Mr. Bearsley, however, was from home. The lieutenant was informed
of this by Mr. Bearsley's steward, a portly, genial, rather priestly
gentleman in smooth black broadcloth, whose name was Souza - a name
which, as I have said, has given rise to some misconceptions. Mr.
Bearsley himself had lately left for England, there to wait until
the disturbed state of Portugal should be happily repaired. He had
been a considerable sufferer from the French invasion under Soult,
and none may blame him for wishing to avoid a repetition of what
already he had undergone, especially now that it was rumoured that
the Emperor in person would lead the army gathering for conquest
on the frontiers.

But had Mr. Bearsley been at home the dragoons could have received
no warmer welcome than that which was extended to them by Fernando
Souza. Greeting the lieutenant in intelligible English, he implored
him, in the florid manner of the Peninsula, to count the house and
all within it his own property, and to command whatever he might
desire.

The troopers found accommodation in the kitchen and in the spacious
hall, where great fires of pine logs were piled up for their comfort;
and for the remainder of the day they abode there in various states
of nakedness, relieved by blankets and straw capotes, what time the
house was filled with the steam and stench of their drying garments.
Rations had been short of late on the Agueda, and, in addition, their
weary ride through the rain had made the men sharp-set. Abundance
of food was placed before them by the solicitude of Fernando Souza,
and they feasted, as they had not feasted for many months, upon roast
kid, boiled rice and golden maize bread, washed down by a copious
supply of a rough and not too heady wine that the discreet and