equally cautious. Neither

would stir an inch, excepting under the especial direction of his

notary. All the time, the intimation simply that a hymeneal treaty was

in progress being deemed quite enough to render Pauline a consenting

party. The suitor was a fool, who considered every woman would feel

honoured by being allied to him; and the simple Seigneur could never

comprehend, that any daughter should or could do otherwise than what her

father exactly pointed ont. Poor man! while he was arranging matters to

secure a son, he would have come nearer to the mark, had he been making

preparations for the reception of a grandaughter.

Lost in lovers’ dreams, Pauline and I saw day after day pass; and

frequently, when we spoke of a discovery, which circumstances would

render inevitable before long, we laughed and trembled at the effect it

was likely to produce upon her father. It is true the event was somewhat

distant; and as long as it were possible, the secret must be kept. But

a more sudden blow was impending--it fell, and both were rendered

miserable.

If ever man were drunk with fortune, it was Napoleon. He had reached the

highest pinnacle of human fortune, that the wildest ambition could soar

to; yet, blinded by prosperity so dazzling, he was dissatisfied,--and,

forming the most romantic projects, like a desperate gambler, he risked

all that he had gained--“wearied his good genius, and provoked his

fate.” In a word, he first commenced an unjust and impolitic war here,

in the peninsula, and followed that madness out by a still madder

act--the invasion of Russia.

Although for more than a year, the hostile attitudes assumed by Napoleon

and Alexander, showed mistrust on both sides, few suspected that

the crisis should come so suddenly. The remoteness of the Seigneur’s

estate--the little intercourse he held with any who knew what was

passing in the world, left us in blissful ignorance. And the first

intimation I had, that I was about to enter on a bloody and disastrous

campaign, was a peremptory command to set out for Dantzic at an hour’s

notice. The sudden order prevented Pauline and me from taking any steps

to communicate the secret of our marriage; and at the moment when woman

requires the greatest attention from a husband, I was obliged to abandon

the home of my youth, and her whom I had sworn to cherish and protect.

Already the routes through Germany were crowded with enormous masses of

fighting men. Never, in modern warfare, was such an army collected and

set in motion. Conceive more than five hundred thousand combatants, of

all arms--including sixty thousand horsemen, and twelve hundred pieces

of artillery! The very enormity of the vast machine would have required

a superhuman mind to direct it.

I need not dwell upon the campaign. On we went!--on--on--on! as if urged

by an overruling fatality. The Russians prudently retired--that was

called fear--the weather for a few days was moderate; and our leader

madly fancied that the horrors of the icy north were fabulous. Oh! how

fatally that fallacy of his turned out!

I pass the less interesting portion of this tragic campaign. The mind

that conceived the monstrous undertaking, could not be sane. The haughty

assumption of the Emperor struck many a thinking soldier as being

incompatible with the statesman’s prudence; and when assuming the mantle

of prophecy, and in reply to a temperate appeal, exclaiming, “a

fatality involves them; let their destinies be fulfilled!” he rejected

conciliatory advances, and flung the scabbard from the sword, more than

Talleyrand pronounced, that Fortune and he had shaken hands and parted;

and the sad results of that mad aggression upon Russia proved its truth.

A circumstance occurred, that looked like an evil augury; and, to the

superstitious, foreboded evil results. Although the month was July, at

Pilony a rain storm nearly overwhelmed the men and horses of a whole

division. Of the latter, several hundreds were lost; and at Lismori,

a thunderbolt fell into the bivouac of the Old Guard, and destroyed

several of our veteran soldiers.

But the decree was passed; and our leader pushed forward where the

finger of destiny pointed. At Witepsk, the enemy presented themselves

in order of battle, after retiring, in perfect order, and holding every

inch of forest through which we passed. That they were intimidated,

was a manifest absurdity; their skirmishers held the ground boldly and

freely,--mingled with ours as they advanced. From the audacity with

which they awaited our approach, and singled out individuals, we lost

some valuable officers; and in the very centre of his escort, General

Roussel was pistoled by a Russian dragoon. It was evident that policy,

not fear, induced the enemy to recede. In a cavalry affair, the next

morning, a regiment of chasseurs were charged, and heavily cut up by

some squadrons of the Cossack Guard, and nothing but the immediate

support of an infantry corps saved them from destruction. Napoleon was a

looker-on, and directed the movement by which the regiment was rescued.

On the heights beyond the Lonchesa, we observed the whole Russian army

in position. A battle would be received, and we bivouacked, waiting for

morning, to fail on. At day-break we were, under arms. Where was the

enemy we were to assail? On the preceding night, Barclay de Tolly had

abandoned his position; and that, too, with so little precipitation,

that the very route he took was doubtful;--neither dismounted guns, nor

dead horses, pointing the line of his retreat. The youngest soldier,

as he passed over a country ravaged and deserted, began to suspect the

reason that a conflict had been declined. It was masterly policy; and

the sacrifices it cost in the outset, were amply repaid in the end.

At this period of the advance, we suffered dreadfully from heat and

scarcity of water. Many a _veille moustache_ asserted that an Egyptian

sun was more endurable. Then, the weather would change suddenly,--rain

fall in torrents,--and, from the difficulty of the roads, render

marching almost impracticable. We thought our hardships severe enough.

Little did we imagine those that remained in store!

Smolensko was fought--and, after a doubtful contest, the victory was

gained.--Gained! When the city could no longer be defended, the Russians

fired it, simultaneously, in an hundred quarters; and the fruits of a

bloody conflict was a town laid in ashes by the very men who held it so

desperately to the last!

On other points, the French arms were equally successful; and here it

was believed that Napoleon would pause; organize Roland--hold Riga,

Witepsk, and Smolensko,--and wait the return of spring. But, having

dictated terms to the conquered, even in the palaces they had

occupied--regardless of desert roads and coming winter, without

magazines or hospitals, and, leaving the Moldwian army in his rear, he

determined to march direct upon “the sacred city.” It was said, that the

prudent of those around him, remonstrated strongly against this act of

madness; but the Emperor’s resolution was not to be shaken.

On we went; and the Russians, to cover Moscow, received battle on the

heights of Borodino. With nearly equal numbers, two hundred and fifty

thousand combatants were for twelve hours engaged in murderous conflict.

Night ended it. The victors bivouacked on the ground they had gained at

a sacrifice that shocks humanity--and the vanquished retired in perfect

order, leaving the conquerors a field of battle. O God! such a field

as the morning of the 8th disclosed!--sixty thousand dead or dying men,

interspersed with five-and-twenty thousand horses.

Well, the road to Moscow was open, but every step we advanced showed the

madness of the proceeding. If we reached a town, we found it in a blaze;

if we met a village, it was totally deserted. Cattle were driven off;

provisions burned or buried; the peasantry had risen _en masse_ and

every man’s hand was against us; but still our infatuated leader

persevered in his mad career, and recklessly pushed on.

It was fondly supposed, that Moscow once gained, our hardships

would terminate, and a winter of repose reward the privations we had

undergone. That hope was false; Moscow, like the meanest village we had

seen ruined, was also devoted to destruction. We entered it at noon; few

inhabitants had remained; and none were seen in the deserted streets but

a few felons who had left the jails, and some wretched outcasts of the

other sex. Every dwelling, from the palace of the noble to the shop of

the meanest artisan, was abandoned. The churches alone contained any

living occupants, and they were the wounded only, or those whom age or

infancy had rendered incapable of retiring with the remainder of its

inhabitants from the doomed city.

Although an army was in the place, still it looked a splendid desert.

Every soldier whom you met was loaded with costly plunder. It appeared a

city of enchantment. Houses, splendidly furnished, invited the passer to

go in; and he might have freely traversed every sumptuous room which

the building contained, and met with nothing living. It was, in truth, a

fearful picture of deserted magnificence.

Suddenly, an alarm was heard. It was not caused either by secret

surprise, nor an approaching enemy. At several points a dense smoke was

visible; flames broke out in different quarters of the city; no water

was to be procured, nor engines could be found; and a fearful rumour

began to prevail, that Moscow had been determinately fired.

It was too true. By an act of desperate devotion, every private feeling

had yielded to public necessity--the most extraordinary national

sacrifice which history records was decreed and executed--and “the

sacred city” was laid in ashes, by the hands of those who regarded it

with a holy veneration, approaching to idolatry.

To Napoleon the destruction of Moscow was a blow neither expected nor

remediable. The stake, for which he played the wildest game, was at the

same moment, won and lost. To reach the city of the Czars was the object

for which he cast every prudential consideration to the winds--and what

resulted? He dated a few despatches from the ruins of a city, to gain

which two hundred thousand soldiers were to form the sad consideration.

The fire momentarily increased--the wind rose, blew in a fatal

direction, and the flames spread fearfully. There were quarters which

the raging element had not reached, but incendiaries fired the houses,

and the whole city was speedily sheeted in one broad blaze, far too

irresistible for human agency to arrest. Then followed violence

and rapine. Those of the inhabitants who had not removed, secreted

themselves in vaulted cellars, or the remoter portions of their houses,

most likely to afford concealment; while others remained before shrine

and altar, trusting to their sanctity for protection. From all, the

angry element obliged those unfortunates to retire. They were forced

into streets where bands of drunken soldiers mingled with galley-slaves

and robbers, launched by sad accident as a curse upon the world again,

and maddened now by intoxication. With all the excesses of plunder,

they mingled the most degrading and horrible debauchery. “Neither

nobility of blood, the innocence of youth, nor the tears of beauty,

were respected. The licentiousness was cruel and boundless; but it

was inevitable, in a savage war, in which sixteen different nations,

opposite in their manners and their language, thought themselves at

liberty to commit every crime.”

That night I never rested for a second. Though removed from the

immediate vicinity of the conflagration, the lurid glare of the burning

city penetrated the closet in which I sought repose, and female shrieks,

and deeper cries of murder, fell loud and frequent on the ear. To add to

the horror of the hellish scene, even animal sufferings were added. The

watch-dogs, chained at the doors, had not been liberated: and as the

flames reached them, their howlings were heart-rending.

God forbid that I should ever witness such a scene again! The next day

came. The fire raged more furiously than ever, and murder and violence,

and every villany, continued. I strove, if possible, to fly from human

crime and suffering; and in the evening found myself clear of the

walls of Moscow, in a suburb totally detached, and, to all appearance,

entirely deserted.

Generally, the houses were mean, and had belonged to the humbler

classes, who live in the environs of a city. Here and there, houses

enclosed with gardens and high walls were interspersed; and, as I

afterwards understood, were residences of wealthy merchants, who neither

would incur the expense or affect the display which the occupancy of

nobler mansions within the walls demanded. I looked back--the city was

in a blaze--a sheet of fire and smoke, by turns, as the flames were fed

or smouldered. The lonely suburb, whither I had wandered, was deserted,

but not ravaged. Indeed, here the plunderer would have only wasted time,

when within there was so much to repay the most boundless cupidity.

Accident directed me: 1 turned down a narrow passage; a lane led to

a garden-gate; it was open, and the ruins of wliat had been a pretty

country house were visible. The garden was destroyed--the shrubs and

fruit-trees broken--many hoof-marks were apparent in the soft earth;

and litter strewed the ground, and showed, that the evening before the

Emperor entered Moscow, an advanced picket had made, the chateau and

grounds its bivouac. No living thing was visible; a dog-chain hung

beside the door of the ruined mansion. Even that was a mute testimony of

abandonment.

I was still looking at the deserted building, and fancying the happy

home it might have been but a few days since, when a wild and piercing

shriek was heard from the rear; and a young girl rushed from behind the

house, followed by two Polish lancers, and both were infuriated with

brandy. One seized her in his arms. I called on him to desist; but he

held her with a firmer grasp, while his companion confronted me--and in

a moment both sabres were unsheathed, and we commenced a deadly combat.

Of the two, I was the better swordsman;--pressed the villain hard--and

would have cut him down.--I heard a wild scream,--a blow from behind

stunned me--a dreamy recollection followed of others fighting. The rest

is blank.

I awoke--where was I? Candles burned at my bed-side; and an old man, and

a girl, particularly handsome, sate at either side.

“Where am I?” was my first question. The girl replied, in tolerable

French, and assured me I was in perfect safety, and all around me were

friends. Gradually, my memory came back; and in the young female at my

side, I recollected her whom I had protected.

It appeared, that in the affray I had with the lancers, I had been cut

down by a treacherous blow from the comrade of the fellow I was engaged

with. The cries of the girl, and the clashing of sabres, alarmed the

family, who came to my assistance too late to save me from injury, but

in time to revenge, what they believed to be, my death. The villains

were despatched without mercy--their bodies concealed till night,

and then carried to a distance, and thrown into a sewer,--a necessary

precaution, to prevent the suspicion that might arise should they have

been discovered, and their deaths have occasioned inquiry.

Where was I? I looked around, and saw that the apartment was vaulted,

and lighted by a lamp. Everything was not only comfortable, but

luxurious--and Polowna--for so the fair girl who nursed me was

designated, at my request explained the mystery.

Her father and kinsmen were merchants: and when Napoleon menaced Russia

with invasion, with more forethought than was generally exercised,

they prepared against a visitation that, though not probable, was still

within the range of possibility. Beneath their country house, cellars of

spacious size had been originally constructed, with a secret entrance,

wherein to deposit merchandise which the Russian laws declared

contraband. Though long disused, in this season of insecurity they were

prepared for a different purpose. When the field of Borodino proved

unsuccessful, and Napoleon approached the sacred city, Strenowitz, as

the merchant was called, had everything valuable transferred from the

chateau to the cellars; and having laid in all necessaries for supplying

his family and servants during their confinement, the dwelling was

apparently deserted,--and even those who resided in his immediate

neighbourhood, believed that he had followed the example of the

wealthier Muscowites, and removed into the interior. The destruction of

the chateau, by the picket who had occupied it, added to the security

of the family;--a ruined house held out no inducement to the plunderer;

and, excepting the evening Polowna was surprised by the marauders who

had wounded me, and paid the penalty with death, the concealment of

Strenowitz escaped any visitation from the enemy, during the period that

Napoleon continued to occupy his dearly-bought conquest.

My recovery was tedious,--the scull had been slightly fractured; and

hence great care was necessary. Never was a soldier more tenderly

attended to; and had I heart to spare, it should have been offered to

Polowna. To quit my concealment would have compromised the safety of my

young preserver; and, indeed, until after Napoleon abandoned Moscow, and

commenced his calamitous retreat, I should not have been able to leave

my couch.

Too late the Emperor found the terrible truth confirmed, to which he had

hitherto obstinately refused credence. We could no longer remain in

that ruined capital, which he had risked everything to obtain; and

Lauriston’s mission to Kutusoff proved a failure. The 22d of October was

the day of our deliverance. The young guard retired from the ruins of

Moscow; and, in an hour afterwards, a tremendous explosion announced

that the last work of destruction was completed, and the Kremlin was no

more.

The retreat of the invading army forms a frightful picture of

retributive suffering. It shall be passed over;--one fact will tell

its fearful history.--Four hundred thousand splendid soldiers, at the

opening of the campaign, passed the Neimen: on the 13th of December,

which may be taken as the termination of the retreat, scarcely twenty

thousand men recrossed that fatal stream.

For my own part, I had long since been reported dead; and when my health

was sufficiently restored, when the exertions of my excellent protectors

obtained my liberty, and I rejoined the skeleton of my regiment, I was

looked upon by the few survivors as one returned from the grwe. But

every league that brought me nearer to France seemed to remove a weight

from my bosom, and my heart beat lighter. Pauline, in all her pride of

beauty, was before my eyes--and in fancy, I was a father. I obtained

leave to return home for the recovery of my health--and I hurried to

that home where the smiles of my young bride would welcome me. Alas!

Pauline was in the grave, and a broken-hearted old man and helpless

orphan, occupied a dwelling in all the gloom of bereavement, which once

was the abode of loveliness and plighted faith. I listened to the sad

narration half stupified with grief. Pauline had confessed her secret

marriage, and had been forgiven. The hour of trial came; and, at

that dreaded moment, the intelligence of my supposed death was rashly

communicated--and it killed her! Enough; I bore the visitation like a

man; and when an order came to join a battalion of my regiment in Spain,

I willingly obeyed it. You know the rest; and, but for you, if the

dead are united in another world--as my heart fondly tells me that they

are--I would have been with thee, Pauline!

He stopped; a tear trickled down his cheek; and, to divert the sadness

of his thoughts, I proposed that we should retire for the night. The

host lighted us to a dirty and comfortless apartment; and, without

undressing, we threw ourselves on the outside of the bed-coverings,

and, wrapped in our cloaks, were speedily asleep. We were still fast

as watchmen, when the guerilla roused us. For all, he had agreeable

intelligence. There was a post established lately by General Laval,

but two leagues off, occupied by a party of French lancers.--that the

voltigeur could join easily. A few miles, in an opposite direction, a

squadron of Julian Sanchez light cwalry were cantoned; and once with

them, the fosterer and I would be in safety. Accordingly, after an

early breakfast, we took leave of each other, each to follow out his

respective fortunes, and, not improbably, meet again--upon a field of

battle.

One thing I must not forget: when summoned to the court-yard to mount

our horses, we found the hidalgo and his friend, the little physician,

settling accounts with the worthy host. On certain charges in the score,

the parties held very opposite opinions. A long and bootless argument

ensued; and, as disputants occasionally will part, the monetary

transaction of the morning seemed to have raised neither in the

estimation of the other.

In turn I advanced to the landlord, paraded my purse, and demanded in

what I was indebted for great hospitality, excellent wine, and a supper.

“That would kill the divil!” was an addition of the fosterer’s.

With a profound bow, the host begged to leave the consideration entirely

to myself, and forthwith I produced a guinea. I never saw joy so

strikingly displayed: every line of the landlord’s face expanded--the

lip curled graciously--the eye sparkled; when a change as suddenly came

over it, and the countenance at once changed to the very picture

of despair. What could have caused this change? I turned my head.

Immediately behind me the partida guide was standing, his finger in a

monitory position, while his dark eye told the rest.

“Not for worlds,” faltered the unhappy man, “would I accept one real for

any poor service I could show a dog--I beg pardon, Senhor,--a gentleman,

who has the honour of Don Juan Diez’ acquaintance!”

The guerilla motioned us to ride on. I did not look back, but a groan

reached me from the doorway of the venta, as if a heart had broken.

There was no mistake about it--the landlord was the sufferer!

[Illustration: 0373]

CHAPTER XXXV. RETURN TO THE ALLIED ARMY--LETTERS FROM ENGLAND.

“King Henry. How now! what news? Why com’st

thou in such haste?

King Henry VI.

“Juliet. O, for a falconer’s voice.

To lure this tassel-gentle back again!”

Romeo and Juliet.

|The absolute authority exercised by the Partida leaders over the

Spanish population, was apparent in the readiness with which their

orders were obeyed--and of this, the independent style in which we had

lived at free quarters for the last week, would have been a sufficient

guarantee. Not contented with the demolition of his supper and the

occupation of the state apartments, we found that “mine host” had been

laid under farther requisitions, and obliged to remount the Frenchman

and Mark Antony, whose horses were sent back by two villagers to the

mountains.’ To a casual inquiry that I made touching the safe delivery

of the animals, the guerilla, who accompanied us, replied with a stare

expressive of surprise that a doubt should be entertained upon the

subject; and then pointing significantly to his neck, he led us to

clearly understand, that nothing insures punctuality and despatch like

an occasional application of the halter.

In the course of an hour’s ride we fell in with the party we expected,

and our guide delivered us over to their safe keeping, That night

we were entertained at the expense of an alcade, who loaded us with

civilities, and would listen to no hint of ours touching remuneration in

the morning. The extent of his hospitality, and the anxiety he evinced

to anticipate our wants, drew forth from me a flattering eulogium. As I

proceeded, the guerilla leader merely shrugged his shoulders---and then

privately assured me, that this generous functionary was one of the

greatest scoundrels in the province, and that he was more than suspected

of intriguing with the French. “He fancies that he blinds us--no

matter--we know him well--all I shall say, my friend, is--that for the

horse you ride, I would not have my neck in the same insecurity.”

As he spoke, we gained the crest of a hill which commanded an extensive

view of the flatter country that lay beneath, and from a small wood, at

a league’s distance in our front, we perceived the smoke of a large fire

curling upwards. The partida pointed to the spot, and told us that there

a picket of light German cwalry was bivouaced, and therefore, that his

escort was no longer necessary--then bade us a friendly farewell--and

in half an hour the fosterer and I found ourselves once more within the

allied outposts.

On announcing myself to the officer in command as the bearer of a

private despatch for Lord Wellington, I was furnished with a fresh horse

and the escort of a couple of dragoons--and leaving the Empecinado’s

present to the care of the fosterer, I immediately rode off to reach

head-quarters at Frenada.

As I passed through the different cantonments, I fancied a general

activity prevailed among the soldiers, which formed a striking contrast

to the quiet and repose in which, a week before, I had left the allied

camp. On the roads I had frequently encountered convoys moving in

various directions, and the commissariat department seemed to be

particularly on the alert. With an Irish officer, who was riding in the

same direction, I entered into conversation for a few minutes, while

I and my escort breathed our horses over a rough road that rendered a

quicker movement dangerous; and from him I ascertained that the allied

army was in perfect readiness, and it was the general opinion that “Lord

Wellington had mischief in his head!” As he spoke, wheeling round a

bending of the road, we came suddenly in sight of another that crossed

it at right angles; and at a quarter of a mile’s distance, observed a

staff-officer, followed by an orderly dragoon, riding towards the point

of junction at a pace which led me to infer that, like myself, he was

the bearer of despatches. “Talk of the devil,” exclaimed my loving

countryman--“may the Lord forgive me for saying so!--but that’s

himself!” The hint was quite sufficient--I spurred my horse, cantered

safely over as rugged a causeway as man could meet with--reached the

cross-roads--and halted at the point of junction, before the allied

commander gained it.

On perceiving me pull up, Lord Wellington reined his horse in, and a

brief colloquy ensued.

“Your name?”

“O’Halloran.”

“Whence come you?”

“From the Empecinado.”

“Where is he?”

“Heaven only knows.

“Your business?”

“To deliver a French despatch.”

“Are you aware of the contents?”

“No--we could not read it;” and I placed the packet in his hand. At one

rapid glance his eye ran over the secret characters--

“Ha! I have the key,” he muttered; then placing the document in his coat

pocket, he desired me to ride on, report myself at head quarters, wait

there for further orders, gave his horse the reins--and thus ended an

interview that had barely occupied a minute.

I remembered the marked politeness which he had lavished upon Peter

Crotty, and marvelled that his lordship had not the civility to even bid

“good morning” to a gentleman, who had risked a broken neck to carry him

a sheet-full of hieroglyphics.

I obeyed the order; and intending to hold myself, in readiness, in the

event of his lordship requiring any further information respecting the

singular manner in which the intercepted despatch had been obtained and

confided to me, was seeking some place wherein I might deposit my person

in the interim, when whom should I stumble on in the street, but the

fortunate object of the Great Captain’s hospitality--Lieutenant Crotty!

“Arrah!--murder--is it you?” was Peter’s opening inquiry.

I assured him of my identity.

“And who would have expected to meet ye here?” continued Peter; “and

what the divil druv ye back?”

“Why--I returned on an errand similar to your own on the morning of

that auspicious day when I had the pleasure of first making your

acquaintance.”

“And what was that?” demanded Mr. Crotty--“for upon my conscience I

forget it.”

“Nothing more, than to transact a little private business with Lord

Wellington.”

“Have ye met him yet?” inquired Peter.

“Merely on the road; I expect, however, to be favoured with an evening

interview.”

“Ah, then,” responded Mr. Crotty, “a pleasanter gentleman ye never met.

I hadn’t time to finish my story; for I remember that ould bothering

divil of a Colonel called me off. Well--when I rose to come away, he,

that’s Lord Wellington, says to me, ‘Arrah, Peter, won’t ye sit a little

longer?’ ‘Bad manners to me,’ says I, ‘but it’s more than I dare do.’

‘What a pity ye’r in such hurry,’ says he, ‘I suppose, however, it can’t

be helped at present; but the next time ye come, Peter, put ye’r best

breeches into your portmantle, and stop with us as long as ye can.’”

“And is his lordship generally so hospitable and polite to every body

that drops in with a message?”

“Oh, then, upon my sowl! he’s not. And if I swore it on a bag full of

bibles, there’s some of the divils here that wouldn’t believe me.

For one, there’s Major Fitzmaurice--and, Holy Mary! now that I mind

it--hasn’t he a whole bundle of letters for you! and he’s in the town

too.--Well, I’m not bothered with letter-writin, and that’s a comfort.

What would they have to tell me from home, but that rack rents would be

their ruin--and what could I say in favour of this villanous country,

where, if a man at times happens to have a dollar in his pocket,

he couldn’t get a drop to wet his whistle, although it was dry as a

lime-burner’s wig, because the people have neither change nor daceney.

But--see--there’s the man I spoke about--and now, may the Lord bless ye,

if it’s possible.” So saying, and pointing out Major Fitzmaurice, Peter

bolted round a corner, as he termed it, “for a rason he had of his own.”

In Major Fitzmaurice, I easily recognised the kind personage who had

shared his tent with me on mv first appearance in cantonments.

Like Peter Crotty, he also expressed much surprise at seeing me again,

when, as it might have been supposed, I was _en route_ to Valencia.

“I have a packet of letters for you,” he said; “and in hope that I might

meet with somebody bound for the east of Spain, I have carried them in

my pocket. How fortunate to have dropped upon you! I came in to dine

with some friends on the staff who are quartered in Frenada; and, if

you have no better engagement, you shall join them with me, and in the

evening we will return to the old shop. There it stands as formerly--the

same mattrass and bullock-trunk--and ‘ceade millia fealteagh.’ Talking

of trunks--I saw Peter Crotty leave you. He has put a finish to

his celebrated visit to Lord Wellington. Did he tell you of ‘the

portmantle,’ as he calls it, and his ‘best breeches’ into the bargain?”

“All these important facts were faithfully narrated to me.”

“Then come along--I’ll give you your despatches when I find my great

coat; and by the time you have perused them, dinner will be ready.”

I found, on opening the packet, four letters addressed to me, and two

to the fosterer. Mine were respectively written by my parents, my uncle,

and my mistress--and, may Heaven forgive me! love left duty in the

back-ground, and Isidora’s was the first seal broken.

I could scarcely believe that the letter I perused was hers. Not a year

since I met her a timid and retiring girl--she had never mingled with

society--to her, man was strange--she blushed when addressed--and if she

answered,

“Back recoiled, she knew not why,

E’en at the sound herself had made.”

But now, girlish apprehension had given place to woman’s firmness,

and with gentle but modest sincerity, she repeated her assurances of

attachment, told me how much pain my absence caused, and urged me, “if I

loved her,” to return.

My lady mother, of course, claimed next precedency. Her letter was dated

from London--for thither she had proceeded, as it appeared, accompanied

by her honoured lord. It breathed the warmest wishes of maternal

anxiety for my safety--hoped, as I was ill a Catholic country, that

I occasionally attended mass; hinted that my father became more

intolerant, since the priest had cursed Mark Antony for his truant

conduct to Biddy Toole--wondered what had brought them, meaning my

father and herself, to England--and on this point, she seemed at a dead

loss even to imagine what the object of their singular migration would

prove to be. It had been suddenly occasioned by the receipt of a letter;

and whether the poor dear Colonel was come over to speculate in the

stocks, or raise a regiment--which latter might God forbid! the thing

was equally mysterious. She had been introduced to a Mr. Hartley and his

daughter--English Catholics, and the nicest people in the world.

Would to Heaven, she continued, that, instead of following a horrible

profession, in which body and soul were equally endangered, I would

marry Miss Hartley--and, avoiding the dear Colonel’s example, settle

down for life with the general complement of legs and arms. There was

an extensive repetition of affectionate rigmarole in prayers and wishes;

but the gist lay, lady-like, in the Postscript.

“Remember the gospel I bound round your neck. Preserve it--but open it

only in extremity.”

Mr. Hartley’s epistle was purely diplomatic, and couched in such general

terms, that while they conveyed a meaning clearly, had the letter fallen

into the hands of my grandfather’s confessor, I question whether the

Jesuit himself could have unravelled it. All, as he led me to

understand, went prosperously. My parents were on the spot, and

perfectly unconscious of the action of the drama. He, Mr. Hartley,

wished me to return as quickly as I could with proper respect to

character. He concluded with one comprehensive sentence--“The cards play

favourably--the crisis is at hand.”

Had I expected to glean any information from my father’s despatch, I

should have been grievously disappointed. He had come to London, as

he admitted, “the Lord knew why.” The mysterious present of 500L. had

reached him in annual course, and the letter which enclosed it, conveyed

a wish to visit the metropolis, that he deemed prudent to obey. To a Mr.

Hartley, he had been especially recommended as a person deeply engaged

in some secret proceedings, which might prove of important advantage

to his family and himself. As yet, Mr. H. had not explained what these

proceedings were; but, as he had assured him, the Colonel, that I

was cognisant of all, and that in a few days himself should be fully

informed on the subject, he had, for delicate reasons, forbore to press

an explanation. The rest of the letter was rambling and unimportant. It

detailed the cursing of Mark Antony, and his own feud consequently, with

the priest--a disquisition upon out-post duty--attack in close columns,

and movements by echelons. It then proceeded to state, that as Mr.

Hartley had assured him that my stay on the Peninsula would be short,

and my speedy retirement from the army a certainty, he, the Colonel,

would recommend me, as I had lost my staff appointment, to decline going

to the east of Spain, retire from the Twenty-seventh, and continue with

Lord Wellington’s army as a volunteer. I should thus see more

service and sharp fighting--in my case a great desideratum. Acting

independently, I might have frequent opportunities of distinguishing

myself, which otherwise would only come in regimental routine. Every one

expected that the next would be a splendid campaign. For his own part,

he had hoped to have slipped over for a few months when the army took

the field, but the bare hint at the intention sent my mother into

hysterics. Here was a parenthesis about “weakness of women.” The whole

concluded in his observing that, if I had luck, many opportunities might

present themselves; but breaches, field-works, and defended bridges,

were especially recommended for me to try my hand upon. The Lord might

even send “a forlorn hope” in the way--that would be a happy chance--but

then “people must not be too sanguine.”

Indeed, more ingenious instructions forgetting a man securely shot,

were never penned by an affectionate parent. The means were so easy

and comprehensive, that I could have half persuaded myself that Mr.

Clifford’s steward and confessor had been of the number of counsellors

whom the worthy Colonel had called in.

I had just completed the perusal of my varied correspondence, when my

friend the Major called for me, and announced that dinner was waiting.

I accompanied him to another apartment, where I found half a dozen

gentlemen, whose “trade was war,” congregated around a table less

remarkable for correctness of appointment than solidity of fore. None

give and receive a wanner welcome than soldiers upon service--I met a

kind reception from all; and the meal and the evening passed pleasantly.

There are few places where more singular characters are encountered than

at a mess-table. We had one short gentleman, whose happiness consisted

in the belief that he was always uncomfortable and superlatively

wretched; and hence his conversation, from cock-crow to curfew, was an

eternal _jeremiade_ about dead mules and stolen bullock-trunks, tough

beef and damp linen, with “all the ills that flesh is heir to.” He had

been wounded in one action, and in the next charged and overthrown by

a drunken dragoon, who, in the _melee_, mistook him for a Frenchman. In

short, from friends and enemies, in common, he had received abominable

treatment; and latterly, had narrowly escaped being poisoned, by

drinking wine from a store-cask, in which, after an undisturbed

possession of a week, the mortal remains of a drowned drummer had been

unexpectedly discovered. On this evening, he feelingly related a recent

atrocity perpetrated by an Irish batman, who had burned the only boot in

his possession, in which an angry corn could obtain repose. He ended

the lament with the customary _finale_ to all his grievances; namely,

an individual inquiry of, “What the devil drove him to this infernal

country at all?”

“I imagine, my dear Neville, the gentleman you name had an active agency

in driving us all here--if men would only speak the truth,” observed

Major Fitzmaurice. “I fancy he was close at your elbow, Richards, before

you quitted London.”

“At my elbow, certainly,” replied the hussar. “Had I kept that quiet, I

should have been still doing duty at the Horse-guards.”

“And may I inquire, my young friend, what might have formed the

immediate inducement of your favouring us with a visit?” continued

the Major, addressing a volunteer upon his right--“Did you shake the

elbow--teach tradesmen book-keeping--shoot a friend who differed with

you in opinion?--or--”

“None of these delinquencies have I committed. I am suffering for the

sins of another,” was the reply.

“What a pity!” said Fitzmaurice; “and your friend, the sinner, pays the

penalty by proxy--very convenient for him but rather hard on you. Would

you oblige us with particulars?”

“‘Tis a short story,” said the volunteer, with a smile;--“An accursed

cousin of mine paid some delicate attentions to the wife of his

next-door neighbour; and, unfortunately, I was acquainted with the

proceedings. ‘A d--d good-natured friend’ informed the little doctor,

that his lady and my kinsman were fitting him for a state of beatitude,

and ‘the injured husband’ commenced legal proceedings, to recover

compensation for the loss he had sustained. Loss! To get rid of a

regular virago, who lalopped him three days in the week, and made him

miserable for the other four. Had the doctor possessed a spark of

generosity, he would have given my wicked kinsman a service of plate,

devil as he was! Well, though every body knew the truth, it was

necessary to lug me in, as evidence, to prove it. ‘If you appear,’

said the defendant, ‘you’ll be my ruin, Tom;’--‘If you don’t, I’m done

brown,’ said the doctor,--but to make all right, I’ll get an _ne

exeat regno_.’ Here I was in a regular fix--between my cousin and the

chancellor--the devil and the deep sea.’ I had no alternative but to

bolt at once, and come here, hurry-scurry, like a sheep-stealer.”

“‘Well, there is one thing certain,--the devil was at the bottom of your

business. And pray, may I inquire why you, Sir, sought this _refugium

peccatorum?_” said Fitzmauriee, to a pale gentleman nearly opposite.

The person addressed “looked unutterable things,” and sighed profoundly.

“Ah--I see it. Nothing transportable,--not even suspicion of debt?”

The pallid gentleman shook his head.

“Then your sufferings are sentimental. Come--make a clean breast, and

you’ll sleep all the sounder.”

“‘Twas woman’s falsehood,” returned the “pale lover.”

“Oh--indeed!”

“Yes--Julia, false as thou wert, this widowed heart shall never own

another image than thine own.”

“But who was Julia, and what did she do?” inquired the Major, with

provoking insensibility.

“Who was she?” returned the desponding Lieutenant,--“that secret shall

perish with me.”

“Well--no matter; but what the devil did she do? Had she a kick in her

gallop?--or--”

“No,” said the bereaved gentleman; “I loved, and wooed, and won her,--as

I fondly fancied. I urged my suit, and pressed her to name the day that

should seal our mutual happiness;--I would have wedded her--but, alas!

she left me for another. That, Sir,--ay--that fatal visitation, made me

the wanderer and the outcast that I am.”

“Bless me,” replied the Major, “how heavily you took it! Now, is it not

funny enough, that an occurrence, opposite as the antipodes, actually

bundled me into the Peninsula a second time?”

“Indeed! my dear Major,”’ I replied.

“True, sir;--the ease was desperate--and nothing but expatriation could

have saved me from the bonds of Hymen. The lady would not be denied; and

to escape connubial captivity, I levanted at an hour’s notice.”

“Were the inquiry not impertinent, nor one that would painfully recall

the past and probe the breast too deeply, I should feel curious to learn

the particulars,” I observed.

“Faith, my dear fellow, I have been, as you properly suspect, the victim

of a too sensitive heart, and have suffered accordingly. But here goes

to make a clear confession, and give you the leading incidents of my

amatory adventures. I omit, of course, skirmishes of love with _femmes

de chambre_, dress-makers, gentlewomen wayfaring in stage-coaches,

or encountered _gipsying_ a mile or two from Islington or the

Elephant,--appertaining to the _corps de ballet_, or met with at a

conventicle in the afternoon--sheltering in July, under a portico, from

a shower, or lost in November, in a fog. I shall pass over all diurnal

notices in _The Times_, beginning with ‘should this meet the eye,’ and

affairs transacted by the agency of twopenny postage. But why detain

you? Fill, gentlemen--I fear you’ll find the story very long, and, what

is worse, very melancholy and affecting.”