Part 7

Soon after nightfall all was still in the town; the loiterers had gone to their homes, the soldiers were recalled to their barracks, the shops and markets were deserted. Few cared to pace the streets when unprotected by the light of day, for the thirst for gold and blood was strong among the fierce men brought here in those evil days; and the turbulent legionaries at times did frightful outrage in their drunken fury. My friend and I dined at a small inn, and about ten o'clock at night bent our steps towards the billets. As we went our way, we suddenly saw a bright flame shoot up from behind a street at some distance, and, urged by curiosity, hastened to the place whence it arose. We found a large wooden stable on fire. Many noble English horses, belonging to the officers of the Legion were in the building; some of the soldiers, the grooms and their families, occupied the loft above. The mischief had but just begun; some straw was blazing at the door; on it was lying a drunken soldier with a pipe in his mouth, probably the cause of the fire. Though he must have been somewhat scorched, he seemed to regard the whole matter with stupid indifference. My friend rushed at him and shook him vigorously, calling out, "You are on fire--the city is on fire." The drunken man barely winked his eyes, and tried to go to sleep again, mumbling--"City! city! what do I care for this city or any other city--barrin' the city of Cork." However, we dragged him away, and put out the fire, already consuming his clothes, in a wet gutter, where he went to sleep again more at his ease, as soon as he had ceased abusing us for disturbing him.

Meanwhile crowds of people assembled, uselessly swarming about the burning stables, and embarrassing those really at work. The blaze spread rapidly, and in a very short time the roof took fire. All the horses, and, as we thought, all the people had been got out of the building, so we stood looking on in indifference, when a poor Irishwoman, apparently in a transport of despair, rushed through the throng, and cried, "Oh my child! my poor child!"

"Where--where?" shouted a dozen eager voices.

"Oh God help me! up in the loft, to be sure. Oh good gentlemen! save my child!"

It was a fearful risk--the wooden beams were blazing fiercely, smoke and even flame burst out of the upper windows now and then; one end of the building already tottered under the fiery storm, but the woman's shriek sounded louder in my brave friend's ear than the roar of the furious flame. His stout English heart was a ready prompter. In a moment he seized a ladder, placed it against an open window, ran up rapidly, and plunged into the smoke and flame, while a cheer of admiration burst from the crowd below. There was a minute of terrible suspense; he was seeking the lost child in vain. Again he rushes to the window, half-suffocated with the smoke--"Where was the child?" he cried; "I cannot find it." My heart sank within me as I thought of the mother's despair; but she seemed less desperate than before, and, running under the window, cried--"Sorra a child I have at all, your honour; but since you _are_ up there, will you just throw me down the bit of a mattrass that's in the corner, for it's all I have in the world."

My friend sprang out of the window and slipped down the ladder. He was just in time; the next moment, with a tremendous crash, the main props gave way, and the whole, building fell into a heap of blazing ruins. Now I only tell you this long story, to show what quaint, wild creatures where those Irish that General Evans took with him to Spain.

In the room next to mine a young Spanish cadet, belonging to the 2d light infantry, was billeted. He was about fourteen years of age, the son of a grandee of Spain. As his family was great and powerful, it was only necessary for him to go through the form of joining the army on service, when a commission in the royal guard would be given him. We soon made acquaintance. He was amused by my odd attempts to speak Spanish, and I was charmed with him. He was a rarely beautiful boy; his, regular features, long curling hair, small hands and feet, would have given him the appearance of effeminacy, but for the vigorous activity of his movements, and his bright bold eye. The best blood of Old Castile flowed in his veins and mantled in his cheek. The little cadet was most dainty in his dress; his uniform was the smartest, his plume the gayest, his boots the brightest, his gold lace the freshest in his regiment. His cap, epaulettes, and sword made expressly for him very small and light, in proportion to his size; and a beautiful black Andalusian pony to match, completed his equipments.

He rode out with me one day--that is, he rode, and I walked, soon after we became known to each other. Our way lay through the principal street of the town; the tall, white, solid-looking houses on each side had balconies for every window, some of them filled with gay groups of Spanish ladies, honouring us with their notice, as we passed. When we approached a large handsome dwelling, with huge gates opening into a court-yard, the black pony began to show symptoms of excitement, and by the time we got directly opposite, he was dancing about a great rate. The little animal was evidently accustomed at this place to such hints of the spur and rein as would make him display his paces to the greatest advantage. A tall, noble-looking woman and a graceful girl leant over the railing of the balcony, and kissed their hands to the cadet as he rode up. He answered by taking, off his gay cap and making a low bow, while the pony pranced more than ever. "Come, Doctor," said the youth to me, "You must know Dolòres and Pepìta." He threw his bridle-rein to a boy, and before I could recover from my surprise, had hurried me up stairs, and into the presence of his fair friends.

They were, sisters--Dolòres ten years older than Pepìta; both much alike, except in the stamp of years, so deep and unsparing in that sunny land. Their hair and eyes were black, glossy, and bright; their complexion deep olive; their teeth of dazzling whiteness; and there was something about the head and neck that made me, in spite of myself, think of swans and empresses. With what stately grace they welcomed us--with what a soft rich accent they spoke, telling us to "live a thousand years!" The little cadet declared that he was "at their feet;" but I suppose this was only a Spanish compliment, for instead of placing himself there, he kissed Pepìta's hand, sat down beside her, and began talking with perfect familiarity. Dolòres said something to me, but I could not understand it; and being dreadfully confused, I went to the balcony, and looked up the street. The young girl and the little cadet had a great deal to say to each other; they chattered and laughed merrily; then at times Pepìta would try to look grave, and, with a solemn face, lecture the beautiful boy, shaking her fan threateningly at him, when they would laugh more than ever.

At last I saw them looking at me, and heard him say that I was a doctor. Pepìta seemed struck with a sudden thought at this, and rose up, beckoning to him and me to follow. She led us across the court-yard into a long, passage; a large heavy door was at the end. She pointed to it, and said something to my companion in a pitying voice; then, instantly resuming her gaiety, pulled off the cadet's cap, threw it at him, and ran off, laughing merrily. At the end of the passage she turned, kissed her little white hand, and we saw no more of her.

"I do love Pepìta," said the boy; "I must win a ribbon in the battle, and then she will be so proud of her playfellow."

We opened the door and entered.

Near an open window lay an emaciated man upon a small camp bed. The fair complexion and blue eye bespoke him an Englishman. His face was covered with a bushy beard; his checks were hollow, his features pinched and sharpened. Pillows supported his head and shoulders; his arms lay helplessly on the outside of the bed, worn and thin; but the large joints, broad bony hand, and square-built shoulders, showed how powerful had been the frame that now lay wrecked before us. He raised his dull sunken eyes, as if by an effort, as we entered, and when he observed me, something like a smile of recognition passed over his wan face. I knew him at once, though he was strangely altered; he it was who, when a boy at school, had done me the insulting wrong. The blood rushed red to my face for a moment; but when I thought how pale and faint he was, it went back again, to my heart I suppose, for my pity yearned towards the poor sufferer.

He told me in a few words, slowly and painfully, that he had been wounded in a skirmish some weeks before, and afterwards attacked with typhus fever. His servant had that morning deserted, carrying off the little money he possessed, and every thing of value in the room. He was on unfriendly terms with all his brother officers, had quarrelled with the regimental doctor, and was now utterly destitute and helpless. The Spanish family, in whose house he was billeted, were very kind to him, particularly the two sisters; but they were in great poverty from these troublous times, and had sickness also among themselves.

With some difficulty I got my billet changed to a room adjoining his; my servant was then able to help the sick man: as I had still a little money left, I procured the necessary medicines, and such nourishment as I thought he might safely bear. During the day my duties in the hospital pretty well occupied me, but at night I was always able to sit up for some time with him, and be of a little service. As you may suppose, I did not see the less of my young friend, the cadet, by this change; he had so often to come to ask after the invalid for Pepìta's information, that at length he began to take an interest himself, and during the crisis of the complaint, at a time when I was forced to be absent on my duties, he, with Pepìta's assistance, took my place as a watcher, and they actually remained for hours without speaking a word lest they should waken the sick sleeper. However, I have no doubt they made amends for it afterwards. The sisters soon became very kind to me for my gay little friend's sake; they joined him in teaching me their beautiful language, and though I was very stupid about it, I could not but make good progress under such kind teachers. The younger sister used to laugh at me and tease me very much, but I could not help liking her more and more; so the time passed rapidly away, and day by day the fair Spanish girl and her boy lover wound themselves closer round my heart, till they became dear to me as if they had been my children.

A tall, sallow, down looking Spaniard was a frequent visiter at the house of these two sisters: he was a man of considerable wealth, the son of a Cadiz merchant, and at this time captain of the carbineers--the company of "élite," in the second light infantry. The cadet and I both took a great dislike to this man, which he seemed heartily to return; there was a treacherous villanous expression in his averted eye that at once attracted observation, and something inexpressibly repulsive in his manner, servile and overbearing by turns. He appeared to possess some unaccountable influence over Pepìta's father, for, though it was evident that his attentions and repeated visits were disagreeable to the young lady, every opportunity was given him of improving her acquaintance. This system was, however, as unsuccessful as it usually is; and the sallow captain's conversation was not the less distasteful from being obediently endured. The fact was, that large pecuniary assistance given to the family, unknown to its younger members, was the secret of the influence now exercised, through their parents, over their inclinations and tastes. The captain had become acquainted with Pepìta, been attracted by her, and had made this obligation the means of forcing himself upon her society. He next tried to cause the prohibition of my little friend's visits; not indeed that he looked upon the boy in the light of a rival, but as a constraint upon his actions, and an interruption to his plans. Upon this point, however, Pepìta proved unmanageable; and as there could be no fair ostensible objection to her little playfellow's intimacy, it still continued in spite of his sullen enemy.

In the mean time my patient was rapidly recovering; with his returning strength, I grieve to say, the natural evil of his disposition again displayed itself. He borrowed yet another small sum from my scanty store, under the pretence of obtaining some warm clothes to enable him to face the wintry air; but instead of so applying it, he lost most of it at play the first day he was allowed to venture out. The captain of carbineers was the winner, and thus an acquaintance commenced between these men. They were in many respects kindred spirits--rapacious, profligate, and unprincipled,--and soon contracted a close alliance, offensive and defensive: the wealth and cunning of the one, and the recklessness and ferocious courage of the other, made their partnership most dangerous to any who might cross their path. The convalescent, unrestrained for a moment by any feeling of gratitude towards me or my little favourite, at once joined in a scheme against us. They could not venture upon using open violence, as that probably would have defeated its own object, by exciting the sympathies of our kind hosts in our favour, but they agreed to entrap us into play, and thus drive us into such necessities as might place us completely in their power. The Spaniard knew that his chance of gaining Pepìta's favour was but small until her little favourite and guardian was out of the way; and his unworthy associate, as long as money was supplied, was indifferent as to what service might be required of him in return.

In due course of time the day came when the convalescent was pronounced cured, and fit for duty; to celebrate this event the captain of carbineers asked him to an entertainment, and the cadet and myself were also invited. We of course determined not to accept the hospitality of the man we disliked and suspected; but he pressed us very much; the ungrateful Englishman seconded him strongly, urging upon us that he could not enjoy his restored health, if those to whom he owed his recovery refused to join in his gladness. At length we reluctantly consented, and at seven o'clock in the evening all four assembled at the hotel. This was the opportunity fixed upon to carry out the designs against us. I shall not enter into the details of that unlucky evening; they succeeded but too well in their plans. Finding that it was in vain to tempt me to play, they made me drink the health of my late patient, in some drugged liquor I suppose, for soon after I fell into a deep sleep, and when I awoke, found myself alone in the room where we had dined, and the light of the sun streaming in through the windows. It was well on to mid-day.

Several minutes passed before I could recollect where I was, and how I had come there. When I had in some measure collected my scattered thoughts, and shaken off the heavy lethargic feeling that still weighed upon me, I hastened to seek my beloved little companion, anxiously wondering what could have become of him. I learned at the house where he lived that he had returned very late the night before, apparently tired and excited; and that early this morning he had received orders to join a portion of his regiment that was posted on the lines two miles from the town. When my daily duties were ended I walked off to where the cadet had been sent. He seem oppressed and worn out with fatigue and want of rest; I found him lying on a bank beside his tent thinking sadly on Pepìta, his gay dress disordered, his long dark hair damp and neglected, and his eyes red with weeping. I took the poor child by the hand, and tried to comfort him in my best Spanish, but for a long time he would only answer, me with sobs, and at length he sobbed himself to sleep. I wrapped his little cloak round him, and watched patiently till he awoke, after about an hour's refreshing rest: then he found words, and told me all that had occurred to him since I had gone to sleep at the unlucky entertainment.

The host soon pleaded some excuse and left us, when the Englishman immediately proposed play; dice were laid on the table, but the cadet refused for a long time: he had never played in his life, nor felt its horrible temptations. But in his education this maddening vice had not been guarded against; no one had taught him that its beginning, was furious avarice,--its end destruction and despair. He was simply innocent of all knowledge of its pleasures and its woes. The tempter told him that to play was manly, and that if he feared to lose money, he had no spirit. So he played, and lost all he had, and much more. When too tired to go on, he wrote an acknowledgment of what he owed, under the direction of his dangerous associate; and then, very wretched and frightened at what he had done, went home and slept. He would not go, however, till the Englishman promised to see me safely to my billet. I need not add that the promise was not kept. It was about midnight when the cadet went away. My late patient then examined me closely to see that I slept soundly; finding there was but little chance of my interfering with their plans, he quietly shut the door, and left me, hastening to seek his employer and relate his success. A relation of my little friend, residing in the town, had been requested to watch over him, and supply his wants, while remaining at San Sebastian. To this person the captain of carbineers went early the next morning, and by affecting an interest in the boy, as a brother officer, managed to persuade the guardian to request that his ward might be removed at once from the garrison, to save him from the bad company and dissipated habits he had fallen into. The written acknowledgment of the heavy gambling debt, contracted only the night before, was handed in while the accuser was yet speaking, with a demand for payment from an officer of the Legion waiting outside. This appeared proof conclusive. In half an hour the cadet was on his way to the lines, under strict orders not on any account to re-enter the city. Before he left, he had sent in all directions vainly searching for me to advise him in his emergency, and to make some effort to have this cruel and unaccountable sentence reversed.

The first week of March approached its end. From day to day the order to advance into the Carlist country was expected; the city and the surrounding neighbourhood were full of troops, the streets and roads literally blocked up with guns, ammunition waggons, and bullock-carts, passing and repassing for the armament or supply of the different divisions of the army. General officers were observed in frequent consultation with their leader. Aides-de-camp galloped about in all directions. Large buildings were cleared out, and churches prepared as hospitals with grim rows of iron bedsteads ranged along the vaulted aisles. Steamboats buzzed backwards and forward, between the harbour and the neighbouring port of Passages. Deserters came and went. Vague rumours seemed to float in the air. Some great and terrible day was plainly close at hand.

Information worthy of being relied on was obtained, that the greater part of the troops had been removed from our front for some remote operations, and that there now remained a force inferior to our own. But this was the flower of the Carlist army. Stout Chapelchuris--the "white caps" of Guipuzcoa, hardy shepherds from the hills of Alava, with the Requetè--the fiercest soldiers of Navarre. Their watch-fires blazed each night on the rugged slopes of the Pyrenees; and as the morning sun lighted the deep gorges of the mountains, from every hamlet and shady valley along the line arose their stirring shout, "For God, and for the King." All day long, in sunshine or in storm, they laboured at their intrenchments. The musket was laid carefully aside, and the pick-axe supplied its place. They dug, and delved, and toiled, fencing round each Biscayan cottage as if it were a holy place. Every gentle slope on the projecting spurs of the great mountains was cut and carved into breastworks and parapets; every ivied wall of their rich orchards was pierced with loopholes, every village church turned into a citadel. Men worked, women aided, children tried to aid. The hated Christinos, and the still more hated English were before them; behind them lay their own loved and lovely land. And still, as they toiled, when betimes the wearied arm ached and the faithful spirit drooped, a shout would roll along the valleys and echo among the hills that nerved them with fresh strength, and cheered them with a firmer hope--"For God, and for the King."

Late on the afternoon of the 9th of March, aides-de-camp were sent to all parts of the lines with strict orders that no one should, on any account, be allowed to pass out. An hour after nightfall, the whole army was put in motion, the main part filed on to the glacis of the fortress of San Sebastian, battalion after battalion formed in close column, piled their arms, and lay down in their ranks, preserving a profound silence: the artillery horses were harnessed, and remained in readiness within the city walls. By about two o'clock in the morning, each corps had taken up its place. About eight thousand men were assembled on the space of a few acres; scarcely a sound was heard, not a creature moved through the streets of the town, not a solitary lamp made "visible" the darkness of the night. The sentries paced their round upon the walls as at other times, and their measured tread was distinct and clear in the noiseless air. And yet, though I saw nothing and heard nothing of them, I _felt_ the crowded thousands round me; there was a heaviness and oppression in the atmosphere like the threat of a coming storm, and the ground seemed slightly to tremble, or rather throb, as if in sympathy with the hearts that beat above in hope or fear.