Whilst waiting for my little escort to be ready to start I had a look round Toledo, most picturesquely situated at the summit of a number of lofty rocks, with the Tagus, by which the site is surrounded on three sides, flowing at their base. The number of fine old buildings gives the city a dignified appearance, and I was specially struck by the cathedral, which I entered at six o’clock, just as day was beginning to break. It was the 5th of April, and Easter time. A grand service was going on, in which a regular orchestra with a number of singers in galleries were taking part, and the angelic voices of the children in the choir seemed to those in the nave to be coming straight from heaven.

The body of the church, but for a few flickering torches, was still wrapped in the twilight of the dawn, and the solemn service, with its exquisite music and clouds of incense, through which the figures of the numerous clergy loomed dimly, combined with the utter stillness of the nave, where but a few scattered women, completely hidden in black woollen mantles, giving them the appearance of spectres, knelt on the stones, made a deep impression on me. But one solitary man in military uniform appeared suddenly amongst the prostrate worshippers waiting at the foot of the altar for the benediction, for I also felt impelled to say a prayer and bless God for having brought me safe and sound so far.

In those few moments of meditation, when I thus performed a religious duty, the petitions I put up seemed to calm my spirit, still vibrating with the agitation resulting from the many struggles in which I had been engaged. I thought to myself then that it is at moments such as these, snatched in the midst of war, that the heart of a soldier is more sensitive to the influences of religion than at any other time. I, too, in the very depth of my soul tasted that indefinable and soothing sense of peace and serenity which comes from prayer. Nor was there a man in our army who would not have felt as I did, for in all our wars I never saw one of our brave fellows, whether amongst the common soldiers or the élite of the army, behave like an atheist or an infidel or commit sacrilege, for they were all ever ready to do homage to God, who alone gives courage, victory, and honour. I put up a prayer for a happy issue of my journey, and then I went to join my feeble escort, leaving Toledo at eight o’clock. The officer in command of my twenty-five dragoons, Duhamel de Bellenglise by name, warned me that the district we were about to cross had for the last eight or ten days been infested with an immense number of brigands, all the different bands having joined forces, and said that it was therefore very imprudent to travel with so few troops. I quite agreed with him, but I knew how important it was that I should get to Paris quickly, and how dangerous it would be to lose time by any further delay at Toledo. So we started, keeping, however, well on the alert, and neglecting no precaution as we went along. It was a splendid day, and we got to Cavañas before noon without any adventures or hearing anything of the brigands, except in the stories about their daily fights with them with which M. Duhamel and his dragoons enlivened our march.

Cavañas is a big village surrounded by a weak wall, and standing quite alone in the centre of a plain. The commandant had had this wall loopholed to aid in the defence of the place against the guerrilla bands occupying the surrounding districts, who had made several attempts to take the village. The commandant blamed me very much for my imprudence in attempting to reach him with such a small escort, and as he could not spare me any mounted men just then, he tried to persuade me to remain with him.

I was, however, so near Madrid, where I hoped to arrive that evening, and so anxious to push on, that I could not bring myself to lose any time. Moreover, the commandant told me that six or eight hundred men of the band under one Dr. Padalea, surnamed El Médico, feeling sure that I must return soon, had been scouring about on the plain looking for me for the last eight days and nights, and had only moved off the evening before, weary of the long waiting. The commandant insisted on sending an express messenger to ascertain the whereabouts of this band, and make inquiries about the state of the district to be traversed, before I left, and I employed the time whilst waiting for the man’s return in resting and feeding the horses of my twenty-five dragoons, so that they might be able to go as far as the next halting-place with me. The peasant sent out returned to say that he had gone a considerable distance across the plain, and seen no sign of any one, and I set out with my same party of dragoons, who were all well-seasoned troopers, and who were supplemented by sixty good infantry soldiers with their officers, belonging to a Baden regiment. I arranged my little party in the order of an army corps, sending nine dragoons out in front to reconnoitre as an advanced guard, placing the couriers and travellers, all of whom were armed, in the centre of the rest of the dragoons, and making the infantry bring up the rear as a reserve.

It was a beautiful day, and we were marching peaceably on in this order, without our advanced guard having noticed anything alarming of which to warn us, when I noticed the dead bodies of several men and horses on the road. The Baden officer with me then told me that a very short time ago eighty French grenadiers, who were escorting a courier, were attacked by the band under El Médico, and, compelled to yield to superior numbers, they took refuge in a square chapel some three-quarters of a mile from Illiescas, where they were besieged for two days, refusing to surrender. Every effort they made to get out was frustrated, and all who ventured to leave the chapel were at once struck down dead. The brigands then fetched ladders, and great quantities of straw and faggots, from the village. With the aid of the ladders, they put the straw and wood on the top of the chapel, and set fire to them. The burning roof fell on the grenadiers, who flung themselves in a body on the enemy, but, like the cowards that they were, the brigands opened their ranks to them, and then shot them all down, not a single one escaping. During this melancholy recital we had reached a little wood consisting of about a hundred olive trees, some eight or nine paces from the chapel. The quiet bearing of our advanced guard, and the utter stillness of the plain before us, added to our sense of security as we passed the scene of this tragedy, and I was turning over in my mind what would have been the best thing for the luckless grenadiers to do under the circumstances, when I suddenly saw two priests in cassocks and broad-brimmed hats spring out from behind the walls of the chapel and wave their handkerchiefs wildly. There was nothing to be seen on the plain, and it seemed as if these signals must be meant for us. We were too far from the priests to hear what they said, so I told one of my dragoons to gallop up to them, and ask them what they meant. He obeyed, but his horse was very tired, and he did not go half quickly enough for our impatience to find out what it all meant.

As the man approached them the priests gesticulated all the more wildly, and, eager to understand what they were aiming at, I sent a second better mounted dragoon after the first. But he was as slow as his comrade, and, unable any longer to control my eagerness, I set spurs to the fresh horse which I had secured at the fort, and in a very few seconds I had traversed the space dividing me from the priests. Their gestures now expressed the greatest horror, and I began to suspect mischief, especially when I came up with a young peasant who was cutting the harness of his oxen in his terror, so as to get them out of the plough more quickly. I asked him why he was unharnessing in the middle of a furrow, but he did not answer, and the wild, fierce expression of his eyes as he looked at me made me think it would be wiser to return to my people, so I wheeled round after another good look at the priests and the peasant. As I rode back to my escort, I remembered the dream which had made such a vivid impression on me a few hours before. I may have been wrong, I said to myself, in ignoring the presentiment of coming evil I had had then, because silly cowards are disposed to attach too much importance to dreams. I had, however, no time to make up my mind on the point, for I had scarcely ridden a few paces before I heard again the cry of distress which had roused me from my sleep. It was no nightmare delusion this time, but the most terrible reality.

‘Master, master, we are lost!’ screamed Williams as he rushed up to me. I looked at him, and as I did so I saw advancing upon us in a circle from every quarter of the plain some six or eight hundred horsemen, who, though still at a distance, completely surrounded my escort. Williams went on screaming, ‘Oh, master, master, what shall I do?’ ‘Go behind me,’ I replied, ‘draw your sword, and do as I do.’ But, alas! neither getting behind me nor drawing his sword saved him, for he was struck by a bullet the next minute and fell dead without uttering another word. The fatal omen of the dream was fulfilled! The brigands had let our advanced guard pass without showing themselves, and then closed in upon us, firing as they came.

Our infantry were able to reach the olive grove, and placed themselves in battle order amongst the trees which afforded them some little shelter; they fired in their own defence, but they could do nothing to protect us, for if they had aimed in our direction they might have killed some of us. The enemy saw this, and getting between our foot soldiers and us they rained bullets upon us, not venturing to approach nearer than the length of the weapons with which they were armed. I turned aside the spears with my sword, but I could not get at any of the assailants. Only three or four dragoons remained near me, and those few fought like lions. We managed at last to pierce the ranks of the enemy, and we should have got off and joined our infantry if the brigands had not prevented it by concentrating their fire on our horses, shouting, ‘Entrega, entrega Usted!’ (Surrender, surrender!) My horse, which was very strong, was the last to fall. He had already been hit some thirty times, and at last, covered with wounds, and no longer able to feel the spur, he rolled over dead amongst his comrades. I managed to struggle out of the crowd of fallen horses and men, and had defended myself for a short time with my sword, when I received a blow from a spear which was quite enough to kill me, but it only cut open my right hand, causing me such terrible pain as to paralyse my sword arm. My weapon fell, I was disarmed, and my assailants, athirst for blood and plunder, flung themselves upon me and began to tear off my clothes. In four seconds I was stripped naked from head to foot, but I was fortunately unwounded except for a few cuts from spears. Those of the brigands who were not too much encumbered with the spoil they had taken from me, now raised their muskets above the shoulders of their comrades and pointed them at my breast. I made no effort to shield it, but rather exposed myself as much as possible, my only hope being that I might die at the first discharge, and not have to endure a lingering anguish. But, strange to say, though seven or eight primings flashed, the charges did not go off! In their rage at having missed me, four of the brigands, threatening to have done with me in a moment, took fresh cartridges from their belts, and having loaded again they pointed their weapons at my breast, which I once more presented to them without flinching. But the primings hung fire again! Recognising the divine protection in this extraordinary incident, I seized with both hands one of the muskets which were being banged about my head, and with it parried the blows which would otherwise have killed me, for they bent out of shape the weapon which protected me. The terrible struggle sent a rush of blood to my heart, my strength failed me, and I was on the point of succumbing, when a man on horseback, wearing some of the insignia of an officer, dashed into the fray, shouting down to me from above the heads of my assailants, ‘Quien es Usted? Quien es Usted?' (Who are you, who are you?) I was too much occupied in parrying the blows from the butt-ends of muskets which were raining on me from every side, and from which I was all but stunned, to answer him, and it was not until he had compelled his rearing horse to come close up to me, and repeated again and again, ‘Quien es Usted?’ that I answered, ‘A colonel.’ ‘Ah! es un coronel,’ he cried; ‘no matad le!’ (Ah, it is a colonel; do not kill him). The men were, however, so furious at my long resistance, that it was all he could do to make them listen to him, and spare my life. The officer was Don Juan Padalea or El Médico, the chief of the band, who got his name from the fact that he practised medicine before he became a leader of brigands. Seeing how done up I was and that I was about to faint, he shouted out to me, ‘No tenga Usted miedo!’ (Don’t be afraid). At the word ‘afraid,’ which wounded my self-respect, I raised my head proudly, and whilst he kept on saying, ‘No ten miedo,’ I kept on replying, ‘No tengo miedo’ (I am not afraid). Again and again he set spurs to his horse, making it rear against the men, who still wished to kill me, and finally told two mounted men to carry me off the field of battle. My little band of infantry saw the whole struggle without being able to interfere, and continued to fire in their own defence. The two brigands told to take me away each seized one of my hands, and as they galloped off I had to run between them. They cared nothing for the suffering this inflicted on me, compelled to rush along with bare feet and legs over the rough ground and through hedges and ditches. What pained me still more, however, was passing the dead bodies of my dragoons stripped as I was of all clothing, whom the miscreants had literally hacked to pieces. They had evidently not dared to face them even when they were dying, but had stabbed them from behind with the long swords they had robbed them of. The poor fellows had died in my defence, and I was filled with despair at their fate.

After dashing along for a league or two we approached the mountains, and my two brigands halted for a moment to allow the rest of the band to come up. The Médico, who seemed in very good spirits, told his men as he joined them, with a view to enhancing the value of their capture, that I was the sobrino del Rey Pepe (nephew of King Joseph). He ordered them to show me every attention, and assured me that he was too generous to ill-treat his prisoners when they no longer had arms in their hands. My two horsemen now vied with each other in their generosity to me, and offered to give me back some of the booty they had just taken from my party. As the band, now reassembled, galloped off again, one of my guards gave me a big pair of boots, and the second threw me a shirt, soaked and dripping with blood, shouting, ‘You can wash it in the next stream.’ Never did I receive a more horrible gift, and I shuddered with disgust. Still, I kept it in my hand, and as I was hurried along again I felt the blood from it mingling with that from my own wounds. I did not, however, have to carry the revolting burden long, for the guard, whose name was Dorringo, soon snatched it away again, not liking, after all, to part with it, and the only advantage I derived from the gift was a fresh access of horror. I had to run on like this between the two horses till we got to the village of Casarrabis, where the band passed the night. There I saw four others who had been taken prisoners, namely, Lieutenant Duhamel de Bellenglise, of Lille, who had commanded the dragoons, M. Massart, a merchant, a French dragoon, and a soldier from Baden. The rest of the mounted men had apparently all perished. I learnt afterwards, however, that the Sieur de Laval, a courier in Government employ, who had been left for dead on the scene of the combat, had survived his many wounds and managed to drag himself to the road, where he was succoured by some passers-by. He recovered and returned to Paris a year later.

The terrible emotions we had all gone through, and the long run under such horrible circumstances, had made us dreadfully thirsty, and a charitable peasant woman, who was rather like and quite as beautiful as her celebrated fellow countrywoman Madame Tallien,¹ was generous enough to bring me a big earthenware pitcher containing a couple of quarts of water, with a dash of vinegar. I should quickly have drunk it all if my companions’ sufferings had not been as great as my own. I tore the pitcher from my lips and offered a share of the refreshing beverage, which reminded me of that offered to Christ on the cross, to my fellow captives. The kind woman filled the pitcher for us again, and showed no embarrassment at waiting on perfectly naked men.

¹ The wife of the Revolutionist, Tallien, the Countess Thérèse de Fontenay, daughter of a Spanish banker, who was famed for her beauty, and was surnamed Our Lady of Pity because she saved so many of those condemned to death by her husband. – Trans.

Don Juan Padalea and his band passed the night in the village, and we were shut up in a stable with a sentinel to guard us. Massart, Duhamel, and the soldier from Baden yielded to their despair, and it grieved me to see them give way before such contemptible enemies as ours, so I urged them to follow my example and that of the dragoon, who still held his head up proudly, though he was much weakened by his wounds. The sentinels were relieved every hour, and some of the men told me that but for the fact that the humidity of the last eight or nine nights had damped the powder of their cartridges, not a single one of us would have escaped the massacre of the preceding day. They spoke of this as a contretemps, but we thanked God for it.

Just before daybreak Don Juan sent us a little bread to eat, and a mule for me to ride, with the order to start at once, for he wished to get to a village some distance off, where he would be more secure from being surprised by the flying column, under the commandant Soubiran, which had been in pursuit of his band for several months.

As we went along I had the mortification of seeing various brigands sporting my uniform, my decorations, my cap and my epaulettes, and they added insult to injury by riding up to tell me how much they regretted not having been able to kill me. Presently their anger against us became greater than ever at hearing that the French general in command at Avila had just had two guerrilleros, as they called their comrades, whom he had taken prisoners, hanged a couple of leagues off. Don Juan had the greatest difficulty in preventing them from killing us on the spot, and the march was resumed. A little further, however, fresh accounts reached them of the tragedy, and Don Juan was compelled to yield to their eager desire for our blood. They made us enter an orchard, where the low trees afforded plenty of branches on which they could easily hang us, and, abusing us all the time for the cruelty of the French to their comrades, they took off the thongs for tethering their horses ready to hang us with them. Approaching death and the touch of the running noose already flung round my neck gave me an eloquence in speaking the Spanish language which I had never had before. I told them what a shame and a dishonour I thought it was to add to the inevitable horrors of war those of needless cruelty, that I agreed with them in thinking the French general very wrong to set them such a horrible example and provoke them to such terrible reprisals, and I tried to induce them to think it their duty to put an end to such deeds on both sides. ‘You know,’ I went on, ‘from my insignia with which I see you decked out now, that I hold high rank in the army; make haste to exchange me for some Spanish prisoner, and I give you my word of honour that I will use all my influence with the King and with the Emperor himself to stop such extreme measures on our side, so that there may be no further justification for the reprisals which those measures lead you to make. Then if the war must continue, it will at least lose the ferocious character which is a disgrace to men who ought only to bear arms in defence of their country and of liberty. None but public executioners should ever hang their fellow men.’

This harangue, which strangulation nearly cut short, did but make the human tigers hesitate a little, and our horrible position only provoked a ferocious laugh from them. Several of them had already climbed into the plum trees to begin operations, and though Don Juan seemed to think there was something in what I urged, the fatal moment was evidently close at hand, and there seemed no hope of escape from a violent death. The rest of the men formed a circle round us, all eager to see us die. I held the running noose round my neck tightly with both hands to prevent it from strangling me, and went on talking. The other end of the thong was actually in the hands of one of the men in the tree above me, and I could get no hearing. In fact, a good many of the spectators were shouting angrily, ‘Horcad los! Horcad los! al corniolo, al corniolo!’ (Hang them! Hang them! To the plum tree! to the plum tree!) Then in my rage I in turn shouted with a mocking laugh, ‘Que malos ciruelos haran ustedes!’ (What bad plums you are going to make!) This cry of mine in extremis made them all laugh in a ridiculous way, and stopped the terrible preparations for a moment, but whether they would have resumed them or not I cannot say, for just then five or six shots were heard in the distance.

All the men shouted together, ‘Soubiran! Soubiran!’ Those in the trees jumped down, the band remounted, and Don Juan told off twelve men to guard us, saying in our hearing, ‘You will kill them if we have to run away; they would only hinder our escape.’ He then rode off at the head of his band in the direction of the firing, the sound of which alternately approached and receded for more than an hour of horrible suspense for us, during which our hearts were torn by cruel anxiety, and I mentally bade farewell to my old father, to all who were dear to me, and to France, which my safe return to Paris would have done, so much to serve. It was indeed hard to be cut off from friends and country in the very springtide of my life. No night immortalised by Young in his celebrated ‘Night Thoughts’ was as long as that one hour of alternations of hope and fear during the night of April 6, 1811, to us poor prisoners condemned to death, and with nothing to serve as our shrouds but the splashes of dried blood on our naked bodies.

We now learnt that a courier and his escort on the way from Escalona to Madrid had been surprised by the scouts of El Médico, whom they had imagined to be far away from the district at the time, as they were quietly winding along by the Alberge, intending to turn off for the capital at Valmojedo. El Médico’s men seeing that the escort was but a small one threw themselves upon it, and we now found ourselves in the cruel position of not knowing what to wish. If the escort were beaten it would mean death to Frenchmen, and we dared not hope for that; if, on the other hand, the French were victorious, our guards would have to take flight and our doom would be sealed. At the end of an hour, which seemed two to us in our terrible suspense, we had to look upon a scene more horrible if possible than anything which had yet met our eyes, for the escort was beaten and driven back to Escalona, leaving many dead and five or six wounded on the ground. Three of the poor wretches, who were stripped naked, were dragged to where we were waiting, but the dread with which Soubiran had inspired the brigands was such that they dared not linger, and therefore decided to kill those too much hurt to go with them. The next moment in spite of my entreaties the poor fellows were massacred, and as they fell I caught them in my arms. The points of the swords which were driven through their shoulders actually pricked my breast, and the unfortunate creatures were literally hacked to pieces in my hands, all powerless to help them.

It is thirty-five years ago now, but the sound of the blows rained upon the unhappy victims, with the cracking of their bones, still rings in my ears, and the remembrance of the scene makes me shudder with horror.

The blood they had just shed seemed to have satiated the brigands’ lust for slaughter, as they said no more about hanging us. The mule I had ridden before was led up, and Don Juan, whose features wore an angry frown, gave the order to start riding on again in silence.

During the further journey three or four of the brigands kept close to me to protect me from their comrades, who with many insulting gestures kept expressing their regret at not being allowed to kill me. On the other hand, our guards began to talk to us in quite a friendly way, and we began to indulge in hope once more. I was now able to observe the men about me a little more closely. They were all dressed in a fantastic manner, in a most heterogeneous collection of garments, and presented a very wild and ferocious appearance. Their complexions were swarthy and sunburnt; their black eyes, of the Arab type, were shaded by heavy eyelids; their hair, shaved away on the forehead, was allowed to grow long elsewhere, and was gathered at the back into a mass called a catogan, which hung down on the nape of the neck. All of them, chiefs and men alike, wore a coloured handkerchief knotted about the head, and hanging down the back in a négligé manner. Above the handkerchief was worn a round felt hat, with a high pointed crown, varying in colour from black and russet-brown to grey, according to its state of decay, and decorated with a few cock feathers and a twist of red cord. The chest and one shoulder, black or red from constant exposure to the weather, were left bare. Some of the men wore jackets like those of our hussars of different colours, and others brown, black, or blue vests; but all had broad red silk or woollen sashes, whilst many had belts over the sashes which could hold several dozen cartridges, as I had good cause to remember. The short black velvet or leather breeches were open at the knee, and the calves of the legs were protected by leather gaiters coming down over Spanish sandals or big shoes with spurs on the heels. The men all shouted at the top of their voices, showing their pointed white teeth, which looked like those of angry wolves.

The clumsy saddles had wooden stirrups, the bit was fastened on to the reins with bits of twine, and the steeds with these primitive trappings resembled the quaint and shaggy nag of Don Quixote. The men who had rather better horses were very proud of them, and kept saying to me: ‘Mira que buen caballo por una retirada!’ (Look what a fine horse to run away on!) These words were a very good revelation of the character of the speakers, and whilst I had the honour of being dragged along amongst them, I always heard them say when they approached an enemy, ‘Son muchos, salvemos’ (There are a lot of them, let’s escape), or, ‘Son poca gente, acometamos’ (There are only a few, let’s attack them!) On the present occasion they trotted along in good spirits, rejoicing at their success. After crossing a forest and climbing up a steep rocky ascent, we came down to the banks of the Alberge. The ferry boat was broken, and the river was deep and difficult to ford; but the fear with which Soubiran inspired him made Don Juan wish to put the water between him and the French. He noticed a herd of oxen grazing in a meadow some distance off, and sent some men on horseback to fetch them. He then had the oxen driven to the edge of the water, and his men forced them to enter it by pricking them with their lances. The poor beasts tried to escape by swimming, and when they were all about twenty paces from the bank and had broken the force of the current, the guerrilla band forded the stream, their horses, having to swim part of the way, whilst the prisoners were dragged along by the hands to save them from being drowned. The torrential mountain streams are very cold at the beginning of April, but that was the very least of our woes. The bath was really a good thing for us, and we came out looking a little less hideous than when we went in. We pushed on through forests and amongst rocks, and arrived, as darkness was beginning to gather, at the village of Prado, where the robbers thought they would be safe. We were again put into a stable, and the division of the booty took place almost under our eyes. I recognised with grief the clothes of my poor Williams, the faithful servant from Auvergne, whose real name was Guillaume Bariol, but whom I had christened Williams so as to be in the fashion. The savage fellows who had killed him were puzzled by the collections of small stones, minerals, bits of sulphur, and other geological specimens which I had made Williams pack in his valise, and asked me what in the world they were for. Nothing which would not bring in money seemed of any value to them. Don Juan understood a little French, but he pretended not to know a word, as it would have roused suspicion if he had talked to his prisoners in a language unknown to his men. In looking over the despatches seized with my other effects he recognised their importance, and sent them in all haste to the head-quarters of the Spanish army. He then ordered me to be brought before him, and still retaining his severity of manner, he gave me leave to write to France to arrange for my exchange. I wrote immediately on the subject to General Belliard, who had already received and passed on the false report of my death. I was also extremely anxious to inform the Emperor of the melancholy condition of his armies in Spain; but I did not dare to say anything which would be understood by our enemies, and lead to my letter being intercepted, so I merely wrote these few lines to my friend Baron Leduc, secretary to Prince Berthier: ‘Tell the owner of the “Pavillon de Flore” that I have seen the person of whom he asked me to obtain news, and that I found his numerous children in a condition demanding the presence of their father at once.’ Don Juan sent these letters open to Madrid, and that to Baron Leduc reached Paris safely and was understood at the Tuileries. Don Juan now gave me the remains of an old cloak, such as shepherds wear, to cover my nudity, and was actually good enough to say to me, ‘I have no doubt they will consent to your exchange at Madrid, so I shall send you to the head-quarters of Don Julian, where you will await the reply to your letters.’ The next day, in fact, he ordered a dozen men to take me to Don Julian, chief of the largest band then infesting Old Castille, and he instructed my escort to treat me with respect. The savage fellows henceforth softened their tone a little, and always addressed me as Excellency or Signor, and so on. One of them, who was wearing my handsome cap with black plumes, even gave me an old pointed sombrero made of some grey linen stuff, which had been dangling by a torn fragment from his saddle bow. It was clothed in these mean rags that I had to make my entry into the towns on our route, and now began a series of vicissitudes, the recital of which I will spare my readers, for after having described the experiences of a fortunate officer on many a glorious battle field, I think it is only natural that I should wish to draw a veil over my humiliating sufferings as a prisoner.

At one o’clock in the morning of April 7, we started on our way to the head-quarters of Don Julian under the escort of Sobrechero, who was chosen from the band to lead our party. For three days we climbed laboriously along the steep banks of the Alberge till we came to its source. The ascent was very difficult but most picturesque, and at the sight of the wild beauties of nature around me I awoke to fresh enjoyment of the life which had been so nearly ended. The exertion of climbing up and down the rocks, hunting about for the paths through the woods, or scrambling and sometimes tumbling over into the numerous torrents which flow into the Alberge, was really good for us, and our bodily fatigue relieved the tension of our minds. Our escort, too, cheered us by showing their anxiety to bring about our exchange as soon as possible, so as to put an end to the terrible reprisals on either side. The hope of being once more of some use to humanity revived our courage and aided us to bear up, all but naked though we were, against the bitter cold of the mountains, and to rally from the many accidents which befell us in spite of the fact that we never got enough to eat.

We passed the first night at the house of a Spaniard, who heaped reproaches on our escort for not having killed us and so saved themselves the trouble of bringing us so far, and him that of having to receive us. The next night we spent with a more hospitable host, a priest named Don Pablo, who killed for us, he said, the last fowl left to him by the French, but, as you see, he bore us no malice. The third night we were received by another priest, one Don Mauricio, who, poor fellow, was very well educated, and enjoyed a chat for once with civilised people. He insisted on my accepting two or three of his shirts before I left. I appreciated this gift greatly, for to a naked man on the crest of a mountain covered with snow a shirt is worth more than a lot of gold on a plain!

At last, in a heavy downfall of snow, we reached the all but inaccessible village of Piedra Lavez, the head-quarters, I had almost said the den, of our brigands, perched at the top of lofty rocks. At the sight of this spot, which resembled the eyrie of an eagle or the stronghold of some feudal noble of the middle ages, in the keep of which he hoarded his treasures or the booty he had seized in his raids, we expected to be received in a manner as coarse and rude as the appearance of the place, and as cold as the flakes which were falling on our shoulders. Imagine, then, the effect produced on us when the leader in command at this wretched robber haunt came forward, and, addressing us in a friendly way in French, said, ‘Welcome, gentlemen. I was a prisoner of war for three years in France, and during that time I was so kindly and generously treated that I consider myself fortunate in getting a chance to do something in my turn to help Frenchmen whose evil fate has brought them to me. I am sorry that my position in these poverty-stricken mountains prevents my giving you the reception I should have liked, but I will do my best to alleviate your sufferings.’

The robber chief, whose name was Joseph Ribero, was captain of a band he had levied in the hope of replacing Ferdinand VII, on the throne of Spain, and though he was of course our political enemy he treated us as if we were his brothers. He gave us a hat, some neckties, pocket handkerchiefs, and even a few piastres, but he had such a very poor opinion of his own men that he advised us not to let them see the money, as they would be quite sure to take it away from us.

Ribero treated me especially with very great respect, for I had been brought to him as the nephew of King Joseph. He said I was sure to be exchanged soon, and added, ‘The chances of war may turn in your favour, and I may be your prisoner some day; be good enough to remember, if that day ever comes, that we are enemies only on the battle field.’ At the frugal repast which was all he was able to put before us, the monk Ursulo, who was one of the chief instigators of the insurrection, did full justice to the wine provided, of which a large quantity had been brought with us on a mule in goatskin bottles. The manners of this monk justified the contempt which the brigands with us seemed to have for all the Mendicant Friars.

Before we left, Ribero again expressed his great regret at not being able to supply us with clothes or to entertain us better, and he also earnestly recommended our escort to treat us well.

On the 8th we reached Naval-Donda, near the source of the Tormes, where we put up at the house of an old woman who was more bitter against us than any one else had yet been. Furious with rage at having to provide for Frenchmen and for our escort of brigands, she would have murdered us if we had not been protected by our guards. We dared not touch the food she offered us for fear of being poisoned; and not content with urging our escort to complete the work of destruction which divine intervention had arrested on the field of battle, the old fury hurled curses after us as we rode away. Needless to add that there was nothing in our calm and resigned demeanour to provoke such treatment.

After a long weary journey, with many a détour to avoid the French outposts, and many an adventure, the recital of which would only weary the reader, we reached Placenzia on the 17th. Our arrival in that beautiful city was expected, and all the inhabitants were at the windows or in the streets to witness the entry of the sobrino del Rey (the King’s nephew). The women were far more incensed against us than the men, but fortunately our guards had orders to protect us from the fury of the populace. Well-dressed women filled the balconies, and angrily brandishing their fans they shouted to our brigands, ‘Ahorcadle, degollad le’ (Hang him! Cut his throat!). The women of the lower classes yelled at us in an even more furious manner. When the execrations were at their worst I looked up at the ladies in the balconies, and said with a smile, ‘Muchas gracias, señoritas, sois deliciosas, hechizas’ (Many thanks, fair demoiselles, you are charming, fascinating). This unexpected reply, which I gave with an imitation of Castillian grace and animation, this gay demeanour instead of the shrinking tremor they had expected, astonished them all so much that the balconies now literally shook with the thunders of amused applause, and every one cried, ‘No, no, no ahorcad; tratad le muy bien’ (Don’t hang him, don’t hang him. Treat him very well!). Fans and handkerchiefs, held in pretty little Spanish hands, were now waved so vigorously in token of the favour of their owners, that they would have created quite a breeze if the soft April wind had not already been blowing pretty strongly, making the simple linen shirt, which I owed to the good priest Mauricio, and which was the only thing that saved me from appearing before all these ladies in the garb of Paradise, cling closely to my limbs. This very light apparel scarcely reached to my knees, and floated behind me on the back of my steed, who, proud of figuring in such a triumphal procession, halted to bray with joy at every street corner.

Don Julian had already received an answer from General Belliard, who proposed sending to him in exchange for the French Colonel Baron Lejeune, Colonel MacMahon and General Obledo, both prisoners at Madrid. This proposal, which was as honourable as it was generous, made Don Julian think the French attached great importance to getting me back, and to gain time he ordered my escort to take me across the Tagus to the head-quarters of the Marquis de Castaños, Commander-in-Chief of the Spanish army, where a fresh series of woes awaited us.

Our guards told us every day that if one of us should escape, the other three would be put to death. We knew only too well that it was no good hoping for any mercy from the brigands, and this cruel announcement took away the last consolation of our miserable condition, for as long as we could occupy ourselves in making plans for each other’s escape, our situation did not seem altogether desperate. Twice certain generous, kind-hearted ecclesiastics had seemed willing to co-operate with us in evading our keepers. The priests at Coria and at Minofol on the Tagus very nearly compromised themselves on our behalf, but the vigilance of our guards had frustrated their efforts. Then again at Caceres our hostess, whose name was Mariquita, was much distressed at seeing four young men, in the flower of their life, going about with scarcely more clothing than they had had at the hour of their birth; and when our guards boasted of having charge of the nephew of the King, she secretly determined to restore me to my uncle, the good Rey Pepe, whose generosity and kindness she extolled to me. ‘This very night,’ she said to me, ‘my husband will take you to Truxillo, and you will be with your fellow countrymen the French before daybreak. I’ve planned the whole thing. I mean to hide you in my daughter’s mattress; she will lie down on it with you beneath her, and even if any one went into her room no one would guess you were there. I will come and fetch you at the right moment. My daughter will then get into the bed I shall pretend I have given to you she will be taken for you, the guerrilleros will not have the slightest suspicion of your escape, and you will be in safety before they are ready to start again. There are no troops in the town, and you will find it quite easy to get away.’ ‘But can I take my three companions?’ I asked. ‘That would never do,’ was the reply; ‘the brigands watch you all very closely, and it would be impossible for four to disappear at once.’ ‘But, dear lady,’ I answered, ‘if I go alone my flight will be their death-warrant; I could not make such an odious sacrifice as that, my remorse for it would haunt me all the rest of my life.’ ‘Come, come,’ she said, ‘no more of that; I can save you, but it is quite impossible to save four.’ This short talk was several times interrupted by our very vigilant guards. I passed a night of cruel agitation, and when we left the next morning I could only express my gratitude to Mariquita by pressing her hands, for our brigands watched us, jealously. She understood this mute language, however, for her eyes filled with tears.

A few leagues further on we passed through a burnt village, the inhabitants of which wished to strangle us, our guards having the greatest difficulty in preventing it. Beyond this village the country was deserted, and we often suffered from hunger, having nothing to eat but a few lettuces and a little chicory, which we found in the fields. One day our guards, worn out with fatigue and also suffering a little from hunger, though, thanks to the habitual abstinence of the Spanish, not quite so much as we did, halted in a little hovel beneath the shade of one of the very biggest chestnut trees I ever saw. The fruit had all disappeared, but the ground was completely covered with little snakes, which tried to escape at our approach. Though the idea of eating them made us shudder, famine drove us to attempt it, and we caught a number, which we proceeded to grill. They were, however, so emaciated that when they were skinned there was nothing left but their backbones and a few eggs, so we threw them away. We heard that the Spanish and Portuguese armies in the border districts were suffering as much as we were from dearth of provisions.

Although very much weakened for want of proper nourishment, our spirits rose as we approached the end of our journey, and I enjoyed the beauties of the country we were traversing perhaps more than I should have done in a state of repletion.

We arrived the same evening at Albuquerque, where we were lodged in a palace occupied by the descendants of Pizarro, who rivalled Hernando Cortés in cruelty to the peaceable inhabitants of the New World. The stern character of the chief of the race had been transmitted to his descendants. When we got to a palace we hoped we should be better received than we had been by peasants ruined by the passage of our armies. But it was not so. The great-great-granddaughters of the conqueror of Mexico were laughing with some Spaniards, who, as they looked at us in a menacing way, said to our escort, ‘You had better have killed then instead of bringing them to us.’ And these young ladies, in spite of the rich coat of arms carved above the entrance to their home, approved of the bloodthirsty suggestions of their companions, and behaved in such a manner that our very guards were indignant. But so great was our misery that we rejoiced indeed when a few hours after our arrival some food was brought to us in a big tureen. It was only a little coarse army bread, over which a few drops of oil with a lot of red pepper were sprinkled in our presence, whilst a quantity of boiling water was poured over the whole, but to us it seemed a delicious meal after our eight days of abstinence.

The only notes I made on the three days it took us to get from Albuquerque to Merida were: ‘Scarcely anything to cat,’ ‘Nothing to eat,’ for the district was an entirely uncultivated desert, in which we met only a band of ragged peasants who wanted to kill us. We followed for several leagues the ruins of three Roman aqueducts covered with the nests of storks which lived on the numerous snakes frequenting these wastes. The largest of these aqueducts still retains three rows of arches one above the other, so that it rises to a great height. They served to conduct the water from the mountains to the circuses and naumachiæ, of which many ruins still remain, about three-quarters of a mile from the town of Merida, built by Titus, and given by him as a reward to the legions he left behind him in Spain. It was long the capital of the Roman Lusitania.

Near the ruins of the Temple of Mars, opposite the triumphal arch begun by the soldiers of Titus in his honour, but not completed, some twenty English officers were awaiting the arrival of the French Colonel and his companions, of whose capture they had heard. They came forward and received us in quite an affectionate manner, and offered to do me any service in their power. It would be impossible to describe the delight I felt in finding myself once more amongst civilised men, but it may be imagined when it is remembered that I had for the last twenty days been with some of the roughest characters in the world, about whose very care for and protection of us there was something wild and ferocious. To give but one example of their ways, I will quote a solitary but very significant custom of theirs. Their abstinence makes them often a prey to low spirits, and to relieve their depression they would plunge one of their hands in very hot water; it, of course, at once became swollen, and then with a sharp razor they would open the most prominent vein. When enough blood had been lost, they cauterised the wound with a bit of burning tinder, and feeling better, they remounted and rode on. This reminded me of the wild horses of Hungary, which I had often seen bite a vein in their own necks near the shoulder. The copious bleeding which ensued seemed to do them good.

The English officers, with the considerate courtesy of true gentlemen, brought me underlinen and clothes enough to cover me from head to foot. They were also generous to my companions in misfortune, and took me to their officer in command, who received me most cordially. Major-General Sir William Lumley, who still limped in consequence of a severe wound, made much of me, kept me to dinner, asked me to stop at his house, and, in fact, loaded me with kindness. Having learnt from the papers and despatches which had been taken from me that I was an engineer, and interested in the fine arts, he instructed his officers to take me to see the numerous antiquities, such as the Roman bridge over the Guadiana, the porticos, monuments, Roman fortifications, &c., which render the town of Merida so interesting.

In the evening the young officers asked me to go and have some punch with them. They had nearly all been to Paris, and asked me a great many questions about it.

The evening was spent in telling each other amusing stories, and I contributed my share, forgetting all about the misery of the preceding days. Far more abstemious than I expected to find them, not one of the officers took too much wine. The witty chief of the staff and the worthy commissary officer, Hook and Wilkinson by name, with the rest of the officers escorted me back to my quarters. We parted very good friends, and they all promised to come and see me in Paris after the war. Several kept their word, including Hook, whom I introduced to a friend of mine, whose daughter he married. She was perhaps the prettiest girl in France at the time.

Good heavens! what a contrast there was between the manners of these Englishmen and those of my keeper Sobrechero, to whom I had now to return to resume my journey with the barbarous brigands under him! The English officers lent us their horses, and we soon reached Almendralejo, where we were received by Lieutenant-General Lord Beresford, commanding the Anglo-Portuguese army, who treated me with the same kindness and courtesy as his fellow countrymen had done at Merida. His staff of officers were equally eager to make up to me for my misfortunes. The Marquises of Mello, Lima, and Alva, all scions of noble Portuguese families, with Colonels Walker, Wilson, and other Englishmen, seconded their General in his efforts on my behalf; but noticing that all these delicate attentions to me aroused the jealous suspicion of Sobrechero, who visited his spleen on my three companions in captivity, they appeased him by giving large bribes to his brigands.

At last, on the 27th, we reached the head-quarters of the Marquis de Castaños at Santa Maria, where our guards left us. I gave them some of the things I had received when I was at Sir William Lumley’s, and thanked them for having preserved our lives. Their departure took an immense weight off my heart, and when they were gone I felt able once more to breathe like a free man.

The Marquis de Castaños, who was a very intelligent man, with prepossessing and dignified manners, had three generals with him, namely, General Curera, Don Martino, chief of the staff, and Don Carlos, now a marquis of Spain, who was, however, really a French émigré, descended, as he told me himself, from the Conites de Comminges, and connected with the Montesquieus. Don Carlos made me stop with him for several days, treating me like a brother; and he provided clothes for my fellow prisoners at his own expense. During this quiet resting time, the Marquis de Castaños sent for me again and again, less to talk about my exchange – for which he was arranging – than to impress on me how anxious the inhabitants of the Peninsula were to put an end to the war, which was ruining Spain for the benefit of England. At the same time Lord Wellington was writing, ‘What folly it would be to risk anything further for the deliverance of Spain whilst the inhabitants, for whom we have done ten times as much as they ever deserved, hold themselves aloof in the midst of the storm!’ Don Carlos also sounded me to find out whether I would be discreet enough to take a message to the Emperor from the Junta of Cadiz unknown to the English. ‘It will be possible for us,’ he said, ‘to let you embark for France under the pretext of an exchange, and you shall propose to the Emperor the restoration of Ferdinand VII., to whom he should give in marriage one of the princesses of his family. Spain would then become his most devoted ally, and will aid him against all his enemies, even against England, whose behaviour wounds the self-respect, and is really against the true interests, of the Spanish.’ I was certain that the Emperor would never consent to withdraw his brother from the throne of Spain and replace Ferdinand. I was bound by the commission I held to work against any such arrangement between the contending parties, but I disguised my real sentiments in the presence of the enemies of France, and gladly hailed the chance of being the bearer of messages tending to conciliation and peace. Whether in bona fide belief in my consent, or as a stratagem to catch me, I never knew, but Don Carlos told me with an air of great frankness on the third day of these conferences that the Marquis de Castaños had despatched a courier to the Junta of Madrid to assure them of my willingness to undertake this pacific mission.

‘The Marquis de Castaños,’ said Don Carlos, ‘in so doing has met the desire several times expressed by the Junta of making advances to the Emperor in an indirect manner, but by means of a trusty messenger, before treating with England.’ Whilst waiting for the reply of the Junta, I must be kept away from the operations of the army, and should be sent to Elvas. So I had to resign myself to fresh delays. We all went together to take leave of the Marquis de Castaños, who had copies given to me of the letters he had written to Marshal Berthier and General Belliard, urging my exchange. In this interview the Marquis spoke of Generals Dupont, Marescot, and Vedel, expressing his regret and making excuses for the melancholy results which had ensued, as he said, quite against his will.¹ He also alluded to Marshal Soult, and expressed his great veneration for Marshal Mortier. In taking leave of me he said cordially, ‘We shall meet again soon.’ Don Carlos begged me to take with me an impression of his seal, on which was his coat of arms, and to recall him to the memory of his family in France. As an escort to Elvas he gave us his aide-de-camp, Captain Don José Cabrera, with four non-commissioned officers of dragoons of the Sagantum Regiment, who treated us with the greatest courtesy, and we started all mounted on horses lent by Don Carlos.

¹ For a very interesting account of the disaster at Baylen see the Marbot Memoirs, vol. i. pp. 322-328. When Lejeune was at Santa Maria the survivors among the French prisoners were still languishing on the desert island of Cabrera, off Cadiz, where all who did not fall victims to disease or hunger remained until the peace of 1814. – Trans.

The English Governor of Olivença, commanding the Portuguese forces there, received us and gave us rooms in his own residence. It was now May 1, and the sun was very hot. It amused me to see the English officers riding about in uniform holding parasols above their heads. The fact that they use parasols and umbrellas, though it is not the fashion to do so in the French army, does not prevent them from being very brave soldiers in battle; but for all that, I must say that I was surprised and amused when I looked out of my window to see several groups of officers, on their way back to their quarters, followed by a very picturesque though unusual suite. First came the captain in his scarlet uniform, mounted on a very fine horse, and carrying a big open parasol; then came his wife, in a pretty costume, with a very small straw hat, seated on a mule, holding up an umbrella and caressing a little black and tan King Charles spaniel on her knee, whilst she led by a blue ribbon a tame goat, which was to supply her night and morning with cream for her cup of tea. Beside Madame walked an Irish nurse, carrying slung across her shoulders a bassinet made of green silk, in which reposed an infant, the hope of the family. Behind Madame’s mule stalked a huge grenadier, the faithful servant of the captain, with his musket over his shoulder, urging on with a stick the long-eared steed of his mistress. Behind him again came a donkey laden with the voluminous baggage of the family, surmounted by a tea-kettle and a cage full of canaries, whilst a jockey or groom in livery brought up the rear, mounted on a sturdy English horse, with its hide gleaning like polished steel. This groom held a huge posting whip in one hand, the cracking of the lash of which made the donkey mend its pace, and at the same time kept order amongst the four or five spaniels and greyhounds which served as scouts to the captain during the march of his small cavalcade.

The sketch from nature I made of this party was later the subject of one of the best of the little compositions which I inscribed with the two words, ‘Utile dulei.’

The fiction which made me the nephew of the King and of the Emperor had preceded us at Elvas, and when we arrived on May 1 many curious spectators lined our route. General Leyté, governor of the town, gave me the best room in the Dominican Convent, and the mayor and the municipal officers spread a repast for us, to which the chief members of the garrison were invited.

The next morning the officers of the Portuguese army came one after the other to greet the captive French Colonel. A grand meal was again served us on this occasion, and I noticed several persons in black who circulated to and fro behind the guests. I took them at first for the stewards, but their aristocratic bearing puzzled me, and presently I inquired who they were. ‘The mayor and municipality, who are doing the honours of their sumptuous hospitality,’ was the reply; and I at once got up to beg them to excuse my mistake, nor would I sit down again until they took places at the table with us.

In spite of the courtesy of all these people and of the interesting books which were lent to me to read, the time passed sadly, for from my window I could see in the distance the smoke rising up from the besieged town of Badajoz, and I could hear the roar of the cannon which was probably killing some of the French defending that fortress.

Lord Beresford had probably been informed of the scheme the execution of which the Junta of Cadiz had wished to entrust to me, and he hastened to foil the conspirators by ordering me to be taken to Setubal, beyond reach of the Spanish. This unfortunate contretemps sent me off once more on my travels, and destroyed my last hope of liberty.

General Leyté now ordered Captain Sassarmento, of the Portuguese dragoons, and four non-commissioned officers to take me to Setubal.

At Estremos we received a grand welcome in a fine convent, where there were only three monks left, who had, however, kept four first-rate cooks, and we were served with an abundance and variety of well-dressed dishes.

A little further on, as we were passing Arrayolos, we noticed a telegraph station of three square compartments, having four divisions giving twelve combinations and their multiples ad infinitum.¹ Beyond Montemoro we came to Vendas Novas, where we passed a great underground room, or rather cellar, crowded with French prisoners, who were absolutely naked and who cried out to us to help them. I was of course powerless to protect them – all I could do was to put into the hands stretched out to me through the bars the few things which had been given to me by the English. The thought of their terrible fate, which might soon be our own, saddened our march across the far-stretching desert plains between Vendas Novas and Añas de Mora, a miserable hamlet, but the only place where we could halt after a pretty long tramp.

¹ The use of the electric telegraph did not really begin until 1837; but many contrivances, to one of which the author evidently refers, were resorted to in the early part of the present century, shadowing forth the future system. – Trans.

In the three or four huts which composed the hamlet of Añas de Mora, we found no one but a young and slightly deformed girl, with rather a pretty face, who was preparing food against the return of her absent brothers, and it was with a very bad grace that she set to work to add enough for nine extra people. Whilst waiting for our meal we went and sat down at the edge of the lake which gives its name to the hamlet, and as we were admiring the beauties of the sunset reflected in the quiet waters, the brothers of our hostess and some workmen passed us on their way home, carrying with them their guns, hatchets, and agricultural implements. When they caught sight of us, they glared at us with the fury of tigers. They did not speak a word, but the silent scowl of hatred on their faces, blackened with exposure to the sun, was more eloquent than any speech could have been. Our reception when we got back to the hut showed us that the young girl had aroused against us the bloodthirsty passions of her brothers. Our very frugal repast passed over, however, without a quarrel, though the eyes watching our every movement were full of bitter if taciturn rage. When the meal was over Sassarmento, foreseeing an outbreak, told me it would be prudent to withdraw, and we all went to the next room with the non-commissioned officers, who had been looking after the horses. They now flung themselves on the ground as we did, and were soon asleep; but Sassarmento and I, who were equally anxious, dared not close our eyes. We listened to the whispered conversation of the eight or nine peasants with the young deformed girl, and we both heard her say to her brothers, ‘Stanitza is reckoned as good as a man since she helped her husband to cut the throats of three Frenchmen. Well, I'll do even more than she did, for I will dig my uñadas (nails) into the eyes of the big one’ (that meant me!) ‘whilst you cut his throat with your cuchillo’ (knife). Then, just like the general of an army, she assigned to each of those present the part he was to take in our murder when we should be asleep, and it would be easy to overpower us, whilst her hearers encouraged each other by saying, ‘The dragoons won’t interfere,’ &c.

Sassarmento was very indignant at what he overheard, and made a sign to me that one of the non-commissioned officers had left his rifle in the room with the peasants. Without hesitating a moment, I got up and boldly fetched the weapon, cocking it as I withdrew in sight of the peasants, who were simply trembling with rage. We then loaded the pistols belonging to the captain and the dragoons, and shut the door. Sassarmento lay down across it, and we awaited events. Sleep, however, soon overpowered our enemies as it did ourselves, and they forgot their lust for bloodshed, so that we were able to rest in peace. We left before sunrise the next day, giving the deformed girl a few piastres to make up to her for having deprived her of the glory of excelling Stanitza.

Beyond Añas de Mora the wide plain was deserted and uncultivated, but covered with regular forests of marshmallows in flower, beneath which were millions of green lizards and little yellowish snakes, the sand being quite ploughed up by their numerous trails. They retreated slowly and with difficulty at our approach.

At noon on May 8 we reached Setubal, a pretty little town on the river Sadao, which flows into the wide and deep Bay of Setubal, an admirable harbour, then full of vessels which had come to take in cargoes of wine and oil for Russia and America. The contrast between the dreary tracts we had just crossed and the bright picturesque scene now before us was very great. The town with its many belfries and ancient fortifications stood out against the sea horizon, which is bounded on the right and left by lofty heights covered with gardens, vineyards, and woods, dotted here and there with pretty summer houses and mills each with eight triangular sails. The port is crowded with a forest of masts, whilst in the roadstead hundreds of sailing vessels of various tonnage are constantly arriving from their ocean voyage.

Captain Sassarmento took us to an inn called the ‘Etalaga Nova,’ belonging to a Frenchman, now detained a prisoner in Lisbon, as he was suspected of being in communication with our army. His daughters, however, glad to see fellow countrymen once more, were eager to wait upon us, and the English Commissary, Robert Boyer by name, who had been at once informed of our arrival, hastened to offer us his services and to bring us all we needed. We were then taken to the Governor, and Captain Sassarmento took leave of us. The Governor, with a politeness which we took as an earnest of the liberal hospitality we might expect, ordered a boat to be prepared, and we were rowed out to the lighthouse, about an hour’s distance from the shore. The Governor showed us the tower of this lighthouse, and with a friendly smile assured us that the air was so pure there that his prisoners had lived in it for fifteen years without ever having so much as a headache. ‘Fifteen years!’ I cried in horror. ‘Yes, fifteen years at least,’ was the reply. The boat now touched at the fortress known as the Torre d’Othon, which was to be our abode, and the Governor always with the most exquisite courtesy installed us in two little casemates of hewn stone, which he honoured with the name of rooms, containing one table, one bench, and three old mattresses, the last-named peopled with crowds of the most disgusting and voracious vermin Spain or Portugal could produce. When he took leave the friendly Governor promised often to give himself the pleasure of paying us a visit, and expressed a hope that we should enjoy the beautiful air. He also gave us leave to walk about on the topmost terrace of the fortress.

We were immediately assailed by swarms of jumping and crawling brown insects, who were famished for want of food; but without losing courage in spite of the vigour of the bloodthirsty assault, we at once began in our turn to make war on them, and treating them much as we should a conflagration, we poured quantities of cold water on to them, hoping to sweep our enemies into the sea, their battalions being too numerous for us to be able to crush them all on land. Then having to some extent remained masters on the battle field, we went out on the terrace to rest a little after the struggle. For the last thirty-five days we had been the playthings of hopes continually disappointed, and of circumstances generally, to say the least of it, rather depressing than reassuring. We had no longer any hope of regaining our liberty, and there was nothing left for us to do but to make the best of the position in which we found ourselves. One thing, however, which made us almost happy was that we no longer had the prying and menacing eyes of our gaolers constantly upon us, and were free at least to gaze unmolested on the beautiful view spread out before us, which, leading us as it did to raise our eyes to heaven, did something to console us. We could still think of our lost country, and dream of some day finding means of returning to her.

The next day Robert Boyer came to see us, bringing with him an American merchant, named David Meyer. They were both laden with baskets full of oranges, wine, and dainty loaves of bread. Meyer wanted to bring us a lot of under-clothing, but we would not accept it. When we refused he spoke with gratitude of the kind and generous reception he had several times met with at Bordeaux, and repeated that he was glad of the chance of serving Frenchmen wherever he met them. Boyer also renewed his offers of service, and promised to get me the paper with the brushes and colours for which I asked him.

At the same time the following day he brought me a complete set of colours carefully labelled, and all I wanted for writing or painting. This present was indeed a valuable one, and I hastened to show my gratitude by making him then and there a sketch of the scene when I was taken prisoner, with likenesses of the brigands who had attacked me, for their faces were indelibly graven on my memory. In working at my painting once more I regained something of resignation, for, attractive at all times, it is impossible to describe what an immense resource wielding the brushes became in my dreary captivity.

Talking with my fellow prisoner Duhamel also made a break in the days, which no longer seemed so endless. We drew a chess-board on our table, and made white and yellow pieces with the outer and inner rind of our oranges, and Duhamel often had the pleasure of beating me at the game. Massart, who, though an excellent fellow, cared more for the pleasures of the table than for intellectual pursuits, looked after the kitchen department; we lived on dainty cooked dishes made of the so-called giltheads, which are very delicate eating, and other fishes from the bay, quantities of which were daily brought to us by the fishermen.

Our days passed quietly away in work, and in the contemplation of the grand view of the mountains which protected us from the cold north winds, and of the far-stretching bay, with its many vessels going to and fro under the guns of our fort. The height of our terrace and its peculiar construction enabled me to make a plan of the fortress and its surroundings. I had not the proper instruments for the work, but I made a quadrant and a compass in wood, and by means of the intersections of my principal lines I succeeded in drawing a very exact plan, which surprised the Governor and made him rather uneasy.

The Governor, who was an original character if ever there was one, just the eccentric fellow to figure to perfection on the boards of a theatre, came to see us nearly every day, to ask how we were getting on. He would chat with us quite confidentially, but stop suddenly every now and again with an access of reticence. However, he let out that the Marquis de Villeneuve, a Frenchman, and his wife were shut up in one of the rooms of our fort. The Marquis was an émigré, who was serving in the Portuguese army when Junot entered Lisbon with the French forces, and the Marquise de Villeneuve, who had not been able to get away in time, remained in that city. Her husband, becoming uneasy on hearing that she was in a house full of young aides-de-camp, ran the risk of leaving the Portuguese army and got into Lisbon, where he concealed himself. He was discovered, and Junot, taking him for a spy, ordered his arrest. The Marquis could not have evaded capture by the police had not a young officer whom he specially suspected, and had accused of being his rival, come to the rescue and aided him to escape. The French soon afterwards abandoned Lisbon, and the Marquis de Villeneuve decided to remain, thinking he could now rejoin the Portuguese army, but he was arrested by the Anglo-Portuguese and shut up in the fort of Setubal with the young wife who had been the innocent cause of his misfortunes.

On Sundays we used to go down to hear mass, and we could see the other prisoners in the chapel, though we were not allowed to speak to them. We thought the young lady very beautiful, and we in our turn took to sighing for her notice. We used to go every evening to the very end of our terrace, from which we could see the windows of her apartment, and we all three sang together nocturnes, barcarolles, and love ditties, such as Richards’ ‘Burning Fever,’ &c., and everything else we could remember. Our only recompense was to see the tips of a white-gloved hand waving through the bars, as if in applause of our clumsy and discordant efforts.

David Meyer, the American, not only brought us provisions, but seconded our efforts to obtain our exchange. He even tried to help us to escape, and one day brought a long rope wound round his body under his clothes, for us to let ourselves down with from the fort. He had arranged a plan for our escape. A boat was waiting for us at a point he described to us, where it would be easy for us to embark, and we were to be taken in this boat to his vessel, of which the cargo was now complete. He would hide us on board till he started, and the American flag would protect us. At last everything was arranged for that very evening, and our escape seemed sure, when by order of Lord Beresford an officer and eight men came to escort us to Lisbon. There was no help for it – we had to follow our new guides. We were allowed to go, en passant, to bid farewell to Robert Boyer and David Meyer. The latter, much put out by the presence of the witnesses to our interview, could only say in an expressive manner, ‘I shall be there with my boat this evening. We shall start before daybreak – do you see, do you see?’ and an expressive pantomime made us understand that he advised us to evade our guards and keep our appointment with him, for he would wait for us.

We answered him with our eyes to the effect that we should do our very utmost to get away, and after shaking hands with him we started with our officer on good mules and surrounded by the eight soldiers. After we had been marching some time, we pretended to admire the country greatly, and begged our guides to let us stop to look round. Duhamel, Massart, and I then turned the pause to account to make out our bearings. We noted the rock at the foot of which the boat was waiting for us, and the stretch of ground between us and it, and we could see David Meyer’s ship, on which he had purposely hoisted the American flag. We decided how to act, and continued our route, awaiting the moment to carry out our plan.

We had scarcely marched an hour, before, as we were going down from Palmela in the direction of Lisbon, we met a Portuguese escort taking some twenty men to Setubal, all fastened by the neck to one long chain. It was no surprise to us to see amongst them two of the men who had wanted to cut our throats in the house of the deformed girl at Añas de Mora; but what did astonish us was to hear that these twenty young fellows chained together were merely recruits being taken to join their regiment. Their escort, which was on foot, stopped to chat for a few minutes with ours. Our officer, however, continued to press on, and we were presently some eight paces in advance of our soldiers. The officer noticed this, and begged us to wait. We dismounted at once without hesitation, and thinking that the favourable moment had come for us to get off into the wood, we had already stooped to fill our hands with dust to throw in the officer’s eyes so as to escape whilst he was blinded by it, when, alas! a courier from Lisbon dashed up at a gallop, and drew rein to exchange greetings with our leader. This gave our escort time to come up. Our chance was gone, and with infinite regret we dropped the sand which might have purchased our liberty.

Arrived at Moïta, we embarked on the Tagus, and a few hours after we landed at the royal town of Lisbon, and our officer took us to a fine building which I thought was a palace. After crossing two beautiful rooms I was pushed towards a low narrow opening, rather like a chimney, and told to stoop down and go through it. This curious-looking aperture aroused my suspicions, and I inquired where it led to. ‘Oh, to the convict prison, the galleys, where the prisoners are kept.’ I knew well enough the shameful way in which prisoners sent to the galleys were treated, and at the words ‘convict prison’ and ‘galleys’ I turned upon my guides and swore that they would never get me to enter the infamous place alive. ‘You are all,’ I added, ‘soldiers like myself, and it concerns the honour of every one of you not to allow soldiers to be confounded with criminals.’ ‘Es verdad! Es verdad!’ (It is true! It is true!) cried all the men together, but the officer continued to insist. ‘Very well, then,’ I said, ‘kill me if you like, for I don’t go in alive!’ ‘I have no orders to kill you – only to leave you here.’ ‘You can have received no such orders, sir,’ I replied. ‘for your superiors have promised that I should be treated with every honour.’ Then, seeing that he hesitated, I went on, ‘Go and find the Governor, and tell him of my resistance.’ The officer, seeing that he would not be supported by his soldiers, whom my appeal had aroused to indignation, went to see the Governor, leaving us where we were to await his return. He had scarcely left us when we heard the noise of chains, and in came some hundred convicts with horribly ruffian-like faces, who were being brought back from work, yoked, so to speak, two and two to a long heavy chain dragging behind them on the ground. When they reached the narrow opening the convicts went down on all fours, and creeping through the infernal aperture they disappeared. The soldiers, whom I continued to ply with arguments in my favour, were altogether indisposed to take part against me. When the officer returned he made many apologies to me, telling me that Lord Beresford ordered us to be taken on board the English frigate stationed in the port. We were escorted thither in a boat, and the officer took his leave.

The English captain and his officers left me in the state cabin whilst a meal was prepared for us. The evening was spent in very pleasant company, and the next day we were taken on to a three-masted vessel called the Thetis, which was about to start with a convoy for England. Here again a state cabin was given to me, and we shared a first-rate table throughout the voyage. Captain Robert Stolf, who had all the reserve of manner characteristic of the English, always addressed me with a politeness which would have been remarkable even in a Paris salon, and not a day passed without his assuring me that I should be far better treated in England than it was possible for me to be in his ship. I believed all he said to me, and my only regret was that my companions in captivity could not share in the good things I received, but orders had been given that they were only to have the rations of ordinary prisoners.

The voyage took nine days, and the wind being high the sea was so rough that I constantly fancied there was a storm going on. This was the first time I had ever made a voyage, and the creaking of the timbers of the ship alarmed me greatly, for I thought again and again that she was breaking to pieces and would be swallowed up by the waves. Once I said to the captain in my anxiety, ‘Is this a storm?’ and he replied coldly with a smile, ‘I do not think so.’ We passed the coast of Normandy in the distance, and I thought of my father mourning for my death, which had been falsely reported to him. Perhaps, I said to myself, he is at this moment walking up and down on the beach indulging in the grief he disguises at home so as not to distress my mother, and I was thinking what a joy it would be to go and comfort him, when we entered the Solent, dividing the Isle of Wight from the mainland. That very day the last honours were being paid by the English, in the form of volleys of artillery, to my friend General Rufin, who had been wounded at Chiclana, was taken prisoner by the English, and died just as the vessel he was on reached Portsmouth. The Thetis entered Portsmouth harbour, and I witnessed a singular scene. A few minutes after the vessels of the convoy had cast anchor, and the bells of the various ships had announced their arrival, some hundreds of row-boats full of women appeared, making in our direction, the various crews all shouting and whistling together. I was told that these ladies were the wives and sisters of the sailors, with whom were also some members of the demi-monde of Portsmouth, who were allowed to come on board to welcome their relations or their friends.

Captain Stolf, who was so sure that I should be honourably received in England, hastened to go ashore and ascertain what was to be done with me, and it was indeed with a sinking heart that I looked into his face when he returned, for he appeared very sad and was evidently much upset. ‘Let us go down into the boat,’ was all he said, and I dared not question him, dreading to hear too soon the bad news he had to tell. We were all as silent as he was in the boat, and our uneasiness increased when we passed some twenty old vessels full of French prisoners, most of them wearing only yellow vests, whilst others were perfectly naked. At this distressing sight I asked our captain if he was taking us to the hulks. To which he replied with a frown, ‘Yes, just as a matter of form.’ At the same moment our boat drew up alongside of the San Antonio, an old eighty-gun man-of-war. We climbed on to it, and there, to our horror, we saw some five or six hundred French prisoners, who were but the third of those on board, climbing on to each other’s shoulders in the narrow space in which they were penned, to have a look at the newcomers, of whose arrival they seem to have been told. Their silence, their attitude, and the looks of compassion they bestowed on me as I greeted them en passant, seemed to me omens of a terrible future for me.

The captain of the old hulk entered our names on his register, and then apologised for having no better quarters to offer us than those assigned to the other prisoners, for, as he said, he had such an immense number on board. I could scarcely believe my ears, and made him repeat what he said. Then, my rage getting the better of me, I seized Captain Stolf by the arm, exclaiming, ‘You have betrayed me! You promised I should be well treated. I would rather have been killed than have allowed myself to be brought hither, and now you shall die with me.’ My violence alarmed the captain and the two or three soldiers with him. I then drew back a step, so as to have my back against the cabin and face all my enemies. I snatched a sword from an Irishman standing near, and threatened to kill Captain Stolf or any one else who tried to detain me on the vessel. Stolf assured me he had nothing to do with it, and the other captain endeavoured to calm me, but in the twinkling of an eye all the prisoners on board catching my excitement began shouting, ‘Bravo, bravo!’ They climbed on each other’s shoulders till they towered above the little group of disputants, crying out, ‘If every one behaved as you do, the English would not dare to ill treat us so.’ The noise emboldened me still further, and the captain of the vessel, who being close to me was in more danger than any one else, became alarmed at the rage of the twelve or fifteen hundred prisoners, who seemed likely to break down the barriers dividing them from us, and to overpower the very small guard. So he hastened to say to Captain Stolf, ‘Rid me of this furious fellow; take the French devil to Forton!’ Captain Stolf, whom I still held by the arm, needed no second bidding, and quickly making for his boat insisted on my getting in first. The soldier whose sword I had seized called out to me to give it back to him, and I flung it on deck as I went down to the boat. I was thus separated from the two companions who had shared my captivity so long, and I did not see them again till after peace was concluded.