The Alhambra a series of tales and sketches of the Moors and Spaniards |
GOVERNOR MANCO AND THE SOLDIER. |
 | GOVERNOR MANCO AND THE SOLDIER. The Alhambra |  |
GOVERNOR MANCO AND THE SOLDIER.
When governor Manco, or the one armed,
kept up a show of military state in the Alhambra,
he became nettled at the reproaches continually
cast upon his fortress of being a nestling
place of rogues and contrabandistas. On a sudden,
the old potentate determined on reform, and
setting vigorously to work, ejected whole nests
of vagabonds out of the fortress, and the gipsy
caves with which the surrounding hills are honey-combed.
He sent out soldiers, also, to patrol the
avenues and footpaths, with orders to take up all
suspicious persons.
One bright summer morning, a patrol consisting
of the testy old corporal who had distinguished
himself in the affair of the notary, a trumpeter
wall of the Generalife, beside the road which
leads down from the mountain of the Sun, when
they heard the tramp of a horse, and a male
voice singing in rough, though not unmusical
tones, an old Castilian campaigning song.
Presently they beheld a sturdy, sun-burnt fellow,
clad in the ragged garb of a foot-soldier, leading
a powerful Arabian horse caparisoned in the
ancient Morisco fashion.
Astonished at the sight of a strange soldier descending,
steed in hand, from that solitary mountain,
the corporal stepped forth and challenged
him.
“Who goes there?”
“A friend.”
“Who, and what are you?”
“A poor soldier, just from the wars, with a
cracked crown and empty purse for a reward.”
By this time they were enabled to view him
more narrowly. He had a black patch across his
forehead, which, with a grizzled beard, added to
a certain dare-devil cast of countenance, while a
slight squint threw into the whole an occasional
gleam of roguish good humour.
Having answered the questions of the patrol,
make others in return.
“May I ask,” said he, “what city is this
which I see at the foot of the hill?”
“What city!” cried the trumpeter; “come,
that's too bad. Here's a fellow lurking about the
mountain of the Sun, and demands the name of
the great city of Granada.”
“Granada! Madre de Dios! can it be possible!”
“Perhaps not!” rejoined the trumpeter, “and
perhaps you have no idea that yonder are the
towers of the Alhambra?”
“Son of a trumpet,” replied the stranger, “do
not trifle with me; if this be indeed the Alhambra,
I have some strange matters to reveal to the
governor.”
“You will have an opportunity,” said the corporal,
“for we mean to take you before him.”
By this time the trumpeter had seized the bridle
of the steed, the two privates had each secured
an arm of the soldier, the corporal put himself
in front, gave the word, “forward, march!” and
away they marched for the Alhambra.
The sight of a ragged foot-soldier and a fine
Arabian horse brought in captive by the patrol,
and of those gossip groups that generally
assemble about wells and fountains at early dawn.
The wheel of the cistern paused in its rotations;
the slipshod servant-maid stood gaping with pitcher
in hand, as the corporal passed by with his
prize. A motley train gradually gathered in the
rear of the escort. Knowing nods, and winks, and
conjectures passed from one to another. It is a
deserter, said one; a contrabandista, said another;
a bandalero, said a third, until it was affirmed
that a captain of a desperate band of robbers had
been captured by the prowess of the corporal and
his patrol. “Well, well,” said the old crones
one to another, “captain or not, let him get out
of the grasp of old governor Manco if he can,
though he is out one-handed.”
Governor Manco was seated in one of the inner
halls of the Alhambra, taking his morning's
cup of chocolate in company with his confessor,
a fat Franciscan friar from the neighbouring convent.
A demure, dark-eyed damsel of Malaga,
the daughter of his housekeeper, was attending
upon him.
The world hinted that the damsel, who, with
all her demureness, was a sly, buxom baggage,
old governor, and held complete control over
him,—but let that pass; the domestic affairs of
these mighty potentates of the earth should not
be too narrowly scrutinized.
When word was brought that a suspicious
stranger had been taken lurking about the fortress,
and was actually in the outer court, in
durance of the corporal, waiting the pleasure of
his excellency, the pride and stateliness of office
swelled the bosom of the governor. Giving back
his chocolate cup into the hands of the demure
damsel, he called for his basket-hilted sword,
girded it to his side, twirled up his mustachios,
took his seat in a large high-backed chair, assumed
a bitter and forbidding aspect, and ordered the
prisoner into his presence. The soldier was
brought in, still closely pinioned by his captors,
and guarded by the corporal. He maintained,
however, a resolute, self-confident air, and returned
the sharp, scrutinizing look of the governor
with an easy squint, which by no means pleased
the punctilious old potentate.
“Well, culprit!” said the governor, after he
had regarded him for a moment in silence, “what
have you to say for yourself? who are you?”
“A soldier, just from the wars, who has
brought away nothing but scars and bruises.”
“A soldier? humph! a foot-soldier by your
garb. I understand you have a fine Arabian horse.
I presume you brought him too from the wars,
beside your scars and bruises.”
“May it please your excellency, I have something
strange to tell about that horse. Indeed, I
have one of the most wonderful things to relate—
something too that concerns the security of this
fortress, indeed of all Granada. But it is a matter
to be imparted only to your private ear, or in
presence of such only as are in your confidence.”
The governor considered for a moment, and
then directed the corporal and his men to withdraw,
but to post themselves outside of the door,
and be ready at call. “This holy friar,” said he,
“is my confessor, you may say any thing in his
presence—and this damsel,” nodding towards the
handmaid, who had loitered with an air of great
curiosity, “this damsel is of great secrecy and
discretion, and to be trusted with any thing.”
The soldier gave a glance between a squint
and a leer at the demure handmaid. “I am perfectly
willing,” said he, “that the damsel should
remain.”
When all the rest had withdrawn, the soldier
commenced his story. He was a flucnt, smooth-tongued
varlet, and had a command of language
above his apparent rank.
“May it please your excellency,” said he, “I
am, as I before observed, a soldier, and have seen
some hard service, but my term of enlistment being
expired, I was discharged not long since from
the army at Valladolid, and set out on foot for
my native village in Andalusia. Yesterday evening,
the sun went down as I was traversing a
great dry plain of old Castile.”
“Hold!” cried the governor, “what is this
you say? Old Castile is some two or three hundred
miles from this.”
“Even so,” replied the soldier coolly, “I told
your excellency I had strange things to relate—
but not more strange than true—as your excellency
will find, if you will deign me a patient
hearing.”
“Proceed, culprit,” said the governor, twirling
up his mustachios.
“As the sun went down,” continued the soldier,
“I cast my eyes about in search of some
quarters for the night, but far as my sight could
reach, there was no signs of habitation. I saw
plain, with my knapsack for a pillow; but your
excellency is an old soldier, and knows that to
one who has been in the wars, such a night's lodging
is no great hardship.”
The governor nodded assent, as he drew his
pocket handkerchief out of the basket-hilt of his
sword, to drive away a fly that buzzed about his
nose.
“Well, to make a long story short,” continued
the soldier, “I trudged forward for several miles,
until I came to a bridge over a deep ravine,
through which ran a little thread of water, almost
dried up by the summer heat. At one end of
the bridge was a Moorish tower, the upper part
all in ruins, but a vault in the foundations quite
entire. Here, thinks I, is a good place to make
a halt. So I went down to the stream, took a
hearty drink, for the water was pure and sweet,
and I was parched with thirst, then opening my
wallet, I took out an onion and a few crusts,
which were all my provisions, and seating myself
on a stone on the margin of the stream, began
to make my supper; intending afterwards to
quarter myself for the night in the vault of the
tower, and capital quarters they would have been
excellency, who is an old soldier, may suppose.”
“I have put up gladly with worse in my
time,” said the governor, returning his pocket
handkerchief into the hilt of his sword.
“While I was quietly craunching my crust,”
pursued the soldier, “I heard something stir
within the vault; I listened: it was the tramp of
a horse. By and by a man came forth from a
door in the foundation of the tower, close by the
water's edge, leading a powerful horse by the
bridle. I could not well make out what he was
by the starlight. It had a suspicious look to be
lurking among the ruins of a tower in that wild
solitary place. He might be a mere wayfarer
like myself; he might be a contrabandista; he
might be a bandalero! What of that,—thank
heaven and my poverty, I had nothing to lose,—
so I sat still and craunched my crusts
“He led his horse to the water close by where
I was sitting, so that I had a fair opportunity of
reconnoitering him. To my surprise, he was
dressed in a Moorish garb, with a cuirass of
steel, and a polished skullcap, that I distinguished
by the reflection of the stars upon it.
His horse, too, was harnessed in the Morisco
him, as I said, to the side of the stream, into
which the animal plunged his head almost to
the eyes, and drank until I thought he would
have burst.
“ `Comrade,' said I, `your steed drinks well;
it's a good sign when a horse plunges his muzzle
bravely into the water.'
“ `He may well drink,' said the stranger,
speaking with a Moorish accent; `it is a good
year since he had his last draught.'
“ `By Santiago,' said I, `that beats even the
camels that I have seen in Africa. But come,
you seem to be something of a soldier, won't you
sit down, and take part of a soldier's fare?'—In
fact I felt the want of a companion in this lonely
place, and was willing to put up with an infidel.
Besides, as your excellency well knows, a soldier
is never very particular about the faith of his
company, and soldiers of all countries are comrades
on peaceable ground.”
The governor again nodded assent.
“Well, as I was saying, I invited him to share
my supper, such as it was, for I could not do less
in common hospitality.
“ `I have no time to pause for meat or drink,'
morning.'
“ `In which direction?' said I.
“ `Andalusia,' said he.
“ `Exactly my route,' said I. `So as you
won't stop and eat with me, perhaps you'll let
me mount and ride with you. I see your horse
is of a powerful frame: I'll warrant he'll carry
double.'
“ `Agreed,' said the trooper; and it would not
have been civil and soldierlike to refuse, especially
as I had offered to share my supper with
him. So up he mounted, and up I mounted
behind him.
“ `Hold fast,' said he, `my steed goes like the
wind.'
“ `Never fear me,' said I, and so off we set.
“From a walk the horse soon passed to a trot,
from a trot to a gallop, and from a gallop to a
harum-scarum scamper. It seemed as if rocks,
trees, houses, every thing, flew hurry-scurry
behind us.
“ `What town is this?' said I.
“ `Segovia,' said he; and before the words
were out of his mouth, the towers of Segovia
were out of sight. We swept up the Guadarama
and we skirted the walls of Madrid, and we
scoured away across the plains of La Mancha.
In this way we went, up hill and down dale,
by towns and cities all buried in deep sleep, and
across mountains, and plains, and rivers, just
glimmering in the starlight.
“To make a long story short, and not to
fatigue your excellency, the trooper suddenly
pulled up on the side of a mountain. `Here we
are,' said he, `at the end of our journey.'
“I looked about but could see no signs of habitation:
nothing but the mouth of a cavern: while
I looked, I saw multitudes of people in Moorish
dresses, some on horseback, some on foot, arriving
as if borne by the wind from all points of
the compass, and hurrying into the mouth of the
cavern like bees into a hive. Before I could ask
a question, the trooper struck his long Moorish
spurs into the horse's flanks, and dashed in with
the throng We passed along a steep winding
way that descended into the very bowels of the
mountain. As we pushed on, a light began to
glimmer up by little and little, like the first glimmerings
of day, but what caused it, I could not
discover. It grew stronger and stronger, and
noticed as we passed along, great caverns opening
to the right and left, like halls in an arsenal. In
some there were shields, and helmets, and cuirasses,
and lances, and scimetars hanging against the
walls; in others, there were great heaps of warlike
munitions and camp equipage lying upon the
ground.
“It would have done your excellency's heart
good, being an old soldier, to have seen such
grand provision for war. Then in other caverns
there were long rows of horsemen, armed to the
teeth, with lances raised and banners unfurled, all
ready for the field; but they all sat motionless in
their saddles like so many statues. In other
halls, were warriors sleeping on the ground beside
their horses, and foot soldiers in groups,
ready to fall into the ranks. All were in old
fashioned Moorish dresses and armour.
“Well, your excellency, to cut a long story
short, we at length entered an immense cavern,
or I might say palace, of grotto work, the walls
of which seemed to be veined with gold and silver,
and to sparkle with diamonds and sapphires,
and all kinds of precious stones. At the upper
end sat a Moorish king on a golden throne, with
blacks with drawn scimetars. All the crowd that
continued to flock in, and amounted to thousands
and thousands, passed one by one before his
throne, each paying homage as he passed. Some
of the multitude were dressed in magnificent
robes, without stain or blemish, and sparkling
with jewels; others in burnished and enamelled
armour; while others were in mouldered and
mildewed garments, and in armour all battered
and dinted, and covered with rust.
“I had hitherto held my tongue, for your excellency
well knows, it is not for a soldier to
ask many questions when on duty, but I could
keep silence no longer.
“Pry'thee comrade,' said I, `what is the
meaning of all this?'
“`This,' said the trooper, `is a great and powerful
mystery. Know, O Christian, that you see
before you the court and army of Boabdil, the last
king of Granada.'
“`What is this you tell me!' cried I. `Boabdil
and his court were exiled from the land hundreds
of years agone, and all died in Africa.'
“`So it is recorded in your lying chronicles,'
replied the Moor, `but know that Boabdil and
were all shut up in this mountain by powerful
enchantment. As to the king and army that
marched forth from Granada at the time of the
surrender, they were a mere phantom train, or
spirits and demons permitted to assume those
shapes to deceive the Christian sovereigns. And
furthermore let me tell you, friend, that all Spain
is a country under the power of enchantment.
There is not a mountain-cave, not a lonely watch-tower
in the plains, nor ruined castle on the hills,
but has some spell-bound warriors sleeping from
age to age within its vaults, until the sins are expiated
for which Allah permitted the dominion
to pass for a time out of the hands of the faithful.
Once every year, on the eve of St. John, they are
released from enchantment from sunset to sunrise,
and permitted to repair here to pay homage to
their sovereign; and the crowds which you beheld
swarming into the cavern are Moslem warriors
from their haunts in all parts of Spain; for
my own part, you saw the ruined tower of the
bridge in old Castile, where I have now wintered
and summered for many hundred years, and
where I must be back again by day-break. As to
the battalions of horse and foot which you beheld
they are the spell-bound warriors of Granada.
It is written in the book of fate, that when the
enchantment is broken, Boabdil will descend
from the mountains at the head of this army, resume
his throne in the Alhambra and his sway of
Granada, and gathering together the enchanted
warriors from all parts of Spain, will reconquer
the peninsula, and restore it to Moslem rule.'
“`And when shall this happen?' said I.
“`Allah alone knows. We had hoped the day
of deliverance was at hand; but there reigns at
present a vigilant governor in the Alhambra, a
staunch old soldier, the same called governor
Manco; while such a warrior holds command of
the very outpost, and stands ready to check the
first irruption from the mountain, I fear Boabdil
and his soldiery must be content to rest upon
their arms.”'
Here the governor raised himself somewhat
perpendicularly, adjusted his sword, and twirled
up his mustachios.
“To make a long story short, and not to fatigue
your excellency, the trooper having given
me this account, dismounted from his steed.
“`Tarry here,' said he, `and guard my steed,
saying, he strode away among the throng that
pressed forward to the throne.
“What's to be done? thought I, when thus
left to myself. Shall I wait here until this infidel
returns to whisk me off on his goblin steed,
the Lord knows where? or shall I make the most
of my time, and beat a retreat from this hobgoblin
community?—A soldier's mind is soon made
up, as your excellency well knows. As to the
horse, he belonged to an avowed enemy of the
faith and the realm, and was a fair prize according
to the rules of war. So hoisting myself from
the crupper into the saddle, I turned the reins,
struck the Moorish stirrups into the sides of the
steed, and put him to make the best of his way
out of the passage by which we had entered. As
we scoured by the halls where the Moslem horsemen
sat in motionless battalions, I thought I
heard the clang of armour, and a hollow murmur
of voices. I gave the steed another taste of the
stirrups, and doubled my speed. There was now
a sound behind me like a rushing blast; I heard
the clatter of a thousand hoofs; a countless throng
overtook me, I was borne along in the press, and
hurled forth from the mouth of the cavern, while
every direction by the four winds of heaven.
“In the whirl and confusion of the scene, I
was thrown from the saddle, and fell senseless to
the earth. When I came to myself I was lying on
the brow of a hill, with the Arabian steed standing
beside me, for in falling my arm had slipped
within the bridle, which, I presume, prevented
his whisking off to old Castile.
“Your excellency may easily judge of my surprize
on looking round, to behold hedges of aloes
and Indian figs, and other proofs of a southern
climate, and see a great city below me with
towers and palaces, and a grand cathedral. I descended
the hill cautiously, leading my steed, for
I was afraid to mount him again, lest he should
play me some slippery trick. As I descended, I
met with your patrol, who let me into the secret
that it was Granada that lay before me: and that
I was actually under the walls of the Alhambra,
the fortress of the redoubted governor Manco,
the terror of all enchanted Moslems. When I
heard this, I determined at once to seek your excellency,
to inform you of all that I had seen,
and to warn you of the perils that surround and
undermine you, that you may take measures in
from this intestine army that lurks in the
very bowels of the land.”
“And pry'thee friend, you who are a veteran
campaigner, and have seen so much service,” said
the governor, “how would you advise me to go
about to prevent this evil?”
“It is not for an humble private of the ranks,”
said the soldier modestly, “to pretend to instruct
a commander of your excellency's sagacity; but
it appears to me that your excellency might cause
all the caves and entrances into the mountain, to
be walled up with solid mason work, so that Boabdil
and his army might be completely corked
up in their subterranean habitation. If the good
father too,” added the soldier, reverently bowing
to the friar, and devoutly crossing himself,
“would consecrate the barricadoes with his blessing,
and put up a few crosses and reliques, and
images of saints, I think they might withstand
all the power of infidel enchantments.”
“They doubtless would be of great avail,” said
the friar.
The governor now placed his arm akimbo,
with his hand resting on the hilt of his toledo,
his head from one side to the other:
“So friend,” said he, “then you really suppose
I am to be gulled with this cock-and-bull
story about enchanted mountains, and enchanted
Moors. Hark ye, culprit!—not another word.—
An old soldier you may be, but you'll find you
have an older soldier to deal with; and one not
easily outgeneralled. Ho! guard there!—put this
fellow in irons.”
The demure handmaid would have put in a
word in favour of the prisoner, but the governor
silenced her with a look.
As they were pinioning the soldier, one of the
guards felt something of bulk in his pocket, and
drawing it forth, found a long leathern purse that
appeared to be well filled. Holding it by one
corner, he turned out the contents on the table
before the governor, and never did free-booter's
bag make more gorgeous delivery. Out
tumbled rings and jewels, and rosaries of pearls,
and sparkling diamond crosses, and a profusion
of ancient golden coin, some of which fell jingling
to the floor, and rolled away to the uttermost
parts of the chamber.
For a time the sanctions of justice were suspended:
glittering fugitives. The governor alone, who
was imbued with true Spanish pride, maintained
his stately decorum, though his eye betrayed a
little anxiety until the last coin and jewel was
restored to the sack.
The friar was not so calm, his whole face
glowed like a furnace, and his eyes twinkled and
flashed at sight of the rosaries and crosses.
“Sacrilegious wretch that thou art,” exclaimed
he, “what church or sanctuary hast thou been
plundering of these sacred reliques?”
“Neither one nor the other, holy father. If
they be sacrilegious spoils, they must have been
taken in times long past by the infidel trooper
I have mentioned. I was just going to tell his
excellency, when he interrupted me, that, on taking
possession of the trooper's horse, I unhooked
a leathern sack which hung at the saddle bow,
and which, I presume, contained the plunder of
his campaignings in days of old, when the Moors
overran the country.”
“Mighty well,—at present, you will make up
your mind to take up your quarters in a chamber
of the Vermilion towers, which, though not under
cave of your enchanted Moors.”
“Your excellency will do as you think proper,”
said the prisoner coolly. “I shall be
thankful to your excellency for any accommodation
in the fortress. A soldier who has been in the
wars, as your excellency well knows, is not particular
about his lodgings; and provided I have a
snug dungeon and regular rations, I shall manage to
make myself comfortable. I would only entreat,
that while your excellency is so careful about me,
you would have an eye to your fortress, and think
on the hint I dropped about stopping up the entrances
to the mountain.”
Here ended the scene. The prisoner was conducted
to a strong dungeon in the Vermilion
towers, the Arabian steed was led to his excellency's
stable, and the trooper's sack was deposited
in his excellency's strong box. To the latter, it
is true, the friar made some demur, questioning
whether the sacred reliques, which were evidently
sacrilegious spoils, should not be placed in custody
of the church; but as the governor was peremptory
on the subject, and was absolute lord
in the Alhambra, the friar discreetly dropped
of the fact to the church dignitaries in
Granada.
To explain these prompt and rigid measures
on the part of old governor Manco, it is proper
to observe, that about this time the Alpuxarra
mountains in the neighbourhood of Granada were
terribly infested by a gang of robbers, under the
command of a daring chief, named Manuel Borasco,
who were accustomed to prowl about the country,
and even to enter the city in various disguises
to gain intelligence of the departure of convoys
of merchandise, or travellers with well lined
purses, whom they took care to waylay in distant
and solitary passes of their road. These
repeated and daring outrages had awakened the
attention of government, and the commanders
of the various posts had received instructions to
be on the alert, and to take up all suspicious
stragglers. Governor Manco was particularly
zealous, in consequence of the various stigmas
that had been cast upon his fortress, and he now
doubted not that he had entrapped some formidable
desperado of this gang.
In the mean time the story took wind, and became
the talk not merely of the fortress, but of
noted robber, Manuel Borasco, the terror of the
Alpuxarras, had fallen into the clutches of old
governor Manco, and been cooped up by him in
a dungeon of the Vermilion towers, and every one
who had been robbed by him flocked to recognize
the marauder. The Vermilion towers, as is
well known, stand apart from the Alhambra, on
a sister hill separated from the main fortress by
the ravine, down which passes the main avenue.
There were no outer walls, but a centinel patroled
before the tower. The window of the chamber
in which the soldier was confined was strongly
grated, and looked upon a small esplanade.
Here the good folks of Granada repaired to gaze
at him, as they would at a laughing hyena grinning
through the cage of a menagerie. Nobody,
however, recognized him for Manuel Borasco,
for that terrible robber was noted for a ferocious
physiognomy, and had by no means the good-humoured
squint of the prisoner. Visitors came
not merely from the city, but from all parts of the
country, but nobody knew him, and there began
to be doubts in the minds of the common people,
whether there might not be some truth in his
story. That Boabdil and his army were shut up
many of the ancient inhabitants had heard from
their fathers. Numbers went up to the mountain
of the Sun, or rather of St. Elena in search of
the cave mentioned by the soldier; and saw and
peeped into the deep dark pit, descending, no
one knows how far, into the mountain, and which
remains there to this day, the fabled entrance
to the subterranean abode of Boabdil.
By degrees, the soldier became popular with
the common people. A freebooter of the mountains
is by no means the opprobrious character in
Spain that a robber is in any other country; on
the contrary, he is a kind of chivalrous personage
in the eyes of the lower classes. There is always
a disposition, also, to cavil at the conduct of those
in command, and many began to murmur at the
high-handed measures of old governor Manco,
and to look upon the prisoner in the light of a
martyr.
The soldier, moreover, was a merry, waggish
fellow, that had a joke for every one who came
near his window, and a soft speech for every
female. He had procured an old guitar also, and
would sit by his window and sing ballads and
love ditties to the delight of the women of the
in the evenings, and dance boleros to his
music. Having trimmed off his rough beard, his
sunburnt face found favour in the eyes of the fair,
and the demure handmaid of the governor declared
that his squint was perfectly irresistible. This
kind-hearted damsel had, from the first, evinced a
deep sympathy in his fortunes, and having in
vain tried to mollify the governor, had set to
work privately to mitigate the rigour of his dispensations.
Every day she brought the prisoner
some crumbs of comfort which had fallen from
the governor's table, or been abstracted from his
larder, together with, now and then, a consoling
bottle of choice Val de Peñas, or rich Malaga.
While this petty treason was going on in the
very centre of the old governor's citadel, a storm
of open war was brewing up among his external
foes. The circumstance of a bag of gold and
jewels having been found upon the person of the
supposed robber, had been reported with many
exaggerations in Granada. A question of territorial
jurisdiction was immediately started by the
governor's inveterate rival, the captain general.
He insisted that the prisoner had been captured
without the precincts of the Alhambra, and within
body therefore, and the spolia opima taken with
him. Due information having been carried likewise
by the friar to the grand Inquisitor, of the
crosses, and the rosaries, and other reliques
contained in the bag, he claimed the culprit, as
having been guilty of sacrilege, and insisted that
his plunder was due to the church, and his body
to the next Auto da Fe. The feuds ran high; the
governor was furious, and swore, rather than surrender
his captive, he would hang him up within
the Alhambra, as a spy caught within the purlieus
of the fortress.
The captain general threatened to send a body
of soldiers to transfer the prisoner from the Vermilion
towers to the city. The grand Inquisitor
was equally bent upon despatching a number of
the familiars of the holy office. Word was brought
late at night to the governor, of these machinations.
“Let them come,” said he, “they'll find
me beforehand with them. He must rise bright
and early who would take in an old soldier.” He
accordingly issued orders to have the prisoner
removed at daybreak to the Donjon Keep within
the walls of the Alhambra: “and d'ye hear,
child,” said he to his demure handmaid, “tap
that I may see to the matter myself.”
The day dawned, the cock crowed, but nobody
tapped at the door of the governor. The sun
rose high above the mountain-tops, and glittered
in at his casement ere the governor was awakened
from his morning dreams by his veteran corporal,
who stood before him with terror stamped
upon his iron visage.
“He's off! he's gone!” cried the corporal,
gasping for breath.
“Who's off!—who's gone!”
“The soldier—the robber—the devil, for aught
I know. His dungeon is empty, but the door
locked. No one knows how he has escaped out
of it.”
“Who saw him last?”
“Your handmaid,—she brought him his supper.”
“Let her be called instantly.”
Here was new matter of confusion. The chamber
of the demure damsel was likewise empty;
her bed had not been slept in; she had doubtless
gone off with the culprit, as she had appeared,
for some days past, to have frequent conversations
with him.
This was wounding the old governor in a tender
part, but he had scarce time to wince at it,
when new misfortunes broke upon his view. On
going into his cabinet, he found his strong box
open, the leathern purse of the trooper abstracted,
and with it a couple of corpulent bags of doubloons.
But how, and which way had the fugitives escaped?
A peasant who lived in a cottage by the
road side leading up into the Sierra, declared that
he had heard the tramp of a powerful steed, just
before daybreak, passing up into the mountains.
He had looked out at his casement, and could
just distinguish a horseman, with a female seated
before him.
“Search the stables,” cried governor Manco.
The stables were searched; all the horses were in
their stalls, excepting the Arabian steed. In his
place was a stout cudgel tied to the manager, and
on it a label bearing these words, “A gift to governor
Manco, from an old soldier.”
| GOVERNOR MANCO AND THE SOLDIER. The Alhambra | |