silver epaulets of the 4th Spanish infantry, and rejoined the duke's
guests in the balcony, from which they were beholding other feats of
dexterity. A tall and powerful Spaniard, Gaspar Alozegui, the strongest
and most athletic man in the two Castiles, entered the arena, bearing a
large cannon-shot, and a sledge-hammer. He waved his broad hat to the
populace, who cheered their favourite, as no man yet had ever rivalled
him in feats of strength and agility. Taking up the cannon-shot, the
weight of which I have forgotten, he poised it for a moment in his hand,
and then tossing it from him, sent it whizzing along the pavement, as a
bowler does a cricket ball, from one end of the Plaza to the other,
where it rebounded against the wall of a house and lay still. Alozegui
arrogantly challenged any man among the thousands there assembled to
throw it within ten feet of the spot where it then lay, offering in that
case to forfeit a purse of ten _onzas_ presented to the victor by the
fair _patronas_ of the day,--the daughters of the Duke of Alba de T----.
Alozegui looked around him triumphantly; but no man answered the
challenge, which was not delivered in very moderate language, and he now
grasped the shaft of his ponderous hammer. Swinging it thrice round his
head, he hurled it from his hand with the speed of a thunderbolt. The
crowd for a moment held their breath, and the gaze of their eyes
followed the semicircle which it described through the air. It alighted
close by the shot, and again the cheers of the people broke forth; after
which Gaspar repeated his challenge in the same arrogant terms.
"Such an insolent dog as this Alozegui deserves to be beaten," said the
conde.
"He has thrown well," observed Stuart, as he leant over the balcony;
"yet the sport loses its zest when there is no competitor."
"_Viva_, Alozegui," said Donna Olivia. "He deserves to kiss my hand,
and should but for his bushy black beard."
"I am convinced that my servant, Dugald Mhor, old as he is, will throw
these matters further," said Fassifern, who was indignant at Alozegui's
challenge, and burned with eagerness to see him beaten. He spoke in
English, "I suppose Dugald is below among the servants. He followed me
here. As sure as my name is John Cameron, he will beat Alozegui."
"Let some one inquire if he is below?"
"I say, colonel," cried Seaton, who was seated at the other end of the
balcony, with his glass at his eye; "surely, Campbell of ours is about
to answer the challenge of the Spaniard. He has entered the arena."
"Now, by heavens! well done Colin, and Dugald Mhor too,--honest old
Dugald! Look to yourself, Micer Alozegui; you will scarcely hold the
prize against two such men," said Cameron in great glee. "Major, are you
about to contend with this impudent loon?"
"We are indeed," replied Campbell, "and hard work the braggadocio will
have to beat us. Dugald and I are comrades to-day, and mean to show
these dons the mettle of Highlandmen, and what sort of muscle brose and
brochan can produce. I have hurled a stone three times the size of that
shot from Craigfianteach into Lochawe, and mean to strain every nerve to
give the dons a surprise. I thought it a shame that so many British men
should stand by quietly, and let a Spaniard boast thus. Throwing the
hammer is a national amusement, and I hope that neither don or devil
will beat a Scotsman at it. After we have conquered Senor Alozegui,
Dugald and I will challenge the whole crowd to a game at quoits or
shinty, whichever they like best."
Alozegui, on understanding that they had answered the challenges, laid
the shot and hammer before them, carefully marking the places where they
lay; a needless precaution, as he very soon learned.
"Dugald Cameron, my man, take you the shot," said the major, "and let
them see that you are 'steel to the bane.' Ye showed true mettle the
day Alexandria was fought, and can do so here, lyart though your pow may
be. I will take the fore hammer, and now, my lads! here are two decent
Highlandmen against all the bearded braggarts on this side of the
Pyrenees."
"I am auld enough to be his gutcher twice ower and mair, as my siller
haffets and runkled cheeks may tell you; but I will never shrink frae
the task when a Hieland gentleman like your honour commands me," said
Dugald, as he cast down his bonnet, sword, and plaid; and taking up the
ball as if it had been a walnut, without once looking at it, threw it
over the houses at the end of the square by a single swing of his arm.
"The Cameron for ever! Well done, Dugald!" exclaimed the major. "A
foot lower and the Emperor had lost his head, which would have spoiled
all the sport."
Dugald laughed, stroked down his white hairs, and casting his plaid
around him, withdrew under the balcony where the delighted Fassifern was
standing. He received a cheer, though not a very cordial one, from the
people; and Alozegui bestowed upon him a most formidable scowl of rage
and hatred, to which he replied by a laugh, and a direction to "gie the
gowd he had tint to the puirfolk." Now came the major's turn, and the
Spaniard began to tremble for his fame. The former, after examining the
ponderous hammer to assure himself that the handle was firmly fixed into
it, swung it once around his head, and straining every muscle to
conquer, cast it from his hand with a force and swiftness truly amazing.
Describing a complete arch over the spacious Plaza, it whirled through
the air, and passing over the houses of an adjacent street, lighted
among the reeds on the banks of the Tagus, where it was discovered next
day. However, it could not be found for that night, and the only reward
Campbell received from the Spaniards for his prowess, was the
half-muttered ejaculation of astonishment at the flight taken by the
missile. The dons were very angry at their hero being beaten by a
foreigner and heretic, and so astonished at his wonderful strength, that
they readily adopted the opinion of some old Capuchine padres, "that he
had been assisted by the devil."
"Hoich, major! weel dune," shouted old Dugald, waving his bonnet. "Fair
play a' the warld ower,--_Cothram na feine_,[*] as we say at hame in
Lochiel. Ferntosh and barley-bannock are the stuff to mak' men o'; no
accadenty and snail-broth,--deevil tak' them baith!"
[*] The equal battle of the Fingalians,--a Highland proverb.
"Long life to you, major!" cried many of the Highlanders; and hundreds
of soldiers belonging to the 66th, 34th, and other corps of the division
huzzaed him loudly. On receiving from the duke's _contador_ (steward)
the purse of thirty _onzas_, Campbell, knowing that Dugald was too proud
to touch a maravedi of the money placed it in the hands of Alozegui,
telling him not to be cast down, as Dugald and himself had beaten better
men than ever trod the realm of Spain. This taunt only stung more
deeply the fiery and enraged Spaniard, who scorned to receive the purse,
which he tossed among the people, and leaping over the barriers,
disappeared. Campbell waved his hummel-bonnet (a plain cap without
feathers) to the assembled multitude, and withdrew to finish the night
over a pigskin with Don Ascasibur, and tell endless narratives about
Egypt and Sir Ralph.
During that evening, from a thousand little circumstances which it is
needless to rehearse, it was evident to Ronald that Louis Lisle was
deeply enamoured of the beautiful Virginia; and that she was not
unfavourable to him was also manifest, although she took every means to
conceal it: but Ronald had a sharp eye for these matters. What the
opinion of the proud old duke might be on such a subject it was not
difficult to say; and his conscience would not in the least have
prevented him from employing the poniard of some matador to rid his
family of such a suitor. However, his mind was at that moment too much
taken up with political schemes to permit him to observe the growing
passion between his daughter and the young Scottish subaltern, to whom
twenty days' residence in his palace had given every opportunity to
press his suit that a lover could desire.
The party at the De T---- palace broke up about eleven o'clock, and
ruminating on the probabilities of Louis's winning the donna, should he
really propose for her hand, Ronald passed slowly through the marble
square, and down a street leading towards his billet, which was near the
Calle Mayor. A gush of light, streaming into the darkness through the
open portal and traceried windows of an illuminated chapel, invited him
to enter, in expectation of beholding some solemn religious ceremony;
but the building was entirely empty, and the blaze of light proceeded
from some hundreds of tapers burning around the gilded shrine of the
patron saint of Aranjuez. From this spot a strong flood of crimson
light glared through the nave and chancel, tinging with the hue of blood
the black marble pavement, the slender pillars, and the groined roof of
fretted stone work. Many mouldy portraits of saints adorned the walls;
around the lighted shrine were hung certain strange memorials, placed
there by the piety of those whom the saint was supposed to have cured.
Crutches, even wooden legs and many stucco casts of deformed limbs, were
there displayed, all doubtless the work of cunning priests, to impose
upon the credulity of the Spaniards. But what chiefly raised his
wonder, was some hundred little images of children, with which the place
was absolutely crowded.
His attention was next attracted by several standards, the trophies of
war, which hung from the highest part of the chapel, where the roof rose
somewhat in the form of a dome. These belonged to various nations; and
one, by the crescents on it, he judged to be Moorish; but the other two
he remarked more particularly. The one was the ensign of a British ship
of war which had been wrecked on the coast of Spain; the other was an
ancient Scottish standard of white silk, crossed with St. Andrew's blue
cross, and splendidly embroidered with silver thistles. About the
latter he could not obtain the least information, although he made every
inquiry next day. But it was probably the regimental colour of some of
the Scottish auxiliaries who served in the Low Countries against the
Emperor Charles the Fifth. Ronald was revolving in his own mind the
means of capturing or destroying both these standards, when the entrance
of the Conde de Truxillo diverted him from his purpose, and saved to the
Spaniards those trophies which most likely still adorn the chapel royal
of Aranjuez.
"What adventure are you in search of now, senor, that you have not yet
sought your billet in the Calle Mayor?"
"I understand," replied the conde, "that the Carbineros of Medina del
Campo marched into Aranjuez about sun-set. I have a very dear brother,
an officer in them, and I am searching for some one to direct me to his
quarters, late as the hour is. Manuel and I were very dear friends in
youth, being educated together at our old castle near Truxillo; but we
have not seen each other for six years, as our regiments have always
campaigned in different provinces. He was a slender youth, without a
hair on his lip when I saw him last, but now he must be a stout and
well-whiskered cavalier. Ah, how much I long to behold him!"
"I regret, conde, that I can give you no information as to where the
quarters of the Carbineros are. Some of the quarter-guards may perhaps
inform you."
"Ho! senor Stuart," exclaimed Truxillo, as his eye fell on the shrine
with all its little images and blazing tapers. "Lo, you now! behold
what rogues our padres are. Do you know the meaning of all these
images?"
"No. I own I was somewhat puzzled to discover."
"Well, senor," answered Truxillo with a loud laugh, "all these are the
images of children born unto ladies who had long pined for them before
they had visited this miraculous shrine,--so the monks tell us."
"Strange, if true."
"Its reputed sanctity is truly amazing; and all the dames of old and new
Castile, Leon, and Arragon consider a visit to this place a sovereign
remedy. They are shown the tomb of the saint in the vaults below; and
its influence, aided by the attentions of a few stout padres, certainly
has brought about singular cures; and---- But here comes my servant; he
has been searching for the quarters of the Carbineros, and will----
Hah!" exclaimed Truxillo, his countenance changing as a servant
belonging to the De T---- family entered the chapel, "do you seek me?"
The servant, who wore the orange-coloured livery of the duke, replied by
whispering something into the ear of Don Balthazzar, whose "brow grew
black as thunder."
"_Falsificador!_ madman! what is this you have dared to tell me?" he
exclaimed, furiously grasping the menial by the throat.
"The solemn truth, most noble conde. Release me! San Juan in the
wilderness could not speak more truly. I am faithful to you,--I am, by
the virgin!--Oh--" It is probable the fellow would never have spoken
again, had not Ronald released his neck from the clutch of the conde.
"Cavalier!" exclaimed the latter, seizing Ronald's hand, "I know you to
be brave and honourable as man can be. I have been basely betrayed this
night. Will you follow me, that I may recover my lost honour, or
perish? A deadly insult has been offered to me."
"I pledge you my word I will, Balthazzar. But what has this trembling
blockhead told you?"
"Satanas! that Donna Olivia, to whom not an hour ago I plighted my love
and troth, has even now a cavalier in her chamber."
"Impossible; he lies!"
"He does not--I know that he does not. I have bribed him to watch his
mistress, and have long found him faithful. But Olivia, false and base
Olivia! I have long suspected her falsehood and coquetry, and this
night I will fearfully revenge them both upon herself. It must be
Carlos Avallo. Malediction! I will slay him before her face. By our
Lady of the Rock! my most sacred oath, I swear it!"
Balthazzar rushed away from the chapel, and Stuart followed to prevent
him, if possible, from committing any outrage, and pursued him through
the dark streets at his utmost speed. In a few seconds they stood
before the mansion they had quitted but a short time ago. It was
completely involved in darkness, save one room, from the windows of
which a light straggled through the white curtains upon the balcony from
which they had witnessed the bull-fight.
"The sisters sleep in separate apartments; that is Olivia's," whispered
Truxillo, in a voice husky with the passions which possessed his heart.
"Did you not see a tall shadow pass the window?"
"Let me entreat you, noble conde, to stay--to hold but for a single
moment!"
"_Carajo!_ may it be my last if I do!" replied the other fiercely, as he
grasped a carved stone ornament projecting from the wall, and swung
himself into the balcony, where he drew his sword, and applied his eye
to the opening of the window curtains. Apprehensive that he might commit
some rash deed, Ronald followed him, but with infinite trouble, rage
having enabled the conde to climb by means which the other could not
find. He was not without some secret fears that this rival cavalier
might be Louis Lisle, and grasping Truxillo by the arm, he detained him
by main force; and had the parties within been less occupied with
themselves than they were, they must undoubtedly have heard the
half-muttered threats of Balthazzar, and the scuffling which ensued on
the balcony.
Through the half-opened casement they surveyed the chamber and its
occupants. The sleeping-place of the donna was certainly a splendid
one; the hangings, the chairs, the bed, and covering of the estrado,
raised at one end of the floor, were all of white or rose-coloured
velvet, fringed and embroidered with gold, and every thing else was of
corresponding richness. A lamp, the globe of which was of rose-coloured
glass, shed a warm light through the apartment; and three large vases of
fresh flowers, placed on the verge of the _estrado_, gave forth an
agreeable perfume. In a splendid easy-chair, which glittered with
gilding and gilt nails, the beautiful Olivia was seated near her
toilet-table,--the looseness of her dress and the disorder of her
ringlets showing that she had been preparing for repose before her
visitor had entered by the window, a place of ingress used oftener than
the door by Spanish lovers. An officer in a Spanish cavalry uniform was
kneeling at her feet, and his cloak and helmet lay on the floor near
him.
"Lo! holy Virgin, a pretty piece of daring," said the lady as they
approached the window.
"Pardon me, beautiful one!" said the officer; "and remember, that if I
had not visited you thus, I might never have seen you at all."
"And what then, senor?"
"Cruel Olivia! can you trifle with a passion so earnest as mine?"
"A pretty fellow, to visit me like a bravo by the window, with a sword
in your hand. This will teach me to bolt my shutters more securely.
Come now, senor, I have heard quite enough of this: you must retire. _O
santos!_ should you be seen!"
"Heartless Olivia! and you bid me leave you thus?"
"Heartless? You are mighty gallant, _mi amigo_!"
"Remember that we march to-morrow, and I may never see you again."
"Well, I suppose I shall not want for a husband. The Conde of Truxillo,
Pedro de Esquivias, or Carlos Avallo will, any of them, be glad to have
me when I choose. O 'tis a gay thing to be loved by many cavaliers!
But leave me, I intreat--no, command you!" said the lady, curling up her
black tresses with her white slender fingers.
"Grant me but a single kiss, Olivia, and I will retire never to trouble
you again. I will seek death in our first encounter with the enemy."
"You love yourself too well for that."
"Grant me but one salute, and I leave you. Oh, after all the misery of
my long year's absence, do not refuse me that!"
"Take it, thou false _picaro_, and be gone," replied the coquettish
girl, pouting her cherry mouth, towards which the cavalier advanced his
well-moustached lip.
"Perish first!" exclaimed the enraged Truxillo, rushing forward and
driving his sword through the back and breast of the unfortunate lover.
"Die in your audacity, whoever you are, you false interloper! Die,
villain!" he added, repeating the stab; and the cavalier died without a
groan. "Farewell for ever, false Olivia," cried the savage conde; "and
remember that my love, unworthy as you are of it, alone protects you
from the effects of my fury and disappointment!" He was about to leave
the place, when his eye fell upon the countenance of the cavalier he had
so ruthlessly and rashly slain. He was now lying stark and dead, the
blood from his wounds streaming over the oaken floor of the room.
Truxillo groaned deeply, and striking his forehead, staggered back,
dropping his sword, while his countenance became pale and livid.
"_El Espiritu Santo santissimo! O Dios mio!_" he cried in a husky
voice, the tone of which was heart-piercing and horrible, "I have slain
my brother,--my brave brother! _O Manuel el Carbinero_,--is it you I
have murdered? Ten thousand maledictions blast you, false woman! blast
you, and follow you to all eternity! 'Tis you have wrought me this
deadly sin!" And rushing into the balcony he sprung into the street,
leaving Ronald in the apartment of the lady, standing irresolute and
stupified with amazement at the suddenness of this catastrophe, which
came to pass in less time than I have taken to record it. Olivia, whose
voice had at first failed her in the extremity of her terror, now
shrieked long and loudly to arouse the household, which she did so
effectually, that in three minutes they were all mustered in her
chamber, armed with all sorts of weapons, and among others Lisle with
his drawn sword. Great indeed was their astonishment to see Ronald in
the sleeping-room of Donna Olivia at midnight, and an officer lying dead
on the floor, weltering in a pool of blood. All clamorously demanded an
explanation of this singular scene, and the indignation of the old duke
it is impossible to describe, such room was there for scandal in the
story of a cavalier being slain at night in the bed-room of his
daughter. _Diavolo!_ thought he, all Spain, from Cape Ortegal to
Gibraltar, will be ringing with the tale! Some of the females attempted
to recover the lady, who had sunk on her bed in a swoon; while the
others required Ronald, in shrill tones of anger and surprise, to give a
detail of the matter. This he hesitated to do, not wishing to criminate
the conde, and still less wishing to be taken for the culprit himself.
In this dilemma the bustle and commotion were increased by the arrival
of a pompous old alcalde, who dwelt opposite, and Senor Rubio, the
notary, with six alguazils, who were for arresting Ronald on the
instant; but, laying his hand on the hilt of his dirk, he vowed to run
through the heart the first who laid a finger upon him; upon which the
limbs of the law, recoiling, began to handle the locks of their heavy
_trabucos_, and more blood would probably have been shed had not the
alcalde interfered.
This magistrate, whose person and authority the duke had always treated
with contempt, was very glad to have opportunity of affronting him; and
assuming as much consequence as he could, he administered an oath to
Ronald in the Spanish manner, by swearing him across his sword and dirk,
and then desiring him to relate what he knew of this matter,--and word
for word his relation was committed to writing by the keen-eyed and
sharp-visaged little notary. Englishmen might have doubted the
relation; but in Spain the words of an honourable cavalier are not to be
questioned, and the account proving satisfactory to the alcalde, in so
far as concerned Ronald Stuart, he was permitted to retire; while Senor
Rubio, and the six men with blunderbusses, were sent off in pursuit of
the conde, whom they discovered on his knees before the very shrine he
had made the subject of his jests an hour before. Three days afterwards
he was tried by a general court-martial, composed of Spanish
officers,--the General de Costa being president. Every man supposed his
death to be certain; but he was, strange to say, acquitted. Yet life
was no boon to poor Truxillo, who, being continually haunted by the
miserable death of his brother, became reckless of existence, and by
throwing himself madly in the way of danger, endeavoured to perish in
expiation of the crime he had committed in the blindness of his rage and
jealousy.
This occurrence appeared for the present to be a death-blow to the hopes
of Louis Lisle. On the following day the duke quitted Aranjuez with his
family, retiring suddenly no one knew whither. He was so much enraged
against Olivia, who indeed was not to blame, that he threatened to
disgrace her for ever, by incarcerating her in the _Monasterio de los
Arrepentidas_[*] of Seville, but the tears and entreaties of Donna
Virginia made him change his intention: the sisters were separated, and
for ever. Olivia was sent off to Galicia, and confined in a solitary
convent among the wild ridges of the Sierra de Mondonedo, where, if
living, she probably still resides.
[*] A place of confinement for ladies who misbehave.
*CHAPTER III.*
*THE SKIRMISH OF FUENTE DUENNA. THE LEAGUER
OF ALBA DE TORMES.*
"Comrades, should it please high Heaven
That we see Castile once more,--
Though we now go forth as outcasts,
Sad, dishonoured, homeless, poor,--
We'll return with glory laden,
And the spoilings of the Moor."
_The Cid._