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battle, and before some other captives, all gave themselves up to great lamentations, and throwing themselves upon their knees, with unspeakable love they kissed the feet of him whom they recognized,-if eyes so filled with tears could entirely recognize what they looked at, in its present mangled condition.

Then the scherif caused them to be told, that they should well examine the dead body,-that if it was that of Don Sebastian, he would give it the sepulture that was due to it; and that after such examination, a report should be made him. They did as the prince commanded, although there were no other testimonials than tears and numberless sighs. These were sufficient to give entire credence to this dolorous event. All diligence wasmade, and the gentlemen present having certified the fact, the scherif informed them they would have to redeem the body of their king. They replied they would do so, and that the prince should declare what amount they should give, because they would send and seek at the first Christian establishment whatever he should demand. When the scherif heard this reply, as his intention was merely to convince himself if this body was really that of Don Sebastian, he no longer hesitated, and ordered that it should be placed in a coffin. They used for that purpose the litter in which Joam de Salva went; and it was thus that the corpse was carried to Alcaçar.

After having identified the body of King Sebastian, the gentlemen present held a council, as well as their miserable condition would permit ; thereupon it was resolved that they should agree to ransom themselves in a mass, as much to obtain a favourable price, as to obviate the inconvenience resulting from the promises that some nobles would make, who were impatient to recover their liberty, without considering how far it might place obstacles in the way of others gaining theirs. Of this advice were agreed Don Duarte de Menezes, Don Duarte de Castel; Franco, afterwards de Sazubal ; Don Fernando de Castro, Don Miguel de Noronha, and Belchior do Amaral.

After this resolution, it appeared well to those of the council, to whom the others had given their authority, that they should request the scherif to place some gentlemen as a body-guard,-not only as a mark of dignity, but in fear that some other corpse might be substituted, thereby causing the truth never more to be believed.

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Don Duarte then informed the scherif of this fresh decision, and he readily accorded what they demanded. It was ordered that Belchior do Ammaral should accompany the body, and give it sepulture.

Ammaral then departed for Alcaçar. It was in the lower rooms of the house of Abraen Sufiano, alcaid of that same town, that the obsequies were performed, with the assistance of a German. The body was interred in the


coffin, in which it had been conveyed; it was covered with plaster and sand. And after having shed many tears, the two christians placed on the grave some stones, and some tiles, that the spot might at any future time be recognized⚫

After having accomplished this sad duty, Belchior do Ammiral was sent to Tangiers, a city belonging to the Portuguese to treat for the ransom of the captives.

There was at that time in the city, a monk of the order of preachers,―a man extremely learned and pious, whom, on account of his nobility and virtue, Don Sebastian loved well. He had not accompanied the king, in order to take care of the wounded, because he was himself indisposed at the time of the expedition. It was not long before he heard of the arrival of Belchior do Ammiral, and he requested him, on account of his sickness, to come and see him. Then when he was arrived, he said to him,-"My lord, I have one thing to ask of your courtesy: I have no wish to know anything else :-The king, Don Sebastian, is he unfortunately dead?" Belchior replied :-" He is dead,—I buried him with my own hands." When the monk had heard him' and had understood the horror of this cruel catastrophe, in which he saw marked all the miseries of his couutry, without saying a word, he turned to the other side of the bed on which he was lying, and rendered his soul up to God.

After that Belchior had remitted his letters to Don Francisco de Souza, captain of a Portuguese vessel sailing for Lisbon, he returned into captivity; although he might have made use of his liberty, no person having become answerable for it to the scherif but himself.

The scherif, accompanied by his prisoners, proceeded towards Fez. The events that occurred in this journey were so numerous, and so unfortunate, that one does uot know if they can be related, nor if they do not go beyond the limits of human patience; and this only causes me to pass them over in silence. If those who were interested it these mishaps were to be reminded of their misfortune, it appears to me that it would be afflicting them anew with the same torment. It is not just that so many evils should be so often suffered.

Arrived at Fez, the fate of the christians was in no way ameliorated. There was a great number of them that their masters held in the public prisons, in order that they should purchase their liberty at a high price. In this situation they slept on the ground, without any other nourishment but some wretched aliment given from compassion by other prisoners, undergoing sentence of punishment, or awaiting judgment for their crimes, who thus shared the charity they themselves alone depended upon. Other christian captives were employed in grinding corn and oats by the hand-mill, or

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spinning and carding wool by task-work ;-so that after having worked without cessation during the whole day, so small a portion of the night remained for rest, that they scarcely had one hour's repose. Some others were occupied in gardening, and the culture of vines; and this was the least painful labour, because they could repose at night. What shall we say of those who had five or six masters, whom they alternately served all the week,—each day enduring the caprice of different tempers, and the weight of new labours; for however weak was the right of each master over each captive, when it was a question of tormenting him, it appeared as if that right was complete. Some there were in a yet more miserable plight,—their nasters loading them with irons during the day, and plunging them into sombre prisons at night, without seeing any human being. The more courageously they suffered, the more sorrowful their situation became, because the Moors, by their courage, estimated their qualities, and thus enhanced the price of their ransom. Still these captives were more happy than those of Alcaçar, of Tetuan, and of Larach,-confined in the Masmorras; -for the masmorras are deep caves, into which the air only penetrate by one opening, and where the great miseries of hunger and thirst were perpetually endured, until death daily gave ease to the misery of many. In the general disaster, there were some women sufficiently lucky to procure their liberty; but it did not happen thus with an Italian young woman, of whom I think it my duty to speak, since her faith was great, and her resolutio was strong.

It must be known that among the captains of the army, was one named Hercoles. He had brought with him a young lady of very good grace and great beauty, to whom, according to the opinion of his company, he was married; and she was considered noble; according to all appearance. With some other females, she became prisoner to two Arabs, who dragged her on foot, without shoes or stockings, and merely covered with a few miserable clothes. In this way she was marching, when a powerful alcaid, passing by chance, seized her by the arm, tearing from the Arabs their captive The person of the unfortunate lady would every where have run the risk of maltreatment, but it was still greater in the situation she now stood in. The alcaid shamefully used her. His unhappy victim felt such horror at this treatment, that her life was endangered. Nevertheless, the Moor compelled her to follow him, and continued his road, full of a passion which prevented his thinking of anything else.

The two sons of this alcaid, who were alraady men, then felt a deep chagrin ;—some say, more caused by envy than by their mother's grief; but it is probable that both feelings took possession of their hearts. The alcaid,

who was called Amu-ben-Selim, being arrived at Fez, the mortal hatred of his sons against the christian woman began to act silently. The women of their father's honsehold took part with them, so that on every side complaints were multiplied. But the Moor, blinded by his love for the christian, listened to no one ;-he gave her unrestricted feedom, and made her mistress of his house, as much against her will, as every other of his actions had been.

In the midst of these prosperities, so little valued by her who was the object of them, a captive of the alcaid, Ali-Chequito by name, a Portuguese renegade, came to her, to learn her situation. She had inspired him with great pity when he beheld her walking naked-footed, and he had attempted to console her to the utmost of his power. He now knew her present position, and he wished to speak to her, as much to console her in her rich misery, as to recall to her remembrance the risks her soul ran. After various steps, as the alcaid could refuse nothing to her whom he loved, this man obtained permission to speak with her; but the sight of her smote his conscience, and he trembled at the first seeing her dressed in the Moorish fashion. As to Virginia, she felt great joy at seeing this young man, and she said to him," Friend, I experience great satisfaction-if there can be any in our situation that you have preserved your existence. I may consequently expect some remedy for your misfortune. How happy I am to find in you a faithful witness of my loyalty. These garments that you see, like sorrowful proofs of a horrible blasphemy, I am compelled to wear, by him, whom force has rendered master of my liberty and my person. He is both an importunate lover, and a cruel enemy." Virginia uttered this, shedding so many tears, that she proved the sincerity of her heart; and the captive consoled her to the best of his power, in presence of an old Spanish renegade, to whom she was confided. He then made some inquiry respecting the Captain Hercoles; to which she replied:-" Learn, that fortune would have acted well for me, without the shame that follows me, and my forgetting the peril of my soul; for the better half of myself is at liberty., Hercoles, my best, my only hope, is free at Ceuta, although his thoughts are entirely at Fez."

In this manner Virginia made him comprehend the little hope she entertained of obtaining her liberty; since, besides having offered 800 cruzadoes in gold, for her ransom, Hercoles had discovered that not all the money in the world would avail against the Moor's passion. So he was employing every possible means to assure her liberty ;-in short, that he was in the most zea. lous, ardent, and at the same time the most secret manner endeavouring to find a guide for himself from among the Moors. Virginia, after some other personal communications, left him, full of compassion for her anguish, and

dread for the future. During this time, Captain Hercoles was at Ceuta, negotiating the ransom of Virginia. Of one thousand cruzadoes in gold which the pope had sent him, as the price of his liberty, he had employed 800 for the use we have named. This he was the better able to do, being himself at that moment already freed, by other hands. Seeing, however, that all this money availed nothing with the alcaid, he resolved to employ it in other ways. He so contrived matters, that he kept up intelligence with persons about the alcaid, by means whereof Virginia was enabled to execute a plan of flight with some Moorish guides, and other individuals charged to assist the enterprise. Night being come, Virginia departed, concealed in the scarlet capillar (large cloak) she was used to wear as a disguise when she rode out on horseback with her companions. She followed the route to Melilha, which was not a bad point of determination, since she was most assured of meeting with persons arriving from the frontier.

When daylight came, and the alcaid no longer found Virginia, he gave way to such a furious burst of madness, that, laying aside his duty and his dignity, he commenced scouring the country, surrounded by officers of justice and the men of his household; thinking that so delicate a female could not fly beyond some neighbouring places; but having discovered traces of a much longer journey, he returned home, so dejected,— -so full of anguish, that if one could have any pity for him under such circumstances, pity would have been well employed. Nevertheless, he expedited a great number of Moors, well mounted, towards all the points it was likely Virginia could have reached. He made them large promises,-for his love and despair were very great.

In this state of mind the alcaid passed several days between hope and fear.

During these days, Virginia had been filled with hope, but joyous hope is never lasting she was captured on the road to Melilha, when her guards abandoned her, as they were compelled to do, in order to save their own lives from the pursuers. Virginia was treated with the greatest respect, as, in addition to the orders given them on that head by their master the alcaid, her noble bearing made her to be respected wherever she went;-so she was conducted back again in the same dress she had quitted the Moor's house. Here she arrived, so greatly fatigued that she was nearly dead.

But full of joy at her return, and sorrow at her determined conduct, the alcaid addressed her in profound melancholy :

"Woman, thou wast my captive, and I have made thee absolute mistress of a master now become thy slave. Why, therefore, hast thou quitted me with so much disdain? Hast thou not seen and understood how much I have made thee my idol, and the soul of my life? I have repulsed all those

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