LISBON.

The tramp of horses’ feet and the sound of voices beneath my window roused me from a deep sleep. I sprang up and drew aside the curtain. What a strange confusion beset me as I looked forth! Before me lay a broad and tranquil river whose opposite shore, deeply wooded and studded with villas and cottages, rose abruptly from the water’s edge; vessels of war lay tranquilly in the stream, their pennants trailing in the tide. The loud boom of a morning gun rolled along the surface, awaking a hundred echoes as it passed, and the lazy smoke rested for some minutes on the glassy water as it blended with the thin air of the morning.

“Where am I?” was my first question to myself, as I continued to look from side to side, unable to collect my scattered senses.

One word sufficed to recall me to myself, as I heard Power’s voice, from without, call out, “Charley! O’Malley, I say! Come down here!”

I hurriedly threw on my clothes and went to the door.

“Well, Charley, I’ve been put in harness rather sooner than I expected. Here’s old Douglas has been sitting up all night writing despatches; and I must hasten on to headquarters without a moment’s delay. There’s work before us, that’s certain; but when, where, and how, of that I know nothing. You may expect the route every moment; the French are still advancing. Meanwhile I have a couple of commissions for you to execute. First, here’s a packet for Hammersley; you are sure to meet him with the regiment in a day or two. I have some scruples about asking you this; but, confound it! you’re too sensible a fellow to care—” Here he hesitated; and as I colored to the eyes, for some minutes he seemed uncertain how to proceed. At length, recovering himself, he went on: “Now for the other. This is a most loving epistle from a poor devil of a midshipman, written last night by a tallow candle, in the cock-pit, containing vows of eternal adoration and a lock of hair. I promised faithfully to deliver it myself; for the ‘Thunderer’ sails for Gibraltar next tide, and he cannot go ashore for an instant. However, as Sir Arthur’s billet may be of more importance than the reefer’s, I must intrust its safe keeping to your hands. Now, then, don’t look so devilish sleepy, but seem to understand what I am saying. This is the address: ‘La Senhora Inez da Silviero, Rua Nuova, opposite the barber’s.’ You’ll not neglect it. So now, my dear boy, till our next meeting, adios!”

“Stop! For Heaven’s sake, not so fast, I pray! Where’s the street?”

“The Rua Nuova. Remember Figaro, my boy. Cinque perruche.”

“But what am I to do?”

“To do! What a question! Anything; everything. Be a good diplomate. Speak of the torturing agony of the lover, for which I can vouch. The boy is only fifteen. Swear that he is to return in a month, first lieutenant of the ‘Thunder Bomb,’ with intentions that even Madame Dalrymple would approve.”

“What nonsense,” said I, blushing to the eyes.

“And if that suffice not, I know of but one resource.”

“Which is?”

“Make love to her yourself. Ay, even so. Don’t look so confoundedly vinegar; the girl, I hear, is a devilish pretty one, the house pleasant, and I sincerely wish I could exchange duties with you, leaving you to make your bows to his Excellency the C. O. F., and myself free to make mine to La Senhora. And now, push along, old red cap.”

So saying, he made a significant cut of his whip at the Portuguese guide, and in another moment was out of sight.

My first thought was one of regret at Power’s departure. For some time past we had been inseparable companions; and notwithstanding the reckless and wild gayety of his conduct, I had ever found him ready to assist me in every difficulty, and that with an address and dexterity a more calculating adviser might not have possessed. I was now utterly alone; for though Monsoon and the adjutant were still in Lisbon, as was also Sparks, I never could make intimates of them.

I ate my breakfast with a heavy heart, my solitary position again suggesting thoughts of home and kindred. Just at this moment my eyes fell upon the packet destined for Hammersley; I took it up and weighed it in my hand. “Alas!” thought I, “how much of my destiny may lie within that envelope! How fatally may my after-life be influenced by it!” It felt heavy as though there was something besides letters. True, too true; there was a picture, Lucy’s portrait! The cold drops of perspiration stood upon my forehead as my fingers traced the outline of a miniature-case in the parcel. I became deadly weak, and sank, half-fainting, upon a chair. And such is the end of my first dream of happiness! How have I duped, how have I deceived myself! For, alas, though Lucy had never responded to my proffered vows of affection, yet had I ever nurtured in my heart a secret hope that I was not altogether uncared for. Every look she had given me, every word she had spoken, the tone of her voice, her step, her every gesture, were before me, all confirming my delusion, and yet,—I could bear no more, and burst into tears.

The loud call of a cavalry trumpet aroused me.

How long I had passed in this state of despondency I knew not; but it was long past noon when I rallied myself. My charger was already awaiting me; and a second blast of the trumpet told that the inspection in the Plaza was about to commence.

As I continued to dress, I gradually rallied from my depressing thoughts; and ere I belted my sabretasche, the current of my ideas had turned from their train of sadness to one of hardihood and daring. Lucy Dashwood had treated me like a wilful schoolboy. Mayhap, I may prove myself as gallant a soldier as even him she has preferred before me.

A third sound of the trumpet cut short my reflections, and I sprang into the saddle, and hastened towards the Plaza. As I dashed along the streets, my horse, maddened with the impulse that stirred my own heart, curvetted and plunged unceasingly. As I reached the Plaza, the crowd became dense, and I was obliged to pull up. The sound of the music, the parade, the tramp of the infantry, and the neighing of the horses, were, however, too much for my mettlesome steed, and he became nearly unmanageable; he plunged fearfully, and twice reared as though he would have fallen back. As I scattered the foot passengers right and left with terror, my eye fell upon one lovely girl, who, tearing herself from her companion, rushed wildly towards an open doorway for shelter; suddenly, however, changing her intention, she came forward a few paces, and then, as if overcome by fear, stood stock-still, her hands clasped upon her bosom, her eyes upturned, her features deadly pale, while her knees seemed bending beneath her. Never did I behold a more beautiful object. Her dark hair had fallen loose upon her shoulder, and she stood the very idÉal of the “Madonna Supplicating.” My glance was short as a lightning flash; for the same instant my horse swerved, and dashed forward right at the place where she was standing. One terrific cry rose from the crowd, who saw her danger. Beside her stood a muleteer who had drawn up his mule and cart close beside the footway for safety; she made one effort to reach it, but her outstretched arms alone moved, and paralyzed by terror, she sank motionless upon the pavement. There was but one course open to me now; so collecting myself for the effort, I threw my horse upon his haunches, and then, dashing the spurs into his flanks, breasted him at the mule cart. With one spring he rose, and cleared it at a bound, while the very air rang with the acclamations of the multitude, and a thousand bravos saluted me as I alighted upon the opposite side.

“Well done, O’Malley!” sang out the little adjutant, as I flew past and pulled up in the middle of the Plaza.

“Something devilish like Galway in that leap,” said a very musical voice beside me; and at the same instant a tall, soldier-like man, in an undress dragoon frock, touched his cap, and said, “A 14th man, I perceive, sir. May I introduce myself? Major O’Shaughnessy.”

I bowed, and shook the major’s proffered hand, while he continued,—

“Old Monsoon mentioned your name to us this morning. You came out together, if I mistake not?”

“Yes; but somehow, I’ve missed the major since my landing.”

“Oh, you’ll see him presently; he’ll be on parade. By-the-bye, he wishes particularly to meet you. We dine to-day at the ‘Quai de Soderi,’ and if you’re not engaged—Yes, this is the person,” said he, turning at the moment towards a servant, who, with a card in his hand, seemed to search for some one in the crowd.

The man approached, and handed it to me.

“What can this mean?” said I. “Don Emanuel de Blacas y Silviero, Rua Nuova.”

“Why, that’s the great Portuguese contractor, the intendant of half the army, the richest fellow in Lisbon. Have you known him long?”

“Never heard of him till now.”

“By Jove, you’re in luck! No man gives such dinners; he has such a cellar! I’ll wager a fifty it was his daughter you took in the flying leap a while ago. I hear she is a beautiful creature.”

“Yes,” thought I, “that must be it; and yet, strange enough, I think the name and address are familiar to me.”

“Ten to one, you’ve heard Monsoon speak of him; he’s most intimate there. But here comes the major.”

And as he spoke, the illustrious commissary came forward holding a vast bundle of papers in one hand, and his snuff-box in the other, followed by a long string of clerks, contractors, assistant-surgeons, paymasters, etc., all eagerly pressing forward to be heard.

“It’s quite impossible; I can’t do it to-day. Victualling and physicking are very good things, but must be done in season. I have been up all night at the accounts,—haven’t I, O’Malley?” here he winked at me most significantly; “and then I have the forage and stoppage fund to look through [‘we dine at six, sharp,’ said he, sotto voce], which will leave me without one minute unoccupied for the next twenty-four hours. Look to your toggery this evening; I’ve something in my eye for you, O’Malley.”

“Officers unattached to their several corps will fall into the middle of the Plaza,” said a deep voice among the crowd; and in obedience to the order I rode forward and placed myself with a number of others, apparently newly joined, in the open square. A short, gray-haired old colonel, with a dark, eagle look, proceeded to inspect us, reading from a paper as he came along,—

“Mr. Hepton, 6th Foot; commission bearing date 11th January; drilled, proceed to Ovar, and join his regiment.

“Mr. Gronow, Fusilier Guards, remains with the depot.

“Captain Mortimer, 1st Dragoons, appointed aide-de-camp to the general commanding the cavalry brigade.

“Mr. Sparks,—where is Mr. Sparks? Mr. Sparks absent from parade; make a note of it.

“Mr. O’Malley, 14th Light Dragoons. Mr. O’Malley,—oh, I remember! I have received a letter from Sir George Dashwood concerning you. You will hold yourself in readiness to march. Your friends desire that before you may obtain any staff appointment, you should have the opportunity of seeing some service. Am I to understand such is your wish?”

“Most certainly.”

“May I have the pleasure of your company at dinner to-day?”

“I regret that I have already accepted an invitation to dine with Major Monsoon.”

“With Major Monsoon? Ah, indeed! Perhaps it might be as well I should mention,—but no matter. I wish you good-morning.”

So saying, the little colonel rode off, leaving me to suppose that my dinner engagement had not raised me in his estimation, though why, I could not exactly determine.