"Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,
These three alone lead life to sovereign power.
Yet not for power, (power of herself
Would come uncall'd for,) but to live by law,
Acting the law we live by without fear;
And because right is right, to follow right
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence."
TENNYSON.
The court-martial assembled in a large and magnificent apartment of the Alva palace or castle, which stands in the centre of the town. It is in a good state of preservation, and the chamber usually occupied by the terrible duke, with all its ancient furniture, still remains there in its original state.
On the walls of the great apartment selected for the court hung the armour of the successive princes of the house of Toledo from a very remote period—indeed, from the mail shirts that had resisted the Moorish scimitars down to the steel caps and jacks of the war of the Spanish succession; and many of the breast-plates were emblazoned with the armorial bearings and trophies of those warlike dukes who boast of their descent from the Paleologi Emperors of the East, and who were first ennobled as peers of Leon by Alphonso VI., or the Brave, of Castile, in 1085.
As Quentin approached the great embattled door of this stately mansion, many soldiers of the regiment were crowding about it, and all these muttered their good wishes; many a hard but honest hand was held out to him, and many a forage-cap waved in silence, evincing emotions of good-will that stirred his heart with gratitude, and gave him new courage as he entered the court, attended by the provost-marshal.
He certainly looked wan and ill; traces yet remained of his recent illness at the Villa de Maciera; to these were added anxiety, lack of proper food and sleep, with the toil and exposure incident to the campaign, all of which served to give him interest in the eyes of many, for the court was crowded by spectators, chiefly officers of nearly every regiment in the division, and a few Spanish citizens and priests of Alva.
His young face appeared sorrow-struck in feature, and many read there, in the thoughtful brow, the quivering lip, and the sad but restless eye, indications of a proud but suffering spirit. Save these, and an occasional unconscious twitching of the hands, Quentin, though awed by the presence, and the hapless and novel predicament in which he found himself, was calm and collected in appearance.
He was simply clad in his unlaced and plain red coat, without a belt or accoutrement of any kind, to indicate that he was a prisoner; and he was accommodated with a chair and separate table, on which lay writing materials, but these he had not the slightest intention of using.
At the head of a long table of formidable aspect, whereon lay a Bible and the "Articles of War," and which was littered with pens, paper, letters, &c., sat the president of the court, Colonel Colquhoun Grant, in the gorgeous uniform of the 15th Hussars, blue faced with red, and the breast a mass of silver embroidery that might have turned a sword-cut. He wore the Order of Merit, given to every officer of his regiment by the Emperor of Germany fourteen years before, for their unexampled bravery in the affair of Villiers en Couche, a name still borne on the standard of the Hussars.
The other members, fourteen in number, belonged to different regiments; but Quentin was truly glad to see among them the familiar faces of Askerne and two other captains of the Borderers. All were in full uniform, and were seated on the right and left of the president, according to their seniority in the army; Captain Conyers, acting as judge-advocate, being placed at the foot of the court, which, by the showy uniform, large epaulettes of silver or gold, the crimson sashes, and, in four instances, tartan plaids, of the members, had a very rich and striking appearance as the morning sunshine streamed along the stately room through six lofty and latticed windows.
A considerable bustle and treading of feet on the tessellated floor announced the entrance of the various witnesses, among whom Quentin recognised the tall figure of the Master of Rohallion, the sturdy paunch of worthy Major Middleton, the sun-burned faces of Buckle and others of the Borderers, together with a Dominican monk, in whom, notwithstanding his freshly-shaven chin, long robe, and knotted girdle, he recognised, with astonishment, Trevino! Other guerillas were present, but the most prominent was Don Baltasar.
The handsome but sallow visage of the latter was pale nearly as that of a corpse; his bloodless lips and white glistening teeth appeared ghastly beneath the coal-black and enormous moustaches that were twisted savagely up to each ear. His nostrils were contracting and dilating with wild, mad passion, and it was evident that nothing but the presence he stood in prevented him from rushing, sword in hand, on Quentin, and ending, there and then, the proceedings of the court and our story by immolating him on the spot.
Quite undeterred by his formidable aspect or excitement, some of the younger officers were seen to quiz Baltasar, whose costume, an embroidered black velvet jacket, with a pair of British flank-company wings, and other accessories, was sufficiently mock-heroic, fanciful, and absurd.
"Who acts as the prisoner's counsel or friend?" asked Colonel Grant, the president.
"I—Captain Warriston, 94th—Scots Brigade," said the full mellow voice of that officer, as he entered, fully accoutred with sword, sash, and gorget, and took his seat at the little table beside Quentin Kennedy, who, at the moment, felt his heart very full indeed.
Captain Conyers now read the order for assembling the court, and then the members, each with his ungloved right hand placed upon the open Bible, were sworn the usual oath, "to administer justice according to the rules and articles for the better government of his Majesty's forces, &c., without partiality, favour, or affection, &c.; and further, not to divulge the sentence of the court until approved of, or the vote or opinion of any member thereof, unless required to do so by a court of law."
This formula over, the judge advocate desired Quentin to stand while the charges against him were read; and to his utter bewilderment they ran thus, briefly, as we omit many dates and repetitions:—
"Mr. Quentin Kennedy, volunteer, serving with his Majesty's 25th Foot, accused in the following instances of conduct unbecoming a gentleman and soldier:
"First; of rescuing by the strong hand a French officer and lawful prisoner of war from Don Baltasar de Saldos, in direct violation of the 51st clause of the 2nd section of the 'Articles of War.'
"Second; of giving the rescued prisoner such intelligence as enabled the enemy, then cantoned in Valencia de Alcantara, to anticipate, by a combined attack, the junction about to be formed by the guerilla force of Don Baltasar with the division of the allied army under Lieutenant-General Sir John Hope, and thus causing the loss of five field-guns and many Spanish subjects.
"Third; of snaring away from the cantonment at Herreruela the sister of Don Baltasar de Saldos, who has not since been heard of, her fate being thus involved in mystery, or worse, and thereby the prisoner contravened the order issued by Sir John Moore, urging the conciliation of the Spanish people on the army entering Castile.
"Fourth; of assaulting in the town of Merida, to the effusion of blood, the Reverend Padre Trevino, lately a Dominican monk of Salamanca, and now chaplain to Don Baltasar de Saldos, in direct contravention of the 37th clause of the 2nd section of the 'Articles of War,' concerning any officer or soldier 'who shall offer violence to a chaplain of the army or to any other minister of God's word.'
"Fifth; of plundering an inhabitant to the extent of at least eighty gold moidores, part of which were found in his baggage and part given to the paymaster of his Majesty's 25th Foot for transmission home.
"Sixth; for refusing or declining to take another despatch to Don Baltasar, from Montijo, and thereby showing a complicity with the enemy and dread of detection by the loyal party in Spain."
So ended this farrago of words.
Aware that sooner or later the proceedings of the court-martial (which we can assure the reader made some noise at the time) would be read at Rohallion, Colonel Crawford had all the charges framed in the name of the general of division.
"Oh, Cosmo!" thought Quentin, "you aim not only at my life, but at my honour!"
"Well, 'pon my soul," thought the Master, after he heard the list of charges read, "if the fellow gets over all these, I'll say that, with a fair match, and equally weighted, he might run a race with the devil himself!"
Quentin pleaded not guilty.
The court was then cleared of the witnesses and the proceedings commenced.
With the regular detail of these we have no intention of afflicting the reader; suffice it, that the solemn and dreary writing down of every question and answer so lengthened them out that they became a source of irritation and agony to one whose temperament was so sharp and impetuous as that of Quentin Kennedy, burning as he was with indignation at accusations so false and so unmerited, and some of which he had a difficulty in refuting; and, we regret to add, that the form of procedure was then, as it is still, old-fashioned, cumbrous, loose, and tedious.
There was no regular legal counsel for the prisoner or for the prosecution either; no cross-examination, save such as might emanate from some unusually sharp fellow, who kept himself awake, and affected to take notes, when in reality he was caricaturing Middleton's pigtail, Smith's paunch, and Brown's nose.
The witnesses were sometimes examined pell-mell, just as their names stood on the list; their evidence, however, being carefully written down, to the end that it might be read over to them for after-thought or revision before the opinions of the court, as to guilt and sentence, were asked; a formula that always begins with the junior member, the president having the casting vote.
Such was then, as it is now, the somewhat rambling, free and easy tenor of a general court-martial; yet, with all its idiosyncrasies, it is ever a just and honourable tribunal, and such as no true soldier would ever wish to change for a civil one. Every member sworn is bound to give an opinion. In the French service a military offence can be tried after the lapse of ten years; with us, the period is three.
Warriston objected to the competency of the court; but the president over-ruled his objection by stating that a Volunteer of the Line, like every other camp-follower, was amenable to the "Articles of War."
The transmission of the despatch to Don Baltasar was easily proved by Cosmo and others, and by the reply, which lay on the table.
Though handsome and soldierly in aspect and bearing, the Master of Rohallion could scarcely conceal a very decided animus in delivering his evidence. Brave and proud, he was yet weak enough and small enough in mind to hate Quentin Kennedy with that species of animosity which is always the most bitter, because it arises from a sense of unmerited wrong done to the weaker victim.
In answer to a question by the president:
"Of the prisoner's antecedents," said he, "I know very little—little at least that is good or honourable."
"Colonel Crawford, you will be so good as explain."
"He was received as an orphan, an outcast, I believe, into the house of my father, General Lord Rohallion, when I was serving with the Brigade of Guards. That house he deserted ungratefully and disappeared for a time, no trace of him being discovered but a silver-mounted walking-stick, which I knew to be his, and which was found beside a murdered man, a vagrant or gipsy, in the vault of an old ruin called Kilhenzie. How it came there, I pretend not to say; but on searching the vault, whither my pointers led me, I picked up the stick, with marks of blood upon it, some days after the body had been taken away."
On hearing this cruel and artful speech, which contained so much of reality, Quentin almost started from his chair, his eyes flashing and his pale nether lip quivering with rage; but Warriston held him forcibly back.
"Prisoner," said the president, "do you know a place in Scotland called the castle of Kilhenzie?"
"I do not understand the meaning of this question," said Captain Warriston, rising impetuously, "and to it I object! It is not precise on the part of the prosecution, and discloses an intention of following up a line of examination of which neither the prisoner nor his amici curiæ have received due notice, and which, moreover, is not stated in the six charges before the court."
After a consultation, Colonel Grant replied:
"The line of examination in this instance, Captain Warriston, is to prove previous character; thus we find it quite relevant to question the prisoner concerning the episode referred to. It may bear very materially on other matters before the court. Mr. Kennedy, do you know a place called Kilhenzie?"
"I do, sir," said Quentin, and for a moment there rushed upon his memory recollections of many a happy hour spent there with Flora Warrender, near its crumbling walls and giant dule-tree.
"Are you aware of any remarkable circumstance occurring there in which you were an actor?"
Poor Quentin's pallor now gave way to a flush of shame and honest anger; but he replied—
"Driven into the ruin by a torrent of rain, I found a dead body lying there among the straw; it filled me with alarm and dismay, so I hastened from the place."
"Leaving behind you a walking-stick?"
"Yes, sir; it would appear so."
"Covered with blood."
"Most likely," said Quentin, remembering the wound he had received from Cosmo's hand.
"All this, Colonel Grant, has nothing to do with the case," urged Warriston, firmly.
"It seems to cast grave doubts on the previous character and antecedents of the prisoner."
"It seems also to show the peculiar vindictiveness of the prosecution."
"You are unwise, Captain Warriston," said the president, severely.
"I am here as the friend of the prisoner."
"For what reason did you leave the castle of Rohallion?" asked the court.
Quentin gazed full at the Master with his eyes flashing so dangerously that this personage, fearing he might be driven to say something which might bring ridicule on him—though Quentin would rather have died than uttered Flora's name there—begged that the first charge might be proceeded with.
Sworn across two drawn swords in the Spanish fashion, Baltasar, Trevino, and other guerillas, inspired by spite and hostility, related in succession how Quentin had rescued the French prisoner; how he had undertaken to conduct Donna Isidora in safety to Portalegre, a mere day's ride; but had made away with her, on the road, in some manner unknown, as well as with a horse and mule, the property of her brother.
"A singular duenna to have charge of a young Spanish beauty—eh, Carysfort?" he heard a hussar say.
"By Jove, Villars, I wish it had been my luck—that's all," was the laughing reply.
Quentin wished the same with all his heart.
Then came details of the attack made on the guerillas by Ribeaupierre's cavalry brigade. The charge of giving intelligence to the enemy was based on bare assumption, and was unsupported by a tittle of evidence.
Next followed the Padre Trevino, costumed for the occasion and effect, a rare example of a wolf in sheep's clothing, who showed his wounded caput, and told, in a whining voice, the sorrowful story of his maltreatment at the aqueduct of Merida, whither he had gone to pray in solitude. The assault was proved beyond a doubt by the evidence of a certain Martin Sedillo, an ill-looking dog with one eye, formerly an alguazil of Salamanca and now a guerilla, who swore distinctly that he saw Quentin beat the padre down with the butt-end of his musket.
"You distinctly saw him strike the padre down?" repeated Colonel Grant.
"Si, senor presidente y senores oficiales," said the guerilla, bowing low.
"Wantonly?"
"Most wantonly, senores."
"Retire. Call the next witness on the list—private Allan Grange, 25th Foot."
To the Borderer, on his entrance, the previous questions were repeated by the court.
"Yes, sir—I saw Mr. Kennedy strike down the guerilla (who was not then habited like a friar) with his clubbed musket, but only in time to save his life from this dagger, which I took from the hand of his reverence."
As he spoke, Allan Grange handed a knife of very ugly aspect to the president, who saw the name Trevino burned, by a hot iron, on the haft.
"Allan Grange, were you ever tried by a court-martial?" asked the judge advocate, looking among his memoranda for one furnished by Colonel Crawford.
"Yes, sir," faltered the soldier, growing red and pale by turns.
"And were reduced to the ranks, at Colchester?"
"Yes, sir," he replied, sadly.
"And you were sentenced to be flogged—three hundred lashes, I think, by the Defaulter's Book?"
"A sentence kindly remitted by Major Middleton," said Grange, proudly.
"There, this will do—you may go," said Colonel Grant; and then some of the members smiled and looked at each other, as much as to say, "we see how much your evidence is worth."
Quentin knew that Donna Isidora was in the French camp; but when Warriston mentioned this to be the case, the only witness called to prove it, Lieutenant Monkton, was unable to repeat what Ribeaupierre said, as he had been beyond hearing at that particular moment.
On the fifth charge, concerning the gold moidores, Quentin thought himself bewitched when the one-eyed guerilla, Martin Sedillo, deliberately swore, with the drawn swords of two officers crossed under his bearded chin, "that he was plundered of them at Herreruela by the prisoner, whom he was ready to warrant as false as Galalou!"
"Who was he?" inquired Askerne, looking at his watch impatiently for the third time.
"Galalou betrayed the French army at Roncesvalles," said Colonel Grant; "as we say in Scotland, false as Menteith. It is a local phrase."
His refusal to bear another despatch to De Saldos was easily proved, and that circumstance seemed to corroborate much that had preceded it.
Matters were now looking gloomy indeed. Quentin became sick at heart; he drained his water-jug, yet his lips grew parched and dry; he felt the toils closing around him, and already, in fancy, he heard the president passing the terrible sentence of death!
The bitter conviction came home to his soul, that hate and wiles, against which it was in vain for innocence to contend, were triumphing over him; and that even if pardoned, the memory that he had been arraigned, and on such cruel charges, would live!
Shame for unmerited reproach and unavailing sorrow for a lost youth—a blighted, it might be, a long life taken away, and perhaps by a shameful death—were some of the deep, the bitter, and stinging emotions felt on this day by poor Quentin Kennedy.
While that court-martial lasted he lived a lifetime in every hour of it!
His declaration or defence, read by Warriston, was simply a recapitulation of some of the leading features of our narrative, which he had no means of substantiating; the mass of evidence against him was summed up, but was too strong in some points to be easily disposed of. His youth and inexperience were dwelt upon, but it seemed without much avail. Neither did the warm manner in which Major Middleton, Buckle, Sergeant-major Calder and others, bore testimony to his spotless character, seem to find much weight. To satisfy the Spaniards, a victim was wanted, and here was one ready made to hand.
It was now nearly four o'clock, and the Court was about to be cleared for the consideration of the opinion and sentence, when the sharp and well-known twang of a French cavalry trumpet rang in the court before the palace, and the tramping of horses was heard.
"Thank God!" muttered Askerne (who had frequently consulted his watch) as he exchanged a rapid glance with Monkton; "that muleteer has served us well!"
At that moment of terrible expectation an officer of the 7th Hussars entered hastily, and presented a note to the judge advocate.
"What interruption is this, Captain Conyers?" asked Colonel Grant, sternly.
"An officer from the French lines, come in under a flag of truce, requests to be examined by the Court for the defence," replied Conyers.
Every face present expressed extreme astonishment.
"What is his name?" asked the president.
"Eugene de Ribeaupierre—sous-lieutenant of the 24th Chasseurs à Cheval," said Conyers, consulting an embossed calling-card.
"Is it he whose name occurs so frequently in the declaration of the prisoner?"
"Most probably, sir."
"Admit him."
The clank of a sabre and the jingle of steel spurs were heard, and then Eugene de Ribeaupierre, looking handsome and gay, but flushed after a long ride from Fonteveros, entered, helmet in hand, and bowed low to the Court and all who were present.
"Ha, mon ami!" said he, shaking Quentin's hand with warmth, "I am come in time, I hope; the proceedings are not yet closed, monsieur?" he asked anxiously of the president.
"No—but how did you come to hear of them?" was the suspicious question.
"From Ramon Campillo, a muleteer of Miranda del Ebro; the same person who conveyed M. Kennedy from the Villa de Maciera to Portalegre, and who was passing through our camp this morning. He came expressly to my tent to tell me all about it, and that charges were to be made which I alone could refute. I reported the affair to my father, the General, who generously gave me leave to come here, with an escort—so I have come, messieurs, to be sworn and examined."
"Askerne," whispered Monkton, "you are a rare fellow!"
"How, Willie?"
"Damme, by your foresight we shall yet baffle Crawford, De Saldos, Trevino and Co.!"
"Hush, hush! You are rash."
It is almost needless to describe how the young French officer, after being duly sworn by the judge advocate, corroborated in every particular the statement made in Quentin's declaration—statements of which he could have had no previous cognisance, save as an actor in the episodes referred to. He described how Quentin had saved his life from a deliberate attempt at assassination on the part of De Saldos, and became strongly excited on referring to the infamous massacre of the prisoners by Trevino. He asserted that the moidores were taken by himself from the holsters of Raoul, a dead corporal of his troop, who found them amid the plunder of Coimbra. He asserted, on his oath and honour as an officer and chevalier of the Legion of Honour, that the movement made by the troops of his father, collaterally with those of General Hope and the guerillas of Baltasar, was not consequent to any information given him by the prisoner, but had been resolved on long before, as a printed order of the emperor, which he had the honour to lay on the table, would amply testify!
As for Donna Isidora, he freely and laughingly acknowledged that he had carried her away from the villa, and that she was now Madame de Marbœuf, wife of his friend Jules de Marbœuf, colonel of the 24th, as the Padre Florez, who, ignorant of that auspicious event, had come to effect her release from the French camp, could now substantiate, as he was now without the court, and ready to appear.
The long, thin figure of the padre, wearing his flowing soutan and shovel hat, next appeared to corroborate all this, and also to state the sickly condition in which he handed over Quentin to the muleteers at the Villa de Maciera.
"Every link is thus supplied beyond a doubt!" exclaimed Colonel Grant.
Quentin was acquitted amid a burst of applause that found an echo in the hearty hurrah given by the King's Own Borderers in the palace square without.
"And now, monsieur," said Ribeaupierre, presenting Quentin with a valuable diamond ring, "accept this as a present from madame my mother, who drew it from her finger as I left the camp, with the request that you will wear it for her sake, and in memory of the day on which you saved my life from that barbarous Spaniard among the mountains of Herreruela."
Within an hour after rendering service so valuable, and indeed so priceless, and after having some luncheon with Askerne, Grant, Conyers, and other officers who composed the court, the gallant and generous Ribeaupierre had mounted and ridden from Alva de Tormes, attended by a strong escort, in front of which rode a Polish lancer, with a white handkerchief in token of truce streaming from the head of his lance; and so ended—like a dream to Quentin—this episode, this chivalric intervention, which was dictated by a noble spirit worthy of the knightly days of the Chevalier Bayard, or of Bertrand du Guesclin.