Reckless of life, and fearless of consequences; with a ready flow of words, and a breast full of wrongs, I soon acquired an extraordinary ascendency over the ignorant and volatile mob of that turbulent city. A riot was the consequence; and by the knife of one of those engaged in it, fell the Conde de Aguila!
For some months after this I went about exciting feelings of distrust against the nobility, and of hatred against the hypocritical monks, that eat up the produce of our fertile fields. But the battle of Beylen having again restored, in some measure, the influence of these rapacious vultures, I was arrested as a seditious person, on information lodged by one of my own followers. A mockery of justice took place in the way of a trial; I was found guilty, and sentenced to death.
The day of my execution was fixed; but I had a purse full of money, and managed to escape from the place allotted for my prison; and thinking that the constitution at this period, promulgated by the intrusive king, held out great promise of relieving my unhappy country from its state of degradation—as well by opening all professions to every class of Spaniards as by making promotion the reward of merit—I determined to seek distinction in the ranks of our liberators. Accordingly, I proceeded to the north of Spain, and joined the French army at the moment it was about to resume offensive operations on the banks of the Ebro.
My acquaintance with the invaders’ language made me a valuable recruit, and I was attached as an orderly and interpreter to General——.
With all my wrongs fresh rankling in my breast, I burned to bathe my sword in the blood of my base countrymen, fighting in the ranks of slavery and despotism. And too soon, alas! was the opportunity afforded me.
The first operations of the French army, in the campaign which now opened, were crowned with the most brilliant success. Army after army disappeared before them, like chaff before the wind. A last effort to resist the invaders was made by Palafox and Castaños, in the plains of Tudela; and here, again, I drew my sword for those whom I hoped were to be the liberators of my country.
I need not describe more of that scene of slaughter than is necessary for my tale. The Arragones, posted on the Spanish right, shamefully abandoned their position, after a feeble resistance. The gallant old Castaños flew to the left, where the Andalusian troops, whom he had led to victory at Baylen, were stationed, and attempted to restore the battle; but his efforts were vain; all he could effect was to withdraw this wing of his panic-struck army with some kind of order.
It is impossible for me to describe the irresistible thirst for blood which impelled me forward on that fatal day. I have since—as you will hear in the sequel—fought against these very French, whose bread I was then eating; but never was my sword edged with the same temper that now sharpened it. The moment of revenge had, I conceived, at length arrived—the long invoked opportunity of wreaking vengeance on my perfidious, abject countrymen. I thought of my wife, hurried to an untimely grave—of my child, left to perish for want—of my ignominious chains and treacherous associates; and I became frantic with rage.
I had quitted the side of my general, whose division was posted towards the centre of the line, that I might be opposed to the vile espadachines of my native province. I arrived at the moment that the general confusion was spreading amongst their ranks; and, seizing a lance from a Frenchman, who fell wounded at my side, I rushed impetuously upon my flying countrymen. Trampling down the common herd, for others who came after me to despatch, I pushed madly forward in pursuit of nobler game, and marked as my victim a young cavalry officer, who was vainly endeavouring to rally his fugitive troopers. I rode at him with my lance en joue, and, being an able toreador, had little fears of the result of the contest, though he awaited my onset with perfect self-possession. Before I came within his reach, however, he was struck from his horse by a musket-ball, and fell, apparently lifeless, at my feet.
I do not know what prompted me—certainly not the love of gold, for at that moment my thoughts were bent entirely on blood—not a feeling of mercy, for that was yet further from my mind than wealth; but some unaccountable impulse, perhaps the agency of the devil, persuaded me to alight, and strip the youth of his bright gold epaulettes.