Tales and Sketches.

New Zealand Mail, Issue 45, 2 December 1871, Page 16

Tales and Sketches.

A STRANGE LIFE. The life of Catalina (commonly known as Catalin de Erau3o) forms one connected chain of events as extaordinary as they are romantic. Catalina was born in the town of Saint Sebastian, in Spain, in the year 1592, of a Spanish hidalgo, an officer in the Spanish army. The hidalgo was already burdened with three daughters, and as a fourth proved a very^unwelcome addition to his family, he determined to place her under the care and keeping of his sister-in-law —the lady superior of the convent of Saint Sebastian. He did so, and never saw her again. She proved a famous plaything for the nuns, for she was as wild and playful as a kitten, until she reached the age of ten, when she became more thoughtful and rather more rebellious. Her excitable nature began to pine for liberty. She would sit for hours watching the sea and sky, as they stretched far away from the walls of her narrow convent to the blue Biscayan mountains. At times she heard of the exploits of her countrymen on the great American continent, | and her spirit was stipped within her. The years dragged on slowly, and the longing for :, 'berty grew at last irresistible. Site watched her opportunity for escape, and that opportunity soon came. One evening just before vespers, her aunt gave her the key of a private desk, that she might fetch her a breviary, which she had forgotten. Kate saw within this desk the keys of the convent. Leaving it open, she returned to her aunt with the breviary and the key, and then complained of a headache. Her aunt told her to go to bed. Returning immediately to the desk, Kate selected the key she required; she also took a few coins from her aunt's purse some thread, a I needle, a pair of scissors, and a thimble. She then let herself out of the convent, taking the precaution of locking her old friends in. Hurring into a chestnut wood, she slept till dawn, then rose, and made such alterations as she could in her dress, so as to disguise her sox. Kate was now about fiteen, aud she made her way speedily to a maternal relative who resided at Vittoria. He received her kindly, and she stayed with him for a short time. But she soon grew weary of the monotony of his house, and stealing a little money, proceeded to Valladolid. At Valladolid the young girl, while listening to a military band was insulted by some street ruffians. They threw stones at her, and she, in self-defence, threw the stones back again, wounding several of the rascals. The police interfered, and were proceeding to convey Kate to prison, when a young officer, who had witnessed the -whole scene frotn his house, and had been struck by her beauty and audacity, came forth and explained the' circumstances of the case, and she was released. The young cavalier, Don Francisco de Cardenas by name, offered Kate a situation amongst his retinue, which she gladly accepted. Kate spent three months very happily in Don Francisco's service. Uuluekily, however, one evening in the twilight her father made his appearance. He had come to tell Don Erancisco of the escape of his daughter from the convent. No one had traced her to Valladolid ; hut Don Francisco happened to be the patron of the convent. Kate thought, it was her best plan to abscond at once, for although she was not recognised as yet, she might soon be, and then the Don, however much he might wish it, would be totally ur.able to protect her as a runaway nun from the horrors of the Inquisition. The crime she had committed was a very natural one, and really no crime at all; for in taking possesion of her liberty, she had merely taken possession of that which belonged to her. But the Romish Church looked upon this as one of the most deadly offences, and punished it accordingly; Kate sailed forth at dusk with a change of linen under her arm. That night she slept in a stable ; and falling in with two muleteers, who told her of an expedition about to sail for ; America, she journeyed with them to Seville. From thence she reached the port of Saint Lucar. Being apparently a fine young fellow, she was engaged in one of the vessels as mate. Her ship doubled Cape Horn in safety, and neared the coast of Peru. Almost within sight of the Port of Paita (their destination) the vessel struck on a coral reef. All excepting Kate and the captain deserted the ship, endeavoring to escape in the long-boat; but when they neared the shore the boat capsized, and all the men were lost. Kate set to work and constructed a raft, put some Spanish coins equal to one hundred guinieas into a pillow-case, lashed it to the raft, and threw the raft into the sea. She jumped in after it, and got upon it safely, degging thi captain to follow. In j umping over he hit his head against a spar and sank. Kate was washed ashore and lay for hours unconscious. Recovering herself, she was a desolate coast stretching right and left. She had nothing to eat or drink, but the raft been thrown up close beside her, with the money safe, She distributed the money about her person, and set forwards in what, luckily, proved to be the right direction. She had iound a barrel of biscuit, and packing up some of this, she went on, reaching Paita the third day towards evening. At Paita she got employment as clerk, in the establishment of a merchant named Urquiza. She even had to superintend an establishment at Paita, while he himself attended in person to another business at Tuagillo. He gave Kate brief and clear directions for her guidance in her new duties. There j were two peculiar items in these instructions : j one was to let a certain handsome lady have j unlimited credit, even to the extent of the j whole shop if she chose to demand it; the other was just the opposite—namely, to let the lady's cousin, one Senor Reyes, have no credit

at all. Tbe lady soon began to show that she was in love with the handsome shopman. Her cousin, on the other hand, began to manifest strong feelings of animosity towards his supposed rival, and at length showed his hatred by an open insult; this led to a duel, in which Kate had the misfortune to run her sword through his heart. She was immediately seized by the police, and taken to prison. There appeared small hopes of her ever coming out again, except for execution ; for the murdered man's relatives were clamorous for justice, and the prisoner had no influential friends to bribe the judge. However, there was the handsome lady, and to her Kate applied. One evening they smuggled her out of the "prison, and took her to a house in the suburbs, where it was not long before she was astonished and alarmed to hear that it was [ necessary for her to marry the handsome lady ! in order to escape the law. There could be no delay, so after supper a kind of bridal procession was formed. A servant woman went i first, then her old employer, Urquiza, bearinp candles, then the lady, and lastly, Kate, the bridegroom. There was a step down into the room, and Urquiza went in first. Kate saw at a glance that there were no windows in the room, she therefore, determined not to enter. The lady went to the bottom of the step, and then turned round to assist Kate into the room. Kate put her arm round the lady's waist, threw her with all her force against the merchant Urquiza, shut the door, locked it, and then ran. The servant woman had fled in affright; the way of exit was therefore clear. Hurrying down to the port, she jumped into a little boat, hoisted a sail, and pushed off with a boat hook. A light breeze wafted her little vessel along, and she cleared the mouth of the harbor in safety. Overcome with fatigue and excitement, she now fell asleep. When she awoke, the sun was shining brightly, but no land was to be seen. She had no provisions, and could not tell in which direction she ought / to sail. Very soon, however, a large ship loomed upon the horizon; and as its course carried her very nearly across Kate's she lay to, and took the young sailor m. She told the first lieutenant as much truth as was convenient, and they were both satisfied. The ship was bound to Conception with recruits for the Spanish army. Kate enlisted ; and on reaching the port, recognised, in the officer who came to inspect the recruits, her own brother. He was the governor-general's secretary, and held a .high command as a cavalry officer besides. He took special notice of Kate, as being a fellow countryman, and did many little kindnesses for her. He also made her a trooper in his own regiment. War was at that time raging with the Indians of Peru and Chili, and in many a hot engagement did Kate bravely do her duty. In oris of these, nearly all the officers and most of the men of her squadron were killed, and the standard was lost. Gathering together a small party, Kate rode after the Indians, charged them, and saw her comrades fall, one by one, until she alone was left; but in spite of her wounds she rescued the standard, and brought it in triumph to the general, who in acknowledgment of her prowess, created her an Alfirez, or standard-bearer, on the spot. Years passed on, and Knta wa3 still serving in the Spanish army, when a brother officer requested her to be his second in a duel. She consented, and the duel was arranged to take place under the walls of a monastry, at eleven o'clock at night. The night was very dark, but the two principals succeeded in killing each other. The seconds, according to custom, now nad to fight to avenge their principals. Kate passed her sword through her opponent's body, who, cilling out with his dying breath, ' Ah, villain, you have killed me!' revealed to the horrified sister that she had unwittingly killed her brother. After giving her a refuge in the monastery for a few days, the monks supplied Kate with a horse and some provisions, and sent her awny. As she went along the coast she fell in with two deserters from the army They were going across the Cordilleras to find the river Dorado. Kate agreed to join the party, hoping ihus to evade pursuit, and stile her anguish in new adventures. Owing to the fatigues of the journey her horse wore out and had killed, and after enduring much agony the two deserters also died. Kate was now alone in the wildest solitudes of nature, with her reckless life behind her, and death staring her in the face. Gathering courage, however, she proceeded, and found with unspeakable joy that phe was descending the mountain. Presently she saw before her the welcome shade of trees, and collecting all her energies, she reached these just in time to fall insensible within the grove. Here she lay for hours, apparently as though she was never destined to rise again ; nor would she perhaps, had not a party of huntsmen wandered that way in pursuit of game. By them she was taken to their mistress's house, placed in a warm bed, and after a fortnight was able to reach the saloon and thank the lady for her kindness. This lady was a widow, with an only daughter about sixteen years of age. Kate was attracted by this young girl, and felt a sisterly affection for her. One day the mamma found Kate with her arm round young Juana's waist. After a little talking Kate was accepted as Juana's lover, and the wedding was settled to take place shortly. Kate shrank from avowing her sex, as she should have done, ant? allowed the preparations for the wedding to go on. In a few weeks the party went to Tucuraan to make some purchases, and it was settled that the ceremony should take place there. At Tucuman Kate gambled with some Portuguese, and lost. Thinking there was foul play, she followed the chief culprit to his own door. As he was about to enter, Kate tapped the Portugese on the arm and said, ' Senor, you are a robber!' He turned round and coolly said, ' Possibly, sir; but I have no particular fancy for being told so.' He then drew

his sword, fought with Kate, and in less than a minute was laid dead at her feet. She dragged the body into the house, laid the street door key beside him, and went home. She was awakened in the morning by the police, taken to trial, and condemned to be executed in eight days. On the day of execution Kate mounted the scaffold firmly, and because the executioner bungled in making the knot, she did it properly, and received in return the plaudits of the people. Just at the last moment, a horseman galloped up, and delivered an order from the Governor of La Plata for the execution to ' be stopped. Kate was taken to La Plata, acquitted and advised by her president, to drop her tender connection, for the present, with the senor, to whom she was engaged, and who it turned out, had been instrumental in effecting her release. Kate was supplied with money for travelling expenses, and, well mounted, she rode to Paz. Here she made the acquaintance of the Alcade, and was introduced by him to his wife. At dinner, Kate did not fail to observe that there was an improper understanding between this lady and her husband's cousin, Don Antonio Calderon. The whole party journeyed forward to Cuzco, and one night stopped at a little town ten miles short of that city. The lady was to sleep in a little pleasure-house in the garden of the inn j Kate and Don Antonio were to occupy rooms in the inn, and Alcade was to sleep at the corregidor's house. From what she had noticed, Kate was tempted to watch instead of going to bed, and presently she saw Don Antonio creep out and enter the little pleasurehouse ; in another minute he and the Alcade came out struggling and fighting ; and then the former's wife came out trembling with fear. The Alcade killed Antonio; Kate caught hold of the lady, mounted her horse with her, and made for Cuzco as fast as possible. By-and-by they heard the trampling of another horse's hoofs behind them, aud they knew it was the Alcade; and then began a most exciting race : through a torrent —over a broad trench—on at a rapid pace the horse dashed. The Alcade fired after them, but the bullets failed to take effect. His horse, trying to leap the trench, threw his rider, and thus left the others free to escape. Kate reached Cuzco, bearing her almost lifeless charge in her arms to the convent, and came out just in time to meet the thrown rider face to face. They began to fight, and Kate was wounded in the bosom. Two servants now came up and took part with their master; then Antonio's servants rode up and took part with Kate. Kate killed her enemy, and Calderon's servant fled. The police next arrived, and fought with Kate, when the bishop put an end to the affair by making his appearance. Our heroine was now led, faint and bleeding, into the palace of the bishop, and requesting a private interview with him, she confessed her sex, and then fainted. Soon after she was removed to a convent, and when the bishop had reported the case to Philip the Fourth, an order came fox her to be transferred to Spain. The fame of her adventures and daring exploits had travelled her before and she was astonished to find herself received everywhere with enthusiasm. High and low combined to do her honor. She was kissed by the king, flatttered by the courtiers, pardoned by the Pope, and idolised by the people. His Holiness went so far as to give her permission to wear at any time the dress of a cavalry officerAfter spending ten years in Spain she was attacked by her last fit of restlessness, and joined an expedition to America. Some officers went ashore at Vera Cruz, and Kate got in the boat with them ; but she never landed, and is supposed to have dropped overboard; yet no one saw her, nor was her body ever found. On landing the strictest search was made, and the sea was dragged, hut all in vain. And so passed from a strange life to a mysterious death she who is celebrated in Spanish annals as Catalina de Eraunso.

A SOLDIER'S STORY OF THE LATE AVAR.

[From Temple Bae.] [This story ii nearly verbatim as related by a soldier of the Marine Infantry, whilst Infirmier to the Ambulance Anglais at Orleans/] You would like to hear my story madame ? Well, there is not much to tell. I was born at Gironville —that is in Lorraine. My father was a farmer there. What a pretty little house we had ! There was a courtyard and a garden. Such flowers grew there ; aud the vines seemed to flourish better than anywhere in the neighborhood. It was such a merry village, too. On fete days, after mass, wo danced with the neighbors' daughters, and the good cure looked on and bade us enjoy ourselves to day, for we mustwork hai'd to-morrow. But I was always a rover. I was not contented, even then. I wanted to see large cities and distant countries. One day came the conscription ; my, name was drawn. ' Baptiste,' said my father, thou shalt not leave us ; here fa the money for a substitute,' But I wished to go. My mother wept, and my sister clung to me, saying—' Stay with us, Baptiste; thou must dance at my wedding ; thou knowest its on the fete day of St John.' But I would not listen. ' Let me go ; I shall see many things ; I shall be back a decore; I cannot stay here ; I am weary of the fields and the vineyards.' Well, I went; and I was sent to join the marine infantry. When I had learned my duties I was put on board ship, and we went to Cochin China. That is an old story mow. We gained some honor there, and they gave us medals. This is one I am wearing. At last after some years, we came back; they gave me leave of absence, and I went home to Lorraine. How my heart beat as I walked along the road that led to the village ! It was many miles from a railroad station, so that it was sunset before I saw the church spire. I was a boy when I left, I was a man now j and though I passed several acquaintances going

home from work, tbey did not know me. At last I came quite near. I saw the cure coming up the street ; he stopped to speak to an old woman, and with her was a very pretty girl, just about eighteen. I went up to him. ' Mon pcre,' said I, ' don't youknow me?' 'I should know that voice,' said M. ie Cure; ' but surely—yes, it is Baptiste!' The good man seized my hand. They are all well at the farm, Baptisfce ; the sigbt of thee will gladden their hearts. And here is Madeleine; dost thou not remember Madeleine ?' Now I had left Madliene quite a little child, and here was a tall young woman, with eyes like the stars. ' Yes, Bapfciste,' said the old woman, thou rememberest me ? I am Jeanne Leblane, and this is my poor boy's daughter, Medeleine. Ah! thou art luckier than he; he left his bones in the Crimea.' We all went up together to the farm. It was springtime, and it was a happy time. I need not say how many a long ramble Madeleine and I had in the woods and fields. My sister was married and happy, and she said" to me—' In two years, Baptiste, thy time will be up, then thou must come back to Gironville, and Madeleine will be my sister. Is it not so ?' It seemed then as if nothing could go wrong with us, and when I left Gironville to go back to Toulon, Medeleine was my affianced. In July we were ordered to bo ready to embark for Algeria, but ■ there came rumors of war; at last it was declared that our bafcallion was ordered to join Marshal Mahon's army. We came up from the south to Paris by rail, and were seat on the same way to Sedan. It was on the 20th of August when we joined. Before we left Toulon we had heard of the battle at Metz I knew the Prussians were in Lorraine, but I could hear nothing from my village, and I had a heavy heart as we mustered outside ihe station and marched into Sedan. In the afternoon as we were lying in the shade of the trees, smoking our pipes, we saw soldiers by twos and threes come running up theroad, and then they came thickerand thicker. We spoke to one of them, and ho they said had been fighting all day in front, but were obliged to retreat; there were many prisoners taken, and the Prussians would be there next day. We knew our turn was come, so we looked to our rifles, and some who had bad consciences confessed to the chaplain ; but for me, I had nothing on my heart bub sorrow for my people and Madeleine, and that was no sin, I knew. After sunset we moved on to Bazeilles. It was a pretty little town-neat and clean, white stone houses and gardens, about them, and vines trailing round the windows, and even climbing over the roofs. Most of the peoplo had left and gone into Sedan, so we had the place pretty well to ourselves. Next day—bub all the world knows how we fought! The Bavarians came on like tigers 5 just at the entrance of the town we met them. We should have beaten them back, but we were shot down by hundreds—not by them bub by our own men. Our unlucky blue jackets and caps were like those of the Prussians, and in the smoke and confusion they took us for enemies. Wo had to give in, and we retreated through the street. Wo left our wounded there ; we could not take them with us, and we thought they would be safe in the mairie. You know the rest, madavne. We were near Balan when we heard Bazeilles was retaken ; but we were so few that we were useless now. All day the fighting went on not far off. It was late in the afternoon when there came a sudden rush. Officers were galloping down the road, making for Sedan. We saw smoke and flame rising high in the air from Bazeilles, and we heard the Prussian guns louder and louder. We seemed to molt into a mob ; men lost their regiments, officers lost their men. There was no one to command us. ' Baptiste,' said one of my campanions, ' it is over ; let us get into Sedan; if we stay here we shall be shot or taken prisoners.' I looked round, there was no one to say ' go' or ' stay,' so I shouldered my rifle and we went towards the town; but when we came to the first drawbridge it was so crowded we could not pas 3. I saw a Zouave drop from it, swim the ditch, and climb up the green parapet on the other side. I took the hint and followed him ; but just as I let myself down into the water there was a greater crush than ever on the bridge. An officer was riding a spirited horse ; it took fright aud fairly leaped over the parapet into the ditdi below; both man and horse were stunned, and there they lay at the bottom. I should have tried to catch hold of the officer, but as I did so the men began to jump off the bridge on either side in numbers ; many were killed by the fall, I think ; but I found I must get over and out if I would save my life. I could not keep hold of my rifle, so I let it go and swam. I reached the other side and climbed up. I crossed the second diteh in the . same way, and got down from the parapet into the street behind it, I made my way to the Place Turenne; but it was difficult, the streets were so full. Many wounded were being carried along, and many were lying about trampled over by the mob. Just as I turned into the Place, I heard a voice calling me ; it came from near a clump of trees opposite the hotel. I turned, aud there I saw Corporal Michel, his head bound up with his bluo neck-handkerchief, and his arm all bleeding and broken ; he had made a sort of sling for it, with a belt. 'Baptiste, m y boy,' said he, 'if I could get a surgeon to bind me up we might get away; the frontier is near.' At that moment a shell fell in the street hard by, and burst; the confusion was dreadful; I knew not what to do. As I looked round, I saw a young man with the red-cross band on his arm. I called to him, he came up, and seeing Michel, asked if he could walk, for if so he had better go up to the great barrack on the bill—the Caserne Asfeldo. There were English surgeons there, and the Prussians could not interfere with them. So we lifted up Michel; the young man was on one side and I on the other ; he was wounded in tb.o left leg, too, aud we had nearly to carry

him. . . . < Corporal,'l said, ' stay here ; the war will not last for over ; better be a prisoner than dead. These gentlemen are good ; I leave thee in their care.' So it was settled. I embraced my poor corporal once more and went back to the town to try and get out of it, the nearest way to the frontier. It was useless. The Prussians were all round. The streets were crowded all night, at midnight we heard the town had surrendered, and, what was worse, the Emperor and his army. I never saw him all that time. I never wish to see him again. Why did he not put himself at the head of us and let us cut our way through ? We were eighty thousand unwouuded men ! His uncle would have done it. He is no real Bonaparte. Next day the Prussians came in. French officers came round and ordered us to march out over the bridge at the other end of the town from Balan, and to give up our arms. I had none to give up ; bub thousands of men, in rage and despair, flung their rifles into the ditch. Outside the town wo were taken in charge by Prussian guards and marched to an island on the Meuse. There we were crowded together. Many of us had had nothing to eat all that day, and it was now getting late in the afternoon. I had bought a loaf of bread in the town, and I had half of ib still in my knapsack, so I was better off than the rest. It rained harder than I ever saw it rain before, and there was no shelter. There was one small cotbage on the island ; some officers had that, and the first comers had taken possession of the yard, and were crouched under the wall. Outside it, more men were lying close to each other, bo fry and geb a little warmth and shelter. It was such a long night; we were web through in half an hour ; we hoped the Prussians would give us some soup for supper, but none came. I lay down on the driest; spot I could find, for the island was only a sort of a marsh, and tried to sleep, but I could nob. I felt, so miserable, and when I sab up and looked around, and heard the challenge of the Prussian sentinels, I knew I was a prisoner, and I put my head in my hands and cried like a baby. ' My poor Madeleine,' I thought, ' where is she ? Shall I ever see her again ?' At last I slept, and when I woke ib was daylight. We had no breakfast served to us, and I had oaten my bread. I wa3 wet and hungry, and it rained as hard as ever. All day we waited and hoped for food ; none came, and by evening wo were faint from want of it. The ground was trampled into soft mud ; and in this I lay down, and it kept me a little warm ; the smell was dreadful; the river .on each side was full of corpses of men and horses, and Ave kept as far from the edge as we could. Next morning, still nothing to cat; I felt I must die if this wont on ; I resolved to look round and see if there was no way of escaping. I missed several mon I had spoken to tho last two days, and a chasseur d Afrique told me they were gone, and he intended to try and get away at dark. I knew if I delayed I should be too weak to try it, and I made up my mind to go too. But many were dying of hunger that day. I saw, myself, some Zouaves drag a dead horse out of the river and begin to eat his entrails. I felt so sick, I could not look at them. As I turned away, I saw a rush made to the little bridge over the Meuse. There were two English gentlemen there giving away some biscuits ; I ran up to them and forced my way through and got a biscuit. They gave away every one they had, and promised to write to the Prussian General to send us some soup. Even this biscuit, though it was small, did me good, and when night came I was ready to try and get away, for the island was too horrible. I dare not think of it even now; I see it in dreams sometimes. It was a very dark night 1 I laid down my knapsack to leave it there. I took out the letters from my father and Madeleine, and put them inside my jacket, and then I stole away to the side farthest from the bridge, and slipped quietly into tho water. There was so much talking and shouting on the island that I was pretty sure not to be heard. I struck out, and reached the other shore. I heard the tread of the sentinel, and I waited, lying against the bank till he had passed; and then I got up, and, thanks to the darkness and the rain, I was invisible a few yards off. I kept clear of the town, and went away towards Mezieres, that is about ten miles farther. I walked all night, resting here and there, and at daybreak I found I was close to the gate of the town. I went in and to the house of the commandant. There I found several who had got away as I had done. We had some good soup, some bread and wine, and in the afternoon were sent by train to Lille, from whence I went to Tours and rejoined my battalion, some of whom were quartered there. There is very little more to tell. We were at the battle of Coulmiers and then came on to Orleans. We fought at Beautie le Roland, and we drove back the Prussians; but there were traitors there, and we were ordered to fight in retreat when we had beaten the enemy. Then came the battle round Orleans. Ab five o'clock, on that Sunday I was in the last trenches. I don't know where the Mobile officers were—dining iu Orleans I heard—the poor boys were all in confusion ; my captain tried to rally them and keep them steady, aud just as he sprang up, waving his sword, a riflebullet struck hiiu, and he fell dead at my feet. I took his sword and his Cross of Honor and his pocket-book, to sent them back to his wife, and as I stooped over him a bullet struck me in the side, and I fell. When I recovered I was alone with the dead and dying. I struggled up and found my way behind the houses of the faubourg Bourgogne close by. Across the vineyards I saw an English flag, so I crawled along till I reached the door. I found it was an ambulance; my wound was dressed, and, I slept, from sorrow and fatigue. Madame, you know the rest. Thanks to my being made infirmier I escaped being sent to Prussia, and now the peace has come, aud to-day, look, here is a letter from

Madeleine. All are well at G-ironville they had no fighting near there ; but they are very poor and miserable now and they are Prussians; my poor, poor Lorraine ! I shall go back to my village, the good cure shall marry me to my own true Madeleine, and then we will go, all of us —father, mother, and all—away to Algeria for Prussians we will not be j and if Qod sends us children they shall be born French. That is all I have to tell, madame, and I hope you are not tired of listenmg to Baptisfce's story.