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.