"It has too regular an outline for that," said L'Isle, who had now come up, and was trying to peer through the darkness. "Do you not hear the stamping of a horse across the water?"
"And a clattering sound?" said Cranfield, as a dragoon's sword struck against a neighboring stirrup.
"Lady Mabel," said L'Isle, eagerly, (she had pressed close up beside him,) "Pray ride back a little way, and take the ladies with you."
"I will, but what is the matter?"
"The road seems to be occupied. But go at once, and take them with you."
"I wish it were daylight!" said she, trying to laugh off her trepidation. "Adventures by night are more than I bargained for. Come ladies, follow me."
"Tom," said L'Isle to his groom, without turning his head, but gazing steadily at the dark object across the water, "Follow Lady Mabel."
"Better send the Doctor, sir," said Tom, doggedly. "He has not sword or pistol."
"Whoever they are," said L'Isle to Cranfield, "they have posted themselves badly for surprise or attack. Let us form here on the slope of the bank, and if they attempt to cross, fall on them as they come out of the water."
Officers and servants fell into line—a badly armed troop, with infantry swords, and some without pistols. Meanwhile, L'Isle sent Hatton's down to the edge of the river to challenge the opposite party.
Now, Hatton's knowledge of foreign tongues was pretty much limited to those vituperative epithets which are first and oftenest heard in every language. He rode down to the edge of the water, and proceeded loudly to anathamatize his opponents in Portuguese, Spanish and French successively. Having exhausted his foreign vocabulary, he hurled at them some well shotted English phrases—but the heretics did not heed the damnatory clauses, even in plain English. Not a word could he get in reply from them. L'Isle literally and figuratively in the dark, grew impatient, and announced his intention to commence a pistol practice on them that would draw out some demonstration. He rode down to the water's edge, and was leveling a long pistol at the middle of the dark mass, when some epithet of Hatton's more stinging than any he had yet invented, proved too much for Goring's gravity. He began to laugh, and the contagion seized every dragoon of the party. The mask of hostility fell off, and they were instantly recognized as friends, to the great relief of those on the other bank.
Provoked as they were at this practical joke, their position had been too ridiculous not to be amusing. After a hearty laugh, they hastened to bring back the ladies, who were not found close at hand, for Dona Carlotta and her friends had been posting back to Badajoz, and Lady Mabel had only succeeded in stopping them by the assurance that the road was doubtless beset, both before and behind them. When the two parties, now united, had taken their way back to Elvas, Lieutenant Goring found an opportunity of putting himself alongside of Lady Mabel.
She reproached him with the boyish trick he had just perpetrated. It might so easily have had fatal consequences. Goring, himself began to think it not so witty as he had fancied it.
"It was very provoking, though," said he, "to be left out of your pleasant party. I hope you will consider that, Lady Mabel, and forgive me for the little alarm I have given you."
"Not to-night," said she. "My nerves are quite too much shaken. But if I sleep well, and feel like myself again, I may possibly forgive you to-morrow."
(Rosalind reading a paper.)From the east to western Ind,No jewel is like Rosalind,Her worth being mounted on the wind,Through all the world bears Rosalind,All the pictures fairest lined,Are but black to Rosalind,Let no face be kept in mind,But the face of Rosalind.Touchstone.—I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; dinners andsuppers, and sleeping hours excepted; it is the right butter-woman'srank to market.As You Like It.
WheneverL'Isle took holiday from his military duties, he was pretty sure to take it out of his regiment, the next day. On parade, next morning, he inspected the ranks, bent on detecting some defect in bearing or equipment, and peered into the faces of the men, as if hunting out the culprits in the latest breach of discipline. Men and officers looked for a three hours' drill, to improve their wind, and put them in condition. But, to their great comfort, he soon let them off, and hastened back to his quarters. Arrived there, he called to his man for his portfolio, and at once sat down to write as if he had a world of correspondence before him. But it was plain to this man, who had occasion to come often into the room, that his master did not get through his work with his usual facility. He found him, not so often writing, as leaning on the table in laborious cogitation, or biting the feather end of his quill, or rapping his forehead with his knuckles, to stimulate the action of the organs within, or else striding up and down the room, in a brown study, over sundry half-written and discarded sheets of paper, scattered on the floor. L'Isle's servant wished to speak to him, but was too wise to disturb him in the midst of those throes of mental labor. But, when pausing suddenly in his walk, he pressed his forefinger on his temple, and exclaimed, "I had it last night, and now I have lost it!" his confidential man thought it time to speak. "What is it, sir, shall I look for it?"
L'Isle stared at him, as if just roused from a reverie, and bursting into a hearty laugh, bid him go down stairs until he called for him.
Down stairs he went, and told his two companions that their master was at work on the toughest despatch or report, or something of that sort, he had ever had to make in his life, adding, "I would not be surprised if something came of it."
"I have not a doubt," answered Tom, the groom, in a confident tone, "that the colonel has found out some new way to jockey the French, and is about to lay it before Sir Rowland Hill, or, perhaps my Lord Wellington himself."
Being men of leisure, they were still busy discussing their master's affairs, and had begun to wonder if he had forgotten that it was time to go to dinner, when L'Isle called for his man; but it was only to bid him send the groom up to him.
With an obedient start, Tom hastened up stairs. In a few minutes, he came down with an exceedingly neatly folded despatch in his hand. He seemed to have gained in that short interval no little accession of importance. He had quite sunk the groom, and strode into the room with the air of an ambassador.
"Now, my lads, without even stopping to wet my whistle," said he, "I will but sharpen my spurs, saddle my horse, and then—"
"What then?" asked his comrades.
"I will ride off on my important mission."
"Were you right?" asked L'Isle's gentleman. "Is that for Sir Rowland Hill?"
"Sir Rowland," answered Tom, carelessly, "is not the most considerable personage with whom master may correspond. And as the army post goes every day toCoria, he would hardly send me thither."
"Can it be for the commander-in-chief?" suggested the footman. "That is farther off still."
"You are but half-right," said Tom, contemptuously; "for it is not so far," and, holding up the letter, he pretended to read the direction: "'To his excellency, Lieutenant-General Sir Mabel Stewart, commander-in-chief of his majesty's forces in these parts.' If you had not been blockheads, you might have known it, from the extraordinary neatness of the rose-colored envelope, with its figured green border."
"I wonder where he got it?" said the footman.
"He brought them out with him from home," said Tom, as if he were in all his master's secrets, "for his love-letters to the Portuguese ladies—but never met with any worth writing love-letters to. And, now, my lads, hinder me no longer, I must ride and run till this be delivered to my lady, and your mistress, that is to be." He was soon in the saddle, and when there, rode as if carrying the news, that a French division, having surprised the dreamy Spaniards in Badajoz, was already fording the Cayo, without meeting even Goring's handful of dragoons, to check its advance.
L'Isle now hastened to the regimental mess, and, after dining, loitered there longer than usual, with a convivial set, until it was late enough to visit Lady Mabel.
He found her alone, in her drawing-room; her father being still at table, with some companions, the murmur of whose voices and laughter now and then reached L'Isle's ears.
"Lieutenant Goring, who is down stairs," said Lady Mabel, "has been amusing us at dinner with his version of our adventure at the ford of the Cayo; and a very good story he makes of it, giving some rich samples of Captain Hatton's polyglot eloquence. He, alone, seems not to have been in the dark; and saw all, and more than all, that occurred—nor does he forget you in the picture. But, papa cannot see the wit of it at all."
"Burlas de manos, burlas de villanos. There seldom is wit in practical jokes," said L'Isle; "but there was certainly more wit than wisdom in this."
"By-the-bye," said Lady Mabel, "our excursion yesterday has procured me a new correspondent. You will be astonished to hear who he is, and at the style in which he writes."
"Indeed!" said L'Isle, with heightening color. "I hope he writes on an agreeable topic, and in a suitable style?"
"You shall judge for yourself," said Lady Mabel. "But the grandiloquence of the epistle, worthy of Captain Don Alonzo Melendez himself, calls not for reading, but recitation. Do you sit here as critic, while I take my stand in the middle of the room, and give it utterance with all the elocution and pathos I can muster. You must know that this epistle I hold in my hand, is addressed to me by no less a personage than the river-god of the Guadiana, who, contrary to all my notions of mythology, proves to be a gentleman, and not a lady." And, in a slightly mock-heroic tone, she began to recite it:
Maiden, the sunshine of thine eye,Flashing my joyous waves along,The magic of thy soul-lit smile,Have waked my murmuring voice to song.Winding through Hispania's mountains,Watering her sunburnt plains,I, from earliest time, have gladdenedDwellers on these wide domains.I have watched succeeding races,Peopling my fertile strand,Marked each varying lovely model,Moulded by Nature's plastic hand.Striving still to reach perfection,Ruthless, she broke each beauteous mould;Some blemish still deformed her creature,Some alloy still defiled her gold.The Iberian girl has often bathed,Her limbs in my delighted flood,And no Acteon came to startleThis very Dian of the wood.The stately Roman maid has loitered,Pensive, upon my flowering shore,Shedding some pearly drops to think,Italia she may see no more.While gazing on my placid face,She meditates her distant home;And rears, as upon Tiber's banks,The towers of imperial Rome.The blue-eyed daughter of the Goth,Fresh from her northern forest-home,In rude nobility of race,Foreshadowed her who now has come.The loveliest offspring of the MoorBeside my moon-lit current sat;And, sighing, sung her hopeless love,In strains, that I remember yet.The Christian knight, in captive chains,The conqueror of her heart has proved;His own, in far Castilian bower,He bears her blandishments unmoved.Thus Nature tried her 'prentice hand,Become, at last, an artist true;In inspiration's happiest mood,She tried again, and moulded you.Maiden, from my crystal surface,May thy image never fade;Longing, longing, to embrace thee,I, alas! embrace a shade.Fainter glows each beauteous image,Thy beauty vanishing before;I will clasp thy lovely shadow,Fate will grant to me no more.
If the verses were not very good, L'Isle was ready to acknowledge it; but, in fact, he had not the fear of criticism before his eyes; for when did lady ever criticise verses made in her praise? But he had reckoned without his host. Though Lady Mabel recited them exceedingly well, in a way that showed that she must have read them over many times, and dwelt upon them, there was an under-current of ridicule running through her tones and action—for she had personified the river-god—and when she was done, she criticised them with merciless irony.
"This is no timid rhymster," she exclaimed, "but a true poet of the Spanish school: No figure is too bold for him. A mere versifier would have likened a lady's eyes to earthly diamonds or heavenly stars; the blessed sun itself is not too bright for our poet's purpose.—My timid fancy dared not follow his soaring wing; to me at the first glance, the 'stately Roman maid' was building her mimic Rome on the banks of the Guadiana with solid stone and tough cement, and I saddened at the sight of her labors. To come down to the mechanism of the verse," she continued, "besides a false rhyme or two, the measure halts a little.—But we must not forget that the river-god is taking a poetical stroll in the shackles of a foreign tongue. In this case we have good assurance that the poet has never been out of his own country, and to theeyeof a foreigner 'flood' and 'wood' and 'home' and 'come' are perfect rhymes. We must deal gently with the poet while 'trying his 'prentice hand,' hoping better things when he shall 'become an artist true;' and when we remember that to the national taste sublimity is represented by bombast, artifice takes the place of nature, and sense is sacrificed to sound, the love of theore rotundodemanding mouth-filling words at any price, we cannot fail to discover the genuine Spanish beauties of the piece. I only wonder that in his chronological picture of the races he should omit to display the Phoenician, Jewish and Gipsy maidens to our admiring eyes."
"Heyday!" exclaimed Colonel Bradshawe, who now came in with Major Warren, while she was still standing in the middle of the floor, with the paper raised in her hand, "Is this a rehearsal? Are we to have private theatricals, with Lady Mabel for first and sole actress? With songs interspersed for her asprima donna? Pray let me come in as one of thedramatis personæ."
"It is no play!" said Lady Mabel, much confused. "I have just been throwing away my powers of elocution in an attempt to make Colonel L'Isle perceive the beauties of a piece of model poetry, moulded in the purest Spanish taste. I thought him gifted with some poetic feeling, but he shows not the slightest sense of its peculiar merits."
L'Isle, though much out of countenance, had kept his seat through the recitation, but now got up looking little pleased with it.
"Try me," said Major Warren. "You may be more successful in finding a critic."
"I never suspected you of any critical acumen," said Lady Mabel; "and so could not be disappointed."
"Do not overlook me," said Bradshawe. "Poetry is the expression of natural feeling, in a state of exaltation. Now, I am always in an exalted state of feeling in your company, and may be just now a very capable judge."
"No; one failure is enough for me," said Lady Mabel. "I am not in the humor to repeat it."
"Let me read it then," said Bradshawe, offering to take the paper from her hand.
Lady Mabel declined, and L'Isle tried to divert his attention. But Bradshawe's curiosity was strongly excited, and he made more than one playful attempt to get possession of the verses. Upon this, Lady Mabel went to the table near which L'Isle was standing, and pretended to hide them between the pages of one of the books there. L'Isle, anxious that they should be kept from every eye but hers, watched her closely. Could he believe his eyes? As she stooped over the table, she actually, unobserved, as she thought, slipped the verses into her bosom. Bradshawe pertinaciously began to search the volumes; on which, Lady Mabel took up the largest of them, and with a grave face carried it out of the room, leaving L'Isle so well satisfied with her care for his epistle, that, by the time she came back, he was ready to bear, without flinching, any severity of criticism.
The rest of the company below being gone, Lord Strathern now entered the room. "Ah, L'Isle, I am glad to find you here; I was just about to send after you. I have this moment received a dispatch from Sir Rowland. He needs you for a special service, and this letter contains his instructions."
"Is it in verse, Papa?" asked Lady Mabel, coming close up beside her father.
"In verse, child? What are you dreaming of? Sir Rowland is a sane man, and never writes verses?"
"I thought it might be a growing custom to correspond in verse. The last letter I received was in regular stanzas."
"Who from?" asked Lord Strathern.
"A Spaniard—a genuine Spaniard, of the purest water," said Lady Mabel. "And, strange to tell, I never saw him but once in my life."
"The impudent rascal!" exclaimed his lordship. "I will have him horsewhipped by way of answer, a stripe for every line."
"Nay," said Lady Mabel, "a stripe for every bad line will be cutting criticism enough."
"Who is this fellow? Is it the Don Alonso Melendez you were telling me of?"
"Never mind his name, Papa. I am afraid you might have him flayed alive, while the poor fellow deserves nothing but laughter for his doggerel." And while this doggerel was secretly pressed by her bosom, she stole a look at L'Isle, and was surprised to see how little galled he seemed to be by her ridicule.
"What is the burden of Sir Rowland's verses?" she asked, addressing him.
"Very true!" exclaimed L'Isle; "I had forgotten to read it." And breaking the seal, he ran his eye hastily over the letter. "I must leave Elvas at once, and be away some days," he said, with a look of dissatisfaction.
"Sir Rowland is very fond of sending you on his errands," remarked Lord Strathern. "And, hitherto you seemed to like the extra work he gave you."
"I would be gladly excused from it just now," answered L'Isle, and in spite of himself, his eye wandered toward Lady Mabel. Lord Strathern did not observe this, but said, jestingly: "I believe you have contrived to convince Sir Rowland that none of us can do any thing so well as you can," but there was a little tone of pique in the way this was said.
"I have made no attempt to do so," L'Isle answered. "But he has given me some thing to do now, and I must set about it at once." Taking leave of Lady Mabel, he held a short private conference with his lordship, and, when he went out to mount his horse, found Colonel Bradshawe already in the saddle, waiting for him. This annoyed him, for he instinctively knew Bradshawe's object, and looked to be ingeniously cross-questioned as to the verses which Lady Mabel had recited, and then criticised so unsparingly. Unwilling to let Bradshawe stretch him on the rack for his amusement, L'Isle assumed the offensive, and at once broached another matter which he had much at heart.
"I wonder when we will leave Elvas," he exclaimed, abruptly. "If we stay here much longer, we will be at war with the people around us. I never knew my lord so negligent of discipline. It evidently grows upon him."
"The old gentleman," said Bradshawe, carelessly, "certainly holds the reins with a slack hand."
"He is content with preserving order in Elvas," said L'Isle; "but turns a deaf ear to almost every complaint the peasantry make against our people."
"Many of them are lies," said Bradshawe, coolly.
"And many of them are too well founded," answered L'Isle. "You are the senior officer in the brigade, and a man of no little tact. Could you not stir my lord up to looking more closely into this matter."
"I will think of it," said Bradshawe, anxious to open a more interesting subject.
"Pray think of it speedily," said L'Isle. "There is no time to be lost, and I must lose no time now. The sun has set, and I must be in Olivenca by midnight."
"What will you do there?" asked Bradshawe.
"Bait my horses on my way into Andalusia," answered L'Isle, riding off at full gallop, leaving Bradshawe much provoked at his slipping out of his hands before he could put him to the question.
Who cannot be crushed with a plot?All is Well that Ends Well.
Sir Rowland Hillhad sent L'Isle off to the southward, to ascertain the strength and condition of the reserve of Spanish troops moving up from Andalusia. One might think that these things could be better learned from the official reports of theConde d'Abispaland the officers under him. But from the Prince of Parma's day to this, Spanish officers in reporting the number and condition of their commands, have made it a rule to state what they ought to be, not what they are, leaving all deficiencies to be found out on the day of battle. Sir Rowland, knowing this, now made use of L'Isle, whose knowledge of the Spanish language and character, and his acquaintance with many officers of rank, enabled him to ascertain the truth without betraying the object of his mission, or giving offence to these proud and jealous allies. Ten days had gone by when he again rode into Elvas, and in spite of the secrecy aimed at in military councils, many symptoms indicated that the campaign was about to open.
It was high time for the brigade to leave this part of the country. The soldiers were disgusted with the sluggish people around them, keen and active only in their efforts to make money out of their protectors. The Portuguese were exasperated at the insolence of their allies, their frequent depredations and occasional acts of violence, many of which went unpunished; for the English officers, always professing the utmost readiness to punish the offences of their men, were singularly scrupulous and exacting as to the conclusiveness of the proofs of guilt.
Lord Strathern's lax discipline may have aggravated, but had not caused the evil, which was felt throughout Portugal. The Regency, while proving itself unable to govern the country, or reform a single abuse, had shown its ability to harass their allies and embarrass the general charged with the conduct of the war. "A narrow jealousy had long ruled their conduct, and the spirit of captious discontent had now reached the inferior magistracy, who endeavored to excite the people against the military generally. Complaints came in from all quarters, of outrages on the part of the troops, some too true, but many of them false or frivolous; and when Wellington ordered courts-martial for the trial of the accused, the magistrates refused to attend as witnesses, because Portuguese custom rendered such attendance degrading, and by Portuguese law a magistrate's written testimony was efficient in courts-martial. Wellington in vain assured them that English law would not suffer him to punish men on such testimony; in vain he pointed out the mischief which must infallibly overwhelm the country, if the soldiers discovered that they might thus do evil with impunity. He offered to send, in each case, lists of Portuguese witnesses required, that they might be summoned by the native authorities; but nothing could overcome the obstinacy of the magistrates; they answered that his method was insolent; and with sullen malignity continued to accumulate charges against the troops, to refuse attendance in the courts, and to call the soldiers, their own as well as the British, 'licensed spoliators of the community.'"
"For a time the generous nature of the poor people resisted all these combined causes of discontent, * * * * * yet by degrees the affection for the British cooled, and Wellington expressed his fears that a civil war would commence between the Portuguese people on the one hand, and the troops of both nations on the other. Wherefore his activity to draw all military strength to a head, and make such an irruption into Spain, as would establish a new base of operations beyond the power of such fatal dissensions."
Throughout the war this great captain's hardest tasks had been to conciliate the jealous, vain-glorious Spaniard, to stimulate the laggard suspicious Portuguese, to enlighten the invincible ignorance of Regency andJuntas, in order to draw out and combine the resources of both countries with the scanty means afforded him by his own blundering government. He was required to do great things with small means, without offending one tittle against the laws, customs and prejudices of three dissimilar nations. He might toil, fret and fume, wearing himself to the bone, but could never get rid of this task of making ropes out of sea-sand. So much as to the state of the country. Let us return to our story.
L'Isle reached Elvas early in the day, and resolved to reward himself for his labors, by paying a visit to Lady Mabel; then after a conference with Lord Strathern, to sit down and write his report to Sir Rowland, on the state of the Andalusian reserve. He knew that Sir Rowland looked for a precise and pithy statement, and L'Isle mean this to be a model for all such communications. But fate may mar the wisest plan.
He found Lady Mabel and Mrs. Shortridge together, and soon perceived that the latter lady's head was full of an entertainment she was about to give.
"The commissary has warned me," she said "that from henceforth he will be ever on the move—that he must break up his household here, and send off his heavy baggage to Lisbon. In this he very politely includes his wife."
"I am truly sorry to hear it," said L'Isle, "but confess that first among a soldier'simpedimentamust be reckoned his wife."
"I did not look for so blunt an assent to the commissary's opinion from you," said Mrs. Shortridge, somewhat nettled; "however, I am to go, and as many of the good folks of Elvas have been as polite to me as they know how, I wish to show my sense of it in parting. I have invited all my Portuguese friends, with a good sprinkling of red coats to meet them. I have put myself to infinite trouble and no little expense, meaning to have a grand evening, combiningturtulia, concert and ball. I would show these people something of society and life, then vanish from Elvas in a blaze of glory. Now, as the rarest treat that I could offer, I had promised my guests that they should hear Lady Mabel in all her glorious richness of voice; and now she is seized with a sudden fit of modesty, and protests against being exhibited before a motly crowd like an opera singer."
Lady Mabel's reluctance was not feigned; and when Mrs. Shortridge called on L'Isle for assistance in overcoming it, he felt some scruples at lending his aid. But her companion and friend was about to leave her; it was painful to refuse her a favor on which she plainly laid great stress. Friendship and flattery at length prevailed, and Lady Mabel promised to do her utmost to charm the ears of the natives, on condition that L'Isle should be at hand as her interpreter, and say to them for her a dozen polite and half as many witty things for every song she sang, in order that these foreigners might not mistake her for a mere singer.
L'Isle pledged himself to be at her beck throughout the evening, and to furnish wit and politeness without stint. This obstacle overcome, Mrs. Shortridge was delighted, and talked gaily of her arrangements and anticipations for the appointed night. L'Isle entering into her humor, busied himself in drawing out a programme for Lady Mabel's performance, and after turning over all the music at hand, made a list of songs long enough to have cracked her voice forever. It was late when he suddenly remembered that he had occasion to see Lord Strathern, and he tore himself away to seek him.
L'Isle found his lordship in the business room of his quarters, and quite at leisure, although seated by a table on which lay sundry papers in no business like order. Most of them were despatches, returns and other military documents. But among them was a goodly pile of communications from theJuiz de foraof more than one neighboringcomarca, written in eloquent but denunciatory Portuguese, being, in truth, philippics aimed at sundry individuals or parties, belonging to his command.
The old soldier had not treated them with absolute neglect. After having the first two or three duly translated to him, and making himself familiar with the tenor of this kind of document, he had prepared a concise form of reply: regretting that any of his Majesty's soldiers should be guilty of any act of violence, depredation or impropriety in the country of their friends and allies, and proposing that the accusers should come forward and prove the charges before a court-martial, according to British laws. A copy of this stereotyped answer, turned into good Portuguese, was always at hand to be dispatched in reply to each new complaint, as soon as it reached headquarters. Thus the correspondence cost little trouble there, for Lord Strathern had an easy-going philosophy, which, like an ambling pad, carried him smoothly over the rough and intricate path of diplomacy, policy, and military exigencies. He knew it was impossible to give perfect satisfaction to the Portuguese, and unlike his commander, he eschewed all such attempts to make ropes out of sea-sand.
L'Isle's entrance roused Lord Strathern from a pleasant reverie over his cigar.
"Why, L'Isle! are you back again? You certainly have the gift of appearing just when you are wanted. Is not that the case with a character called Mephistophiles?"
"Yes, my lord; but he is a devil," said L'Isle, drily.
"I beg your pardon. I did not mean to make an unsavory comparison. But here is another billetdoux from Sir Rowland awaiting you."
L'Isle, taking the dispatch handed to him, broke the seal and read it deliberately, then said: "Does Sir Rowland think I keep an extra stud of horses, to do the riding that properly belongs to his own staff?"
"Why, where is he sending you now?"
"To Badajoz, on an errand similar to that on which I went into Andalusia."
"To Badajoz? That is no distance at all; at least nothing to grumble at," said Lord Strathern. "You are growing lazy, L'Isle. Why Mabel would ride that far after a rare flower. Just think you are chasing a fox, who takes the high road, and never doubles once between this and Badajoz."
"That would be a fox of a new breed," suggested L'Isle.
"I confess," said his lordship, "I never started one of the kind. But Sir Rowland's staff have their hands full just now. To lighten their labors, I have had to furnish more than one officer for special duties. You surely would not have Sir Rowland send an aid all the way fromCoria, merely to see if those Spanish fellows in Badajoz are in a state to march without disbanding, or without plundering the country as they move through it!"
"Talking of marauding, my lord," said L'Isle; "I wish the taste for that diversion was confined to our Spanish friends. It is becoming every day more necessary to check the excesses of our own people. We cannot send out a party into the country around, but on their return they are dogged at the heels by complaints and accusations. When we march hence, we shall leave a villainous name behind us."
"Oh, we will never come back here again," said Lord Strathern, carelessly. "Moreover, two-thirds of these complaints are groundless, and the rest grossly exaggerated."
"The sacking of the farmer's house on the border needed no exaggeration," said L'Isle.
"I tell you that was done by the Spaniards," exclaimed Lord Strathern.
"Yet worse cases than that have occurred, and gone unpunished," urged L'Isle.
"Because they never could prove the charge, and point out the culprits," replied his lordship. "The country is full ofrateros. They commit the crimes and our fellows bear the blame."
"That is often true; but I have met with one little case in which the offenders can be pointed out."
"Well, let me hear it," said Lord Strathern, leaning back in his chair, as if compelled to listen, but anxious to be rid of the subject.
"I stopped for a while on my way back," said L'Isle, "at a little venda on this side ofJuramenha. The people of the house were shy and sullen. I had to ask many questions before I could induce them to speak freely, but at length out came a charge against some of our people. Three nights ago five of our men had come to the house, and, calling for wine, sat down to drink. They soon became riotous, and their conduct so insulting to the man's wife and daughters, that they ran away to hide themselves. When he required them to pay the reckoning and quit the house, they promised most liberal payment, and seizing, bound him to a post in his own stable, where they gave him fifty lashes with a leathern strap, valuing the stripes at avintemapiece."
"The witty rascals," said Lord Strathern; "I would like to repay them in their own coin."
"Moreover," continued L'Isle, "on the man's son making some resistance to their treatment of his father, they bound the boy, too, and gave him a dozenvintems' worth of the strap for pocket money."
"The liberal rascals!" said Lord Strathern; "they deserve a handsome profit on their outlay. But how do you know, L'Isle, that this story is true?"
"There is no mistake about the flogging," exclaimed L'Isle. "They used the buckle end of the strap, and, I myself saw the marks, some not yet scarred over."
"That silent witness may prove a good deal; I cannot call it tongueless," said his lordship, "for I suppose the buckle had a tongue."
"I can vouch for that by the mark it left behind," said L'Isle. "Both father and son swore that they would know the fellows among a thousand. But the man dare not come to Elvas to search them out, as the scamps promised faithfully to make sausage meat of him should he venture near the town."
"If the cowardly rascal will not come forward and lodge a complaint," said Lord Strathern, "what the devil can we do?"
"We can bring him here and protect him," said L'Isle, "while he hunts out the culprits. If necessary, I will take him before my regiment, and let him look every man in the face, to see if he can identify the offenders in the ranks; and so with other regiments."
"What! muster the whole brigade for such a poltroon to inspect them!" exclaimed Lord Strathern. "What are you dreaming of, L'Isle? It would be offering a bounty for accusations against the men. Half these rascals would swear away a man's life for acrusado."
"Perhaps so, my lord. But by cross-questions and examining them apart, the truth may be wrung from even lying witnesses."
"Impossible, with these people; the truth is not in them. Come, L'Isle, no one knows better than you, who are so much in Sir Rowland's councils, that we are on the point of moving from this part of the country. The little disorders that have occurred here, can be followed by no ill consequences."
"We carry the worse consequences with us," said L'Isle, pertinaciously. "Little disorders, my lord! The peasantry round Elvas do not talk of them so. They say that their property is plundered, their women insulted, and themselves at constant risk in life and limb."
"What! do the rascals talk of us in that way? even while we are protecting them," exclaimed Lord Strathern, springing from his chair. "We have spent more money among them than their beggarly country is worth in fee simple; and they are no more thankful than if we had occupied it as enemies. I wish they had among them again, for a few weeks, that one-handedLoisonwith his cut-throat bands, or piousJunot, who loved church plate so well."
"It is bad enough to be robbed by their enemies, they say," suggested L'Isle, "but they did not expect it from their friends."
"Pooh," said Lord Strathern, "the Portuguese, of all people, ought to know what real military license is. The French taught them that. As for our fellows, what if they do at times drink a little more wine than they pay for, or even take a lamb or kid from the flocks they protect, or kiss a wench before she has consented; is that any thing to make a hubbub about? The lads should be paid for drinking their muddyvinho verde, and as for the girls, all the trouble comes of their ignorance of our tongue, so that they have to be talked to by signs."
"You must be jesting, my lord. To overlook small offences is to license greater."
"I license none; I punish whatever is clearly proved, but will not play grand Inquisitor, and hunt out every little peccadillo. With your notions, L'Isle, you would bring the men to confession every morning and make the service worse than purgatory. Must I answer for it if a girl squeaks out, half in jest, and half in earnest?"
L'Isle was provoked to see that Lord Strathern was laughing at him, and said, earnestly, "You cannot have forgotten, my lord, the state of the army at the end of the campaign. Little has yet been done to bring this brigade up to the mark, and little will be achieved by it in the coming campaign in its present state. Now is the time to check the licentious spirit by making some severe examples."
"I will do no such thing," said Lord Strathern, coolly. "The occasion does not call for it. We will be in the field shortly, and want all the bayonets we can muster. The brigade is too weak to spare men from the ranks to put into irons."
"I did not suppose," said L'Isle, "that the warning my Lord Wellington gave us not long since, would be so soon forgotten."
L'Isle alluded to the circular letter Wellington had addressed to his subordinates, at the end of the campaign, in which he had politely dubbed half of his officers idlers, whose habitual neglect of duty suffered their commands to run into ruffianism. Perhaps their commander was suffering under a fit of indigestion when he wrote it. It certainly caused a general heartburning among his officers. Lord Strathern, among others, had found it hard to digest, and now angrily denounced it unjust.
"Well, my lord," said L'Isle, with more zeal than discretion, "by the end of the campaign our men may be in a state to be improved by a touch of discipline fromJulian SanchezorCarlos d'Espana, unless they reject them as too much like banditti!"
"And I am captain of the banditti!" exclaimed Lord Strathern, in a sudden rage. "As you do notyetcommand the brigade, let me beg you, sir, to go and look after your own people, and keep them up to the mark, lest they become banditti!"
"I always obey orders, my lord," said L'Isle, with suddenly assumed composure; "I will go and look after my own regiment, and let the rest of the brigade march"—
"Where, sir?" thundered Lord Strathern.
"Their own road," L'Isle answered, and bowed himself out of the room. He walked sedately through the long corridor that led to the entrance of this monastic house, then, yielding to some violent impulse, sprang into his saddle, and plunging his spurs into his horse's flanks, dashed out of the court and through the olive grounds at a killing pace. His astonished groom stared at him for a moment, then followed with emulous speed. As L'Isle turned suddenly into the high road, a voice called out: "Don't ride me down; I'm no Frenchman!" and he saw Colonel Bradshawe quickly but coolly press his ambling cob close to the hedge, to avoid his charge.
"You seem to be in a hurry, L'Isle. Hallo! here is another!" said the colonel, giving his horse another dexterous turn, to shun the onset of the groom. "What news has come? Or have you joined the dragoons? Or are you merely running a race with your man here?"
"Neither, sir," said L'Isle, who had pulled up and turned to speak to his comrade. His flashing eye and excited manner, his thoroughbred steed, chafing on the bit and pawing the ground, were in striking contrast with the unruffled Bradshawe on his sleek cob, whose temper was as smooth as his coat.
"The fact is," said L'Isle, in what was meant for an explanatory tone, "I have just had a serious conversation with Lord Strathern—"
"Which grew quite animated before it came to an end," interjected Bradshawe, coolly.
"In which I took the liberty of expressing my opinion," continued L'Isle—
"Rather strongly on the subject of discipline, military license, and the articles of war," interjected Bradshawe again.
"You are happy in your surmises, sir," said L'Isle, stiffly; for Bradshawe's imperturbable manner chafed him much in his present mood.
"Surmises! my dear fellow. Do I not know your opinions and my lord's? You believe the rules and regulations were made to be enforcedad literam, and he thinks they are to be hung upin terrorem. My lord," added Bradshawe, in a calm, judicial tone, "is the more mistaken of the two."
"Since you so far agree with me," said L'Isle, "would it not be well for you to remind his lordship that it is time to enforce some of the rules and regulations for the government of his Majesty's troops, if he would have his brigade consist of soldiers, and not of robbers."
"It is very desirable to keep up the distinction between the two professions," said Bradshawe. "One has a strong tendency to slide into the other. Pray, tell me what arguments you have been using with my lord."
L'Isle, with an effort at calmness, repeated the substance of the late conversation, much to Bradshawe's amusement; for in him a genuine love of mischief rivaled his epicurean tastes.
"On one point, my lord had the advantage of you," said Bradshawe. "It is his privilege to bid you look after your regiment; not yours to bid him look after his brigade."
"True," said L'Isle, bitterly. "But as you, though my senior, are not my commander, I trust there is no insubordination in my telling you that the brigade is left to look after itself, and is going to the devil as fast as it can."
"As individuals," said Bradshawe, "that is the probable destination of most of us."
"We will have to get Julian Sanchez, or the Empecinado, or some other guerilla chief, to undertake its reformation," continued L'Isle, in great heat. "I forgot to suggest to my lord, that before we march away, we ought to levy a contribution, as a bounty for the blessings we bestow on the neighborhood in leaving it."
"A capital idea," said Bradshawe, "but by no means original. The French always do so when they change their cantonments; that is, if there be any thing left in the country around. If our hands were not tied, we might yet learn some clever arts from Monsieur. Junot's system was to drive up all the farm cattle of the neighborhood just before he marched off; then allow them to be redeemed at a low cash price. He found it a capital way to extract the last hidden crusado."
"You have mastered the enemy's system thoroughly," said L'Isle, with a sneer. "But as our hands are tied, we cannot imitate them. Perhaps it would better become your position in the brigade, for you to try and rouse his lordship to the necessity of checking the license that is growing daily."
"I would gladly do so," said Bradshawe; "but being no Oxford logician, have not your irresistible power of convincing him. You have handled the matter so fully and ably, that I need only repeat faithfully every word you have said. You may depend upon me for that." And, turning his horse, he rode gently off toward headquarters, while L'Isle galloped up the hill to Elvas.
Bradshawe found Lord Strathern in as great a rage as the comrade he had just parted with; so he amused himself with drawing out from his lordship a recital of their late conversation, which he repaid with a sketch of L'Isle's roadside conference with himself. The old soldier was only the more provoked on finding that, freely as L'Isle had spoken, he could hardly charge him with insubordination, or twist his hot arguments into a personal insult. Soothing and chafing him by turns, Bradshawe did not permit the subject to drop until they were interrupted by a courier with despatches.
"What is all this! Post upon post! There must be some thing in the wind!" said my lord, as he broke the seal, which was Sir Rowland Hill's.
"Our pleasant winter here is over," said Bradshawe, with a sigh. "We will be moving shortly, and then hot marches and cold meals, sour wine and bad quarters, or no quarters at all, will be the order of the day. I trust we shall move through a more plentiful country than we did last year."
"It has not quite come to that yet," said Lord Strathern. "Here is an order for me to meet Sir Rowland at Alcantara, at ten, the day after to-morrow. I am to take you and Conway with me, for he has special instructions for you both. And here is an order for that modest fellow L'Isle to attend and report the state of the Andalusian reserve. I expect Conway to dinner. You had better stay and meet him."
In due time Major Conway appeared, and dinner was announced. Mrs. Shortridge had gone home, so that only two guests sat down with Lady Mabel and her father. No man made himself more agreeable in his own house and at his own table than Lord Strathern usually did, for hospitality was with him an article of religion. But to-day my lord was not in a religious frame of mind. He was moody and silent, or growled at his servants, and gave short answers to his guests; so that Major Conway, after sundry attempts to engage him in conversation, gave it up, and joined Bradshawe in his efforts to entertain Lady Mabel. At length the cloth was removed, the servants withdrew, and the gentlemen sat over their wine; yet Lady Mabel, not trained to a nice observance of little conventionalities, lingered there, watching her father's moody brow.
"So L'Isle has got back," said Major Conway.
"The impudent coxcomb!" exclaimed Lord Strathern.
Conway started. But Lady Mabel started as if a snake had bitten her. She said nothing, however; perhaps she could not had she tried. But Conway exclaimed: "My lord, perhaps I did not hear you rightly."
"You did Major Conway. I say that L'Isle is an impudent coxcomb. The most presumptuous fellow I know. I will find or make an occasion to give him a lesson he much needs."
"Why, my lord, what has L'Isle done?" asked the Major.
"Done!" said Lord Strathern angrily. "He has said a great deal more than I will tolerate." And, having broached the subject, he told the story of L'Isle's interview with himself, and his remarks to Bradshawe, pronouncing his whole conduct presumptuous and impertinent. Losing his temper more and more, he exclaimed: "Sir Rowland's absurd partiality has spoiled the fellow utterly!"
"Sir Rowland must not bear all the blame," said Bradshawe, interposing; then added slyly: "No wonder L'Isle's head is turned, considering who all have helped to spoil him."
"So they have; and you have spoiled him more than any one else," exclaimed Lord Strathern turning suddenly on Lady Mabel. "I hear of nobody but Colonel L'Isle. This Colonel of yours has been growing more and more intolerable—
"My Colonel, papa? I assure you I lay no claim to him," said Lady Mabel, hastily disclaiming all interest in poor L'Isle.
"Why do you have him so much about you, then, and quote him so often?"
"Why, my lord," said Bradshawe, again interposing, "Lady Mabel cannot but see and hear much of L'Isle, while she sees so much of Mrs. Shortridge, their mutual friend."
Lady Mabel was truly thankful for this diversion. It gave her one moment to think, and that was enough. In her father's present mood, L'Isle could not escape gross insult at their next meeting. She felt that the best way to molify his anger was to take up his quarrel vigorously herself. So, warming herself into a fit of indignation becoming the occasion, she exclaimed: "It is no fault of mine that I see so much of Colonel L'Isle. Why do you make him so often your guest? As Colonel Bradshawe says, I have no fit companion here but Mrs. Shortridge, and he is often with her. As to his presumption, it is not so new to me as you suppose. I have often laughed at him for his vanity in thinking that nobody can do anything as well as himself. I have had to check him before this for presuming to find fault with your management of the brigade; but did not imagine he would have the impertinence to insinuate to your face that he could command it better than you do."
"By Jove!" exclaimed Lord Strathern, "indirectly, he as good as told me so."
"So it seems," said Lady Mabel indignantly. "I am your daughter, and resent such boyish impertinence more even than you do. I will take the earliest opportunity to express to him my opinion on that point most emphatically."
Bradshawe was discreetly silent, drinking in every word. He did not actually hate L'Isle; he liked Lady Mabel well; but he loved the mischief a-brewing, and watched her game, for he saw plainly that she was playing one. Conway sat wondering what all this would lead to, anxious, yet afraid, to say a word in extenuation of poor L'Isle's offences.
"By the bye," exclaimed Lady Mabel, "I have promised Mrs. Shortridge my utmost aid in entertaining her guests to-morrow night; and the better to enable me to give it, Colonel L'Isle is pledged to be in constant attendance as my interpreter. I must write at once, and let him know that I shall dispense with his services."
"Write to the fellow at once," growled Lord Strathern, "and do not let him misunderstand the tenor of your note."
"But he has gone to Badajoz," said Bradshawe. "Still, if he has an appointment with you, Lady Mabel, he will assuredly be back in time."
"But, my lord," said Major Conway, "you have an order for him to attend Sir Rowland, at Alcantara the morning after, so that he would have to give up the pleasure of waiting on Lady Mabel at Mrs. Shortridge's, even though she did not discard him in this summary manner."
"Then Mabel shall summon him to attend her, according to promise, in spite of Sir Rowland's order!" thundered Lord Strathern, with all the perverseness of an angry man.
"But suppose he pleads Sir Rowland's order in excuse," urged Conway.
"It shall not serve him. Mabel shall treat it as a fresh piece of impertinence, and cut him forever."
"Suppose he attends Lady Mabel, and neglects Sir Rowland?"
"Then Sir Rowland shall know how lightly he holds his orders."
"That is being very hard upon L'Isle," said Conway.
"Not as hard as he deserves," said Lord Strathern with a bitter laugh.
"It is probably very important," urged Conway, "that Sir Rowland should know at once the real state of this Andalusian reserve. Much may depend upon it."
"Tut," said Lord Strathern contemptuously. "What matters L'Isle's being able to tell him whether or not they look like soldiers? If you had been long in Spain, you would have known that the fighting has to be done by us."
"O yes," said Bradshawe. "Whatever they may do on parade, the fighting always falls to our lot."
Lady Mabel had listened to this dialogue with intense interest, and no little confusion of mind. She was very angry with L'Isle, and that perhaps made her feel how important he had become to her. She was not quite prepared to cut his acquaintance, and turn her back on him forever, and now thought she saw her way through the difficulty.
"You are driving my friend L'Isle to the wall," said Major Conway. "I know him to be agallantman; but however painful the sacrifice may be to him, I think he will feel compelled to waive his engagement with Lady Mabel, and wait on Sir Rowland Hill."
"Let him, if he dare," said Lady Mabel, with an emphatic stamp of her foot.
"I applaud your spirit, Lady Mabel," said Bradshawe mischievously. "It is lucky for L'Isle that the Stewarts of Strathern are not now represented by a son. As it is, L'Isle will have to make his submission with the best grace he can."
"I trust Lady Mabel will accept it in some other shape than slighting Sir Rowland's order," said Conway. "L'Isle will not do that."
"That, and nothing else," said Lady Mabel resolutely—almost angrily. "I hold myself to be quite as good as Sir Rowland, and the first appointment was with me."
"Sir Rowland will have to yield precedence to you, Lady Mabel," said Bradshawe. "If L'Isle knows the penalty, he will have to attend on you."
"Begging Lady Mabel's pardon," said Conway, "L'Isle will do no such thing."
"Conway," said Lord Strathern, with a sneer, "this punctilious friend of yours is very exacting—toward other people. But I will bet you fifty guineas that he keeps Sir Rowland waiting for news of a batch of ragamuffins not worth hearing about."
"My funds are rather low just now," said Conway, "to hazard fifty guineas on a bet."
"I thought you would not back him but in words," said Lord Strathern, in a contemptuous tone.
"Nay," said Conway, stung by his manner, "I know that where duty is concerned, L'Isle is a punctilious man. To obey every order to the letter and the second, is a point of honor with him, and I will risk my money upon him."
"Done," said Lord Strathern; "and now, Mabel, use your wits to keep the fellow here, and make a fool of him; and I will expose and laugh at him, as he deserves, at Alcantara."
"But this is a regular plot against poor L'Isle," objected Conway.
"Plot or no plot, it is understood that you give him no hint," said Lord Strathern.
"Certainly not," exclaimed Bradshawe, rubbing his hands together. "Conway, you must not blab."
"I suppose I must not," said Conway, with a very grave face, chiefly for L'Isle, but partly for his fifty guineas. "But this is a serious matter. It may be of vital importance for Sir Rowland to know at once if the Andalusian reserve"—
"The Andalusian reserve," said Lord Strathern, interrupting him, "will never let themselves be food for powder."
Lady Mabel now slipped out of the room, to hide her confusion and anxiety; and Major Conway, finding my lord not in a mood to please or be pleased, soon took leave, followed by Bradshawe in high glee, though he suppressed the outward signs of it until he had turned his back upon the hospitable mansion.
"Here on the clear, cold Ezla's breezy side,My hand amidst her ringlets wont to rove;She proffered now the lock, and now denied—With all the baby playfulness of love."Here the false maid, with many an artful tear,Made me each rising thought of doubt discover;And vowed and wept till hope had ceased to fear—Ah me! beguiling, like a child, her lover."Southey,from the Spanish.
Lord Strathern'sanger was not unlike a thunderstorm, violent and loud, but not very lasting. It had spent its worst fury last night; but Lady Mabel still heard the occasional rumbling of the thunder in the morning, while seated, with her father, at an unusually early breakfast; for he had before him no short day's journey over the rough country between Elvas and Alcantara. Sleep may have dulled the edge of his anger against L'Isle, but he had not yet forgotten or forgiven him. As he kissed his daughter before he mounted his horse—for she had followed him into the court—he said: "Do not forget that fellow L'Isle, Mabel; keep him here, and make a fool of him, and I will expose and laugh at him to-morrow in Alcantara."
Now, Lady Mabel had forgotten neither L'Isle, nor his offences. She was indignant at his presumptuous censure of her father, as unjust and disrespectful to him, and showing too little consideration for herself. In short, it was, as Colonel Bradshawe had insinuated, an indignity to the whole house of Stewart of Strathern. It must be resented. Yet she could not resolve to turn her back upon him, and discard him altogether, as she was pledged to do, as one alternative. She thought it a far fitter punishment to compel him to keep his appointment with her, and make Sir Rowland wait, fretting and fuming for the intelligence he longed for, and which L'Isle alone could give him. She reveled in the idea of making L'Isle turn his back on military duty to obey her behest:
"How she would make him fawn, and beg and seek,And wait the season and observe the times,And spend his prodigal wit in bootless rhymes."
But then L'Isle was so punctilious on points of duty, and Major Conway had been so confident that she could not detain him in Elvas, that she begun to doubt it herself, and resolved to spare no pains to gain her end. So she at once sat down and penned an artful note; then calling for her fine footman, dispatched him with it to L'Isle's quarters, after schooling him well that he was to give it to the colonel's own man, with strict injunctions to put it in his master's hand on his return—if possible—before his foot was out of the stirrup; certainly, before he got any other letter awaiting him.
Meanwhile, L'Isle was zealously fulfilling his mission at Badajoz. He had made such good speed the evening before, that though the sun had set on him in Elvas, some lingering rays of twilight still fell on the round Moorish tower of white marble, on either hand, as he entered the bridge-gate of Badajoz.
No sooner had he alighted at the posada, than he wrote a note, and sent it to the governor of the place, saying, that having just come back from Andalusia, whither he had been sent on an important mission by Sir Rowland Hill, and not doubting that the Spanish dignitary would be glad of news from that province, he would wait on him at breakfast next morning. This done, and learning that many of the Spanish officers were to be found at another posada, he hastened thither, soon meeting acquaintances—and making more—among them. He knew well how to approach the Spaniard, mingling the utmost consideration with his frank address, and taking pains to make himself agreeable, even to that puppy, Don Alonso Melendez, whom he found among them. Many of them were at cards, and the dice were not idle. L'Isle soon found a place among the gamesters, and took care to lose a few pieces to more than one of his new friends; a thing easily done, they being in high practice, and he little skilled in these arts. Having thus made himself one of them, he, like a true Englishman, set to drinking, contrived to get about him some of the graver and less busy of the gentlemen present, and, while discussing with them the best wine the house afforded, he adroitly turned the conversation to the topics on which he sought information. He did not go to bed, at a late hour, without having learned much as to the garrison of Badajoz, and of the few precautions taken for the safety of this important fortress.
Early in the morning, L'Isle called on the governor, and found him in his dressing-gown, just ready for his chocolate. The Don was well pleased to hear L'Isle's account of the force coming up from Andalusia, of his interviews with officers high in command in it, and his comments on the spirit, activity, and endurance of the Spanish soldier. This led to further conversation, in which L'Isle, while sipping chocolate with the Spaniard, took occasion to abuse the French roundly, which was agreeable enough to his host; but he quite won his heart by the unfeigned contempt and abhorrence he expressed for theAfrancesados.
L'Isle soon found that, in spite of his unsoldierly undress, the Don was a sturdy old fellow, who chafed at being shut up in a garrison, surrounded by defensive walls and moats. He longed to take the field and become the assailant.
"I trust we will all be in the field shortly," said L'Isle, echoing his sentiment. "But we have wily foes to deal with. All their great successes have been won by surprise, aided by traitors among us. They are now evidently anxious to anticipate us, and if we delay long, there is no knowing where the first blow may fall. I wonder," said he, with a puzzled look, "why they keep so large a force at Trujillo, and have such strong detachments foraging on this side the mountains of Toledo? A few marches may unite then near us."
"Do you suppose that they are thinking of Badajoz?" asked the Spaniard, looking as if L'Isle had seized him by the shoulders, and roughly waked him up.
"Marshal Soult has an eye this way, and would give more than his little finger to have it again," said L'Isle; "for nothing would cramp our movements more than the loss of it. They have now, indeed, little chance of success, we know," he added, bowing to the governor, "but may think it worth trying. Their leaders think nothing of risking the loss of a thousand men or so, on the slenderest chance of a great prize. The conscription fills up all these gaps."
"No doubt; no doubt. But we will watch the rascals closely," said the governor.
"I dare say," said L'Isle laughing, "you have a spy or two in Trujillo, besides the lynx-eyed, keen-eared scouts you keep on the roads, and in the villages around you."
"We get intelligence—we get intelligence," said the Spaniard evasively. "But as the French are now moving, it will be well to bestir ourselves, to find out what they are at."
These, and other hints, that L'Isle threw out—not as advice, but inquiries and chance suggestions, being mingled with deferential attention to all the Spaniard had to say—neither startled his vanity, nor chafed his pride. He was pleased with L'Isle, talked frankly to him, and presented him ceremoniously to his officers, who now began to wait upon him. When L'Isle was about to take his leave, he urged him to return to dinner, and charged a favorite officer to show L'Isle everything he wished to see in Badajos, that he might be enabled to report the condition of this stronghold to Sir Rowland Hill.
"I must communicate with Sir Rowland so speedily," said L'Isle, "that I must be content with the pleasure of having breakfasted with your Excellency;" and with marked respect he took leave of the governor and his suite, having been treated—in diplomatic phrase—with "distinguished consideration." Indeed, had Sir Rowland seen and heard him during his audience, he would have patted him on the back, and thanked his stars for giving him so able and adroit an ambassador. Were it possible to become wise by the wisdom of another, Badajos would have had a watchful governor. Prolonged watching is no easy task, but L'Isle knew that if the Spaniard could be roused to a week of vigilance, the urgent need of it would be over.
He spent an industrious morning, making himself agreeable to his companion, while inspecting the resources of the place, and the day was well worn away when his guide and escort took leave of him at the posada. His business here finished, he wished to leave Badajoz at once; and on looking for his groom, found him ensconced in the kitchen, providently dining on a rabbit, stuffed with olives, and draining a bottle of wine, baptizedValdepenas—addressing the landlord's tawny daughter with a flattering air, and smacking his lips approvingly, after each mouthful, whether solid or fluid, while he abused both food and wine in emphatic English, throwing in many back-handed compliments to the lady's beauty, and she stood simpering by, construing his words by his manner.
On seeing his master enter hastily, Tom, who had laid in all the wine, and most of the food set before him, got up respectfully to receive his orders; while with a full mouth he mumbled out: "Prayer and provender hinder no man's journey."
"You abridge the proverb in practice," said L'Isle, "leaving out the prayer to gain time to take care of the provender." Then sitting down at the table, he took out a paper and began to note down what he had observed in Badajoz. "There is nothing very tempting here," said he presently, glancing his eye over Tom's scanty leavings, "but a luncheon will not be amiss; so I will take what I can find, while you saddle the horses."
It was late in the day when L'Isle left Badajoz; but instead of posting back to Elvas, as he had come from it, he rode slowly on, sometimes lost in thought, at times gazing on the scene around him. Many objects along the road brought vividly back to him the incidents of that pleasant excursion, so lately taken in company with Lady Mabel. Here she had turned her horse aside for a moment, to pluck some blossoms from this carob-tree, which stands alone on the sandy plain around it; here, on the bank of the Cayo, was the spot where she had pressed so close up beside him for protection, in the dark, on the first alarm of danger before them; there stood the old watch-tower, which they had examined together with interest, speculating on its history, lost in by-gone ages; crossing the stream here, further on, were the prints of her horses hoofs on the steep, pebbly bank, as she had turned suddenly from the road, to ride up to the mysterious old ruin.
Were these pleasant days over? L'Isle knew that Lord Strathern had taken violent, perhaps lasting offence at his strictures; and he himself was too indignant at the summary way in which his commander had cut short his protest, and dismissed him and the subject, for him to make any conciliatory advances. Knowing, too, Lady Mabel's devotion to her father, and her tenacity where his character and dignity were concerned, there was no saying how much she might resent L'Isle's offence, when it came to her knowledge. He could hardly, just now at least, frequent headquarters on his former footing.
He was so much engrossed by these unpleasant thoughts, that it was in vain officious Tom several times rode up close upon him, making his own horse curvet and caper, hoping to attract his master's attention, and remind him that he was loitering on the road long after his dinner hour. L'Isle went on at a foot-pace up the hill of Elvas, until, from a neighboring hedge, a nightingale, for whose ditty the hours of darkness were too short, began his plaintive song. Many a time had L'Isle paused to listen to such minstrelsey; but now his ear, or something else, was out of tune:
"Except I be with Silvia in the night,There is no music in the nightingale."
Rousing himself, he cantered through the gate, and hastened to his quarters.
Now, it was some time since L'Isle's servants had picked up the notion, that in no way could they please him half so well as by obeying the slightest hint from Lady Mabel. So his man came promptly out, armed with her note, and thrust it into his hand before he had left the saddle. Entering his quarters hastily, he broke it open, and read it with infinite satisfaction.
(Lady Mabel Stewart sends her compliments to Col. L'Isle. She has a presentment that her pleasant sojourn in Elvas draws to its end. Like Mrs. Shortridge, she is ambitious to leave among her Portuguese friends, the most favorable recollection of herself. So to-night she will spare no pains, but will dress, look, sing and act her best, and be as agreeable as she can to the natives at Mrs. Shortridge's house. She relies, confidently, on Col. L'Isle's attending her as interpreter, and saying a thousand witty and pleasant things in her name. This, too, may be her last opportunity of thanking him for the many, many delightful excursions enjoyed under his guidance and protection. She may never repeat, but can never forget them!)
This note relieved L'Isle of a load of anxiety. It was plain that Lord Strathern had gotten over his anger, and meant to have no quarrel with him; or, more gratifying still, would not have the whole house of Strathern involved in it, and so had given no hint of it to his daughter. It was too the first note he had ever received from Lady Mabel, and sportive as its tone was in the beginning, there was something of feeling and even sadness in its close. L'Isle well knew, while Lady Mabel had only chosen to assume it, that the time for leaving Elvas was indeed at hand. Yet a few days, and a few things were more uncertain than his again meeting Lady Mabel on this side of the grave.
A few golden hours had yet to fleet by. Who would throw away a happiness because it is fleeting? L'Isle had sunk into a delightful reverie, anticipating the pleasures of the evening, when his man of method laid before him the despatch from his other correspondent, Sir Rowland Hill.
He read it hastily, and angrily threw it on the floor. He thought himself an ill-used man! "Be in Alcantara by ten to-morrow! I will do no such thing! I have been in the saddle for weeks. My horses are worn out," (he chose to forget a fresh horse in the stable.) "Up late last night and worried all day about affairs over which I have no control, and fellows who will fail us at need. Sir Rowland must wait till dinner time to-morrow for news of these dilatory Spaniards. If he has to deal much more with them, it will be a useful lesson to learn to wait."
He now went to his chamber to dress in order to attend Lady Mabel. When he returned to his parlor, seeing Sir Rowland's insulted despatch still lying on the floor, he condescended to pick it up and stow it away in his pocket with his notes on the state of the Andalusian reserve and the garrison of Badajoz, and then rode off in the happiest mood to head-quarters. But when he dismounted there, his conscience pricked him. An ambitious soldier, zealous in the cause for which he fought, he, not long since, would have felt one moment's forgetfulness, or the slightest neglect of the service, to be treason against his own nature. He now turned back from the door to bid the groom leave his own horse in Elvas, and take the fresh horse on to the little town of Albuquerque, and expect him at the posada there before the dawn of day. Having, by this provision for riding post, quieted the compunctious visitings of conscience, he entered the house.