Mrs Reston is now advanced in years,[21] and although her husband enjoys the regulated pension for his services, he is unable to work for his subsistence, and surely one shilling and tenpence a-day to support two individuals, is no great excuse, as it has been made, for not making any exertion in her favour.
The only instance of the kind, exclusive of that related, that I witnessed in the course of my service, was in the person of a woman who lived as the wife of a captain of one of the light companies of our brigade. She accompanied him through the campaign, exposed to all the dangers and privations attending on such a life, with a devotedness that no legally-married woman could have surpassed. At the battle of Vittoria, when the army was engaged, she was left with the baggage; but hearing from some of the disabled men that the captain was wounded, she mounted her horse, and galloped down into the scene of action, regardless of the danger, to seek out and relieve him wherever he might be. She found him when he had breathed his last, and stopped by him until he was buried. This was an appalling blow for her: she was left friendless in a strange country; but those who paid her any little attention in the captain’s lifetime, now felt no compassion for her. Her gold watch, her favourite pony, and all that she formerly held through her protector, were taken from her, and a short time after, I saw her struggling through the mud on the line of march, with the shoes torn off her feet. She soon after disappeared, but what became of her I do not know.
FOOTNOTES:
[21] Since the publication of this work, her husband is dead, and she is now living in the poor-house of Glasgow.
CHAPTER XIX.
A LETTER.
I had letters from home that my father had been in bad health for some time, and I now received one, saying, that no hope was entertained of his recovery, and if a furlough could be procured, to come home without delay, as he had expressed an anxious wish to see me. I lost no time in making the necessary application, and being successful, I went in search of a vessel. I found one that had put in to Dublin through contrary winds, and was now ready to sail the moment it was fair. I was impatient to get forward; but as there was some prospect of the wind coming round in our favour, I took lodging in a house on the quay. I had been acquainted with the people who kept it, as they had lived in Wexford previous to their coming to Dublin. Having mentioned the vessel that I intended to take my passage by, Mrs L—— asked her husband if that was the vessel Eliza was going in. On his replying in the affirmative, ‘I am glad of it,’ said she, ‘our friend may be able to pay her some attention on board, and perhaps be of some service to her when she lands at Glasgow. I know I can trust you with her story,’ said she to me; ‘and when you hear it, I am sure you will feel as much interest in the fate of the poor creature as I do.’ Without following Mrs L—— through all the various digressions and windings of her story, I have taken the liberty to relate it, according to the knowledge I afterwards had an opportunity of acquiring:—
Eliza R—— was the daughter of a respectable farmer in the county of ——. She was the eldest of the family, and considered the beauty of the small village she lived in. There was a soft loveliness about her features, and a benignity beaming in her mild blue eyes, expressive of purity and peace within. Her modesty and goodness of heart had made her a favourite with all her neighbours; and she was so retired and correct in her conduct, and unremitting in her religious duties, that she was looked upon as a superior being. Eighteen years of Eliza’s life had passed away without any event occurring to disturb its even current. Many of the young men of the village would willingly have proposed for her hand; but they were restrained by an awe which her beauty and conduct had inspired.
It was about this time that a gentleman belonging to the revenue department, whose business led him to the coast, came down from Dublin; and there being no house of public entertainment, he begged a lodging for the short time he had to stop from Michael R——. It was instantly granted; and he had scarcely become an inmate of the house when he cast his eyes on Eliza, and his heart was inflamed with a passion which he determined, if possible, to gratify. Her modest, retiring disposition left him little room to make familiarity with her; but observing that she was a rigid attendant on mass, he feigned a devotion which he did not feel, and by this pretence had an opportunity of escorting her to chapel. His person and manners were prepossessing, and his language fluent. But it is unnecessary to enter into a detail of the measures he took to accomplish his purpose; suffice it to say, that he won the heart of the too confiding Eliza,—he had sworn to make her his wife, and she believed him,—all was arranged between them,—he was to go to Dublin, and settle his affairs, provide a house for her reception, and return to marry her and conduct her home. The unsuspecting parents saw his partiality for her, and felt proud of it; they little knew the serpent they were fostering in their bosom. Poor Eliza parted from him in the faith of a speedy return, and dreamed of years of happiness, which, alas! she was never to enjoy.
The time of his promised return elapsed, and day after day rolled on without him making his appearance. She now began to feel dreadful anxiety,—she had received no direction how to write, and had no means of learning anything concerning him. He must be sick, thought she, or some accident has befallen him, or he would be here; and she grieved that she knew not where to seek him, that she might tend and watch over him. She was soon doomed to be undeceived—a neighbour, who had been at Dublin, called upon her father with some articles which he had employed him to purchase. ‘When you were in Dublin,’ said Michael, ‘did you see anything of the gentleman who lodged with us before you went away?’