No sooner had I seen them fairly out of the Serranía, than I retraced my steps with all possible speed to Sanona; still indulging the fond hope that Alonzo might have made his escape and reached home; but, disappointed in this expectation, I proceeded on without loss of time to the Casa de Castañas.
I had scarcely entered the house ere I was greeted by “Hubilon,"—ay, my good dog, said Don Luis, caressing his pet, your grandsire—who evidently had come on the same errand as myself. But our search was fruitless. The well, the vaults, the lofts and out-houses, every place, was ransacked, but I discovered nothing to lead to the belief that Alonzo had either been left there or been murdered. I mounted my horse to return home, and had proceeded some little way, when I heard the howl of Hubilon. Thinking I had inadvertently shut him in the house, I sent back one of my companions to release him, but he returned, saying that the dog would not leave the spot. I returned myself, but the sagacious animal was not to be enticed away; he gave evident signs of pleasure at seeing me, and began scratching furiously at the boarded floor of one of the interior apartments. I approached to see what it was that excited his attention, and discovered a trap door. With some little difficulty I raised it up, and Hubilon instantly leapt into the dark abyss. His piteous whining soon informed me that he had found the body of his master; a light was struck; I let myself down, and on the stone floor of the cold, damp vault lay the body of my unfortunate son; his hands were tied behind his back, and a handkerchief was drawn across his mouth to stifle his cries!
To me it appeared that the spirit of my Alonzo had long left its earthly tenement, but the affectionate brute, by licking his master’s face, proved that life was not yet entirely extinct. Assisted by my companions, I lifted my son out of the noxious vault, and, by friction, a dram of aguadiente, and exposure to the sun and a purer atmosphere, animation was gradually restored; and in the course of a few days he was able to bear the journey home; but from the effects of this confinement he has never recovered.
He had no recollection of any of the circumstances which preceded his incarceration. A raging fever, brought on by fatigue and exposure to the sun in his previously weak state, had affected his brain, as well as deprived him of all strength. But Pepito (who rejoined us a few days after,) stated, that Alonzo himself, in his delirium, had declared to the French on their arrival, who he was, and had besought them to put an end to his sufferings. The superior officer of the party had directed, however, that he should not be ill-treated; “what if he be the son of the old wild boar?” (the name by which they honoured me,) said he to his men; “we came not to murder our enemies in cold blood—carry him into the house and let him die in peace.”
Pepito guessed by the malignant glance of one Italian-looking scoundrel—“I ask your pardon, Señor Damien,” said Don Luis, in a parenthesis; “servitore umilissimo,” replied he of the Val d’Aosta.—Pépé guessed, I say, by the look that he who stepped forward to execute the orders of his officer gave one of his companions, whom he invited to assist him, that their superior’s humane intentions would not be fulfilled; he begged hard, therefore, to be allowed to remain and wait upon his young master. “Impossible,” replied the officer, “you must be our guide.”
The two men were absent but a few minutes, and then came out of the house and informed the officer that they had placed the rebel chief in the coolest place they could find; probably their fear of Alonzo’s cries had deterred them from killing him outright.
The abominable cruelties of these dastards exasperated every one. The expedition which was at this time undertaken to raise the siege of Cadiz promised to afford us a favourable opportunity of taking vengeance; but the cowardice of a Spaniard—the cowardice, if not treason, of a Spanish general—marred our fair prospects. The glorious field of Barrosa decked with fresh laurels the brows of our brave allies; but, to this day, the very name fills the breast of every loyal Spaniard with shame. Oh! that I and my people had been thereto share the danger and glory of that day; but we fulfilled with credit the part allotted to us. In the plan adopted by the allied generals it was settled that the Serraños, should make a diversion in the direction of Casa Vieja and Alcalà de los Gazules, to draw the enemy’s attention on that side, whilst their combined forces should proceed along the coast to Chiclana; accordingly io y mi gente....
CHAPTER X.
DON LUIS’S NARRATIVE IS INTERRUPTED BY A BOAR—THE BATIDA RESUMED—DEPARTURE FROM SANONA—ROAD TO CASA VIEJA—THE PRIEST’S HOUSE—ADVENTURE WITH ITINERANT WINE-MERCHANTS—DEPARTURE FROM CASA VIEJA—ALCALA DE LOS GAZULES—ROAD TO XIMENA—RETURN TO GIBRALTAR.
THE old man, excited by the stirring recollections of the eventful times to which his narrative referred, his eyes sparkling with animation, and his words flowing somewhat more rapidly than in their wonted even current, had risen from his rocky seat, and, having transferred his fowling-piece to the left hand, was standing with his right arm extended in the direction of the scene of his former exploits, when he suddenly dropt his voice, and, after slowly, and, as it appeared to us, abstractedly, repeating his favourite expression, “Io y mi gente,” he ceased altogether to speak, and appeared transfixed to the spot. His right arm remained stretched out towards Cadiz, and his head was turned slightly to one side, but the only motion perceptible was a tightening of the fingers round the barrel of his long gun.