CHAPTER VII.
Fonte Arcada, in which our regiment was quartered, (the remainder of the division being distributed in the surrounding villages,) was situated on the face of a hill, which formed one of an extensive range; at its foot ran one of the tributary streams of the Douro, meandering through a fertile and tolerably well cultivated valley. The village itself was built on a bare and rugged mass of rock, and the frowning ledge that hung over the town gave it a wild and romantic air. The place had not escaped the ravages of war, but being more out of the common route, it had suffered little in comparison to others. The houses had rather a mean appearance, with the exception of three or four belonging to fidalgos, who resided in the village; but the situation was healthy. And after we had cleaned it, (which we had to do with every Portuguese village before we could inhabit them,) we felt ourselves very comfortable, and soon forgot our former fatigue, which we did the readier, that we had now a commanding officer who interested himself warmly in our welfare.
Lieutenant-Colonel Lloyd had joined us from the 43d regiment. I have already had occasion to mention him, in describing the retreat from Salamanca. No eulogium, however, of mine can convey an idea of his merits as a man and soldier; but it is deeply engraven on the hearts of those who served under him.
So harmoniously did he blend the qualities of a brave, active, intelligent officer with those of the gentleman and the scholar, that the combination fascinated all ranks. His exterior corresponded with his mind; he was somewhat above the middle size—and to a face and head cast in the true Roman mould, was joined an elegant and manly body. His system of discipline wasnot coercive; he endeavoured to encourage, not to terrify—if there was a single spark of pride or honour in the bosom, he would fan it to a flame. His aim was to prevent crime rather than to punish it, and he rarely resorted to corporal punishment. When he did so, it was only in the case of hardened ill-doers, with whom no lenient measures would succeed; even then, he never punished to the tenth part of the sentence awarded; and if the culprit sued for pardon, promising not to be guilty again, he would say, ‘I take you at your word, and forgive you, but remember your promise.’
The men’s interests formed his chief study, and the complaint of the meanest individual was heard and investigated with the strictest impartiality, without respect to persons. By the measures he took, he made every individual interested in his own honour and that of the regiment; and I believe that every man in it loved and honoured him. So successful were his efforts, that he brought the regiment into a state of order, cleanliness, and discipline, which could never have been attained by any other means. He was always the first in danger and the last out of it; and in camp, he went later to rest, and was sooner up than the meanest individual composing his corps.
He was a native of Ireland, (Limerick, I believe,) and a striking corroboration of the general remark, that where an Irishman is a gentleman, he is one in the most extensive meaning of the word; unfettered by cold, calculating selfishness, his noble heart and soul is seen in every thing he does—such was Colonel Lloyd.
The inhabitants here were similar to those we had met with in other villages in Portugal,—sunk in ignorance, dirt, and superstition; and although some of the fidalgos boasted that the blood of Braganza flowed in their veins, they did not seem to be a whit more refined or better informed than the plebeians. They were rigid attendants on all the religious ceremonies of their church, but religion with them appeared to be a mere habit,—it played on the surface, but did not reach the heart. When the bell rang at statedperiods for prayers, each rosary was put in requisition; but this did not interrupt the conversation—they managed to pray and converse at the same time. As bigotry is always the attendant of ignorance, they were no way liberal in their opinions concerning us; and so contaminated did they consider us by heresy, that they would not drink out of the same vessel. But, to tell the truth, I believe they did not understand the principles of the religion they professed, and the ‘Padre Cura’ of the village (a gross and unspiritual looking piece of furniture) did not seem much qualified to inform them.
We remained here near six months, during which vigorous preparations were made for the ensuing campaign, but little occurred interesting or worth recording while quartered in the village, with the exception of a love affair in which my friend Henry was engaged, which is so tinged with romance that I could scarcely expect credence to the detail, were it not that all who were then present with the regiment can vouch for its truth. Henry, whose warm heart and romantic imagination often produced him remarkable adventures, here fell deeply in love. In fact, his head was so stuffed with the machinery and plots of novels and romances, that his heart, as Burns expresses it, ‘was like a piece of tinder ready to burst forth into a flame, from the first casual spark that might fall upon it.’ Fortune, however, had as yet guarded it from any such accident, and reserved for winter quarters and quieter times, the shaft which was to destroy his peace.
He had by dint of application to the principles of the language, and a talent for acquiring it, gained a tolerable knowledge of the Portuguese, and at this time he held a situation which exempted him in a degree from military duty, and left him time to associate with some of the inhabitants who were fond of his conversation, and felt friendly towards him. It was by this means he became acquainted with a female whose charms had captivated him. She was niece toone of the principal inhabitants, and about fifteen or sixteen years of age. In her he imagined he had found the long cherished ideal mistress of his soul, on whom he had lavished more accomplishments and perfections than would have made an angel in our degenerate days. I was, of course, his confidant, and certainly, of all I had ever heard or read of love’s extravagance, I witnessed it in him. He could neither eat nor sleep; every spare moment that he had was spent on a small eminence opposite the house where she lived, gazing at the windows, in hopes to catch a glance at her; here he would sit luxuriating in all the wild uncertainty of hope, anticipation, and despair, which lovers commonly indulge in, and although his familiarity with the family might have gained him access to her company any time he pleased, he grew diffident of visiting them, and even shrunk from the idea of speaking to herself on the subject. He poured all his doubts and hopes in my ear, and he could not have found one to whom they were more interesting. Of the same romantic temperament, I shared in all his sensations. Seeing the state of mind in which he was placed by his violent attachment, I recommended him strongly that he should endeavour to gain an interview, and speak to her on the subject; but he considered this impracticable, as the sight of her never failed to agitate him in such a manner, that it robbed him of all power of utterance. Thus situated, and willing to render my friend a service, through my interest with a family whom she was in the habit of visiting, I brought about an interview between the parties; and here, for the first time, I saw Maria. She was certainly a very pretty, good-humoured, lively girl, but in my opinion very far indeed from the paragon of perfection which Henry was inclined to think her; but I felt not the magic influence of that power, which, like the philosopher’s stone, can transmute the baser metals into gold. Little satisfaction accrued to Henry from this meeting, but it subsequently led to others in which the parties came to a mutual explanation, and he had reason tohope that he was not regarded by her with indifference. From this time their interviews were more frequent and less guarded; and visiting her aunt frequently, although he could not converse freely with Maria, still their eyes, which ‘looked unutterable things,’ were not sufficiently restrained, and the old lady began to suspect the truth; the tattle of the village confirmed her suspicions, and she forbade Henry the house. They had a few stolen meetings at her friend’s in the village, but this also was discovered, and Maria was prohibited from leaving the house unattended.
I am almost persuaded that had affairs gone on smoothly, Henry would have come to his senses, and the attachment would have died a natural death. But these obstacles only served to increase his ardour and perseverance; for so well was Maria now guarded, that there was no possibility of seeing her. In this dilemma, he determined on applying to Donna Anna, the girl’s aunt; from this application he had but little to hope, yet still he could lose nothing. Having thus resolved, he went boldly into the house, and without speaking to any one, lest they might frustrate his purpose, he traversed the passages, until he perceived Donna Anna in one of the apartments alone, employed at her distaff. He entered, his heart fluttering with suspense; and after apologizing for his rudeness in thus intruding upon her, he proceeded to declare his love to Maria, and to beg her acquiescence to their union. The old lady seemed thunderstruck at his presumption, yet still Henry had so qualified his address to her, that she had no good reason to be angry, and after taking a few minutes to recollect herself, she replied, ‘that Maria was already betrothed to a very deserving young man, a cousin of her own; but independent of this engagement, she could not give her consent. What had Maria to expect if she married a soldier of a foreign regiment? In the midst of war, the soldiers themselves suffered much, but those hardships and sufferings must fall heavier on a delicate female who had never known anything but comfort. No,’ continuedshe, ‘Maria has superior expectations. But supposing I considered you a fit match for her in every other respect, still your religion would be an insurmountable barrier—to enter into the bonds of matrimony with a heretic, she might as well ally herself to the devil! I have no objection to your character, and feel a friendship for you, but I can never encourage you in your present designs, nor give my consent to a marriage, that would be productive of misery to at least one, if not to both parties.’
The calm and decided tone in which she spoke, convinced Henry that he had nothing to hope for from her, and his heart grew too big for utterance. He tried to suppress his feelings, but they were too strong for him, and he was only relieved from their suffocating effect by a flood of tears. The Donna’s heart softened to see his distress, yet she still remained inflexible to her purpose. Maria, who had seen Henry enter the house, having followed him to the door of her aunt’s apartment, had overheard the conversation, and now, seeing her aunt’s back turned towards the door, she watched him until he raised his eyes, when giving him a sign which infused new hope into his mind, she retired. Henry now took his leave without enforcing his suit any farther. I had been waiting his return, and when he told me the result of his visit, I encouraged him to hope that all might yet be well.
During the day he received a message by a Portuguese boy, who was servant with one of our officers, informing him that she was so closely watched, that there was no hope of her being able to see him, unless he could manage to get over the garden wall, which was exceedingly high; if so, that she would meet him that night. Having returned an answer that she might expect him, he called upon me; we reconnoitred the garden wall, and having noted where there was a ladder, and procured a rope which was intended for our descent, after waiting anxiously until within half an hour of the appointed time, we proceeded to the place where we intended to effect our escalade. The inhabitantshaving retired to rest, and the village silent, we got over without difficulty. We had waited for some time at the head of one of the side walks (the place appointed) concealed by the bushes, when we heard the gentle sound of footsteps. We did not move from our hiding place until the appointed signal was given, when in an instant, they were in each other’s arms.
Where the heart is pure, I am led to believe, that the zest of love is the higher, the lower the station of the lovers. No fictitious refinement interferes to check the cup of joy: so it was in the present instance. Still, however, our situation was perilous, and I urged the necessity of forming some plan to bring about the desired purpose; but their hearts were too much fluttered with joy and hope, uncertainty and fear, to make the necessary arrangements, and they parted hurriedly without doing more than appointing a second meeting. The appointed time again arrived, and we reached the garden as easily as before, but Maria did not come for nearly an hour after the time agreed on, and we were beginning to think some accident had befallen her, when we heard her steps coming up the walk. She seemed much disturbed; ‘You would wonder at my delay,’ said she, ‘but I am afraid they suspect me. My aunt did not retire to rest at the usual hour, and before she did, she came into my apartment, and held the candle close to my face, but I pretended to sleep soundly; she then retired, and I embraced the opportunity of slipping out—but I cannot stay—she may return to my apartment, and if she does I am undone.’
‘But can we come to no conclusion with regard to what should be done?’ said I. ‘You have no reason to hope that your aunt will ever consent to your marriage; therefore your only plan is to escape with Henry, and get married by the chaplain of the division, before your friends can prevent it; then, when they find that no better can be done, there is every reason to believe they will be reconciled to you.’
‘O it is impossible!’ said she; ‘I know them too well.’
‘Certainly,’ said I, ‘the sacrifice is great, but the alternative is to bid each other adieu for ever. You must now decide, or we may never have another opportunity.’
‘I cannot make up my mind to-night,’ said she: ‘I will meet you here to-morrow night at this hour, determined and ready prepared either to remain, or make my escape. Now farewell, for I am afraid that I am discovered.’
So saying, she parted hastily from us, and returned into the house, leaving poor Henry in no enviable state; his fate hung upon her decision, she had spoken with uncertainty, and he looked forward to the next meeting as the die that would determine his future happiness or misery.
During next day, Henry’s mind was in such a state of uneasiness and suspense, that I could, with great difficulty, bring him to make the necessary arrangements in the event of her escaping with him. It was necessary that he should apply to his commanding officer for permission to marry; and I advised him to disclose the whole matter to him, well knowing that such a character as he was would take an interest in his fate. Henry took my advice, and having called on Colonel L., disclosed every circumstance connected with the affair. Colonel L. listened with attention, and seemed much interested. The story in part was not new to him; he had heard it from some of the principal inhabitants. He reasoned the matter with Henry like a father; represented the difficulty which would lie in his path—marrying a foreigner of a different religion—the hardships she would have to endure—and the many difficulties which two people, marrying so young, would have to encounter. ‘But,’ said he, ‘I suppose all these things appear as trifles to you at present.’
Henry owned that his affection was too deeply rooted to be moved by these considerations.
‘Well,’ said Colonel L., ‘if you are determined on trying the experiment, and that she is agreeable, I have no objection to giving you permission to marry, but I cannot say you have my approbation.’
Henry, however, it may be easily imagined, was not to be moved by sober reasoning.
The time of meeting arrived, and Henry, trembling with suspense and apprehension, accompanied me to the garden. We were not long there, when Maria arrived with a few articles of wearing apparel, which she had hurriedly collected.
‘Well, Maria,’ said I, ‘have you decided—are you ready to accompany us?’
‘I don’t know,’ said she, ‘I am so filled with apprehension, that I cannot think or speak.’
‘Say the word,’ said I, ‘all is ready.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ said she. ‘Either let me return into the house, or let us leave this, or I shall die with fear: I am sure I have been observed. O Jesu, Maria! there they come—I am lost.’
So saying, she fled down the opposite path, where she was immediately seized by some of the domestics, who had been mustered for the purpose of surprising us. There was no time to lose, for resistance would have been useless; and we too well knew the nature of the Portuguese, to depend much on their mercy. Hurrying, therefore, towards the wall, and having assisted Henry, who was rendered nearly powerless by the effect of his feelings, I made a spring and seized the top of the wall; Henry was ready to lend me assistance, but before I could get myself raised to the summit, a sword aimed for my body, struck the wall so close to my side, that it cut out a piece of my jacket and shirt. Ere the blow could be repeated, I had fallen over on the opposite side, carrying Henry with me in my fall. I was severely hurt—but there was no time to lose, and we knew the alarm would soon be raised; therefore, having conveyed the ladder to where we had found it, we hurried to our quarters.
Next day the Portuguese boy brought information to Henry that early that morning two mules had been brought into the court yard; that Maria was brought out weeping, and mounted on one, her aunt on the other, and that two servants, armed, had accompaniedthem; he was not allowed to follow them, and therefore could not tell what direction they had taken, but Maria had whispered to him, to give Henry her last farewell, for she never expected to see him again, as she was ignorant of where they were taking her. When Henry received this information, distracted with a thousand contending emotions, among which despair was predominant, he seized a bayonet, and rushed bare-headed from his quarters, traversed one road after another in search of her, making inquiry of every person whom he met, if they had seen her,—but she had been some hours gone. After travelling about from one place to another in this distracted state, and being taken for a madman by all who met him, worn out by the violence of his feelings, he became calm, and returned home in the dusk of the evening; but it was a calm produced by one master feeling having swallowed up the rest; despair had now taken possession of his mind—‘The stricken bosom that can sigh, no mortal arrow bears.’ He walked into his apartment, and having taken up a musket, and loaded it, he placed the muzzle against his head, and was in the act of putting his foot on the trigger, when a soldier happened to enter, and seizing him, arrested the rash deed.
I had been placed on guard that morning, nor did I know anything of what had occurred, until Henry was brought to the guard-house, where he was ordered to be particularly watched. I went over to speak to him, but he looked at me with a vacant stare, nor did he seem conscious of what I said. Sitting down in a corner, he remained with his eyes fixed on the floor for some time, then rising, he walked about with a hurried pace, while his countenance showed the burning fever of his mind; a fit of tenderness succeeded, and he raved of all that had happened, which I only could understand. To me it was a most affecting scene, for I had no hope that his reason would return, and I contemplated the wreck of his mind, as one would do the destruction of all that was dear to him. I watched him attentively during the night, and towards morningnature became so far exhausted, that he fell into a confused slumber. When he awoke, the naked reality of his situation struck him intensely. He perceived me, and stretching out his hand, he burst into tears. In broken accents he informed me of the death of all his hopes; but his mind was unstrung—he could not think connectedly.
At this time he was sent for to attend at the colonel’s lodgings. The noble character of our commanding officer was particularly shown in the sympathy and concern which he evinced for the unfortunate Henry; he entered into all his feelings, and alternately soothed and reasoned with him, until he had brought him to a calmer state of mind; then after expressing the kindest solicitude for his welfare, he dismissed him to his quarters, telling him at the same time, that he would use his interest to gain the consent of her relations to the match, and that nothing should be wanting on his part to bring the affair to a happy conclusion. This, in some measure, restored the balm of hope to Henry’s mind; but, alas! it was only a temporary relief, for although Colonel L. faithfully kept his promise, and several of the officers who were on good terms with the family used their utmost endeavours in his behalf, it was all to no purpose,—the more they pressed, the more obstinate they became.
Things were in this state when he unexpectedly received a message from Maria, informing him that she was closely confined in the house of a gentleman (who was a relative of her aunt,) about nine miles from the town; from the manner in which she was guarded, she had no hope of being able to make her escape, for there were people employed to watch the avenues to the house, with orders if he approached it to show him no mercy; that she saw little use in giving him this information, but she could not resist the opportunity which had presented itself, of letting him know where she was. Henry gave way to the most entrancing anticipations on receiving this information; but when he communicated it to me, I considered thesubject in a different light. I saw that it was more likely to keep alive the commotion of a passion which there was little hope of ever arriving at its object; I knew the attempt to go to the house would be pregnant with danger, still I felt inclined to assist him in another determinate effort to carry off the prize.
Henry called on Colonel L. for the purpose of procuring a pass. When he communicated his intention, he not only gave him the pass, but also a letter to the gentleman of the house where Maria was, (with whom he was well acquainted,) to serve as an introduction. Thus prepared, Henry and I, in company with the boy already mentioned, set forward after it was dark towards the place, taking a by-road. When we reached the house, we left the boy outside, as he was known to the family, and entering, presented the letter from Colonel L. We were kindly received; and as it was late, the gentleman insisted on us stopping all night—so far all was well. We had been about an hour in the house when Maria happened to come down stairs: she knew us immediately, but concealed her emotions, and coming near the fire, she watched an opportunity until the servants were engaged about the house, and then whispering to us, asked our motive in coming there. ‘If they know you,’ said she, ‘your lives are not safe.’
I told her that our motive was by some means to endeavour to effect her escape; she replied, it was utterly impossible, she was too well guarded. ‘Farewell, Henry,’ said she, ‘farewell for ever, for I believe I will never see you again; it would have been happy for us both if we had never seen each other.’
At this moment a female servant of Donna Anna’s, who had accompanied Maria, came to speak to her, and recognizing Henry, she flew up stairs. Maria saw that we were discovered, and she cried to us, ‘Fly for your lives!’ The whole family collected, were now descending the stairs, and Maria was hurried up to her room. The old lady of the house assailed us with the most abusive epithets, the men-servants gathered in,and every thing wore a hostile appearance. The gentleman, however, to whom the letter was directed, commanded silence, and addressing us, ‘I do not presume to say what your intentions may be towards my ward, but being convinced of the identity of the individual who has already caused us so much trouble, I am forced, even against the laws of hospitality, to retract my request of you to remain here to-night, and for the safety of those committed to my charge, I must insist on you returning immediately to your quarters. If you have come here for the purpose of decoying Maria from this house, I can tell you that whatever inclination she once might have felt for this foolish young man, she is now better advised, and does not wish to be troubled with him any more.’
‘Let me hear that from her own lips,’ cried Henry in a frenzied tone, ‘and I will give my word that I shall never trouble her again.’
A short consultation was held by the family, and after some minutes delay, Maria was brought down stairs trembling and weeping. But all their endeavours could not force her to repeat the words which they wished her to say. At length, Henry, as if inspired with more than his natural energy, exclaimed, ‘I find that every fresh effort of mine only causes you additional restraint and mortification. I must now cease to hope—they have cruelly parted us in this world, Maria, but we may yet meet. Suffer me,’ said he, ‘to take a last farewell, and I will trouble you no more.’
This was spoken with such an impassioned voice and gesture, that it had a visible effect on those around. Maria, who had been restrained by the lady of the house, now broke from her, and fell into Henry’s arms. While he pressed her to his bosom, a new spirit seemed to animate him—his eyes brightened—and putting his hand into his breast, where he had a pistol concealed, ‘Let us carry her off, Joseph,’ said he to me in English, ‘or die in the attempt.’
‘Then you will die before you reach the door,’ said I; for the house was now filled with the retainers ofthe family; and as if they suspected his purpose, Maria was torn shrieking from his arms.
Afraid that he might be induced to commit some rash act, I hurried him out of the house, and we returned home. I endeavoured to lead him into conversation, but he appeared not to hear me, nor did he speak a word during the journey; he evinced no feeling of any kind—his mind seemed to be in a state of the utmost confusion.
Next morning the Portuguese boy brought him intelligence that Maria had passed through the village very early, escorted by her relations, on her way to a nunnery, about three leagues distant, where she was destined to remain until our army advanced.
This took place in a few days after, and they never met again. Henry’s mind had been strained far beyond its pitch—it was now unnerved—and he fell into a state of listless melancholy from which he did not recover for many months.