Chapter III: Part 3

"No;" returned Louis, "for in that field, you would have to meet your own people, and your own son! You would drench your hands in the blood you have so often sworn to cherish; you would give the last blow to the name and race of Ripperda; and what will be your reward? The fetters of a barbarian!"

The string had been touched, which vibrated to madness in the brain of Ripperda. His apprehension became confused, and with terrific solemnity he approached his son.

"Hitherto," said he, "I have heard you with patience! I read your Queen's letter with patience; I received her General's flag of truce with patience. But her letter was an insidious blazonry of all my false accusers; and he who brought the flag of truce, whispered at my gates, that Aben Humeya was a Spanish traitor. This is their truth, their amnesty; this, my sheltered honour! And you appear the minister of such an embassy! De Montemar," cried he grasping his arm; "are you aware to what you move me? But I will not reason farther. Tell your Sovereign, it is my will to be his enemy! That is my final answer."

Ripperda walked haughtily away: but Louis followed him, with all the energy of a man determined to prevail. His father turned fiercely on his filial eloquence.

"Silence," cried he, "my whole nature rejects the treacherous influence. I am not to be betrayed a second time, by the arms which once deserted me. You would sell me; but I am not to be bought. These limbs shall never wither in a dungeon, closed by my own son! This head shall never welter on a scaffold his hands have reared!"

His eye was fixed on the sword on the table. The expression was portentous; and he moved towards it, muttering to himself the names of de Paz and Wharton. Louis saw the urging demon; and clasping his hands, while he tore his gaze from that ever revered face, he threw himself between his father and the table.

"Parricide," cried Ripperda, "I am not at your mercy;" and with the word, he made a stroke at the breast of his son. Louis seized the frantic arm.

"Duke de Ripperda," said he, "I may fall by your slaves; but your own hand shall not kill your son. If you indeed believe, that he who has twice hazarded his life to recall you to your honour and your God, can be leagued with falsehood to betray you, summon your guards to dispatch me!"

Ripperda glared on him, as he firmly grasped the hand that held the dagger. Louis's eyes were not less rivetted on those of his father.

"De Montemar," cried he, relaxing his hold on the weapon; "on the perdition of us both, leave my presence; and see that we never meet again. Your father is not what he was."

He struck his hand upon his burning forehead; and, trembling from head to foot, sunk into a seat.

Louis observed him for a few minutes in silence; but his soul was then prostrate before the only Being who could restore that noble mind; his heart was at the feet of his father; and, falling on his knees beside him, he put that now unarmed hand to his lips.

Ripperda had still enough of human tenderness to understand this appeal; but his distempered imagination would not apprehend its truth; and, starting from his position, he exclaimed:--

"Impossible! The world and your ingratitude have undone me. You are no more a son to a rebel and a renegade. I, no more a father to him whose treasons reduced me to this extremity!--Away, and by that path," added he, pointing to a passage in the back of the pavilion.--"If we ever meet again, you must finish your commission; or I blot from the earth the dishonoured name of Ripperda!"

Louis was still on his knee, when his father hastily advanced to the curtain and called aloud: A mute appeared; and the Basha, with an instant recovery of composed dignity, commanded him to see that Moor, (pointing to Louis,) to the outside of the camp towards the hill, and leave him there.

Ripperda quitted the apartment as he spoke; and, with desolation in his heart, Louis rose and followed his conductor.

CHAP. VII.

The Moorish slave passed without obstacle to the rear of the camp; and, making his mute salam to his equally silent charge, quitted him in a recess between the hills. Louis found his way back to the Spanish lines, by keeping close to the sea-coast; and, throwing off his disguise, proceeded close under the wall of Ceuta, till he arrived at the draw-bridge, which he crossed at day-break.

He employed some hours in self collection before it was necessary to inform the Marquis Santa Cruz of the interview he had sought in the Moorish camp; and that the result destroyed his every hope of inducing the unhappy renegade to forego his scheme of vengeance.

Santa Cruz too much respected the filial devotion of Louis, in what he had done, to reprimand the rashness of the experiment.

"But there let it cease," said he. "You now owe a duty elsewhere, and must preserve the loyalty of that name in yourself, which he so determinately abandons."

"I shall attempt it," replied Louis, as he moved to leave the apartment. "Allow me to serve in your army as a volunteer, and I will do my best not to disgrace your confidence."

"De Montemar, I can never doubt _you_."

Louis sighed at the emphasis his veteran friend laid upon the word you; and, with feelings which only a son in his situation can know, he replied:--

"When my father has fallen from his proud height of virtue, who dare think he stands?"

Santa Cruz understood the response; and, with a voice of parental tenderness, made answer:

"He fell, because his virtue was proud. It is not so with you. Therefore, let not the lowliness of a wounded spirit, mourning the transgressions of others, lessen your faith in the power God has given you to be, what you believed your Father was. Stand erect in your own virtue, for it is the panoply of heaven; and do not allow infidelity, even in the shape of a parent, to suppose it can bow a head so armed."

Louis kissed the hand that grasped his, in the zeal of the exhortation; and without further observation withdrew.

During their conversation, and while the Marquis expressed his satisfaction at finding that the alleged violation of the first flag of truce was produced by the outrageous conduct of the Spanish officer, and not a dishonourable breach of military law on the side of Ripperda,--he explained to Louis, why the supposition of so base an act had appeared fuller of despair in his eyes, than even the bold derelictions of apostacy and treason. To a daring crime of the latter complexion, a man may be impelled by a sudden passion; and though he deserve the punishment of his offence, yet remorse may follow the transgression, and he will as bravely acknowledge the justice of his sentence, and, to the utmost, make restitution, as he had before desperately incurred the penalty of the great moral law. But a mean, over-reaching, treacherous action, proves cowardice of soul; and he who performs it has never courage to look it in the face; or if it be pressed upon him, still he crouches under his load of infamy, or impudently affects ignorance of its existence, while he feels in his own heart that he has not spirit to retrace his path to reputation by confession and amendment. Hence, as desertion of honour is the vice of cowards, it is hopeless in its nature; and society can offer no terms to him who has so entirely abandoned himself.

Louis had no idea of military glory, when he volunteered his services to the Spanish arms. His aim was to guard his father's head in the day of battle; while he hoped to prove to Spain, and to the world, (should it ever hear of him more,) that he behaved with fidelity to the country to which that father had constrained him to swear allegiance. Life's aspect was changed to him. He had hardly entered the morn of his days; and the clouds were gathered over the opening prospect; at least, all his dearest objects were snatched from his sight;--the lofty consciousness of public duties, the race of glory, and the fame of future ages!--Even at the starting post, he had reached the goal; and his hardly-risen sun went instant down in darkness.--

"How many before me, and how many that come after me, have destinies directly the reverse of mine! Nay, their day of brightness is even lengthened like that of Joshua in the field of Gibeon, till all in their heart be."

The draught was a bitter one, which Louis found in his cup of trial; but he was resolved to drink it to the dregs;--"And there," cried he, "I shall find it has some sweetness."

The observations he could not help making in passing through the Moorish camp, shewed him the strength of the enemy; and from the discipline and number of the troops, he did not doubt that the slender garrison of Ceuta would be lost, should his father determine on attacking it by storm. The fortifications were in so bad a state, that Santa Cruz set all hands to work to bring them into order; and, meanwhile, sent to the lines before San Roque for a reinforcement of engineers, and as many troops as they could spare.

During these preparations, the Basha was seen visiting his works every day, surrounded by a guard of horsemen; who, however, in contempt of the Spaniards, amused themselves in scampering about, throwing the gerid, and firing at each other in sport, between their own parallels. It was evident that Ripperda wished to provoke Santa Cruz to a battle, or to induce him to believe that such was his motive; for he ventured insulting detachments, even under the fire of the Spanish forts. But he had another point in view;--to seize the fortified town of Larach. By retaining possession of that place, the Spaniards might command the whole of the Atlantic coast of the empire of Morocco. Larach on the Atlantic, and Ceuta on the Mediterranean, were now all that remained to Philip in Africa; and the new Aben Humeya was aware, that while the Moors were making these hostile demonstrations before the one, the other would consider itself secure; and, therefore, the more easily fall into his hands. A large body of men were marching from Mequinez, to complete the army with which he meant to crush the whole Spanish power, both in Morocco and Algiers; and this reinforcement, by his orders, was now halted in the vallies of Benzeroel. On such information, he quitted his camp; and leaving directions with Sidi Ali how to proceed in his absence, proceeded to the head of this second army, and to the surprise of Larach.

He was well acquainted with the character of the military governor, Don Juan d'Orendayn; a vain and ignorant brother of the no less insolent and vain Count de Paz, his most inveterate enemy at the Spanish court. But it was not to revenge himself on any individual, that Ripperda would have moved a single step. It was against the whole Spanish nation he had sworn vengeance; and high or low, declared enemies, or professing friends, all were alike to him:--They were Spaniards, and he drew an unsparing sword.

All the revenge that he took personally on the kinsman of de Paz, was to make his vanity the cause of his destruction; and sending a renegade Jew into the town, the pretended deserter informed d'Orendayn, that Aben Humeya was encamped with a few troops on the banks of the river on his way to the siege of Ceuta. He added, the fears of these raw recruits were so great, of Don Juan discovering they were in his neighbourhood, they had drawn the line of their camp to a fictitious length, to deceive him with regard to their numbers; and that Aben Humeya, not being able to place any dependance on these timid men, was under apprehensions like their own, till he could excite their courage by mingling them with the veterans before Ceuta. The Jew found himself believed; and was vehemently seconded by the younger officers in the garrison, when he advised a sudden sally from Larach, and promised to Don Juan the glory of making Aben Humeya his prisoner.

Cowardice and ambition contended in the breast of d'Orendayn. The same day he dispatched a corps of observation, to ascertain the truth of the deserter; and on its bearing witness that the pavilion of the Basha stood in the midst of a line of tents, which could not contain more than four or five hundred men; hesitation was at an end, and the eager governor gave orders for a sortie that very night; when he hoped to steal an easy victory.

Ripperda had disposed the strength of his army amongst the numerous dells and recesses at the foot of the mountains. On one side of his visible front, was a thick wood; on the other, a small branch of the river Lecus. His cavalry was posted behind the wood; and his own little camp, which consisted of six hundred of his best disciplined men, lay on their arms within their lines. These were nothing more than a range of hurdles; but so disposed, as to be a sufficient screen for the assailed to form behind them.

D'Orendayn, believing the whole of the Basha's present force was contained in that small boundary, came boldly forward with two-thirds of his own garrison; and with a furious discharge of musquetry, fell upon the Moorish camp. The night was bright, and seemed to favour the exploit. After making a shew of some resistance; the attacked gave ground, and soon after fled towards the mountain. The Spanish commander blew a summons for the rest of the garrison to join him in the chace; for he saw that victory over so inconsiderable a body, would yield him little honour, unless he could secure the person of its formidable leader. When the pursuers appeared to gain ground upon the fugitives which surrounded the banner of Aben Humeya; and Orendayn thought he had already countless rewards in his possession, for this masterly atchievement; he was advanced into the ambuscade. The Basha, facing suddenly round, cried aloud:--

"Lahillah Lah, Mahometh ressoul Allah!"

A thousand voices echoed the sound; showers of arrows poured from the incumbent heights; and, from every opening in the hills, Moorish infantry rushed upon the astonished victors, while the cavalry from the wood charged them in the rear.

No Spaniard returned to tell the story. Larach received a Moorish garrison; and the crescent of Mohammed was flying on its walls, when a little row-boat, manned by a few Christian merchants who escaped during the confusion in the town, made the best of its way to reach the Spanish coast.

The acclamations which followed the return of Aben Humeya to his camp before Ceuta, were heard in the Spanish fortress; and, soon after, there was a rumor amongst the Jews in the town, of what had befallen Larach.

Santa Cruz was confounded when he found the report true. He had received so insufficient an accession to his force, that it appeared mere mockery. No artillery was sent, for which he had particularly dispatched his messenger; and he perceived a spirit of contradiction to him, in all the orders which the war-minister gave out for the prosecution of the African campaign. Besides this, the Count de Patinos came direct from Seville, with a peremptory command from the Queen, for Santa Cruz to join her there.

An exchange of brides between the royal heirs of Spain and Portugal was the ostensible reason for the journey of the Court towards the Spanish frontiers; but the real motive, was a desire of the King's to view, with his own eyes, the lines he was planning at San Roque, to shut out the fortress of Gibraltar from all communication with his people; and to facilitate his operations on that place, in any future siege. Previous to his visiting this scene of anticipated glory, he became indisposed, and the court halted at Seville. His illness wore so dangerous an aspect, Isabella became alarmed; and thought it prudent to know personally from Santa Cruz, what was likely to be the persistance of Ripperda, before she should disarm herself, by dispatching those troops to Africa, which the death of Philip might render necessary to the maintenance of her son's claims elsewhere.

The small detachment which had been granted, arrived under the command of Don Joseph de Pinel;--Don Ferdinand d'Osorio was on his staff; and the young soldier eagerly joined his father, where he longed to obliterate the memory of his youthful follies, by a conduct worthy of his hopes. In Lindisfarne, he had regarded the peculiar endowments of Louis de Montemar with jealousy and dislike, till the ingenuous character of their possessor compelled him to esteem the object of his antipathy. But he only envied him, as far as he believed those admirable qualities had made an impression on the heart his own wished to attach. When Alice acknowledged her love, this jealousy was no more; and with it vanished his dislike of her cousin.

During Ferdinand's stay at Val del Uzeda, his mother talked down the night, in praise of the filial perseverance of the Marquis de Montemar; in describing his ingenuous and elevated deportment; in imagining all the various treasures of his yet more elevated mind. Her son listened with no other feeling than that of emulation, to merit similar encomiums; and Marcella, answered his enquiries respecting her opinion of Louis, by a melancholy smile.

"Were I called hence;" said she, "and in my altered state, might chuse my ministry, I would say, let me be guardian angel to that virtuous young man!"

"Indeed!" replied Ferdinand, drawing his own inferences from the innocent reply of his sister. She spoke it from the dictates of a pure and pious heart; and did not blush when she answered his smiling remark;--"That she had chosen a work of supererogation; for a virtuous character needed no ministration: It was sufficient to itself."

"No Ferdinand," returned she, "virtue is not apathy. It feels under the rack; it bleeds under the axe. But where the weakness of corrupted nature would shrink and fly, it is steadfast, and combats, or sustains to the end. Virtue is not an Heathen idol; a block, or a stone. It is a Christian spirit in a human body; and comfort may wipe the drops from its suffering brow."

Ferdinand was reproved, and did not venture again to sport with a sentiment, which suited so well with the vestal state he still hoped to induce her to make the price of his happiness with Alice. But there his arguments failed. Marcella recapitulated the simple principles of religious belief she had imbibed from her Protestant governess; and shed tears, as she asserted the impossibility of her taking monastic vows in a church, against the peculiar tenets of which her soul revolted.

"I could resign my life for you, my dear brother," added she, "but for nothing this world can produce, dare I sacrifice my conscience."

To providence, then, Ferdinand left his future destiny; and now only striving to deserve its bounty, he resolved to make Louis de Montemar the confidant and counsellor of his thoughts. He embraced him on the African shore, with a grateful acknowledgement of his former generous interference; and soon convinced Louis, that he held to his heart, the still faithful lover of his dear Alice.

Before Santa Cruz quitted Ceuta, he held a council, in which he left positive orders with the Count de Blas, that no sally should be attempted, until he came back with the men and ammunition which were necessary to make the first attack the decisive one. An hour passed in private conference between him and the anxious son of Ripperda. The Marquis alone, knew that Aben Humeya was other than a Moor; and, therefore, the Marquis alone knew why the once gay De Montemar was seldom seen to smile; and why, while he did his military duty with a precision that neither admitted error, nor relaxation, the glow of martial enthusiasm was extinguished in his countenance. But the hectic of fevered diligence still kept its crimson on his cheek and at times gave a lustre to his eyes of intolerable brightness.

Santa Cruz had hardly set sail, when a spirit, very different from that of obedience to his commands, manifested itself amongst the heads of the garrison. The Moors seemed more carelessly disposed in their camp, revelling and exulting in the easy fall of Larach; and in consequence of some observations on the unguarded state of their lines, Don Joseph de Penil proposed attacking the Basha by surprise. The Counts de Blas and de Patinos warmly assented to the enterprize; and the former turned to Louis, saying he should lead the volunteers in the sortie. He thanked the governor for the proposed distinction, but respectfully reminded him of the Marquis's parting commands. Every lip was now opened upon the absurdity of Santa Cruz attempting to curb events by such ill-judged caution; and as de Penil persisted in pressing the advantage of the present moment, he triumphantly called on Louis to give the Marquis's reasons for such jealous prevention.

Louis calmly explained the incapability of Ceuta to defend itself, should the sally be repulsed by the enemy. He gave his reasons for this opinion, by enumerating all the wants and defects of the garrison; and ended by repeating the positive charge of the Marquis Santa Cruz, that no egress should be made from the Spanish lines, until his return with sufficient means to render defeat almost impossible.

"De Montemar!" exclaimed de Blas, "these considerations are for grey hairs. If you are ambitious to be a soldier, begin at the right end; act before you think: and where can an enterprizing spirit have so fair a field as against these insolent barbarians?"

"Courage," rejoined de Penil, glancing superciliously on Louis, "is an essential quality in a soldier!"

"So essential," replied Louis, "that he cannot maintain obedience to his commander without it."

"Some orders are safely obeyed!" said de Patinos with affected carelessness. "A parade at Vienna, and a sortie from Ceuta are different things!"

"When disobedience is a proof of courage and good discipline," returned Louis, "I may have the honour to meet your approbation, Count de Patinos. Meanwhile, I trust the Count de Blas, who is the governor of this garrison, and on whose responsibility hangs its fate; I trust, wherever he may chuse to place me, he will not doubt finding me at my post."

De Patinos started angrily from his seat.--Louis rose also.

"Gentlemen," cried de Blas, "what is it you mean?"

"To shew I can revenge insult!" cried the haughty Count, touching his sword, "if it be within the calculation of that philosopher to bid me draw it." Louis boiled with rising passion; and with a countenance whose lightning glances could hardly be restrained from giving the defiance his better principles refused, he sternly answered:--

"Count de Patinos, I do not wear the King's sword, to draw it at the prompting of every wordy spirit. If I have insulted you unprovoked, I submit myself to the judgement of all present, and am ready to stand your fire. But on the reverse, I mean not to assert that courage by a private duel, which the public service will so soon put to the proof."

De Penil prevented an insolent retort from de Patinos; and de Blas interfering with a real interest in the reconciliation of the two young men, the haughty Spaniard grumbled out an enforced apology, and left the room.

Don Joseph was conscious that he, too, had been guilty of impropriety towards the Marquis de Montemar; but he was too proud to acknowledge error to one so much his junior; and saw him retire to his quarters with an admiration of his superior self command, which he would have been glad to emulate, but had not generosity enough to praise.

Piqued into obstinacy, he urged de Blas to put the garrison into immediate preparation for an attack upon the enemy's trenches; and with the rising sun, the ground before the fortress was filled with Spanish troops.

Nothing could have been more grateful to the views of Ripperda. He knew the weakness of his opponent in numbers and artillery; and from a forward eminence in his lines, with the aid of his glass, he counted the Spanish columns as they defiled through their gates; and believing them devoted to his sword, he turned to the Moors, whose thickening ranks blackened the ground around them; and addressed them in a style to arouse their fiercest passions. He described their former empire in Spain; he recapitulated the various acts of injustice which banished them that kingdom; he exposed the tyrannous animosity of the Spaniards to the past and present generations of the Moors; and set forth the shame of permitting so oppressive a race to maintain a foot of land in Barbary.

The Moors answered his inflaming eloquence as he expected; and with furious gesticulations and curses which rent the air, they demanded to be led against their hereditary enemies. He mounted his horse; and giving his orders of battle into the hands of his two leading coadjutors, Sidi Ali, and the Hadge Adelmelek, marched out at the head of his troops into the open field.

The Spaniards were led on, in two wretchedly appointed battalions, by de Blas, and Don Joseph de Penil. Count de Patinos, in the arrogance of his assumed contempt of Louis, volunteered his services at the head of a small detachment of troops, which the governor considered the _elite_ of his cavalry. De Montemar, and Don Ferdinand commanded the men who were to carry the trenches.

This first atchievement was speedily done. The workmen fled without resistance; and even the soldiers in the parallels, when they had discharged their fire, threw down their arms before the overwhelming enemy, and begged quarter. But no time was granted to yield, or to receive mercy. Every avenue from the Moorish camp poured forth its troops; and at this moment they came rushing on like a storm. They charged over their vanquished comrades; and over-leaping every obstacle, fell upon the Spanish advance with a shock that broke its line. The havock was as great as the surprise; and the way was soon open to the attack of the second division. It made a halt, and stood firm. Louis collected the fugitives from the first line, and formed them behind their comrades, while the battle in front became close and complex. The Infidels, contrary to their wonted custom, fought hand to hand; and rallied two or three times, when any extraordinary press of Spanish force compelled them to recede.

Aben Humeya shewed an eminent example of faith in his new creed. He appeared to take no care of his person, but rode about under the heaviest vollies, exhorting, and charging with his men; till at length, after prodigious efforts, the Spaniards were obliged to give ground. They retreated; but it was with a backward step; while the Moors, crowding on them, horse and foot, broke the line in every direction. In some places, the victors so mingled with the vanquished, that it rather resembled an affray of single combatants, than a contest of regular troops. The depth of de Montemar's little phalanx, was insufficient to sustain the weight of the Basha's charge; it was penetrated and turned; and in the moment of its defeat, the horse of Don Ferdinand was shot and fell. A Moor raised his lance to dispatch its rider, when Louis dashed between his friend and the infidel, and received the weapon on his face. A random shot killed the lancer, while another gave the just rescued Ferdinand a less mortal wound.

The Basha, after being twice unhorsed himself, cut off the squadron under De Patinos; and the confusion among the Spaniards being redoubled by Count de Blas falling at the same time, the panic-struck infantry retreated pell mell into their outworks, hardly closing the gates on the triumphant infidels at their heels. As Don Joseph de Penil galloped towards the principal entrance, he passed Louis de Montemar, who, black as a Moor with smoke and toil, stood by a held piece, which he had brought to that spot, to cover the flight of the Spaniards; and was firing it on the pursuers, with a quickness and effect, that cleared the way to a considerable distance.

The enemy halted before this formidable barrier; for Louis's commands and example soon made it a battery; and as the grape showered from it on all sides, the fugitive Spaniards entered the fortress in safety.

Aben Humeya drew off his victorious troops; but it was only the recoil of the tiger, to make his second spring decisive.

CHAP. VIII.

All was dismay within the Spanish lines. The Count de Blas died in the arms of the men who were bearing him into the castle; and Don Joseph de Penil was so severely wounded, that he dropped off his horse as soon as it had cleared the draw-bridge into the fortress. Half the garrison was slain or missing; and no officers of rank returned alive from the field, but what were borne in on their cloaks,--sad, mangled victims of the preceding rashness.

When De Penil's wounds were dressed, and he heard the state of his men, he was driven to despair. He called for the Marquis de Montemar, as the only person in whose steadiness to the last, he felt he could place any confidence. All who approached him came trembling; and, from confusion of mind, contradicted each other in every account of the garrison, excepting the one, that its destruction was now inevitable!

When Louis obeyed the General's summons, he corroborated the observations of De Penil's own senses; and told him that a contagious fear unmanned every heart; and that the eyes of the soldiers continually turned towards the sea, with a more evident wish for escape than resistance. While Don Joseph listened to the consequences of his own headstrong folly, and saw the bloody evidence of the courage he had pretended to doubt, on the cheek of the brave narrator, he obeyed the noble shame which coloured his own; and, having uttered a frank apology for his former conduct, as frankly asked for his opinion on the present crisis.

Louis did not hesitate to say, that he believed the Moors could not see their advantage without attempting to storm the place.

"And they will take it to a certainty," replied De Penil. "In the present disposition of the men there can be no resistance."

"Without resistance they are lost!" returned Louis. "There are no ships for flight, and the Moors grant no terms in a surrender."

"Then every man must fight for his life!" cried De Penil. "I will yet do my duty from this bed; and you, De Montemar, must act from my authority."

Louis did not now demur. He was ready to do all in his power to stop the torrent, whose sluice he would have prevented being broken down. Without losing time in sending for those paralized officers, who wandered from place to place at their wit's end, De Penil consulted his young co-adjutor on every resource; and while he marvelled at so comprehensive a judgment in so inexperienced a soldier, he adopted so many of his suggestions, that dispositions were soon made for the defence of Ceuta, of better promise than those which had placed it in such extremity.

Louis wrote down the necessary arrangement; and when it was finished, the wounded General was laid on a litter, and carried out along the ramparts; where, after he had said a few words of encouragement to the soldiers, Louis read aloud the different orders for the defence of the garrison.

De Penil was too conscious of the evil his impatience had wrought, not to do his utmost to prevent yet more disastrous consequences; and, while he exhorted the men to stand to their guns, and never to leave their ground but with their lives, he himself took an oath before them never to surrender. He told them to obey the Marquis de Montemar as his representative.

"But for his promptitude in mounting the battery which covered our retreat, and his steadiness in maintaining it," added the General, "we should not now have Ceuta to defend."

The soldiers knew this as well as their commander, and with a sincere hurrah of obedience, followed their officers to their respective duties.

Exhausted, and almost fainting, De Penil ordered the litter to his quarters; but he held himself up with assumed strength, till the walls of his apartment permitted over-tasked nature to sink under the pain of his wounds.

Louis's spirit rose with the summons for exertion. His calm collectiveness in dispensing his commands, and instant apprehension of what was most proper to be done, from objects of the greatest importance to the minutest inquiry from the meanest workmen in the lines, revived courage in the faintest heart, and inspired the brave with an animation equal to his own. After he had seen every thing prepared for the anticipated assault, he returned to De Penil, to inform him of the favourable aspect his commands had produced. Having found the General in a state of anxiety that looked for such intelligence to enable him to seek the repose his condition needed, he closed his communications with assurances of hope; and, leaving him to rest, proceeded to the quarters of Don Ferdinand.

His wound was deep, but not dangerous; yet the alarm for his life had been so great, before the extraction of the ball, that one of the surgeons dispatched a messenger immediately across the strait, with intelligence to Santa Cruz of the perilous state of his son, and the jeopardy of the garrison.

When Louis found what had been done, he reprimanded the man for presuming to send off any account, before the official reports of the affair could be duly ascertained. The other surgeons assured the young commander that his friend was not to be despaired of; and, with the feelings of a brother for the son of the revered Santa Cruz, he entered his apartment.

"De Montemar," cried Ferdinand, stretching out his hand to him, "dearer lips than mine must thank you that I live."

Louis smiled as he used to do in his unclouded days of happiness:--"God is good in yet giving life a value to me, by making me his instrument to preserve my friend. While I may be such," added he, with a deeper expression, and pressing Ferdinand's hand between his, "I feel the son of Ripperda is not completely lost!"

Ferdinand did not understand all the reference of this almost unconscious apostrophe; but supposing it arose from some free remarks of the Count de Patinos which might have reached his ear, he replied with earnestness:--"_Il rit bien, qui rit le dernier!_ The sneers which De Patinos dared venture against the Duke de Ripperda's escape from his enemies, and the unsullied honour of De Montemar, were visited on his head this day. I saw him fly before the negro guards of Aben Humeya; and I have since been told, that he and his whole squadron threw down their arms before the barbarian."

"That they may be his prisoners," replied Louis, "is too likely; but whatever may be the Count de Patinos' ungenerous enmity against men who never voluntarily gave him offence, I must exonerate him of the charge of cowardice. I believe him brave; and all I have now to wish is, that he may be treated according to his merits as a soldier, by the hands into which he has fallen."

At nine o'clock, Louis went the round of his posts, and found all in good order. The men were in spirits, though it was easy to discern, even by the naked eye, that a threatening commotion continued along the enemy's lines.

By his glass, earlier in the evening, he had observed the approach of artillery, and some other signs which convinced him of the necessity of Don Joseph's precaution. For his own part, he never retired under cover the whole night, but kept his station on the best point of observation,--a tower at the extremity of the outworks.

About the watch of the night, which is called by the Moors, _Latumar_, being their fifth hour of prayer, the sky was involved in total darkness; but the attentive ear of Louis heard a distant murmuring. It was demonstrative of the approach he expected; and having persons near him for the purpose, he dispatched them to the lines to order every one to be prepared.

In less than a quarter of an hour after he had taken his own most efficient station, the flash of cannon and of musquetry lit the plain for a moment, like the splendour of day; and, in the next, the roaring of the guns, and the smoke of the explosion, rocked the fortress to its foundation, and involved the whole atmosphere in sulphureous clouds. The ordnance on the walls of Ceuta were not silent; and the mutual bombardment in the intermitting darkness, was rendered more terrific by the savage cries of the besiegers mingling their horrid war-whoop with the hissing of the musquetry, and the tremendous thunders of the cannonade.

Where his father was in the midst of this dreadful contest, more than once shot in direful question across the mind of Louis; but he dismissed the paralyzing thought. He was there to defend the cause of his country and the faith of his fathers; and he must not allow the yearnings of his heart to unman his fidelity.

He flew from the bastion on which he stood, at the moment he heard a cry of triumph from the scene below. In defiance of shells and raking fires, these desperate barbarians had rushed on, and pointed their guns till a breach was made. Louis ordered a rampart to be immediately raised on the ruins, but the gabions were hardly rolled forward, and the cannon planted, when a tumbrel blew up, and rendered the egress wider and more accessible than before. The stone battlements shook under his feet like an earthquake, while the fragments from the torn rampart, the smoke, and the scorching powder, covered him with viewless horror. There was not the pause of a moment between the explosion, the dispersion of the smoke, and the most dreadful conflict of the day.

Aben Humeya had prepared for an escalade; and the very band which planted the crescent on the towers of Larach, was the first who scaled the walls of Ceuta. The contest at the breach was as sanguinary as it was decisive. The Moors were twice repulsed with terrible slaughter; and the more terrible the second time, as it was quickly known, by the intrepid desperation of the assailants, that they were led on by the Basha himself. Louis's unreceding arm had tumbled the leader of the first division from his footing on the wall; and at his fall his followers had given ground. On the second assault, he was contending with the invincible devotedness of a man who knew that spot was the key of the fortress, when his father's voice assailed his ear. A flash of musketry shewed the jewelled chelengk in his turban, as he mounted the farther ridge of the platform, slippery with blood, and called on his men to support him. In another moment, two Biscayan grenadiers held the Basha between their weapons and the pinnacle of the battlement. A choice of death seemed the only alternative,--their swords, or precipitation over the precipice. The Moors who pressed forward, were cut to pieces by the Spaniards on the breach; and Louis saw nothing but destruction to his father, when rushing towards the spot, in the moment Ripperda's weapon shivered against those of his enemies, he threw himself, sword in hand, between the Biscayans and their prey, franticly exclaiming:

"The Basha is the governor's prisoner." But the strokes which were levelled at Ripperda's breast were sheathed in his son's. Before the Spaniards could check their arms, he was cut through the shoulder and stabbed in his side; but the men recoiled on finding they had wounded their leader; and in the instant, Sidi Ali mounting the height with a fresh horde of triumphant Moors, they surrounded Aben Humeya, believing the day won. But as Ali's hand planted the Ottoman standard amidst the still grappling of foe to foe, and the anathemas of the Christian against the ferocious curses of the Moor, the clouds of smoke rolled away from the eastern point of the rampart, and the golden head of the sun peered from the horizon. Its first ray shot direct upon the radiant crest of Aben Humeya, and a rifle took aim. The ball struck; and, in spite of a momentary exertion in its victim to spring forward, he staggered and fell into the arms of his followers.

A woeful yell announced to the legions below, that some direful disaster had happened. The cry was echoed from rank to rank with shrieks and howlings; and a single blast of a trumpet immediately succeeded. The breach was abandoned, as if by enchantment. The firing sunk at once into a dead calm; and the flight of the Moors through the yet hovering smoke, sounded in the darkness like the wings of many birds brushing the sands before the sweep of some coming storm.

CHAP. IX.

The Queen's cabinet at Seville was employed on many projects besides that of sealing the union between Portugal and Spain. The venerable Grimaldo was just dead; and the affairs of state falling entirely into the management of the Marquis de Castellor and the Count de Paz, she affected a warm interest in the former, though she detested him in her heart, not only as the most successful rival of her regretted Ripperda, but because his talents were equal to his ambition. And what was more provoking to a despotic woman, he made her feel that he could maintain his ground by the same surreptitious art he had obtained it.

The Count de Paz was a man of a different complexion. Covetousness, and an abject dependent on individual favour, tethered his vain-glorious spirit to a boundary he panted to overleap, but everlastingly found it a limit he could not pass. This man, Isabella used as her instrument, and by his connivance, admitted a third person to their private councils, who commanded him with the invincible power of a superior demon.

In obedience to the Queen, and this her secret counsellor, he was to influence the Marquis de Castellor to extort an act of aggression from the French arms against the German Emperor.

Since the public betrothment of Maria Theresa to the Prince of Lorraine, Isabella had become reconciled to Louis the Fifteenth; and she now wanted to attack the grasping power of the rival Empire, by a concerted act of open hostility. France was to invade Austria on the side of Germany; while Spain, in consequence of the death of the Duke of Parma, should resist the pretensions of the Emperor to that dutchy; and, in support of the rights of Prince Carlos, (the late Duke's kinsman, and Isabella's son,) overrun that part of Italy with Spanish troops.

Her secret counsellor had already moved the cardinal minister of the French King to thwart the establishment of the pragmatic sanction; and through the Queen of Spain and De Paz, he had drawn from the treasury of Philip a large subsidy to support the pretensions of Bavaria.

On the open rupture between Isabella and the Empress, the former was not long at a loss how to revenge herself on the wide ambition of her rival. Her midnight familiar whispered the means. He told her that Gibraltar was not more the fortress of England than of Austria. Whoever possessed that rock, commanded the Mediterranean, and bound all on its banks to his feet. The interest of Austria and the House of Brunswick were now the same. He therefore exhorted her to categorically demand Gibraltar of the King of England; and to make her husband and his council, see the wisdom of considering him the King of England who would restore that gem to the Spanish crown.

One of the last acts of George the First was to reject this demand with a positive refusal; and the following evening saw a tall, dark man, of a noble mien, pass into the private cabinet of the King of Spain. They were alone together for some time; and then the Queen and the two ministers of state being introduced, a paper was signed in their presence by Philip and the stranger, and the royal seals of Spain and of Great Britain solemnly affixed to the deed.

Santa Cruz met this personage as he withdrew through the vestibule of the King's apartment. He knew him, and stood with his hat in his hand till he passed.

"Do not repeat what you have seen," whispered Isabella, who found the Marquis gazing after him; "but now you read my riddle. A few months may see you governor of Gibraltar!"

"The trenches of San Roque must first be opened in England!" replied he, answering her gay smile with unusual gravity.

"No," was her reply; "there we spring a mine; and the best engineer in Christendom has his hand on the match."

Santa Cruz understood enough of her meaning, not to make a second observation in so public a passage; and bowing to her beckoning finger, he followed her into her apartment.

He held in his hand the first official dispatches from Ceuta. The last had not arrived. But the fugitive merchants from Larach were then in the palace, with their calamitous account of the fall of that fortress.

The Queen was enraged at these determined acts of hostility in the man to whom she had condescended to humble herself as a suppliant; and vehemently arraigning the insolence that durst disdain her returning favour, she preceded Santa Cruz to the chamber of her royal husband.

On the King's being told the fate of Larach; and learning, by the discomfiture of Don Joseph de Penil, how nearly Ceuta had shared the same disaster, he issued his orders that the troops just called off from the lines of San Roque, should be employed without delay in a final vindication of the Christian name in the plains of Barbary.

These forces had been intended by Isabella and her secret counsellor, to make a descent on the British shore; and there, as Santa Cruz had guessed, assert the rights of him who had purchased the support of Philip by a written pledge for the restitution of Gibraltar. But at this moment resentment obliterated every promise; and, in the rage of revenge against the man who had disdained her, more as a woman than a queen, she at once announced to her husband, that it was his own rebellious subject, the Duke de Ripperda, who, under the assumed name of Aben Humeya, but as a real apostate and a traitor, waged war in Africa against his King and his God.

Philip's amazement was creditable to his heart; and, when unquestionably convinced, his indignation against the Duke's irreligion superseded the expected resentment for his rebellion. He summoned his council; and in full assembly of the ministers and grandees, degraded the Duke de Ripperda from all his honours, hereditary and by creation; confiscated his estates; and ordered the arms of his family to be obliterated from the Spanish college of arms.

With the feelings of an ancient Spanish nobleman, Santa Cruz saw the rapidity of this act of disgrace. Not in consideration of the degraded Duke; for in becoming an infidel, he had sunk himself below the power of man to cast him lower; but compassion for his blameless and exemplary son, filled the heart of Santa Cruz with honourable sympathy.

The Queen turned on him at the moment, and observing the expression of his countenance, said with a taunting surprise;--

"Marquis, you pity this renegade!"

"Madam," replied he, "I respect the Marquis de Montemar."

Isabella drew towards the King.

"Your Majesty will grant an exception in behalf of that young man? He covered the retreat of de Penil into Ceuta, and merits some exemption from the universal stigma on his father."

"We may consider that hereafter," replied the King, "meanwhile let the edict be published."

The messenger from the surgeon at Ceuta, who dispatched him during the panic immediately succeeding the return of the unfortunate sortie, went direct to the Marquis Santa Cruz's house in Seville. The Marquis was from home, but the man delivered his credentials to the servants; and with the eagerness of a first bringer of news, gave an exaggerated account of the defeat of Don Joseph, the death of de Blas, and the wounded state of Don Ferdinand d'Osorio. He closed his report of the latter, by saying, he was rescued by the intrepid interference of the Marquis de Montemar, from sharing the fate of the governor; but as the Moorish sabres were generally venomed, little hope could be cherished of his ultimate recovery.

On Santa Cruz's return from the palace, he found his wife and daughter in speechless agony, listening to this narrative of despair. He sent the man from the room; and by reading the dispatch which the official messenger had brought, he succeeded in convincing them that the Moors did not poison their weapons, and that the life of his son was in no present danger. The Marchioness however, insisted on accompanying her husband to Ceuta; and Marcella, in a passion of tears, implored her father to permit her to be her mother's attendant.

Dreading that despairing love had precipitated the vehement nature of her brother, upon the swords of his enemies, Marcella now reproached herself for having so decisively, and therefore she thought cruelly, rejected his suit. In the paroxysm of her grief and her remorse, she threw herself at her father's feet; and to his astonishment, informed him of Ferdinand's love for the cousin of the Marquis de Montemar; declaring at the same time, her own resolution no longer to oppose his wishes of her passing her life a professed nun; provided her vows might be simply confined to celibacy, and a secluded state; and Ferdinand be allowed to marry the English lady. The Marquis was confounded, and looked at his wife.

"It is too true;" was her reply to his enquiring eyes; "Ferdinand loves Alice Coningsby; and my invaluable child would make herself the price of her brothers happiness."

"Marcella," replied Santa Cruz, turning with solemnity to his daughter; "this is not what I expected from you. You dishonour your father and your brother, by your petition. You may accompany your mother to his sick couch; and for the rest, should he recover, I hope he will find a fitter oblation to his blind passions, than a sister's and a parent's conscience."

Marcella rose humbled from her knees; and in speechless sorrow left the apartment. The Marquis looked after her and sighed; and the Marchioness taking his hand, pressed it to her lips, wet with her drowning tears, and exclaimed;--"Better that we had never met, than that the purest offspring of our heaven-sanctified union, should be consigned to a living tomb! Oh, Santa Cruz, why is she to be our victim!"

CHAP. X.

Santa Cruz did not wait for the tedious embarkation of the troops, now under orders for Africa; but set forward immediately, accompanied by his wife and daughter; who both assumed the privileged habits of _Sisters of Mercy_, in this their pilgrimage to a land of war and suffering.

When he arrived at Ceuta, he was ignorant of the attempt at storming the place. The courier with that intelligence, had been taken by an Algerine row-boat, and carried into Oran.

By this capture, Ripperda became acquainted with all that had passed in the rescued fortress; for the messenger was sent in irons to him: and the dastardly communicativeness of the man was too clear an interpreter of the brief account in the dispatches.

The Basha's wounds being aslant, and in the muscles of his breast, were slight and easy of cure; but that on his mind was not to be healed, when on awaking from his swoon, he found himself thrown across a camel, and in full retreat from the fortress he believed in his hands. He was no sooner within his own entrenchments, than both officers and men felt the weight of his disappointment. He summoned their several commanders into his pavilion, and accused them of cowardice, for having made so unnecessary, and therefore shameful a flight.

Adelmelek pleaded two reasons for this conduct. Their Basha's supposed mortal wound; and its befalling him in the moment of sun-rise, seemed so signal a judgement on the Moors for their breach of the prophet's ordinance, in pursuing the warfare into the sabbath morn, that with one consent they made the only expiation in their power, by abandoning the scene of their impiety.