thing had been built into it.
With the assistance of my grandfather's cane, he succeeded in dislodging
the surrounding masonry, already loosened by shot, and they discovered
it to be a recess made in the thickness of the wall, and closed by a
small iron door. At the bottom was lying a small box, also of iron,
which they raised, not without difficulty, for its weight was
extraordinary in proportion to its dimensions. This being conveyed to my
grandfather's, and opened, was found to contain more than six hundred
doubloons (a sum in value about two thousand pounds), and many bills of
exchange and promissory notes, mostly those of officers. The latest was
that of Von Dessel. These the Major, by Esther's desire, returned to the
persons whose signatures they bore.
Esther never completely recovered from the effects of her sojourn in the
cave, but remained always pale and of weak health. My grandfather took
good care of her inheritance for her, and on leaving Gibraltar, at the
conclusion of the siege, invested the whole of it safely for her
benefit, placing her, at the same time, in the family of some
respectable persons of her own religion. She afterwards married a
wealthy Hebrew; and, in whatever part of the world the Major chanced to
be serving, so long as she lived, valuable presents would constantly
arrive from Gibraltar--mantillas and ornaments of jewellery for Carlota,
and butts of delicious sherry for my grandfather. These, however, ceased
with her death, about twenty years afterwards.
This is, I believe, the most connected and interesting episode to be
found in the Major's note-book; and it is, I think, the last specimen I
shall offer of these new "Tales of my Grandfather."
As a child I used to listen, with interest ever new, to the tale of the
young Jewess, which the narrator had often heard from the lips of
Carlota and her husband. St Michael's cave took rank in my mind with
those other subterranean abodes where Cassim, the brother of Ali Baba,
who forgot the words "_Open Sesame_," was murdered by the Forty Thieves;
where Aladdin was shut by the magician in the enchanted garden; and
where Robinson Crusoe discovered the dying he-goat. And when, at the
conclusion of the tale, the scrap of paper containing the Jew's will was
produced from a certain desk, and carefully unfolded, I seemed to be
connected by some awful and mysterious link with these departed actors
in the scenes I had so breathlessly listened to.
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