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——“Strange that men

Creatures so frail, so soon, alas to die

Should have the power, the will to make this world

A burden and a curse

To him who never wronged them——”—ROGERS.

As Pedro Alvez was a master shepherd, he was in easy circumstances, and was also a better educated peasant than most of his countrymen. He could read and write, cast accounts sufficiently well to reckon with the monks of Lerida, who owned his flock, was well conversant with his business, and could play the guitar and dance the fandango exceedingly well.

Blanca, his wife, was sensible, amiable, and pretty; his daughter Teresa was a lively girl of eleven years, and Carlos was about seven. Teresa was capable of assisting her parents in many little domestic matters in the day-time, while in the evenings she learned to read and write of her father, or sew of her mother. Milking the goats, making cheeses, and churning butter, were arts she was acquiring of Blanca; but, truth to say, the little Catalan girl loved better to roam at large upon the mountains, than to pursue the more feminine employments I have enumerated; and once or twice her love of adventure had like to have cost her dear. The Pyrenean chain abounds in wonders, and though the young Teresa did not behold them like a naturalist, she was an artless unsophisticated child of nature, with a lively imagination, warm feelings, and an eye and heart equally alive to the beauties of the mountain scenery.

Then she was healthy, active, hardy, and fearless—inured alike to cold and heat, and almost masculine in her out-door habits, though feminine in a kind and compassionate bosom. Her’s was a cheerful happy temperament, and even Blanca, who by no means approved of her disposition to wander about the hills, could not chide her long, for tears seemed such strange guests in her laughing eyes, and yet were so quickly excited, that the matter often ended in the fugitive remaining unpunished. Sometimes she had been led out of the way by the chase of the Pyrenean squirrel, or she had been searching for chesnuts, or the sight of a gay-plumed stranger bird had lured her lower down the mountain ridge or further up, as the matter might be. Pedro, who was a cautious man, often trembled for his daughter’s safety, more particularly, as it was not impossible that she might fall in with some of those bodies of French troops that were continually crossing the Pyrenees, for though the Catalans were loyal to a man, and a great part of Catalonia was occupied by the British allies of Spain, still the human inundation poured into that province, which was the continual theatre of war. The rest of the shepherds became guerillas and Pedro was often left alone to manage his great flock as he could. Though no patriot, Pedro was a kind man, a faithful and tender husband, a fond father, and a good Christian. His flock willingly followed him from height to height, and every individual sheep came to him when called by name; the noble dogs guarded them from the attacks of the wolf and bear, but were never employed as in England,—in getting the flock together; they were black and white, about the size of a wolf, and were each armed with a collar studded with iron spikes. These creatures, gentle as the timid animals they guarded, were fed with bread and milk, all their ferocity being reserved for the wild beasts with whom they had nightly combats. Often were the young family of the shepherd safely conveyed from precipice to precipice, upon the backs of these dogs; Rollo, the finest of these animals, had formed the strongest attachment to the little son of his master. Even before Carlos could walk, he was accustomed to cling to the coat of his canine friend for support, and the traveller who entered the Pyrenean vallies, wondered at the courage of the infant, and the docility and affection displayed by the powerful animal.

Breathing the pure air of the mountains, surrounded by the most magnificent scenery in nature, the mountain children grew bold, strong, and venturous. Attended by Rollo, bearing Carlos upon his back, Teresa would wander in search of wild flowers, from cliff to cliff, sometimes discovering one of those wondrous basins, encircled by walls of granite, within whose enclosures bloomed many lovely plants of brilliant blue and sweetest scents. There mid the shattered wreck of another world, the Spanish girl would sit weaving garlands for herself, her brother, and the faithful Rollo, wondering if other steps had ever trodden this fairy land of beauty. These enclosures are formed by the fall of vast blocks of granite, bringing with them in their descent, from the rocks above, the soil and herbage into the little valley; the shelter the lofty wall affords encourages the growth of Alpine flowers, the birds and winds bring other species, upon their wings as it were, and a choice garden soon springs up, which, watered by the springs and rivulets, blooms a little Eden in the wilds. How happy the discovery of one of these gardens made Teresa, no child could enjoy life more than she did, as she bounded along the rugged mountain path, trusting to Rollo’s sagacity for finding her way home. The dog was never at fault on such occasions, and when Blanca came out of the hut to meet her children and give them the noon-meal, she set bread and milk before Rollo first, and kissed the faithful guardian of her young family. Then the little maiden would relate her morning adventure, display her floral treasures, and entreat her fond mother to visit the garden in the wilderness.

Blanca, pleased that her children were pleased, would promise to do so on some future day, and when she too beheld the lovely spot, her pious mind would glow with adoring love towards that mighty Creator, who bade the Pyrenean mountains arise and condescended to adorn their rugged dells with beauty. She named the spot the garden of Gethsemane, and seating herself by the children, related the touching history of their Saviour’s passion, and bade them remember him. How sweet are the lessons of piety from maternal lips; how gently did they sink like dew into the hearts of these Spanish children, preparing them for the trials, the sorrows, the dangers of the unknown future. Oh! little did they think as they gambolled by that mother’s side, in what inclement clime they were destined to leave her, or in what distant European capital they were to find a home. Crowned with flowers, and breathing now the summer wind of the sweet south, playful as lambs, and as unconscious too of evil these young and innocent victims of Napoleon’s insatiable ambition, at present, enjoyed the gifts of that Providence, upon whose bounty they were daily pensioners.

Sometimes the wanderings of Teresa and her brother were attended with some peril, once she had nearly slipped from the height of a precipice, and once Carlos had rolled unhurt, down a steep hill into the deep green valley beneath, where he might have remained till now, if Rollo had not caught him by the collar of his gaberdine, and brought him with much toil, to the affrighted Teresa, who had made the adjacent rocks and vallies, ring with her cries; yielding to the feelings of the moment, the mountain children had kneeled down, to thank the Lord, who had made Rollo the instrument of Carlos’ preservation.

Another adventure, still more perilous, befell them, and had the useful effect of restraining their wanderings within the bounds of prudence. One day they arose with the early dawn, and taking a basket of provisions with them, resolved to explore the new range of mountainous scenery to which the flocks had been lately shifted. They paid a passing visit to their father, caressed his prettiest lambs, and promised him to bring home some partridges’ eggs to mend the evening meal with an omelette, he bade them to be careful and not venture beyond the sound of the tinkle of the bells, that were suspended about the ram’s necks. They promised, and light as the mountain goats, bounded along the heights till huge rocks shut out the sight of Diego and his flocks, and the sound of the bells grew fainter, till again brought back upon the ear, by one of the numerous mountain echoes. Among the vallies of green herbage, they found the partridges’ nests, and having emptied the basket of provisions, filled it with the eggs. Rollo now warned them to return, by sundry barks and bounds, but the children disregarded his signs, till the appearance of clouds rolling down from above, made them wish they had attended to the suggestions of their four-footed friend. Accustomed to these tempests, the children knew it would be impossible at present, to return, so they looked about for a cleft in the rocks, into which they might creep for shelter from the coming storm. They soon discovered a sort of cave, which they fearlessly entered followed by Rollo, who began growling in a very formidable manner, elevating the curls of his neck till they formed a sort of savage ruff, his eyes sparkling at the same time with fury. Teresa heard a soft low breathing in a corner of the cave, and directing her eyes towards the spot whence the sound proceeded, saw two soft looking black creatures, lying on some moss fast asleep. Bones were strewn on the floor,—the children had taken shelter in the den of a she-bear. The fearlessness of her character, aided by some female curiosity, kept Teresa by the side of the cubs, wasting the precious time in caressing them, she ought to have spent in flight.

“How pretty are these little black bears, how I should like to bring them up with bread and milk; look, Carlos,” said she, restraining Rollo’s approaches with difficulty “do you think between us, we can carry them home.”

“They are too heavy, Teresa, and if the bear should come home,—look at these bones,—ah, come away,—I am afraid, indeed I am,—that the mother will find us here, and eat us up.”

“She will not come yet, see, I can lift the heaviest, how the dear pretty thing growls,—come, take this, we will not mind the storm, but hasten home with our prize. Here Carlos, here is your’s, quick, quick.”

Carlos drew back in terror, and Rollo darting forward, in spite of Teresa’s efforts, decided the fate of both the cubs in a moment, by strangling them without mercy.

“Naughty, naughty Rollo,” cried Teresa, as the huge dog gambolled round her, “why have you killed my pretty bear-cubs. Well, we will go now, for it will be a bad job to stay for the bear. Come Carlos, come Rollo,”—but Rollo elevated his shaggy head, and displaying his formidable teeth, assumed an attitude of defence; a low deep muttering sound made Carlos draw nearer to his sister. “Silly boy, it is the thunder,” said Teresa, but the fierce angry bark of Rollo, instantly convinced her of her error, and her cheek grew pale, as she clasped her brother to her bosom, and with white lips exclaimed, “The bear, the bear,” as the enraged mother of the cubs appeared in the entrance of the cave.

The children gave themselves up for lost,—they did not scream, they did not attempt to fly. Poor Teresa lifted up her heart in agony to Him who alone could help her, casting from time to time, her affrighted eyes upon her champion. Well and valiantly did Rollo meet the furious attack of the bereaved mother of the cubs; who, raising herself upon her hind legs, clasped him tightly within her monstrous paws; Rollo’s iron spiked collar, would not suffer the furious beast to retain her hold, and they rolled together on the rugged floor of the cavern, which was now dyed with blood. So terrible grew the combat, that Teresa no longer dared to look on, but shutting her eyes, clasped her young brother tighter to her bosom, with the sad conviction, that she had brought him by her rashness, to a horrid death. Her feelings finally overpowered her, and she sunk down in a state of insensibility, in which condition she remained a considerable time. She was awakened from her long trance, by the awful roll of the thunder, the crashing of the rocks, and the wild roar of the mountain torrents, as they swept down the mountain ridge with resistless force. She opened her eyes, Rollo lay bleeding and panting near her; the bear covered with wounds, had dragged herself towards her cubs to die, and with maternal love, regardless of the agonies of death, was licking her slaughtered young. Teresa audibly blessed God for her preservation, and if a tear filled her eyes, as she looked upon the moving picture before her, it arose from the pure deep sources of feminine feeling.

Carlos was still within her arms, the child had actually sobbed himself to sleep; Teresa gently laid him down on the rugged floor of the cavern, while she bestowed a thousand caresses upon her brave defender. Rollo feebly returned her endearments, he was wounded in many places; Teresa feared he would never leave the cave alive, and then, she thought. “If the bear should recover, how dreadful still their fate might be.” The poor bear had however, received a mortal wound, a dull film was over her eyes, her huge limbs fluttered, and she fell dead upon her cubs. Fain would Teresa have left the grim trio in possession of their rocky sepulchre, but the awful raging of the storm kept her prisoner, and she sat between Carlos and poor Rollo, audibly praying for help yet fearing that her trials would never have an end. Gradually the tempest subsided, the clouds rolled away, and the beams of the sun, again gilded the magnificent mountain scenery, and the distant barking of the dogs, told the Spanish girl, that her father was searching for his lost children among these wild solitudes. She knew the instinct of the animals would lead them to the cave, which she did not intend to leave for fear of losing the skins of the she-bear and her cubs. In a little while, her father, attended by his dogs, and another shepherd, entered the cavern and beheld with wonder, the scene its arena displayed. With hearts full of gratitude and love the whole party quitted the den. Teresa and Carlos bearing the dead cubs, Diego carrying the faithful Rollo on his shoulders, and the stranger dragging the bear. Thus loaded, their progress was extremely slow, and it was night before they reached the hut of Blanca, whom they found in an agony of doubt and anxiety. The tender mother clasped her children to her bosom, unconscious that any other peril had assailed them beside the storm, what were her feelings, when she learned their fearful jeopardy. “Ah my children, my children,” said she, “never forget Him who hath delivered ye from the paw of the bear. He, who hath had mercy on you now, will preserve ye in all future dangers. Put your trust in Him.”

The children never forgot the words of their pious mother, they often had occasion to remember them in days of deeper peril.

It was some weeks before Rollo could crawl about, but Blanca dressed his wounds with her own hands, and fed him on broth, made of his enemy the bear. The flesh of the ursine family proved delicious, and their skins made warm coverlids for the beds. Teresa gaining experience by her late adventure, discontinued her wanderings, and applied herself to domestic employments, till she was old enough to take care of her father’s goats, which were his own property; the flocks he tended belonging to the superior of a neighbouring convent. She was now near twelve years of age, and possessed a fine healthy constitution, united to an excellent understanding. The strong mind of her mother was tempered with the patience and gentleness of her father. The Catalonian girl was tall of her age, and very comely; nor did the sun look upon a merrier lighter-hearted maiden.

The struggle for Spanish liberty continued, and still the boundless ambition of the French Emperor, sent forth new armies to deluge the patriot land with human blood. Pedro and his family often watched the march of these foreign myrmidons, and when a prayer was uttered by Blanca, or sorrowful words that bespoke her sympathy with her countrymen, “Ah! woe, woe, to poor Spain,” he would still embrace her, saying as he did so, “But thou art safe my beloved, safe with me, in the wild fastnesses of these impregnable hills.”

Blanca sighed as she felt that Pedro’s arm was wanted for Spain at this crisis; but she feared the mildness of his temper, would not suit the life of a guerrilla. She loved him, and she did not urge him to leave her, and the children.

The ambition of Napoleon as we have seen, had found a new object, he was about to attempt the conquest of Russia; and the conscription was raised in every province he had subjugated, to furnish troops for the expedition.

Pedro, who took care of the flocks belonging to the monastery of Lerida, ventured thither in search of hands, to assist him in shearing the sheep, as well as to obtain from his employers, some money to furnish his family with food and clothing. On his way he unfortunately fell in with a French detachment, by which he was immediately captured.

Pedro pleaded that he had never borne arms against the French, entreating the commander of the troop, to permit him to return to his wife and children, and peaceful occupations in the mountains.

“I cannot do so,” replied the Captain, “because our great Emperor wants soldiers to serve in the army. Indeed I cannot be so much your enemy as to comply with your request, for your fortune is as good as made. You are a fine-looking fellow, and in the hot war, the imperial army will shortly be engaged in, you are just as likely to get a marshal’s baton as a bullet.”

The bitter tears that rolled down the cheek of the Catalonian shepherd, excited the indignation of the soldiers.—“Captain, you will never be able to make a soldier of this poor coward” cried the serjeant, contemptuously.

“I am no coward,” retorted the Catalan, with more spirit than his captors supposed him capable of displaying. “I have fought with the bear and the wolf when gaunt with famine, and felt no fear, though the idea of serving against my countrymen, and leaving my wife and children, makes a woman of me;” and again the truant tears bedimmed his manly cheeks.

The serjeant had a wife and family in France, whom he loved, and he was touched with the grief of the captive.—“Perhaps the Captain will allow you to take your chance of the lot, and will not force you to be a conscript against your will. At Barcelona, whither we are going, you may try your luck, that is, if Monsieur le Capitaine consents.”

“Yes, yes, the poor fellow shall have a fair trial, and if he is drawn, he can write to his wife to join him.”

A ray of hope gladdened the dejected Catalan, but it lasted only for a moment, and then faded away into deeper darkness than before. Like a victim, he accompanied the detachment to Barcelona; and entering the town-hall, felt certain of his doom before the fatal lot was drawn. His forebodings were verified, and the only thing that softened the blow was, the assurance that he would not be compelled to serve against his country.

Pedro’s unnerved and trembling hand could hardly perform the necessary task of writing to his wife. Among those young men, who had escaped a military life in the Emperor’s service, he found a relation of his own, and Diego Garvos, promised to convey his last farewell to Blanca and his children.

“My Blanca,” the blotted and irregular lines began, “will never see her poor spouse again; he has been drawn for a conscript, and will in a few days leave Spain for ever. Never,—never, shall I see thee, or pretty Teresa, and playful Carlos again. The sheep must find another shepherd, the dogs another master,—Oh! that I had fought for my country, and died for her and thee, my beloved; God has punished my indifference to the sufferings of my native land, by permitting me to fall into the hands of the French. Yes, they have made me a soldier,—a slave. I am to be led into France, and from thence to Russia; never, never to return to Catalonia. May the saints take thee into their holy keeping—thee, and our children.—Farewell, my Blanca, farewell for ever!

“Thy miserable husband,

“Pedro Alvez.”

“P. S. My kinsman, Diego Garvos, has promised to convey this safely to thee:—Alas! what is to become of thee I know not. My stipend is still due, for the robbers have not got that, so thou wilt not be utterly destitute.

“Could I but look on thy dear face, and the sweet faces of my children, once more, I should be willing to lie down and die the next moment; but it may not be.”