“Well, we were there standing in the market-place, surrounded by straggling French an' Frenchified Portuguese; that is, fellows who followed their invaders, like our dogs, to be kicked about as they liked; but there wasn't many o' them, an' maybe the poor divils couldn't help it, unless they preferred a male o' could iron. The shops were all shut up, except where they were broke open by the French, and in every balcony you could see, instead of young women, a set of French soldiers smoking and drinking. Says I to Harry Gainer, ‘If poor Maria was here now, she'd have a bad chance among these rapscallions.’ Harry shook his head and said, with a heavy sigh, ‘Ah, Tom, is she any betther off now? God help her, where can she be?’ At this very minet, a muleteer boy appeared amongst them, crying out ‘Viva os Francesos,’ along with some others, and he had a tri-color cockade in his hat. It was nobody else but Maria herself! She put up her finger to her lip, when she saw that we were looking at her; an' this is the Portuguese sign for silence. We undtherstood her in a jiffy, an', by the Powers! poor Harry's face grew like a May-day morning. I could see that he didn't know whether he was on his head or his heels. ‘Silence, my boy,’ says I, ‘don't you see how it is? don't take the laste notice of her for your life.’ We were immadiately marched off to a church, close by, where we were to lie for the night. Some brown bread was given to us, an' some of Adam's ale to faste ourselves; an' there we were—twenty of us. Now just as we were going in, Maria, in a bustling sort o' way, got close to Harry and me, and says she, in a whisper, ‘Non dorme vos merce esta note, Anrique, pour amor de Dios.’ She then went away in a careless manner, pretending to join in the jokes passed off upon us by those around.”
“The English o' that,” said Serjeant M'Fadgen, anxious to show his knowledge of the Portuguese, “is For the loo o' God, Harry, dinna sleep a wink the naight.”
“Throth you're just right! It is, Sergeant; you ought to know it well, for you were a long time in the Peninsula.”
The Sergeant shut his eyes, and smoked again.
“Well! we got into the church, which was more like a stable; for there was a squadthron of dthragoons' horses in it the night before; the sthraw that remained was all we had to sleep on, an' wet enough it was, God knows! The althar piece,—a fine painting, cut and hacked, an' the wood of the althar itself tore up for firing. ‘There's something a brewing, Harry,’ says I.—‘Whisht!’ says he, ‘Tom; she manes to get us out if she can; an' sorry enough I am, for she may get shot, or be hung by these Frenchmen, if they discover that she is our friend.’ So we talked about it awhile, and agreed to watch all night, as she desired. It was then coming dark, an' we all sat down on the sthraw, an' afther a few mouthfuls of what we had, an' some conversation, all fell asleep, except Harry and I. We talked together to pass the time, till about nine o'clock, when we both from fatague felt very sleepy, so we agreed to lie down, one at a time, while the other walked about. I had the first sleep; an' I suppose it might be two hours, when Harry wakened me, an' lay down himself; but although he did, his sleep was only a doze, for he used to start an' ask me something or other every ten minutes. At last, about one o'clock—I think it couldn't be more—the high window on one side began to rise up, and I could just disarn a figure of a head an' shouldhers, like Maria's, between me an' the faint grey light o' the sky; so I wakens Harry, an' we both went over undther the window. ‘It's she, sure enough!’ says I; an' a whisper from her soon showed it was. The snores of our comrades were just loud enough to dhrown her voice, an' ours too, from any danger; an' from the great fatague they suffered, there wasn't a sowl awake, but ourselves and the senthry outside the door. ‘Take this rope,’ says she, in Portuguese, ‘an' pull up the ladther, while I guide it down to you:—make no noise.’ We then laid howld o' the rope, which by a little groping we found hanging down from the window, an' we pulled steady, while she took the top o' the ladther, an' guided it down as nice as you plase. She then sat down across on the window, while we cautiously mounted the ladther, an' got up to her. I was first; so I looked all round to see if I could make out any o' the senthries; but the heavy sky and a high wind favoured us. So Harry an' I stands on the edge, an' we slowly draws up the ladther an' put it down. ‘Here goes!’ says I; an' I took a parting look at my poor comrades. ‘God send you safe, lads!’ thought I, as I went down. Maria was the next, and then Harry. When we all three got out clear, I was putting my hand to the ladther to take it away, when the senthry cried out ‘Qui va là?’ from the front o' the church. Thinks I, ‘It's all up with us!’ Maria seemed to sink into nothing: she laned against us both, thrembling like an aspin-lafe, while we stirred not a limb, and held fast our breath. ‘Qui va là?’ was again roared out by the senthry, in a louder voice. O God! how I suffered then, an' poor Harry too: the dhrops run off our faces with the anxiety, for it was now whether we should answer to the senthry's challenge, an' be taken, or remain silent an' be shot! He challenged a third time, when, at the highest pitch of our feelings, a Frenchman answered to the challenge as he passed the senthry. I suppose it was some officer prowling about the town to watch the guards. Oh! what a relief it was to us! Ye may guess how glad we were to find that our chance was as good as ever.
“Afther a bit, Maria tould us to follow exactly wherever she went, and to carry the ladther with us. So we proceeded—she first—picking our steps in the dark, till we got out over a little wall into a narrow lane, where we left the ladther down in a ditch. The wind blew as loud as ever I hard it, which favoured us greatly; an' the sort o' grey twilight that was above us, was just sufficient to show us our way. Maria now got into a little garden o' grapes, through a broken wall, and desired us to follow her; which we did, all along undther the vines, which grew over the walk as thick as hops. We creeped on, 'till we came to a sort of an outhouse; where we halted to dthraw our breath, an' thank God for our escape so far. Says Maria to Harry, ‘Men Anrique! men curaçao!’—but there's no use of telling it in Portuguese, so I'll give it in plain English—‘Henry, my heart,’ says she, ‘we are now at the back of Señor Luiz de Alfandega's house,’ (that was her friend's, where she lived) ‘and we must stay there until morning.’ ‘Are the French in it, or not?’ says Harry. ‘No,’ replied Maria, ‘none of the soldiers, except a sick French curnel and his servant; but both are fast asleep above stairs. Poor Luiz an' his wife are fled, and there is nobody remaining in the house but Emanuel’ (that was an ould crature of a man, sixty years in the family—a sort o' care-taker o' the vineyard). ‘I will go to the window an' see if all is safe. It was he who provided me with the ladther, an' now waits to hear of my success. Stay here until I return.’ She went up to the house, and in a few minutes came back an' guided us safely into the kitchen, where ould Emanuel was waiting.
“When we got into the kitchen, there was the poor ould man sitting. We couldn't see him till we sthruck a light—which was a good while first, owing to his groping about for a flint, an' being fearful o' wakening the curnel or his sarvant, that was above stairs. Well, we got the light, an' a sad sight it showed us; there was desthruction itself—every thing broken and batthered—the windows knocked out—the partitions burned—an' the ould man, with his white head, standing, like Despair, over the ruins. This was all done by the rascals o' French; an' I suppose if they wern't turned out, to make room for the sick curnel, they'd have burned the boords o' the floors afore they'd ha' left the house.
“Maria now brought out from a nook in the kitchen, two shutes o' counthryman's clothes for us to put on, in ordher that we might all escape to the English camp; an' scarcely had we taken them up, when we hard a noise, as if a person had slipp'd his foot on the stairs. ‘Whisht,’ says I, ‘Harry; there's somebody stirring.’ We were all as mute as mice, an' the ould man blew out the light. We could now hear a footstep moving down the stairs; an' as there was a boord broken out o' the partition, Harry an' I popped out our heads to look. It was dark; but we could see the cracks in the gate o' the house. Presently the step was at the bottom o' the stairs, an' in the stone passage or gateway,—the Portuguese houses mostly have gateways. Maria thrembled like an aspin leaf, an' Harry pinched her to be quiet. The boult o' the gate was now slowly moved an' opened. We could then see, by a dim light from the sthreet, that a French soldier, in rigimentals, was let in by another in undthress, an' the gate quietly shut, an' not boulted, but latched afther them. ‘By the Powers!’ thinks I, we are done. So we listened: an' presently one o' the villians says to the other, in French, ‘He's fast asleep; but you must be quick, or he may wake; the money is all ready on the table.’ Both then stole up stairs, an' I consulted with Harry about the matther. We didn't know what to think of it. Says I, ‘They're going to rob the curnel of his money, you may depend upon it.’ I then explained to Maria what the man said; an' says she, in a minute, ‘They're going to murther him.’ ‘Yes,’ says ould Emanuel, ‘Certamente.’ Scarcely was the word out of his mouth, when we hard a dreadful groan! ‘It's the curnel,’ says the ould man. Harry an' I jumped out in a minute, followed by Emanuel. ‘Dthraw your bagnet,’ says I.—Harry was up first; and slash into the room where the light was, we ran. One o' the villians fired a pistol at Harry as he enthered, an' just rubbed the skin off his arm with the ball. The poor curnel was struggling undther the other fellow. Harry jumped in upon the bed at him, while I ran at the fellow who fired the pistol. It was a large room; he made for the door, an' leaped right over Emanuel—I afther him, down stairs into the kitchen, an' got him down. He was a horrible sthrong man; I'm not very wake myself, and faith! he gave me enough of it. I dthropped my bagnet to hould him, when he made a desperate effort, an' twisted himself away from me. You may think I held a good hoult, when the breast-plate, which was the last thing I held out of, broke away in my hand. I ran afther him as he got out o' the door, but he got clane off through the back o' the house.
“I immadiately went back to the room, an' there was Harry shaking the murdtherer by the neck, an' the ould man lifting up the curnel gently, who was groaning in a shocking way, an' looking at us as if he thanked us from his very heart an' sowl, but couldn't spake a word. He was bleeding fast from a deep wound in the side, an' the bloody knife was on the ground, beside the bed.
“Afther I shook my fist at the tallow-faced rascal that stabbed his masther, an' when I threatened him with the rope, I went over to the poor curnel an' I spoke kindly to him: I gave him a dthrink o' wather: O! God help him, how ghastly he looked at me—I'll never forget it. He pressed my hand to his heart an' sunk back upon the pillow; then he struggled an' heaved his breast very much, an' seemed just on the point o' death.