The Adventures of Ferdinand Count Fathom — Complete
managed his discretion so as to pass upon him for a gentleman reduced
by misfortunes to the exercise of an employment which was altogether
unsuitable to his birth and quality. He made earnest and repeated
tenders of his good offices to the stranger, and pressed him to make
use of his purse with such cordial perseverance, that, at length, Ali’s
reserve was overcome, and he condescended to borrow of him a small sum,
which in all probability, saved his life; for he had been driven to the
utmost extremity of want before he would accept of this assistance.
Fathom, having gradually stole into his good graces, began to take
notice of many piteous sighs that escaped him in the moments of their
intercourse, and seemed to denote an heart fraught with woe; and, on
pretence of administering consolation and counsel, begged leave to know
the cause of his distress, observing, that his mind would be
disburdened by such communication, and, perhaps, his grief alleviated
by some means which they might jointly concert and execute in his
behalf.
Ali, thus solicited, would often shake his head, with marks of extreme
sorrow and despondence, and, while the tears gushed from his eyes,
declared that his distress was beyond the power of any remedy but
death, and that, by making our hero his confidant, he should only
extend his unhappiness to a friend, without feeling the least remission
of his own torture. Notwithstanding these repeated declarations,
Ferdinand, who was well enough acquainted with the mind of man to know
that such importunity is seldom or never disagreeable, redoubled his
instances, together with his expressions of sympathy and esteem, until
the stranger was prevailed upon to gratify his curiosity and
benevolence. Having, therefore, secured the chamber door one night,
while all the rest of the family were asleep, the unfortunate Ali
disclosed himself in these words.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
THE HISTORY OF THE NOBLE CASTILIAN.
I should be ungrateful, as well as unwise, did I longer resist the
desire you express to know the particulars of that destiny which hath
driven me to this miserable disguise, and rendered me in all
considerations the most wretched of men. I have felt your friendship,
am confident of your honour, and though my misfortunes are such as can
never be repaired, because I am utterly cut off from hope, which is the
wretch’s last comfort, yet I may, by your means, be enabled to bear
them with some degree of fortitude and resignation.
Know then, my name is not Ali; neither am I of Persian extraction. I
had once the honour to own myself a Castilian, and was, under the
appellation of Don Diego de Zelos, respected as the head of one of the
most ancient families of that kingdom. Judge, then, how severe that
distress must be, which compels a Spaniard to renounce his country, his
honours, and his name. My youth was not spent in inglorious ease,
neither did it waste unheeded in the rolls of fame. Before I had
attained the age of nineteen, I was twice wounded in battle. I once
fortunately recovered the standard of the regiment to which I belonged,
after it had been seized by the enemy; and, at another occasion, made
shift to save the life of my colonel, when he lay at the mercy of an
enraged barbarian.
He that thinks I recapitulate these particulars out of ostentation,
does wrong to the unhappy Don Diego de Zelos, who, in having performed
these little acts of gallantry, thinks he has done nothing, but simply
approved himself worthy of being called a Castilian. I mean only to do
justice to my own character, and to make you acquainted with one of the
most remarkable incidents of my life. It was my fate, during my third
campaign, to command a troop of horse in the regiment of Don Gonzales
Orgullo, between whom and my father a family feud had long been
maintained with great enmity; and that gentleman did not leave me
without reason to believe he rejoiced at the opportunity of exercising
his resentment upon his adversary’s son; for he withheld from me that
countenance which my fellow-officers enjoyed, and found means to
subject me to divers mortifications, of which I was not at liberty to
complain. These I bore in silence for some time, as part of my
probation in the character of a soldier; resolved, nevertheless, to
employ my interest at court for a removal into another corps, and to
take some future opportunity of explaining my sentiments to Don
Gonzales upon the injustice of his behaviour.
While I animated myself with these sentiments against the
discouragements I underwent, and the hard duty to which I was daily
exposed, it was our fate to be concerned in the battle of Saragossa,
where our regiment was so severely handled by the English infantry,
that it was forced to give ground with the loss of one half of its
officers and men. Don Gonzales, who acted as brigadier in another wing,
being informed of our fate, and dreading the disgrace of his corps,
which had never turned back to the enemy, put spurs to his horse, and,
riding across the field at full speed, rallied our broken squadrons,
and led us back to the charge with such intrepidity of behaviour, as
did not fail to inspire us all with uncommon courage and alacrity. For
my own part, I thought myself doubly interested to distinguish my
valour, not only on account of my own glory, but likewise on the
supposition, that, as I was acting under the eye of Gonzales, my
conduct would be narrowly observed.
I therefore exerted myself with unusual vigour, and as he began the
attack with the remains of my troop, fought close by his side during
the rest of the engagement. I even acquired his applause in the very
heat of battle. When his hat was struck off, and his horse fell under
him, I accommodated and remounted him upon my own, and, having seized
for my own use another that belonged to a common trooper, attended this
stern commander as before, and seconded him in all his repeated
efforts; but it was impossible to withstand the numbers and impetuosity
of the foe, and Don Gonzales having had the mortification to see his
regiment cut in pieces, and the greatest part of the army routed, was
fain to yield to the fortune of the day; yet he retired as became a man
of honour and a Castilian; that is, he marched off with great
deliberation in the rear of the Spanish troops, and frequently faced
about to check the pursuit of the enemy. Indeed, this exercise of his
courage had well-nigh cost him his life; for, in one of those
wheelings, he was left almost alone, and a small party of the
Portuguese horse had actually cut off our communication with the
retreating forces of Spain.
In this dilemma, we had no other chance of saving our lives and
liberty, than that of opening a passage sword in hand; and this was
what Gonzales instantly resolved to attempt. We accordingly recommended
our souls to God, and, charging the line abreast of one another, bore
down all opposition, and were in a fair way of accomplishing our
retreat without further danger; but the gallant Orgullo, in crossing a
ditch, had the misfortune to be thrown from his horse, and was almost
the same instant overtaken by one of the Portuguese dragoons, whose
sword was already suspended over his head, as he lay half stunned with
his fall; when I rode up, discharged a pistol in the ruffian’s brain,
and, seating my colonel on his horse, had the good fortune to conduct
him to a place of safety.
Here he was provided with such accommodation as his case required; for
he had been wounded in the battle, and dangerously bruised by his fall,
and, when all the necessary steps were taken towards his recovery, I
desired to know if he had any further commands for his service, being
resolved to join the army without delay. I thought proper to
communicate this question by message, because he had not spoke one word
to me during our retreat, notwithstanding the good office he had
received at my hands; a reserve which I attributed to his pride, and
resented accordingly. He no sooner understood my intention, than he
desired to see me in his apartment, and, as near as I can remember,
spoke to this effect:—
“Were your father Don Alonzo alive, I should now, in consequence of
your behaviour, banish every suggestion of resentment, and solicit his
friendship with great sincerity. Yes, Don Diego, your virtue hath
triumphed over that enmity I bore your house, and I upbraid myself with
the ungenerous treatment you have suffered under my command. But it is
not enough for me to withdraw that rigour which it was unjust to
exercise, and would be wicked to maintain. I must likewise atone for
the injuries you have sustained, and make some suitable acknowledgment
for that life which I have twice to-day owed to your valour and
generosity. Whatever interest I have at court shall be employed in your
behalf; and I have other designs in your favour, which shall be
disclosed in due season. Meanwhile, I desire you will still add one
obligation to the debt which I have already incurred, and carry this
billet in person to my Estifania, who, from the news of this fatal
overthrow must be in despair upon my account.”
So saying, he presented a letter, directed to his lady, which I
received in a transport of joy, with expressions suitable to the
occasion, and immediately set out for his country house, which happened
to be about thirty leagues from the spot. This expedition was equally
glorious and interesting; for my thoughts upon the road were engrossed
by the hope of seeing Don Orgullo’s daughter and heiress Antonia, who
was reported to be a young lady of great beauty, and the most amiable
accomplishments. However ridiculous it may seem for a man to conceive a
passion for an object which he hath never beheld, certain it is, my
sentiments were so much prepossessed by the fame of her qualifications,
that I must have fallen a victim to her charms, had they been much less
powerful than they were. Notwithstanding the fatigues I had undergone
in the field, I closed not an eye until I arrived at the gate of
Gonzales, being determined to precede the report of the battle, that
Madame d’Orgullo might not be alarmed for the life of her husband.
I declared my errand, and was introduced into a saloon, where I had not
waited above three minutes, when my colonel’s lady appeared, and in
great confusion received the letter, exclaiming, “Heaven grant that Don
Gonzales be well!” In reading the contents, she underwent a variety of
agitations; but, when she had perused the whole, her countenance
regained its serenity, and, regarding me with an air of ineffable
complacency, “Don Diego,” said she, “while I lament the national
calamity, in the defeat of our army, I at the same time feel the most
sincere pleasure on seeing you upon this occasion, and, according to
the directions of my dear lord, bid you heartily welcome to this house,
as his preserver and friend. I was not unacquainted with your character
before this last triumph of your virtue, and have often prayed to
Heaven for some lucky determination of that fatal quarrel which raged
so long between the family of Gonzales and your father’s house. My
prayers have been heard, the long-wished-for reconciliation is now
effected, and I hope nothing will ever intervene to disturb this happy
union.”
To this polite and affectionate declaration, I made such a reply as
became a young man, whose heart overflowed with joy and benevolence,
and desired to know how soon her answer to my commander would be ready,
that I might gratify his impatience with all possible despatch. After
having thanked me for this fresh proof of my attachment, she begged I
would retire into a chamber, and repose myself from the uncommon
fatigues I must have undergone; but, finding I persisted in the