Chapter XVI: The Knight of San Fernando

_Don Fernando Septimo, por la gracia de Dios, rey de Castilla, de Leon, de Aragon, de las dos Sicilias, de Jerusalem, de Navarra, de Granada, de Toledo, de Valencia, de Galicia, de Mallorca, de Sevilla, de Cerdeña, de Cordoba, de Corcega, de Murcia, de Jaen, de los Algarbes, de Algeciras, de Gibraltar, de las islas de Canaria, de las Indias Orientales y Occidentales, islas y tierra ferme del Mar Oceano; archiduque de Austria; duque de Borgoña, de Brabante y de Milan; conde de Absparg, Flandes, Tirol y Barcelona; señor de Viscaya y de Molina,[192] &c._

Such was the heading of the document which conferred the honour of knighthood (silver cross of the first class of the royal and military order of St. Ferdinand), upon _Don_ Antonio Condé, a soldier of the light company (cazadores) of the Queen's, or second regiment of the line, in acknowledgment of his distinguished services against the _revolutionarios_ of the _isla de Leon_, who surrendered at Bejer on the 8th March, 1831.

The bearer of this _certificate_ of gallant conduct--for the gratification that its possession afforded his vanity was the only sense in which it could be considered a _reward_--was in person rather below the usual stature of the Andalusian peasantry; but his square shoulders, open chest, and muscular limbs, bespoke him to be possessed of more than their wonted strength and activity.

In other respects too he differed somewhat from his countrymen, his hair being light, even lighter than what they call _castaños_, or chestnut, his chin beardless, and his eyes hazel. His manners were those of a frank young soldier, rather, perhaps, of the French school, with a dash of the _beau garçon_ about him, but, on the whole, very prepossessing. In his carriage to us, though rather inquisitive, he was at all times respectful; but towards his fellow countrymen, not of _the cloth_, a certain hauteur was observable in his deportment, which clearly showed that he prided himself on the "_Don_."

The document, encased with the brevet of knighthood, of which mention has before been made, briefly, but in very honourable terms, described the gallant conduct of the young soldier, and forms the groundwork of the following _memoir_; a circumstance I feel called upon to mention, lest my hero should be wrongfully accused of vain-gloriously boasting of his achievements; and this also will explain why his story is not, throughout, told in the first person.

The secluded little village of Guarda, which has been noticed in the course of my peregrinations, as lying to the right of the high road from Jaen to Granada (about five miles from the former city), was the birth-place of Antonio Condé. His parents, though in a humble station of life, were of _sangre limpio_;[193] and never having heard of Malthus, had married early, and most unphilosophically added a family of seven human beings to the already overstocked population of this wisdom-getting world.

Five of these unfortunate mortals were daughters, and our hero was the younger of the two masculine lumps of animated clay. His brother, who was many years his senior, had joined the army at an early age, and at the conclusion of the war had proceeded with his regiment to the Habana, where he still remained; their parents, therefore, now declining in years, were anxious to keep their remaining son at home, to assist in supporting the family. Such, however, was not to be the case, for, on the _quintos_ being called out in 1830, it fell to Antonio's lot to be one of the quota furnished by the district that included his native village.

To purchase a substitute was out of the question--the price was quite beyond his parents' means; and though his brother had, at various times, transmitted money home, which, with praiseworthy foresight, had been hoarded up to make some little provision for his sisters, but was now urgently offered to buy him off, yet Antonio would not listen to its being so applied. To confess the truth, indeed, he secretly rejoiced at his lot, having always wished to be a soldier, though he could never bring himself voluntarily to quit his aged parents. Now, he maintained, there was no alternative; and accordingly, with the brilliant prospect of making a fortune, which the military life opened to him, he marched from his native village, and joined the Queen's regiment, then quartered at Seville, to the cazador company of which he was shortly afterwards posted.

Antonio's zeal, and assiduous attention to his duties, as well as his general good conduct and intelligence, made him a great favourite with his officers; whilst his youth, good humour, and gay disposition, endeared him equally to his comrades, in whose amusements he generally took the lead. In fact, he soon became the pattern man of the pattern company, and attained the rank of corporal.

Early in the month of March, 1831, the Queen's regiment received orders to proceed by forced marches to Cadiz, where the _soi-disant_ "liberals," having again raised the standard of revolt, commenced the work of regeneration by murdering the governor of the city in the streets at noon day. The cold-blooded, calculating miscreants, who committed this act, excused themselves for the premeditated murder of a man _universally_ beloved and respected, by saying it was necessary for the success of their plans to commence with a blow that should strike terror into the hearts of their opponents. They killed, therefore, the most virtuous man they could select, to show that no one would be spared who thenceforth ventured to entertain a doubt, that the constitution they upheld was the _beau idéal_ of liberal government; and, I regret to say, Englishmen were found who applauded this atrocious doctrine, and considered the subsequent punishment inflicted on Torrijos, and the other abettors and instigators of this barbarity, as an act of unprecedented cruelty on the part of the "tyrant Ferdinand" and his "_servile_" ministers.

Antonio's regiment proceeded to the scene of revolt by way of Utrera and Xeres, and on reaching Puerto Santa Maria received orders to continue its march round the head of the bay of Cadiz, and occupy, without delay, the Puente Zuazo, with the view of confining the rebels to the isla de Leon, their attempt to gain possession of Cadiz having failed, through the loyalty and firmness of the troops composing its garrison.

The rebels, however, effected their escape, ere the Queen's regiment reached its destined position, and had marched to Chiclana, in the hope of being there joined by another band of "_facciosos_," under an ex-officer, named Torrijos; which, long collected in the bay, and protected by the guns of Gibraltar, was to have effected a landing on the coast to the westward of Tarifa, and marched thence to support the ruffians of the isla.

The royal troops were instantly sent in pursuit of the rebels, who, abandoning Chiclana, fell back successively upon Conil and Vejer. The strength of the position of this latter town induced them to make a stand, and await the momentarily expected reinforcement under Torrijos; and the King's troops having assembled in considerable force at the foot of the mountain, determined on attempting to dislodge them from the formidable post, ere they received this accession of strength; a sharp conflict was the consequence, which terminated in the royalists being repulsed with severe loss.

Antonio, who was well acquainted with the ground, now respectfully hinted to the captain of his company, that the retreat of the rebels might be effectually cut off by taking possession of the bridge over the Barbate, which--all the boats on the river having been destroyed--alone offered the rebels the means of reaching Tarifa, or Torrijos that of coming to the assistance of the blockaded town.

The captain communicated our hero's plans to the commander of the expedition, who immediately adopted it, wisely abstaining from wasting further blood to obtain a result by force, which starvation, sooner or later, would be sure to bring about.

In pursuance, therefore, of Antonio's project, the Queen's regiment received orders to take possession of the bridge, and the _cazador_ company was pushed on with all speed, to facilitate the execution of this rather difficult operation.

The bridge, as I have described in a former chapter, is situated immediately under the lofty precipitous cliff whereon the town of Vejer is perched, and the road to it is conducted, for nearly half a mile, along a narrow strip of level ground, between the bank of the Barbate and the foot of the precipice.

In their advance, therefore, the _cazadores_ were exposed to a most destructive shower of bullets, stones, &c. from above, and, of the whole company, only Corporal Condé, and seven of his comrades, made good their way, and threw themselves into the venta; which stands on the right bank of the stream, close to the bridge. They instantly opened a fire from the windows of the inn upon the rebels in the town overhead, who, at first, returned it with interest; but after some time Antonio was beginning to flatter himself, from the slackening of their fusillade, that he was making their post too hot for them, when, looking round, he perceived the whole force of the _facciosos_ descending from the town in one long column, by the road which winds down to the bridge, round the eastern face of the mountain, their intention evidently being to force a passage _à todo precio_.[194]

Antonio's comrades were daunted; they had no officer with them; there was no appearance of support being at hand; and the odds against them were fearful. Prudence suggested, therefore, that they should shut themselves up in the venta, and let the enemy pass.

Our hero, however, saw how much depended on the decision of that moment. If the rebels succeeded in crossing the bridge, nothing could prevent their forming a junction with the band of Torrijos, and in that case the country might, for many months, be subjected to their outrages and rapine, and Gibraltar would afford them a sure retreat; he determined, therefore, to make an effort to intimidate them, and knowing the weight his example would have upon his comrades, rushed out of the venta, calling upon them to follow; and taking post behind some old walls, that formed, as it were, a kind of _tête de pont_, opened a brisk fire upon the advancing column of the enemy.

The boldness of the manoeuvre intimidated the rebels, who, thinking that this handful of men must be supported by a considerable force, hesitated, halted for further orders, and, finally, threw out a line of skirmishers to cover their movements, between whom and Antonio's party a sharp fire was kept up for several minutes.

In this skirmish one of Antonio's companions was killed, another fell badly wounded by his side, and he himself received a wound in his head, which, but that the ball had previously passed through the top of his chako, would, probably, have been fatal.

The rebels, discovering at length that the small force opposed to them was altogether without support, again formed in column of attack to force the bridge. The word "forward" was given, and Antonio feared that his devotion would prove of no avail, when, at the critical moment, the remainder of his company advanced from behind the venta at the _pas de charge_, rending the air with loud cries of "_Viva el Rey_," and opening a fire which took the enemy in flank.

The rebels saw that the golden opportunity had been missed, and, seized with a panic, retired hastily to their stronghold, closely pressed by the _cazadores_, who hoped to enter the town pêle mêle with them.

The commander of the king's troops, who had galloped to the spot where he heard firing, determined, however, to adhere to the plan of reducing the rebels to starvation; which now, by Antonio's gallantry, he was certain of eventually effecting; and ordered, therefore, the recall to be sounded as soon as he saw the enemy had regained the town. Unfortunately for our hero, who, attended by a single comrade, was at the extreme left of the extended line of skirmishers, and had taken advantage of one of the deep gullies that furrow the side of the mountain to advance unobserved on the enemy; he neither heard the signal to retire, nor saw his companions fall back; continuing, therefore, to advance, it was only on gaining the head of the ravine that he suddenly became aware of the extreme peril of their situation, and that a quick retreat alone could save them. It was, however, too late; his comrade--his bosom friend, Gaspar Herrera--fell, apparently dead, a dozen paces from him, and he, himself, in the act of raising up his brave companion, was brought to the ground by a ball, which splintered his ankle-bone. He managed, with great difficulty, to crawl to some palmeta bushes, having first sheltered the body of his friend behind the stem of a stunted olive tree, which would not afford cover for both; and, lying flat on the ground, waited for some time in the hope that his company had merely moved round to the left to gain a more accessible part of the mountain, and would speedily renew the attack.

At length, his patience becoming exhausted, he thought it would be well to let his comrades know where he was, and once more levelling his musket, resumed the offensive by attacking a pig, which, unconscious of danger, came grunting with carniverous purpose towards that part of the gory field where the body of his friend Gaspar lay extended. This drew a heavy fire upon Antonio, but, as he was much below the rebels, who had all retired into the town, and was tolerably well sheltered by the friendly palmetas, he escaped further damage.

In the meanwhile, Antonio and Gaspar had had been reported as killed to the captain of the _cazadores_, who, whilst deploring with the other officers the loss of the two most promising young men of his company, heard the renewed firing in the direction of the late skirmish. "_Corajo!_" he exclaimed, "that must be Condé and Herrera still at it." "No, Señor," replied the serjeant, "they were both seen to fall as we retreated from the hill; that firing must be an attack upon our friends posted on the other side of the town; the rebels are probably attempting to force a passage in that direction." "Well then, I cannot do wrong in advancing," said the captain, "so let us on. Nevertheless, I still think it is the fire of Condé and his comrade, and I know, my brave fellows," he continued, addressing his men, "I know that if it be possible to bring them off, you will do it."

They advanced, accordingly, in the direction of the firing, and, as the captain had conjectured, there they found Condé continuing the combat _à l'outrance_, extended full length upon the ground under cover of the palmeta bushes, with his head and ankle bandaged, and his ammunition nearly exhausted. They fortunately succeeded in bearing him off without sustaining any loss, though Condé insisted on their first removing the seemingly lifeless body of his friend Gaspar, which he pointed out to them.

The detachment at the venta had now been reinforced by some cavalry and artillery, and the remainder of the Queen's regiment, whilst the rest of the Royalist force took post on the opposite side of the town, in a position that covered the roads to Chiclana, Medina, Sidonia, and Alcalà de los Gazules, thereby depriving the beleaguered rebels of all chance of escape.

Towards dusk that same evening, one of Torrijos's troopers was brought in a prisoner. Unconscious of the state of affairs, he had mistaken a cavalry piquet of the king's troops for the advanced guard of the _facciosos_, and had not even discovered his error in time to destroy the despatches of which he was the bearer. By these it was learnt that Torrijos, apprized of the failure on Cadiz and subsequent escape of the rebel-band from the Isla de Leon, had not budged from the spot where he had effected his landing; but he now sent to acquaint his coadjutors that he had collected a sufficiency of boats to take them all off, and that the bearer would be their guide to the place of embarkation.

This information was forwarded to the rebels at Vejer, who, not giving credit to it, continued to hold out until the third day, when their provisions being exhausted and no Torrijos appearing, they agreed to capitulate, and were marched prisoners to the Isla, where, but a few days before, "_Quantam est in rebus inane!_" they had styled themselves the liberators of Spain.

The queen's regiment was now marched in all haste towards Tarifa, in the hope of surprising and capturing Torrijos and his band, ere the news of what had passed at Vejer could reach him, but he had taken the alarm at the prolonged absence of his messenger, and, re-embarking his doughty heroes, regained the anchorage of Gibraltar without having fired a shot to assist their friends. The regiment, therefore, proceeded to Algeciras, and from thence marched to San Roque, where it remained stationary for several months.

Here Antonio rejoined it, accompanied by his friend Herrera, who, thanks to the timely surgical aid his comrade had been the means of procuring him, yet lived to evince his gratitude to his preserver. Here, also, our hero received the distinction which his gallant conduct had so well earned, as well as the grant of a--to-this-day-unpaid--pension of a real per diem. Promotion, too, was offered, but he chose rather to wait for a vacancy in his own regiment than to receive immediate rank in any other.

Our hero's military career was shortly, however, doomed to be brought to a close. He had resumed his duty but a few days, when an order arrived for the queen's regiment to proceed to Seville. The wound in Antonio's ankle, though apparently quite healed, had been suffered to close over the bullet that had inflicted it, and the first day's march produced inflammation of so dangerous a character as to threaten, not only the loss of his shattered limb, but even of life itself.

In this deplorable state Antonio was left behind at Ximena, where, fortunately, an aunt of Gaspar resided. The good Dame Felipa required only to hear the young soldier's name--his noble act of friendship having long made it familiar to her ear--to receive him as her son. "Never can I forget her kindness," said Antonio; "my own mother could not have tended me with more unremitted attention, and--under the Almighty--I feel that my recovery is entirely their work." Here an "_Ay!_" drawn seemingly from the innermost recess of his heart, escaped from the young soldier's lips, which, appearing quite out of keeping with the terms in which he spoke of Dame Felipa's _maternal_ solicitude, induced me, after a moment's pause, to ask, "But who are _they_, Antonio?"

"The aunt and sister of Gaspar," he replied, with some little confusion.

"And you find the wounds of Cupid more incurable than those of Bellona?" said I, jestingly--"_Vamos_, Don Antonio! As Sancho says, '_Gusto mucho destas cosas de amores_,'[195] so let us have the sequel of your story by all means."

"I shall not be very long in relating it," continued our hero. "For three months I remained the guest of Doña Felipa. A fever, produced by my intense sufferings, rendered me for many days quite insensible to the extraordinary kindness of which I was the object; at length it was subdued, leaving me, however, so reduced, that for weeks I could not quit my couch. Indeed, the most perfect repose was ordered on account of my wound, the cure of which was rendered far more tedious and troublesome from former mismanagement. During this long period, the sister of my friend Gaspar was my constant attendant. She read to me, sang to me, or touched the guitar to break--what she imagined must be--the wearisome monotony of my confinement. I have even, when consciousness first returned, on the abatement of the fever, heard her, thinking I was sleeping, _pray_ for the recovery of her brother's preserver.

"It was impossible to be thus the object of Manuela's tender solicitude, without being impressed with the most ardent love and admiration for one so pure, so engaging, and so beauteous! Had she indeed been less lovely and captivating, had she even been absolutely plain, still her assiduous and disinterested attention could not but have called forth my warmest gratitude and regard; but I trust you will one day see Manuela, and then be able to judge if I could resist becoming the captive of such _enganchamientos_[196] as she possesses.

"Vainly I endeavoured to stifle the rising passion at its birth. Alas! the greater my efforts were to eradicate it, the deeper it took root in my heart. I hoped, nevertheless, to have sufficient self-control to conceal my passion from the eyes of all, even of her who had called it into existence, for gratitude and honour equally forbade my endeavouring to engage the affections of one whose family, placed in a walk of life far above mine--that is in point of _wealth_, added the K. S. F. somewhat proudly--I had little right to hope, would consider a poor soldier of fortune a suitable match for the daughter of the rich Don Fadrique Herrara. Nor did I know, indeed, how Manuela herself would receive my addresses, for I scarcely ventured to attribute the soft glances of her love-inspiring eyes to any other feeling than that of compassion for the sufferings of her brother's friend.

"The day of separation came, however, and the veil which had so long concealed our mutual feelings was gently and unpremeditatedly drawn aside. Manuela's father and her brother Gaspar came to Ximena to pass a few days with Doña Felipa, and finding that, though still a prisoner to my room, I was now declared to be out of all danger, Don Fadrique announced his intention of taking his daughter home with him--her visit having already been prolonged far beyond the time originally fixed, in consequence of my illness, and the fatigue which, unassisted, the attendance upon me would have imposed on her aunt.

"When the dreaded hour of departure arrived, my lovely nurse came to the side of my couch, to bid her last farewell. A tear stood in her bright eye; the silvery tones of her voice faltered; her hand trembled as she placed it in mine, and a blush suffused her cheeks as I pressed it to my lips. But that soft hand was not withdrawn until her own lips had confessed her love, and had sealed the unsolicited promise, never to bestow that hand upon another!

"The difficulty now was to make known our mutual attachment to her father, who I dreaded would think but ill of me, for the return thus made for all the kindness of his family. My pride pinched me, also, lest allusion should be made to my poverty, for, though poor, the blood of the Condé's is pure as any in the Serranía.

"I had but little time for consideration, for Don Fadrique was about to mount his horse, and I thought the best channel of communication would be my friend Gaspar. He listened attentively to my tale, which was not told without much embarrassment, and then, to my confusion, burst into a loud laugh.

"'Pretty _news_, truly, _amigo_ Antonio,' he at length exclaimed. '_My_ eyes, however, have not been so exclusively occupied with one object for this week past--like your's and my sister's--as to render the communication of this wonderful secret at all necessary. But be of good cheer; I have seen how the matter stood, and, on the part of my sister, encouraged it; and I hope to be able to overcome all difficulties, so leave the affair in my hands:--on our way homewards I will talk the matter over with my father, and you shall hear the result shortly.'

"Nor did he disappoint me. In a few days a letter came from Gaspar: the result of his interference exceeded my expectations: Don Fadrique had received his communication very calmly, and told him that before returning any definite answer, he should take time to fathom Manuela's feelings.

"Not long after this, I received a letter, of a less satisfactory kind, however, from Don Fadrique himself. It simply stated that he could not at present give his consent to his daughter's accepting me; that he had no objections to urge on the score of my rank in life, or the way in which I had acted in the matter, but that his daughter's expectations entitled him to look for a wealthier son-in-law, and that, in fact, it had long been a favorite plan of his, to unite her to the son of an old and intimate friend, when they should be of a proper age.

"Nevertheless--his letter concluded--provided I would abstain from seeing, writing to, or holding _in any way_ communication with his daughter for the space of two years, he would, at the expiration of that period, consent to our union, should we both continue to wish it.

"This chilling letter was accompanied by a hastily written billet from Manuela. It was as follows:--'I know my father's conditions--accept them, and have full confidence in the constancy of your Manuela.'

"I accordingly wrote to Don Fadrique, subscribing to the terms he proposed, and, from that day to this, have neither seen nor communicated with either Manuela or any member of her family."

"But have you not heard from time to time of the welfare of your Manuela?" I asked; "are you sure she is yet unmarried?" For it struck me that the young son of "an old and intimate friend" was a dangerous person to have paying court to one's mistress during a two years' absence; especially in Spain, where _love matches_ are rather scouted. A story that one of Manuela's countrywomen related to me of herself, recurring to me at the same time.

This lady had, early in life, formed an attachment to a young officer, whom poverty alone prevented her marrying. His regiment was ordered to Ceuta, and she remained at Malaga, consoling herself with the hope that brighter days would dawn upon them. Her friends laughed at the idea of such interminable constancy, especially as a most advantageous _parti_ presented itself for her acceptance. The proposer--it is true--was neither so handsome nor so youthful as the exile, but then he was also an officer, and "_in very good circumstances_." She could not forget her first love, however--indeed, she _never_ could--and long turned a deaf ear to the tender whisperings of her new admirer; but, at length, her relations became urgent, as well as her lover; the mail boat from Ceuta gradually came to be looked for with less impatience; and, "_por fin_," she observed, "_como era Capitan por Capitan (!!)_,[197] I had no great objections to urge, and we were married!"

She confessed to me, however, that this exchange was not effected "_without paying the difference_," as the treatment she experienced from her rich husband, caused her ever after to regret having given up her poor lover.

But to return to Antonio--"I have had but few opportunities of hearing from Manuela," he replied, "for my native village is removed from any high road, and the close attendance required by my aged parents--my wound having incapacitated me from further military service--has been such, that I seldom could get as far as Jaen to make enquiries amongst the _contrabandistas_ and others who visit the neighbourhood, of her place of residence; but about a month since I met an _arriero_ of Arcos, who knew Don Fadrique well, and from him I learnt that Manuela is still unmarried, has lost all her beauty, is wasted to a shadow; and said to be suffering from some disease that baffles the skill of the most eminent physicians of the place.

"This intelligence has made me the more anxious to see her, and claim her promised hand, for no change in her personal appearance--even if the account be true--can alter the sentiments I entertain for her; but, at the same time, it has placed a weight upon my spirits which in vain I endeavour to throw off.

"The morning it was my good fortune to fall in with you, Caballeros, I had set out from my home to proceed to Ximena, whither I understand Manuela has been removed for change of air. For the term of my probation, though not yet expired, is fast drawing to a close, and having some business to transact with the military authorities at Granada and Malaga respecting my pension (of which not a _maravedi_ has ever been paid), I have timed my movements so as to reach Ximena by the day on which I may again present myself to Manuela, and receive, I trust, the reward of my constancy."

Antonio's narrative was here brought to a conclusion, but ere he left us, I exacted the promise mentioned in the preceding chapter, that he would acquaint us with the result of Don Fadrique's essay in experimental philosophy. Circumstances, however, occurred to prevent our meeting him at the place of appointment, and I had almost given up the hope of hearing more of Antonio and his love story, when, to my surprise, he one morning presented himself at my breakfast table at San Roque.

I saw, at the first glance, that the course of true love had not run smooth--he was pale and hagged--flurried, yet dispirited. "My good Antonio," said I, unwilling to give utterance to a doubt of his fair one's constancy, "I fear Don Fadrique has not proved to be a man of his word."

"_Perdon usted_," he replied--"he has been faithful to his word"--worse and worse, thought I--"And Manuela not less constant in her affection," he continued; guessing at once the suspicion that flitted across my mind--"Alas! I could even wish it were not so, if all otherwise were well; but fate has ordered differently. A calamity has befallen Manuela; compared to which, death would be a mercy. She is in a state that is heart-rending to behold. Her sufferings are almost beyond the power of bearing. Oh, Caballero! it is fearful--it is awful to see her. She has the best advice that money can procure, but nothing can be done to give us a hope of her recovery."

"Mad?" I exclaimed, with a shudder--"Oh, cursed love of riches...."

"_Nada, nada_,"[198] interrupted Antonio, "she is as sensible as ever. Alas! I could even bear to see her insane, for then I might hope that time would effect a change."

"Is it _Etica_?" I asked, knowing that the Spaniards consider consumption both incurable and highly infectious.

A mournful shake of the head was his reply.

"What then, my good Antonio, _is_ the nature of her malady?"

"_Ojala_[199] that it could be called a malady, Don Carlos," ejaculated the silver cross of San Fernando; "it might not then be beyond the reach of the physician's art. But _Dios de mi vida!_ there is no hope for her, unless a miracle can be wrought. It is to have a consultation on that point, I am come to San Roque."

"What," said I, my patience thoroughly exhausted, "has she embraced Mohammedanism?"

"Not far from it, Don Carlos--she is possessed of a devil!"

"Friend Antonio," said I, "congratulate yourself;--such discoveries are seldom made _before_ marriage. Let me, however, persuade you, instead of consulting with priests, to allow an heretical English doctor to meet this devil face to face; his simple nostrums may perchance be found more efficacious than the exorcisms of the most pious divines. But explain to me the signs and symptoms of the presence of this imp of darkness; and pardon my making light of so serious an affair, for, rest assured, the evil one is not now permitted to torment the human frame with bodily anguish; his toils are spread for catching _souls_; and worldly pleasures, not personal sufferings, are the means he employs to effect his purpose."

Antonio then entered into a detailed account of his betrothed's ailment, as well as of the mode of treatment that had been adopted; but, ignorant, superstitious, and bigoted, as I knew the campestral Spanish _faculty_ to be, I had yet to learn how far they could practise on the credulity of their infatuated _patients_.

Manuela, it appeared, had, one day during the preceding Lent, been so imprudent as to taste some chicken broth that had been prepared for her sick father; and it was supposed, that the devil, assuming the appearance of the egg of some insect, had gained admission to her throat and settled in her breast, where he had ever since been nurtured and was gradually "_comiendo su vida_!"[200]

The Doctors assured her friends that the only way of appeasing the monster's appetite, was by the constant application of thick slices of raw beef to the exterior of the part affected--but this remedy was daily losing its effect.

My astonishment knew no bounds.--Was it possible such gross ignorance could exist, or such horrible imposition be practised in the nineteenth century!

After much persuasion, Antonio promised to bring his betrothed to San Roque, to have the advice of an English doctor; my proposal of taking one to see her, at Ximena, having at once been negatived on the grounds that it would cause great irritation amongst the people of that town; and, accordingly, on the day appointed for the meeting, Manuela, borne on a kind of litter, and accompanied by her aunt, came to San Roque on the pretence of its being her wish to offer a wax bust at the shrine of one of the Emigré Saints of Gibraltar "now established in the city of _San Roque de su Campo;_" which said saint, having taken a very active part in expelling the Moors from Spain, it was naturally concluded might feel an interest in driving the devil out of Manuela's breast.

Antonio's mistress had evidently been a lovely creature. Her features were beautifully outlined, but her white lips and bloodless cheeks, her sunken eyes and wasted figure, declared the ravages making by some terrible inward disease. She was suffering excessive pain from the effects of the journey, but received us with a faint smile.

"I fear, sir," she said, with some emotion, addressing herself to my friend, Dr. ----, "I fear, sir, that I have given you unnecessary trouble in coming to see me, for I am told that my disorder is beyond the reach of medical skill; but my friend here," pointing to her lover, who, with brimful eyes, stood watching alternately the pain-distorted countenance of his mistress and that of the Doctor, hoping, if possible, to discover his thoughts, "my friend here requested me so earnestly to come and meet you, that, as we shall be so short a time together on this earth, I could not, as far as concerned myself, refuse him so slight a favour, and I hope you will pardon the inconvenience to which we have put you."

Antonio and myself now withdrew, leaving Manuela and Doña Felipa with Dr. ----, who, in a short time rejoined us, and, to Antonio's inexpressible delight, informed him that the case of his betrothed was not by any means hopeless, though she would have to submit to a painful surgical operation, and then turning round to me, he added, "the poor creature is suffering from a cancerous affection, which, fortunately, is just in the state that I could most wish it to be. But no time must be lost."

The nature of the case having been fully explained to Antonio, it was left to him to persuade Manuela to submit to the necessary operation, and to inform her, that though it might be performed with safety _then_, yet death must inevitably be the consequence of delay.

The prejudices we were prepared to encounter were numerous, but they were propounded chiefly by Manuela's aunt, she herself agreeing without hesitation to every thing Antonio suggested. At length, however, the old lady said a positive answer should be given after consulting with a priest, and I forthwith accompanied Antonio to Don ---- ----, and requested his attendance.

Antonio was present at the consultation, and gave us an amusing account of it. The main objection of the Doña Felipa was to the heretical hand that was to direct the knife; but the worthy _Padre_--who had good reason to know the superior skill of the English faculty over those of his own country, and was himself _spelling_ for a little advice on the score of an over-strained digestion--took the case up most zealously, and eventually overcame all their scruples.

"Fear not," said he, winding up his arguments, "Fear not, good dame, to trust the maiden in his hands. Like as the Lord opened the mouth of Balaam's ass to admonish her master, so has he put wisdom into the heads of these heretical doctors for the good of us, his faithful servants. Quiet your conscience, Señora Felipa, I myself have been physicked by these semi-christian _Medicos_."

The case was not much in point, but it served the purpose. Doña Felipa was convinced; her niece submitted; the operation was successfully performed; the colour in a short time returned to the cheeks of the truly lovely and loveable Manuela; the smile of health once again lighted up her intelligent countenance. And, ere I left the country, the small share it had fallen to my lot to take in producing this happy change, was gratefully acknowledged by the expressive, though downcast glance that gleamed from Manuela's bright and joyous eyes, on my addressing her as the bride of the knight of San Fernando.

THE END.