THE
PHANTOM REGIMENT

OR

STORIES OF "OURS"

BY

JAMES GRANT

AUTHOR OF
"THE ROMANCE OF WAR"

LONDON
GEORGE ROUTLEDGE AND SONS
BROADWAY, LUDGATE HILL
NEW YORK: 9 LAFAYETTE PLACE

JAMES GRANT'S NOVELS,

Two Shillings each, Fancy Boards.

THE ROMANCE OF WAR
THE AIDE-DE-CAMP
THE SCOTTISH CAVALIER
BOTHWELL
JANE SETON; OR, THE QUEEN'S ADVOCATE
PHILIP ROLLO
THE BLACK WATCH
MARY OF LORRAINE
OLIVER ELLIS; OR, THE FUSILIERS
LUCY ARDEN; OR, HOLLYWOOD HALL
FRANK HILTON; OR, THE QUEEN'S OWN
THE YELLOW FRIGATE
HARRY OGILVIE; OR, THE BLACK DRAGOONS
ARTHUR BLANE
LAURA EVERINGHAM; OR, THE HIGHLANDERS OF GLENORA
THE CAPTAIN OF THE GUARD
LETTY HYDE'S LOVERS
CAVALIERS OF FORTUNE
SECOND TO NONE
THE CONSTABLE OF FRANCE
VIOLET JERMYN
THE PHANTOM REGIMENT
THE KING'S OWN BORDERERS
THE WHITE COCKADE
FIRST LOVE AND LAST LOVE
DICK RODNEY
THE GIRL HE MARRIED
LADY WEDDERBURN'S WISH
JACK MANLY
ONLY AN ENSIGN
THE ADVENTURES OF ROB ROY
UNDER THE RED DRAGON
THE QUEEN'S CADET
SHALL I WIN HER?
FAIRER THAN A FAIRY
ONE OF THE SIX HUNDRED
MORLEY ASTON
DID SHE LOVE HIM?
THE ROSS-SHIRE BUFFS
SIX YEARS AGO
VERE OF OURS
THE LORD HERMITAGE
THE ROYAL REGIMENT
THE DUKE OF ALBANY'S HIGHLANDERS
THE CAMERONIANS
THE SCOTS BRIGADE

CONTENTS

I. [The Romance of a Month]
II. [The Guarda Costa]
III. [Jack Slingsby]
IV. [The Venta]
V. [The Regiment of San Antonio]
VI. [La Posada del Cavallo]
VII. [The Halt in a Cork Wood]
VIII. [The Alcalde]
IX. [The Tertulia]
X. [Don Fabrique]
XI. [The Raterillo]
XII. [La Rio de Muerte]
XIII. [Pedro the Contrabandista]
XIV. [The Spanish Steamer]
XV. [The Circassian Captain]
XVI. [Osman Rioni]
XVII. [The Hussars of Tenginski]
XVIII. [Zupi]
XIX. [We Reach Head-Quarters]
XX. [St. Floridan; or, the Adventures of a Night]
XXI. [The Widow; or, the Adventures of a Night]
XXII. [Perez, the Potter; or, the Adventures of a Night]
XXIII. [The Major's Story]
XXIV. ["Estella"]
XXV. [A Legend of Fife]
XXVI. [The Phantom Regiment—The Quartermaster's Story]
XXVII. [The Phantom Regiment—The Unco' Quest]
XXVIII. [The Phantom Regiment—The Midnight March]
XXIX. [The Last of Don Fabrique]

THE PHANTOM REGIMENT;

OR,

STORIES OF "OURS."

CHAPTER I.
THE ROMANCE OF A MONTH.

"Adios, Señora Paulina—adios, mi Señora Dominga."

"Adios, Señor Don Ricardo," replied a sweet voice from the depths of the old Spanish coach.

"Vaya usted con Dios, y que no haya novedad Señoras," said I, making a vigorous effort with my best Castilian; and with these words, and one bright parting glance from two black Andalusian eyes, so ended my little romance of a month, as the old-fashioned coach, which was doubtless the production of some cunning workman of Seville or Jaen, rolled slowly, pompously, and heavily away towards the Spanish lines, from the north gate of Gibraltar.

And this farewell took place exactly this day twelve months ago.

The coach which bore away the old lady who rejoiced in the euphonious cognomen of Donna Dominga de Lucena y Colmenar de Orieja, and her daughter the pretty Paulina, was a genuine old Castilian contrivance of the true caravan species; and, though still in use, in this our age of luxury and invention, had been constructed, perhaps, before folding steps were conceived; for a three-legged stool, to facilitate ingress and egress, hung near the door. The roof was shaped like the crust of an apple-pie, and the lower carriage, like that portion of a triumphal car. It was drawn by a pair of fat sleek mules, which seemed to have grown old with the vehicle, and with Pedrillo, the little postilion, who floundered away on a demi-pique saddle, with a gigantic cocked hat surmounting his dark visage; and his lean spindle legs lost in two gigantic jack-boots, which belonged to the beforesaid saddle rather than to his own person.

Such was the antediluvian vehicle which bore away the pompous old Donna and her daughter the charming Paulina, who, for the past month (during which she had resided in Gibraltar), had turned all the heads of "Ours;" and was boasted by the Spaniards as the fairest belle in las Cuatros Reinos—yes in the three mighty little kingdoms of Seville, Cordova, Jaen, and Granada, which are now conglomerated into the beautiful province of Andalusia.

And so, without other escort than the redoubtable Pedrillo, who wore a trabujo or blunderbuss slung across his back, and strong in their belief in the virtues of the Santa Faz of Jaen, a picture of which was hung in the back of their coach, these two Spanish ladies, on the conclusion of their visit, departed on their return to Seville, their native city; and from the British fortifications, which frown in solid tiers towards the Spanish lines, I watched the venerable carrozzo as it rolled across the low sandy Isthmus, which is known as the neutral ground; and it disappeared just as the sun began to fade upon the beautiful masses of the Serrania de Rondo, which rose in piles against the golden clouds, and as the evening gun pealed like thunder among the Moorish peaks of Jebel Tarik; and then I turned away with a sigh as I thought of the winning smile I should never see again.

"It's all over now, Ramble," said my friend Jack Slingsby, who was the subaltern of my company, and who had been my chum at Sandhurst; "it is all over, Dick," he continued, with a laugh and one of those rough slaps on the shoulder, which no one ventures to give but an Englishman; "and so, instead of airing your sorrows here, 'sighing to the evening breeze' and all that sort of thing, you may as well come with me and knock the balls about a little—or join Shafton, the colonel, and some of "Ours" who have proposed a pool to-night—and meanwhile solace yourself with another of my 'very superior' cabanas."

"Perhaps it is as well she is gone, Jack," said I, endeavouring to imitate his light-hearted indifference; "had she remained among us another week, I would certainly have booked for her, and so have bedevilled myself, as you said yesterday."

"For Donna Paulina?"

"Of course—had you any doubts as to which?"

"Why—no. I certainly did not think that you were in love with the mother."

"Well," said I, impatiently.

"Paulina is very beautiful, no doubt; she has those Andalusian eyes and ancles which all the world talk about, but which all the world must see to feel the full effect of either. She has a charming manner—a glorious 'espiêglerie'—yes, that's the word! full of pretty repartee, and all that sort of thing—you understand me, Dick, or Don Ricardo, as she called you; but withal, I assure you, I should not like to enter for a Spanish wife, of all women in the world; no, no—what does the song say?" and as we reascended to the higher parts of the fortress, this careless fellow sang aloud a scrap of a popular mess-table song, somewhat to this purpose:—

"No fair fräulein or demoiselle, nor donna with her smile,
Shall ever teach me to forget the dear ones of our isle;
And when I seek a heart and hand among the fair and free,
Still constant in my faith, I'll say an English girl for me."

"That is the mark, Dick,—

"——an English girl for me!"

Besides, half of the young fellows in garrison here ran after Paulina; and at every mess-table she was as well known as the big drum, or the regimental snuff-box, or that great ram's head with its devilish horns, with which those highland fellows of the 92nd decorate their table, after the cloth is removed. At every jail, field-day, and tertulia—at church, and on the promenade, a crowd of admirers surrounded her, like flies round honey, and she seemed to be equally delighted with all."

"That was one of the peculiar charms of her manner, Jack," said I.

"Peculiar, indeed!" said he, letting out a cloud of smoke from his well-mustachioed lip.

"In public, she distinguished none in particular, but was alike gay with all."

"And in private, who was said generally to be the happy Lothario?"

I made no reply, but knocked the ashes away from the 'very superior' cabana, with which he had just favoured me.

"It was said to be a certain person known as Dick Ramble of 'Ours'," continued Slingsby, in his bantering way; "but I am deuced glad it is all over, like any other flirtation, and you are 'free to win and free to wed another;' I don't like Spaniards—and never shall. In fact, I have hated them ever since that unpleasant adventure I had at Malaga last year, and about which I shall tell you some other time; but here come Shafton, Morton, and some more of 'Ours,' and as soon as we leave the mess, we shall adjourn to the billiard table."

What this 'unpleasant adventure,' to which Slingsby referred—and to which I had often heard him refer before—might have been I cared not then to inquire; but walked on, more chilled than consoled by his rattling manner and by that mess-room raillery, which I have known to laugh many a wiser man than your humble servant, out of an honest and sincere passion; while it has also been the saving of many an inflammable "Newcome," or unfledged, but amatory ensign, from the lures of those passé garrison belles, whose feathers are beginning to moult, and whose brilliance is beginning to fade, after a long career of close flirtation, round-dancing, supper-crushes, cold fowl, ices, pink champagne, affectionate farewells in the grey morning, when the drowsy drum-boys beat reveillie, or when the route arrived, and each lover—a lover alas! but for the time—departed with his regiment to return no more.

Of Paulina de Lucena (such a pretty name it is!) I had seen much during her short residence in Gibraltar, and had become—what shall I term it, for 'Ours' were not marrying men—charmed by her sweetness of temper and piquant manner, as well as by her acknowledged beauty.

Jack Slingsby stigmatised this under the denomination of "being spooney;" but as I have a proper abhorrence of all that slang phraseology which is peculiar to the university, the barrack, the clubhouse, and the turf, I believe I shall quote honest Jack no more, but proceed in my own fashion.

She was the only daughter of Lieutenant-Colonel Don Ignacio de Lucena, a Knight of San Ferdinando, an officer of Lancers in the service of the Queen of Spain, in one of whose battles he was taken prisoner by Cabrera, and shot in cold blood with fifty of his soldiers: for this ferocious Carlist behaved with such barbarity to the Constitutional Army that one of its officers, who had been a prisoner, assured me that at Valencia he and his comrades were subjected to such cruelty by their captors, that after a thousand sufferings, on being denied food, they were driven to the dreadful necessity of devouring the body of a fellow captive.*

* A work published in Valencia positively asserts this.

The profession of her father, together with the circumstance of one of her brothers being in the Spanish sea service, and another in the army of Portugal, caused her to view with a favourable eye all who have the honour to live by the sword; and my small smattering of Spanish, which I picked up in those idle hours of a garrison life that otherwise must have hung heavily over me, gave me every facility for cultivating a friendship which had in it everything that might serve to dazzle and charm a young man; for with the idea of Andalusia and Spanish beauty we are apt to conjure up so much of love and of romance that the imagination gets the better of the senses; besides, those rogues of travellers and romancers have always given us such exaggerated pictures of Spanish loveliness.

In regularity of feature and fairness of complexion, Donna Paulina was inferior to many a pretty girl I have seen at home. Her most glorious attractions were her dark glossy tresses and her black eloquent eyes—brilliant, sad, subduing, ever varying, but ever black, and under their long, long fringes, ever melting. In beauty of form and grace of movement she was unmatched out of her own province, and I can assure the reader that the first time her very striking figure appeared among the promenaders in the Alameda of Gibraltar with her drapery of black lace falling from a high pearl comb, her mantilla, her close-fitting dress, her pretty feet in their Cordovan slippers, and her large fan, the unhappy bones of which were ever in a state of flutter and excitement, and between which she shot her most dangerous glances, it occasioned much marvel, curiosity, and speculation at all the mess-tables of Her Majesty's forces stationed on the rock.

To such a companion imagine the charm of acting cicerone about the fortifications of old Gibraltar; imagine our evening rambles round Rosia Bay and along the new mole, where the ships of the British and Yankees, the French, Spaniards, Portuguese, Italians, Turks, Greeks, Moors, Arabs, and Jews, with all their varieties of ensigns, costume and rig, are riding at anchor, and where many a grim mortar and cannon gun frown over the new bastion; imagine the transition from the sunny Alameda to the deep cool galleries which are hewn in the heart of the living rock, and which are now turned to such war-like purposes as old Pomponius Mela, who first wrote of them, could never have conceived, and where we wandered for many an hour, the pretty donna forgetting the starched customs of her country so far as to grasp my arm with both her hands at times, for the aspect of these places filled her with timidity and awe.

To these subterranean batteries there is admitted but a dim and dubious light that steals through their embrasures, glinting on the damp slime of their walls and roof of rock; and on the heavy ordnance—sixty-eight pounders some of them—which stand on frames of metal, on piles of balls and bombs, and on doors studded with iron, that lead to other and inner vaults full of missiles and unknown terrors.

On, on would we wander, through grim batteries, gloomy magazines, and far-stretching galleries, that seemed to be without end, obtaining at times through the vaulted embrasures a glimpse of the town, then basking in the glare of the noonday sun, or of the sea, shining under a brilliance in which the vessels on its bosom became lost, while we heard only the sound of our own voices, the twang of a bugle, or the sharp rat-tat of a drum in the barracks, the faint boom of a breaker on the cliffs, or the fainter sound of voices in the town, far, far down below, where all the races of the world were mingling; for there, in its streets, might be seen the smart Greek in his scarlet fez and ample kilt; the hideous Afric Jew in his black and white striped cowl; the slow and solemn Turk; the bare-kneed Scottish soldier; the lively Italian sailor, and the puffing, perspiring, and grumbling John Bull.

I saw Paulina daily, and garrison life became one long and enchanting dream!

In the batteries of the rock we promenaded often when the heat became too great in the sunny Alameda, and with such a companion, while wandering through the subterranean and twilight shades of Saint George's Hall, or the Windsor Gallery, how was it possible to escape from loving her.—A coquettish Andalusian, who, whenever I ventured to become a little more tender than usual, would tap me over the fingers with her fan, or give me one brilliant, flashing and fascinating glance, as she closed her screen of black lace, and threatened to leave me, while she sang, with the most charming grace in the world, "Pues por besarte Minguillo," the English of which is somewhat to the following purpose:—

"Give me swiftly back, thou dear one,
Give the kiss I gave to you;
Give me back the kiss, for mother
Is impatient—prithee do!
Give me that, and take another,
For that one, thou shalt have two."

And where, the while, the reader may naturally enquire, was the cautious, suspicious, and lynx-eyed Spanish mother therein referred to?

Now old Donna Dominga had conceived a vehement friendship for me since the first evening on which I had the pleasure of meeting her at the residence of the Governor and Commander-in-Chief; and where I supplied her with ices when she was warm, adjusted her mantilla when she was cool, held her fan, snuff-box, and poodle, and brought her a cigarillo and orange-water dashed with the smallest taste of brandy; and, discovering her sympathies and antipathies, soon learned to anathematise Cabrera and the Conde de Montmolin, to express a vague belief in miracles in general, and the verity of the Holy Face of Jaen in particular. I "turned" the old lady's flank, and established myself safely under the wing of her prejudices.

She always accompanied Paulina and me in our rambles; but I generally contrived, by a little successful manoeuvring, to leave her to the care of Dr. MacLeechy, our senior surgeon, after Jack Slingsby had very disobligingly revolted against this duty; and as the doctor and the Donna were either somewhat pursy, or disposed to prose and linger, we usually left them far in the rear and lost sight of them altogether.

Now the doctor, who quoted Kelaart as if he had been his own father, and expatiated to the old lady on geology (with mineralogy, botany, and Scottish metaphysics), was so very particular in explaining the leaves, fibres, and various properties of the Iberus Giberaltarica, the only plant peculiar to the rock, that the stout Donna Dominga, who deemed all this but the language of the flowers, and viewed everything through the medium of gallantry, became troubled in spirit, and would occasionally blush behind the sticks of her fan, or ogle and look unutterable things at our poor unconscious medico. She would sigh tenderly when he plucked the soft palmetto which grows in the rocky crevices, or tremble over the white polyanthus, and was ready to drop like a ripe pumpkin into his arms, when he grew eloquent upon the various species of the cacti.

This was all very well while it lasted, for while the ponderous old donna thought that our quiet, canny, and discreet Galen, who signed himself M.D. of St. Andrews, and F.E.C.S. of Edinburgh, was a lover of her own, she forgot to look too narrowly after us; and believed that she had found a most agreeable mode of passing the month in Gibraltar, which, for change of air, had been recommended by some sangrado of Seville, as her health had become somewhat impaired by ease and good living.

I was so dazzled and delighted with the charming Paulina, and her pretty little ways, that I had really begun to prepare my mind for repelling the banter of the mess, and for waiting with due solemnity upon Donna Dominga to confer with her alone, upon settlements and so forth, when a terrible denouement took place! Having rashly boasted of her imaginary conquest over our doctor, to a lady whom she met at the house of a rich Spanish merchant in the Alameda, there ensued between them an immediate scene; for this unlucky communication (given with all the coy triumph with which the plump old lady could invest it) was made to no other than the doctor's wife, who had just arrived from Dublin; and as it had never entered the head of Donna Dominga to inquire whether our unsuspecting medico was a Benedick—bond or free, as they say in Australia—a storm was the consequence.

Now, Mrs. Leechy MacLeechy, our Scotch doctor's better half, was a strong-minded Irish woman, who wore a species of turban, and was the terror of the regiment; on each of her fat wrists she wore a bracelet of blood-encrusted medals, torn, as she said, "off Rooshian breasts," and sent to her from Sebastopol by her brother, who was "the matchor—the saynior matchor—devil a less, or the foighting eighty-ayth;" and so this lady, in her deep Galway patois, poured on the Spaniard a broadside that would have sunk the Santissima Trinidad.

Finding her love affair at an end, the cruel donna resolved to cut short mine. Within an hour after this meeting, Pedrillo was summoned; the old Spanish coach was brought forth; the baggage packed, and her farewell cards—P.P.C.—dispatched to the governor and his military secretary; to the aides-de-camp and staff colonel; to the officers commanding regiments, and all the great folks of the place. The old lady and the pretty Paulina got into the depths of the ponderous 'carrozza;' the three-legged stool was strapped to the door; Pedrillo clambered into his bucket-like boots, and muttered many 'carajos!' as he applied his latigo to the sleek sides of the dapple mules, and while their proprietrix was sulking and fuming at Gibraltar and all the heretics who dwelt therein, the huge conveyance crawled along the narrow causeway which forms the communication between the town and the isthmus, and, for the present, thus ended, as I have said, my pleasant little Spanish romance of a month.

A recollection was all that remained to me of Paulina, and of that flirtation which was fast maturing into something of a better and more lasting nature.

CHAPTER II.
THE GUARDA COSTA.

During the two preceding months we had been daily expecting orders to embark for the Crimea, and this expectation formed almost our sole topic at mess; but days became weeks, and weeks became months, yet we heard no more of it than what passed among ourselves.

Transports laden with troops—horse, foot, and artillery—touched daily at the Rock, and steamed on into the bright blue Mediterranean, with spirit-stirring cheers rising from their crowded decks. Regiments junior to ours were withdrawn from the Rock and dispatched to that scene of bravery and bloodshed, of mismanagement and disaster, towards which all our thoughts, our hopes, and hearts were turned; but the route never came for "Ours," and we grew decidedly peevish, and found the dull routine of duty among the endless batteries, bastions, curtains, magazines, and casemates of that mighty fortress which was so long boasted (before the days of steam) as the key of "the great French lake," sufficiently tedious; for we felt that we were merely playing at soldiers like militiamen, while our comrades of the line were engaged in desperate work, and played the great game of war, with the eyes of all the world upon them.

One evening, about a week after the departure of the ladies, I was captain of the guard at the New Mole Fort, and Jack Slingsby was my subaltern. We had just finished the dinner which had been sent to us, hot and smoking, from the mess-house, in a conveyance for the purpose; the windows of the officers' guardroom were open, and with a box of contraband cigars, a few periodicals from the garrison library, a telescope to watch the passing ships, and a bottle or two of very choice mess claret, we were dozing the sunny evening of Andalusia very comfortably away.

The last dispatches from the Crimea had been read and discussed by us; the last lists of killed, wounded, frozen, or missing in the trenches had been conned over for some familiar name, which brought vividly before us some fine fellow we should never see again; but whose sudden fate was the more interesting to us, because it soon might be our own.

Whether it was the result of the good dinner, the good wine, the sultry atmosphere, or our own thoughts that oppressed us, I know not; but we sat long silent, and gazing at the varied scenery and glittering waters of the bay.

My thoughts were still wandering after Paulina, and I was endeavouring to imagine what she might be about at that precise moment.

Slingsby had lost a very heavy and very absurd bet, on an interesting race run at Grand Cairo between an Irish mare and an Arab horse belonging to Halim Pasha, when the former beat the latter "all to nothing," as Jack phrased it, and he had to hand over 500l. to Morton, our colonel, for booking on a horse which neither of them had ever seen. The same race was offered for the last two years against all England, for ten thousand sovereigns, and, as all the sporting world know, the challenge was not accepted. Blue-devilled by his loss, Jack Slingsby sipped his claret in silence and made wise resolutions which he never intended to keep, with moral reflections which he never could practise, and longed for the Crimea, insensible to the charms of this delightful climate, where, even in January, the narcissus-polyanthus hang in white clusters from the rocks; where the purple lavender flowers in large beds and parterres; where the palmetto spreads its fan-like foliage to the sun; where the gigantic aloe puts forth its leaves, and the prickly pear expands its ponderous bunches, while the wild tulip and the damascus-tree are in full blossom under the gloom of the solemn pine, or the lighter foliage of the cork-tree—and where all is verdure, fragrance, and joy! Yet, amid all this, Jack Slingsby, like the rest of "Ours," sighed for the frozen camp, the battered trenches, and the misery of Sebastopol.

"So you have not got the better of your Spanish fancies, eh?" said he, for lack of something better to talk about; "the charming Paulina—that most rotund of elderly females, her mamma, and all that sort of thing?"

"What leads you to think so?" I asked languidly, as I lay stretched at length on the Windsor chairs, watching the smoke which ascended from my lips to the ceiling.

"It is quite plain, dear Don Ricardo."

"You cannot mimic her, so don't attempt it, Jack; but how is it plain, eh?"

"As clear as when the right is in front, the left is the pivot."

"A technical reply."

"Dick Ramble, my boy, you are quite sad about her, and there is no use in attempting to conceal it," continued Slingsby.

"Not sad, exactly," said I, making an effort to look brave; "never was I fool enough to be sad about any woman yet; there are as good fish, &c., and as for the Spanish girl—try another Cuba, the box is beside you."

"Thanks—about this Spanish girl?"

"Fill your glass, and push across the decanter; has not that bottle been a little corked, think you?"

"Perhaps—about this Spanish girl?" continued Jack doggedly.

"Well, what the deuce about her?"

"You were just on the point of remarking some thing."

"Only that her eyes were very fine, were they not?"

"Very, but I prefer blue—

"'No fair fräulein nor dem——-'

"For heaven's sake, Jack, don't begin that ever-lasting ditty!" said I, pettishly; "yes, Paulina's eyes were beautiful; they seemed, as the Spaniards say, to be in mourning for the murders they committed."

"A stale compliment," was Jack's retort to my interruption of a song with which he had favoured the mess every night since we left Southampton, for a small amount of vocal talent will go a long way to charm a mess-table; "she murdered you, however, with very little compunction; but to think of the doctor's botanising with the mother being mistaken for love-making—was it not glorious, Dick?"

"I have sometimes thought of a month's leave, just between musters," said I, without joining in Jack's boisterous laugh.

"Leave! for what purpose?"

"A ride into Spain—say, as far as Seville; what do you think of it?"

"Seventy miles or more to help you to continue a flirtation begun in the casemates of Gibraltar. Thank you, Ramble; I would rather hold myself excused. I had a little adventure in Spain once before, and its devilish concomitants quite cured me of all taste for another; though if I had not lost this unlucky 500l. perhaps—"

"Well, why the deuce did you not let Halim Pasha and his nag alone? What did their race matter to you?"

"But lend me the telescope—what is that puff—a gun?"

"It is a smuggler running right for the harbour, pursued by a Spanish guarda costa; bang! there goes another gun from the Don."

"And right through the felucca's sail too!"

"Hollo! they will be within gunshot of us ere long," said I, springing up: "and this will be work for us. Sentry, call the gunner of the guard."

"Gunner of the guard!" reiterated the sentinel, who stood, bayonet in hand, under a sunshade, at the guard-house door.

The solitary artilleryman, who was attached to my guard, appeared in an instant with his sword by his side, and a lintstock in his hand.

"Get ready a gun," said I; "for there is a Spanish guarda costa in pursuit of a smuggler, and we must protect our friend."

"An 18-pounder, or a 24, sir?"

"Oh, give him a twenty-four, and take a file of the guard to assist you."

While the smuggler, with her long sweeps out, and every stitch of canvas crowded on her long and tapering masts and whip-like yards, was straining every nerve to escape from the Spanish cruiser, which plied away with her bow guns, and bore after her close-hauled, and rushing through the shining waves till they seemed to smoke under her, it may be necessary to inform the reader that the manufacture and smuggling of tobacco and cigars at Gibraltar is a never-failing and never-ending source of angry discussion between the Governments of Spain and Britain; for, by the former, tobacco has long been reckoned a royal monopoly. Now, in Gibraltar, almost every second house is a cigar-shop, and more than two thousand men are daily employed in the manufacture of these articles of luxury, without which a Spaniard would be, as some one says. like a steamer without a funnel. Three-fourths of the British exports from Gibraltar to the three United Kingdoms are also smuggled, and to such an extent is the contraband trade carried, that the annual importation of tobacco into that fortified town, says Mr Porter, in his "Progress of the Nation," "amounts to from six millions to eight millions of pounds, nearly the whole of which is purchased by smugglers."

The boats of the contrabandistas are generally rigged as feluccas, and painted black; they are built sharp as a pike-head, and carry a heavy brass gun, which, in harbour, is usually concealed under a pile of old boxes and casks, with a tarpaulin thrown over it, while in cases of emergency, various pistols, pikes, and cutlasses, make their appearance in the hands of the brown-visaged, black-bearded, red-sashed, and rather pictorial-looking ruffians, whose chief occupation is to sleep and lounge about their decks by day.

To look out for these lads of the knife and pistol, the Government of Her Most Catholic Majesty maintains a number of fast-sailing revenue craft, called guarda costas, commanded by brave and vigilant officers. These are the abhorrence of the contrabandistas, whose operations are greatly facilitated on land by the concurrence of the corrupt Spanish officials; and those guarda costas, in their zeal, had, of late, been rash enough to pursue their prey into those waters which are under the jurisdiction of the Governor and Commander-in-Chief of Gibraltar; and in three instances had boarded them with pistol and cutlass, shot the crews, or driven them overboard, and thereafter cut the feluccas out from under the very guns of Her Britannic Majesty's fortress.

This, however, was not to be tolerated again, and strict orders had been issued that every guarda costa who ventured into troubled waters should be fired on. John Bull is consistently absurd and unjust in all things, and, with all his boasted justice, is the most veritable bully in the world—except, perhaps, his thriving son Jonathan; he would no doubt cut his own smugglers out of any port in the world, and in the same moment would deny the poor Spaniards the right to do the same; for John is a man full of honour and liberality, or a man of neither, just as may suit his own particular purpose for the time; but to return,—

On came the felucca in question, running straight for the anchorage, which was protected by the heavy guns of the New Mole Fort where we were on guard. and the parapet of which was lined by the soldiers, all eager to witness the result of that most exciting of all things, a chase—a struggle between a strong party and a weak one. On came the guarda costa in pursuit, plying her bow-chaser, cleaving asunder the clouds of white smoke which ever and anon it rolled ahead of her, and riding over the waves, then shining in all the rosy brilliance of a Spanish sunset, while astern waved the large ensign with the red and yellow horizontal bars of Castile and Leon.

Suddenly the little felucca ran up British colours; a sharp patter rang over the water, and a wreath of smoke rose from her stern as the devil-may-care contrabandistas gave the cruiser a dose of small arms.

Boom again! The don gave another shot from his brass gun, and this time an angry shout arose from our own vessels in the roadstead, for the ball had crossed the forefoot of a Newcastle collier.

"Ramble, this will never do," said Slingsby; "that Spanish craft is too near by half—much nearer than our standing orders permit."

"Now, gunner, is that 24-pounder ready?" said I.

"All ready, sir."

"Then bang at her."

We all watched the shot with breathless interest, for to us, the whole affair was merely a race, a game of hazard, like any other. The sullen roar of the 24-pounder shook the solid parapet of the New Mole Fort, and pealed in repeated echoes round all the shore to the extremity of Rosia Bay; and as the cloud of light smoke curled away from before us, we saw the shot whipping the water far astern of the guarda costa, and a flush of annoyance spread over the honest face of the artilleryman; for, as all our eyes were bent upon his performance, he had been most anxious to excel, and this very anxiety had probably defeated its object.

A muttered exclamation of impatience escaped him.

"Run back the gun," said he to the guard.

Back went the carronade, and home went the sponge, as he set his teeth, and, with hasty determination, proceeded to reload.

"Quick, quick," said I; "for if she hauls her wind, gunner, there will barely be time to give another shot."

"I'll toss you for it, Señor Capitano," said Slingsby; "bet you a bottle of champagne that I will hit the guarda costa."

"Done," said I; "toss for the first fire."

We tossed, and it fell to Jack.

"Take care that you don't hit the felucca."

"Miss the pigeon and hit the crow—eh, Dick?" he said, while, laughing, he applied his eye to the sites on the breech, and proceeded to adjust the screw, to the evident annoyance of the gunner, who, while he could not decline to relinquish his place to an officer, was piqued on being deprived of a chance of retrieving his name as a professional marksman; and now he stood by, with his match lighted, in the earnest hope, doubtless, that Jack Slingsby would send his shot as wide of the mark as possible. Cigar in mouth, Jack glanced coolly—almost carelessly—along the gun, and on covering his object, cried—"fire!"

Again the lintstock fell on the touch-hole; again the gun-shot rolled along the echoing shore, and pealed away to seaward; a large white splinter was seen on the gunwale of the guarda costa; her sails shivered and flapped in the wind, as the ball struck her, and suddenly backing her mainyard, she lay to, heaving like a wounded seabird, on the long glassy ridges of the ground-swell, ere the burst of applause with which our soldiers greeted Slingsby had died away—for my friend Jack was one of their most favourite officers.

"You did for her, there, sir," said the gunner, approvingly, as he rammed home the sponge.

"Yes, but as you fired when she was much further off, remember that I have the less credit in hitting," replied Jack, as he gave the gunner a crown-piece to console him.

By this time the felucca, with a shout of derision rising from her deck, ran into the harbour, ducking her colours thrice to us in salute, as she passed the New Mole Fort.

I had not been looking for more than a minute through the spy-glass at the guarda costa, when I became assured that some one on board had been wounded severely, either by the shot or its splinters. The crew—all save the man at the wheel—were grouped amidships; many were kneeling on the deck, and, once or twice, clenched hands were fiercely shaken in menace towards the battery; then we saw a man borne carefully aft between several others.

"Some one has evidently been killed or wounded desperately," said I, handing the glass to Slingsby.

"Good Heaven! do you say so?" cried Jack; "well, it would seem so—poor fellow—you know, Ramble, I did not exactly anticipate such a thing—so it is—so it is! There is a man stretched on the deck!" he added, passing the telescope to our soldiers.

"We have only obeyed a standing garrison order," said I; "and the responsibility thereof, if any, does not lie with us, but with those who issued it. Come back to the guard-room, Jack, and my servant shall go to the messman for that bottle of champagne you have won so well."

"Oh! deuce take the champagne, and all that sort of thing," said Jack, looking still at the guarda costa.

For a time an evident confusion and indecision, seemed to reign among her crew. She lay heaving and tossing, rising and falling on the long and ridgy rollers, with the setting sun glaring full upon her white mainsail, which lay flat to the mast; the light of day soon sank in the west, behind the upper peak of the rocky mountain, from which a myriad rays shot upward and played on the masses of floating cloud; the strait was still bathed in the amber glory of evening, and each glassy billow of the slow ground-swell as it rolled away from west to east, rose like a bank of gold from a plain of brilliant blue; and all the amphitheatre of the town, which stretches along the base of the rock, and rises gradually from the shore in the most delightful manner—mingling in picturesque confusion, the lofty and airy Spanish caza, with its flat roof, verandah, and sun-shaded windows, the close, compact English house, the solid rampart, and the flimsy wooden storehouse—all were bathed in the warmest tints, and every casement and window flung back the gleams of radiance, as if they had been illuminated by lamps of crimson and gold.

Soon after the departed sun had shed its last ray on the bare scalp of the sugar-loaf, the crew of the guarda costa, as a protection probably, hoisted British colours, and crept past us into the harbour, and immediately on dropping her anchor, sent a boat ashore.

We supposed that this visit could only be for the purpose of lodging a complaint against the officer in command at the New Mole Fort—to wit myself, a complaint which we knew would be unavailing: but we were mistaken; for my servant, on returning from the barracks with the bottle of champagne and other &c. requisite to enable Jack and me to pass the night on guard agreeably, brought us the unpleasant information that the shot had carried away both legs of the unfortunate Spanish lieutenant who commanded the guarda costa, and that doctor M'Leechy of "Ours" had at once gone off to the vessel to succour the patient, who—poor fellow!—had died under his hands.

This catastrophe proved a great damper to us, and to Jack in particular, for he was one of the best-hearted fellows in the service; so we had more champagne brought from the mess-house, and we talked of the guarda costa and her poor lieutenant almost till the morning gun was fired; and the affair furnished me with a special paragraph for that "column of remarks" in the guard report which seldom contains memoranda of greater importance than a notice of "the cracked pane of glass, handed over by Captain O'Brien of the 88th;" or, "the poker, handed over, broken, by the last guard under Lieutenant Smith, of the Buffs," and so forth.

In the morning we found that the guarda costa had sailed in the night, taking her dead commander with her; and long before the end of the week we had ceased even to speak of the circumstance at mess, and I forgot the affair as the image of Paulina came before me again, and thoughtless Jack Slingsby was as gay as ever.

But I must mention, that on being relieved from guard at the New Mole Fort, I found waiting me, at my quarters, Pedro de Urquija, a well-known contrabandista, and king of the smugglers of Gibraltar, who gave me a profusion of thanks "for saving his little felucca, La Buena Fortuna, from that devil of a guarda costa," saying it was the closest run he had ever experienced in twenty years of arduous smuggling; and he insisted upon my acceptance of several boxes of prime Cubas and some dozen yards of magnificent lace, worked by the nuns of Cadiz and the poor sisters of Santa Theresa at Estrelo, and we parted the best friends in the world: but a heavy rod was in pickle for Jack and me; and the affair was destined to cost us more danger, trouble, and anxiety, than we could ever have calculated on risking.

CHAPTER III.
JACK SLINGSBY.

The killing of the Spanish lieutenant revived among our diplomatic people the ever-rankling quarrel about the contrabandistas, and the captain-general of Andalusia wrote an angry letter to the governor of Gibraltar, remonstrating with him on the conduct of the officer in charge of the battery at the Mole Fort, in daring to fire upon a Spanish government cruiser, and requesting that the said Don Ricardo Ramble should be given up to the Spanish authorities to be sent to the galleys at Barcelona probably, or to be otherwise disposed of.

This absurd demand, however, the old general commanding waived politely; but the correspondence was prolonged until the military secretary became bored to death on the subject, and lost all patience at the very mention of it. Now as the Queen of Spain designates herself sovereign lady of Gibraltar, and as the alcalde of San Roque, a little town which has sprung up within the last hundred and fifty years, still styles himself in all official documents Alcalde of San Roque and of Gibraltar, and holder of supreme authority therein, the tone assumed by the capitan-general, who was on a visit to Jaen, was pompous, high, and mighty; for no explanation we could give in writing could make the irritable old Castilian hidalgo see that the lieutenant of the guarda costa had been in the wrong.

One evening, on entering the mess-room, I was startled by Colonel Morton acquainting me that by directions just arrived from the Foreign Secretary he had been requested to send the two officers who were on guard in the new Mole Fort into Spain.

"Without hostage or guarantee—the devil!" said I, shrugging my shoulders; "and to whom?"

"To this obstinate old bore by habit, and boar by nature, the captain-general."

"As prisoners, colonel?" cried Slingsby, with an astounded air from the other end of the table, and pausing with his hand on a wine decanter; "you don't mean to say as prisoners?"

"Prisoners—not at all; how could you think of such a thing?" said the colonel, laughing, for he was a hearty old soldier, at whose name stood P.W. and K.H., and C.B. in Hart's Army List; "you go merely to explain the late affair in person; and it is the more necessary for you both to go as the two aides-de-camp of the governor are on the sick list. It is only a ride of some seventy or eighty miles into Spain—wish 't were I who had the duty to do."

"And where does the captain-general live?"

"At Seville, to which place he is now returning from Jaen."

"Ah, indeed, Seville," said I, reviving, as I filled my glass with Moselle, and Slingsby stuck his glass in his remarkably knowing eye.

"You'll take good horses; but be careful of rogues, raterillos, and footpads by the way. I can lend you a pair of pistols with spring bayonets."

"Thank you, colonel, I have my revolver," said I, laughing.

"What! you smile, Ramble?" said the colonel; "and believe me to have the bandittiphobia; but I know Spain well, having marched over every foot of the Peninsula under Lord Lyndedoch, and fought my way from the Black Horse Square at Lisbon to the banks of the Nive, so I know pretty well, that in peace as in war armed desperadoes, whose hands are against all men, are, as a certain traveller says, 'the very weeds of the Spanish soil.' Right well do I know the land of Los Espagnols as we used to call them in the old fighting 5th Hussars. I was in the cavalry then, and had I not grown stiff in the joints, and lost all relish for adventures by day, fleas by night, and the resinous taste of vino out of a skin at all times, I would have saved you the trouble of the journey and gone myself; but my instructions from home say that Captain Ramble and Lieutenant Slingsby must go, so there is the end of it. Major, Mr. Vice, another bottle of wine to drink 'bon voyage' to Ramble and Slingsby."

"With all my heart; sergeant Slopper, a fresh allowance of wine," said the major.

"Wish I were going with you," said Shafton, the captain of our light company; "a ride to Seville! the very name of the place conjures up a sunny vision of orange trees and glowing grapes, of black mantillas and taper ancles, and different duty from trenching in the Crimea as we might have been, and ought to have been by this time."

"Aye," quoth M'Leechy the doctor, who although married (as he knew to his cost) was dining that day with the mess; "and a pleasant change after our dull routine of garrison life, during which we have, as 'Punch' says—

"Contentedly eat ration beefs and muttons,
Contentedly drank ration rums and waters;
Darned our own socks, and sewed our own buttons,
Fried in summer, and froze in winter quarters."

"A fine upon the doctor," said Shafton; "colonel, Mr. Vice, gentlemen, he vilely satirises Her Majesty's service, a bottle of champagne from the doctor."

"You will remember us all most affectionately to Donna Dominga and to the bewitching Paulina—you will see them of course," said some one from the foot of the table.

"The doctor must prepare some of the rarest specimens of those remarkable cacti with which he subdued the heart of the plump widow," said Slingsby, taking up the chorus of banter, "and have them ready by to-morrow; we start to-morrow, I presume, colonel."

"As early as you please," said Morton.

"We shall have some glorious fun in Seville—eh, Ramble? You'll envy us, gentlemen."

"If the captain-general does not garotte you," snarled the doctor; "or treat you as Don Ramon Cabrera, the Conde de Morella, treated the husband of Donna Dominga."

"But for that gentle sigh, doctor, I would have considered you quite a bear," said Slingsby, "but pass the wine, M'Leechy."

"If you find Seville dull," retorted the doctor, "you had better play the same little prank you played at Kilkenny when you were in the Sixth."

"What did he do when in the Sixth?" inquired a dozen voices at once.

"What did he not do you should ask," continued the doctor, while Jack smiled faintly and filled up his glass. "Once when we marched into Kilkenny we found there had been a quarrel between the Rapparees of the district and the first battalion of Scots Royals. It was in the time of high Repeal enthusiasm, and nothing was thought of but an Irish Republic, so the people looked darkly at the redcoats. Now Slingsby had never been in Ireland before, and as he received over the barrack-guard from one of the Royals, with bayonets fixed and drum beating, he asked how the inhabitants liked the troops.

"'Ill enough,' answered the Royal, 'since we shot some of them in a tithe business near Roscrea: they have been as cold as charity, and the devil a dinner or ball have we had since last muster day, and you be here till you are mouldy without seeing such a thing as a waltz or white kids—ices and fowl, trifle and champagne.'

"Whereupon Mr. Jack Slingsby, being an Englishman, and knowing no better, believed he might play pranks upon the Irish; and seating himself in his quarters next day, he assumed his pen and dispatched the following card to every house in the town:—

"'Lieutenant Slingsby, of H.M.'s 6th Foot, presents his compliments to the ladies of Kilkenny, and takes the earliest opportunity of announcing his arrival. He begs to inform them that he can play whist, casino, and every game on cards known in Christendom; that he flirts to admiration, and can polk, waltz, and dance the varsovienne ditto, that generally he can accommodate himself to every whim-wham of the charming sex, and is always to be heard of at his residence in the infantry barracks.'

"Among others he rashly sent one of these precious circulars to Mrs. Towler, the wife—I beg her pardon—the lady of the major-general of the district, who wickedly handed it to her husband at breakfast; so poor Jack's production brought him before a general court-martial. It went very hard with him, for the irascible general deemed that his wife and her ten highly-eligible daughters were grossly insulted; but our hero escaped with a reprimand, and the colonel was directed to watch his conduct in future, but he became thereafter the lion of Kilkenny and Carlow to boot, and all the district from Roscrea to Clonmel. After that, an evening party without Jack, would have been like a bell without a clapper."

"But the general never forgave me for that prank," said Jack, good-humouredly; "and he was always on the watch for me afterwards."

"You remember how nearly he had you booked for another court-martial on a race day?"

"And how nicely I outflanked and outwitted him! It was the day of the principal races; I had a horse to run, and more than half the regiment had made a heavy book on him, and a great amount of paper was expected to change owners on the issue. The lord-lieutenant was to be there, and I was all anxiety to be present at the race, when, as the devil or the adjutant would have it, I found myself in orders the day before—orders for guard! Everybody was going to the course, and not a soul for love or money would take my duty; so with a heavy heart I paraded in the morning; and as the time for the start drew near I saw all our fellows bowl out of barracks in drags and cars attired in sporting mufti and in high spirits. Then came old General Towler, commanding the district, in his blue frogged coat, and with the sabre which he had wielded at the passage of the Bidassoa, Mrs. General Towler, several Misses Towler, all demoiselles of mature age, and the A.D.C. Horatio Towler, captain of a regiment which he never saw, for he wisely preferred his mamma's drawing-room in Kilkenny to broiling on Cape Coast. They all scampered out, then the barrack gates were shut, and all became very quiet and still.

"No sound stirred in the empty parade-yard, for no one was abroad; the sun was scorching and the sentinels stood in their boxes. I thought of the buzz, the glitter, the fun and frolic, the cold fowl, the iced champagne, the brandy and soda-water, the flirtation on the roof of a drag, on the rumble or the dickey—all the excitement and enthusiasm of the races, and more than all, I imagined how my nag would look when the exulting grooms drew his cloths off, the jockey in blue and white colours, and fancy painted him scouring like a whirlwind round the smooth green course, and beating Flying Dutchman, Lady Fanny, Albert, and all the rest of them hollow. As the time of the start drew nigh, my excitement and longing increased, but I knew too well the danger of absenting myself from a guard. I knew, moreover, that old Towler, who spent half his life in laying traps for subalterns (ensigns being his peculiar aversion), was daily furnished with a card, whereon were written the names of the officers on garrison duty, and he had seen me on guard as he passed out. The barracks are so empty, I'll never be missed, thought I, and may steal to the course in the crowd. So, as the distance was short, I hurried off on foot and in full uniform just as I had paraded for duty, with my sword, white belt, and shako. Lost amid the wilderness of tents, stalls, thimblers, and rolypoly men, carriages, gigs, cars, and vehicles of every kind, I reached the grand stand, or rather its vicinity, and was eagerly looking about for my horse as the bell had rung at the starting-point, and the race had begun long since, when I heard a tremendous cheer, and saw my own jockey borne past me, shoulder high. Blue and white had won! In my excitement and confusion I forgot all about my uniform, and was pushing, jostling, and fighting my way through the delighted mob, when the basilisk expression of two fierce grey eyes that peered from under their shaggy brows arrested me.

"Heavens and earth! I was close to the carriage of old General Towler, and there he sat, sullen as Jove upon his throne of thunder clouds, scanning me and his card,—the fatal detail card, alternately.

"'I am done for!' was my first thought; 'I have won the race, but lost my commission; he has nailed me at last!' and my heart sunk, as I thought of the too probable consequences of a second court-martial.

"'To the barracks,' I heard him say imperiously, and I knew in a moment that he was deliberately driving off to turn out the main guard, and thus to prove me absent therefrom. I felt that I was lost—that my commission, the pride of my heart, was gone; and had not a happy thought seized me, I should not have been here to night. Just as the carriage turned round, I sprang up behind it, and stood there unseen, but stooping low, because the roof was open.

"'You're sure it is that impertinent fellow, Slingsby, of the Sixth?' said Mrs. Towler, with a smile of malicious satisfaction.

"'Sure as you are beside me, my love,' growled the general; 'bad example to the soldiers—very! subversive of all discipline—I'll smash him now—absent from guard—a general court-martial——'

"'A saucy jackanapes,' said Miss Towler.

"'Gross dereliction of duty!'

"'He was most impertinent to Maria at the last ball,' said Mrs. Towler.

"'Violation of the articles of war,' growled the Major General; 'but here we are close on the barracks—now we shall have him!'

"'Guard turn out!' cried the sentry, presenting arms, and facing his post.

"'Stop, coachman,' cried the general, as the carriage, with wheels flashing and its steaming bays at full gallop, dashed up to the guard house, where they reared back on their haunches, as the guard formed line, opened ranks, and the drum gave the single customary ruffle, just as I dropped unseen from the foot-board behind, drew my sword, and took my place coolly at the head of my men.

"'Sergeant,' roared the general; 'where's the officer of the guard—where's that infernal—where is Mr. Slingsby?'

"'Here, general,' said the astonished noncommissioned officer.

"'I am here, sir,' said I, haughtily lowering the point of my sword.

"'Here—you!' he exclaimed with a glance of astonishment and perplexity, as he fumbled with his confounded detail card; 'what the deuce—I thought—that will do, however; guard, turn in, sir; coachman, drive on!'

"And the carriage, with the general and all his daughters, with their fringed parasols, rolled away. Old Towler never discovered how I circumvented him, though he assured his son, the aide-de-camp, that he could have made his affidavit on seeing me at the races, and in ten minutes after found me at the head of my guard more than two miles distant."

Next day Slingsby and I left the garrison on our mission to Seville. He accompanied me with some reluctance, for he disliked the Spaniards, having been frequently among them, and being one who possessed a strange facility for getting into all kinds of scrapes and broils. Before starting we received from the military secretary all the papers connected with the affair of the guarda costa; and, what was of more importance to us, we received from the paymaster a necessary portion of "the soul of Pedro Garcias," and taking with us only our undress uniform and grey great-coats, our swords and revolvers (for one might as well travel without brains as without arms in Spain; besides, Fabrique de Urquija, a devil of a fellow, haunted the Sierra de Ronda), a valise with six shirts each, a box of cubas, and a John Murray, we crossed the isthmus, passed through the Spanish lines about an hour after the morning gun was fired, and with the gorgeous sunrise of a beautiful Spanish day took the wild and lonely road into Andalusia, with well-filled purses, good nags under us, light hearts and thoughtless heads, and in such a frame of mind, that, in pursuit of adventure, we would have faced anything, from a black beetle to a mad bull.

I thought of Donna Paulina (when did I not think of her?) and as the strong ramparts of Gibraltar lessened in our rear, I hummed "Pues por bisarte Minguillo," her coquettish little song of "The Kiss."

Poor Paulina!

CHAPTER IV.
THE VENTA.

We had left the dull world of matter-of-fact behind us, and were now in the land of romance, where, save the invention of cigars and musket locks, all was unchanged since the days of Charles V.; for while all the world moves around her, Spain alone stands still, torpid and unchanging as her unclouded sun and mighty mountain Sierras.

On reaching Castellar we expected to receive an escort from the officer commanding a troop of cavalry quartered there, a necessary protection against the banditti of Fabrique de Urquija, whose name was now a terror to Andalusia.

It was a Spanish day; the air was clear, ambient, and pure as light; the sky was cloudless, and exhibited a deep immensity of blue, rendering the most distant objects visible in the blaze of the soaring sun, that whitened the rocks and the narrow horse path we pursued; while the dark pine branches and the light cork trees were unstirred by a breath of wind.

We passed through San Roque, a town of some importance to Spain, since Sir George Rooke in 1704 took Gibraltar, which was almost the only acquisition of the English arms until the union with Scotland, and consequent consolidation of the naval and military resources of the two kingdoms. After leaving it, our route lay through that beautiful forest of cork trees which spreads over a great part of the country, and borders on the bay of Gibraltar.

At Venla we passed several strings of galley slaves, who were chained together, and at work upon the road. As we trotted past, they paused to glare at us, and their dark sparkling eyes shone through the tangled masses of their jetty hair, which was the sole covering of their heads alike under the winter rain and the scorching summer sun.

At Castellar we were disappointed in our expected escort, as the cavalry had marched to Seville, so we halted at a venta, or inn, and were strongly advised by the hostalero, or keeper, to tarry with him awhile, for the approaching night at least, as several outrages had lately been committed in the neighbourhood, and a band of broken Carlist soldiers and runaway galley slaves had hovered for some time in the Sierra de Ronda, making themselves the terror of all the country from Cortes to Vente Quemada.

"Disparate," said I; "nonsense!"

"A sly trick to get us to stay over night," said Slingsby, as he took a long draught of Xeres and cold water, and renewed his attack on the boiled fowl, which was all the patron could as yet provide for us.

"Madre maria purissima!" said the latter, turning up his glossy black eyes; "may you be forgiven your incredulity; but, señores, did you not remark the number of crosses by the wayside as you came along?"

"We did," said Jack; "and what then?"

"Each one marks the scene of some 'novedad.'"

"Novelty—a new term for a murder, Señor Patron?"

"And the poles, with robbers' heads on them?"

"I observed one," said I.

"And singular to say, a bird had built its nest in it," added Jack; "it was a mere skull."

"One—madre de Dios—are there not a hundred? yet, señores, you could not ride without an escort, even so far as Alcala—the thing is not to be thought of."

"What think you of all this sort of thing, Ramble?" asked Slingsby.

Before I could reply, a loud cracking of whips, the creaking of ill-greased wheels, and the clamour of voices were heard. On this the hostalero cried,—

"It is the convoy already—the convoy from Marbella to Medina—your graces will excuse me."

He hurried away, and in a minute after came breathlessly back with intelligence that it had been fired on by Don Fabrique with at least fifty thousand banditti, at Benelauria, near the foot of the Sierra, and but for a case of reliques carried by a padre of Medina, every soul must have perished; but would not the noble señores come down stairs, and count the bullet-holes in the pannels?

"The bullet-holes!"

"By Jove, this affair becomes interesting," said Slingsby, and we descended to the inn-yard, where we found ourselves amid a Babel of tongues and dire confusion. Let the reader imagine four calessos, all painted in bright stripes of red and yellow, the royal colours of Spain, each with pannels full of glaring flowers and absurd miraculous pictures, a body like a cabriolet, supported on a ponderous under-carriage with high wheels, all splashed with mud. Each calesso was drawn by two mules, the collars and bridles of which were covered with clear jangling bells. These were each driven by a Jehu who wore all the brilliant colours of the rainbow in his jacket, sash, breeches, and embroidered leggings. These four calessos were full of passengers. There were soap-boilers and potters of Seville, sleek, well fed, and in easy circumstances; the old padre, José Torquemada, the curate of Medina, in a broad hat and long black cassock buttoned to the throat; over his shoulders he wore a broad cape, and in his hands were his beads, breviary, and the case of reliques which had just been of such signal service. There were several cotton manufacturers on their way to Cadiz; but all—save a military man who wore a green surtout and forage cap laced with gold—most unwarlike personages to meet a party of robbers in a Spanish sierra.

The drivers, we were told, were singing merrily, the bells were jangling, the passengers all smoking, chatting, and laughing, as they entered a defile in the hills, when suddenly the rocks and trees which overhung the rough path were found to be manned—

"Don Fabrique de Urquija!" was the cry, shots were fired—maladito! and the escort, which consisted of a sergeant and four dragoons of the Spanish army, turned their horses and fled at full speed, leaving the convoy to the mercy of the outlaws, who captured the rear calesso, cut its springs, shot the driver, and had retained it with all its contents and passengers. The other four had escaped, and came thundering down the narrow path to Castellar with all their passengers shouting with terror, the mules galloping, the bells jangling, and every vehicle plunging like a ship in a storm.

"Morte de Dios!" added the military personage, whom they called Don Joaquim, and from whom we had this account; "it was a narrow escape, for Urquija is a very Tartar—a blood-drinker! You belong to the British service, señores, I presume?"

"Yes," said I.

"To the garrison in Gibraltar, of course?"

"Of course; we have no other garrison in Spain."

"And you are on leave, señores?"

"Si, señor, on leave, and going to Seville," said I, conceiving that to tell our real object to this inquisitive officer might not be conducive to the cultivation of mutual good-will.

"I also am an officer," said he, bowing; "and belong to the Portuguese service—Major in the ancient Regiment of St. Anthony."

"But you are a Spaniard," said I.

"The señor is right; but my father was tied to a post one fine morning, and shot by Don Ramon de Cabrera; it gave me a disgust at Spain, for I saw it done, so I entered the service of Portugal. Come, hombres, I am glad to meet two brothers of the sword; we shall have a fresh bota of Xeres, and be comfortable for the night. After this devilish piece of work, the convoy cannot proceed without an escort; it must halt till morning, so let us all be happy together. I shall be in Seville myself ere long, and hope to have the pleasure of meeting you there."

Don Joaquim seemed to be about thirty-five years of age; in figure he was somewhat short and punchy, his face was round and good-humoured, though at times it became stern, sinister, and almost fierce, if anything excited him. His hair was shorn short, but his moustaches were long and lanky, and hung over his mouth like black leeches, imparting to his face an aspect not unlike the old portraits of Philip II. His light-green military surtout, like his scarlet trousers, was edged with gold lace, and he wore an enormous sabre, which clattered in a scabbard of polished brass. At a button-hole hung a little order of merit; the bag, or end of his forage-cap, drooped upon his right shoulder; his mouth was never without one of those paper cigaritos of which he was constantly employed in the manufacture from a little paper book and tobacco bag; and now I hope the reader sees before him, or her, Major Don Joaquim of the Regiment of St. Anthony, otherwise styled of Lagos.

The hostalero was in high spirits at the arrival of so much good company, and being assured of their detention for at least a night or two before the escort could join them, he bustled about, applauding, vociferating, and directing, while getting their baggage, portmanteaux, and bales under cover, ever and anon pausing to count or draw attention to seven or eight bullet perforations which had been made in the calesso panels, to the great perturbation of the "easy-going" soap-boilers and "well-to-do" cotton merchants, who had no taste or predilection for such matters, and could not see how or why Don Joaquim considered it such "a capital joke," that one had received a bullet through his hat; another had received one through the collar of his coat; and that a third had his cigar—demonio—the very cigar carried out of his teeth!

Soon we were all grouped together, some thirty or so of us, in the large apartment of the venta, some seated on stools, others on chairs, but many on piles of baggage; bottles of vinto tinto, and skins of the common wine, were set abroach; fresh cigars were made up from those little pouches and paper books which every Spaniard and Turk carry about with him; Don Joaquim produced his guitar, and favoured the company with a song. To my surprise it was Paulina's—"Pues por bisarte Minguillo"—and we all became merry and noisy. The soap-boiler forgot the hole in his sombrero; the potter, the dangerous mode in which he had lost his cigar, even the old padre José relaxed his grim solemnity, and slily relaxed the lower buttons of his long cassock, to make more room for supper and the purple contents of the thrice-blessed bota; while the patrona, a buxom dame in a short skirt and scarlet stockings, and wearing large silver ear-rings, superintended the cooking of a vast dish of ham and eggs—'huevos y tocino'—from which the fragrant steam went hissing up the chimney, while the drivers in their gaudy jackets sat near the glowing hearth, chewing biscuits and bacalao, or roasting the sputtering chestnuts, joining in our jokes and stories, while the happy hostalero bustled about, superintending everything and everybody.

The company of the convoy soon recovered from the terror of their late adventure, and anxious speculations or terrible surmises as to the fate of their captured friends, sobered down into hopes that they would soon join us; but the ruddy evening deepened on the beautiful mountains of the Ronda; the darkening peaks threw their shadows on the vine-clad plains, the stars began to gleam in the dark blue vault, and the last slice of ham and egg had sent its fragrance up he wide chimney, but no fugitive reached the now closed and barricadoed gate of the venta at Castellar.

As one may easily suppose, the late occurrence caused the conversation to run very much upon robbers and their exploits; thus we heard stories of wanton cruelty sufficient to make the hair of a well-regulated Briton stand erect on end; but as these tales closely resembled the common stock of robber narratives, especially such as we are told by romancers, who have been smitten with what has been termed the bandittiphobia, I will not attempt to rehearse them all. One or two of these relations struck me as having something peculiar in them.

"I was once passing through Antequera," began the venerable José Torquemada, "that city so famed for robbers and picaros—

"Ay de mi! señor padre," said a goatherd of Honda, "it was once famed lor something better."

"True, my child," replied the old priest, approvingly; "for it was there Don Ferdinand the Just, the valiant Infante of Castile, in the fifteenth century, founded the noble order of the Jar of Lilies, in honour of our Blessed Lady, by whose aid his good and valiant knights stormed the city from the Moors, and slew fifteen thousand of those God-abandoned infidels. Ah mi hijo! it was something to be a Spaniard then! But to return; I was once passing through that same city of Antequera, when I had an adventure with Don Fabrique—

"With Fabrique de Urquija?" exclaimed all, drawing nearer the padre and lowering their voices.

"Ave Maria!" exclaimed Don Joaquim, "this must indeed be something worth hearing."

"The more so, as I realised a pretty round sum by it," continued the priest. "You all know Antequera, señores, a handsome town on the plain between Granada and Seville, and situated in a land that teems with oil and wine. One night when the hour was late, and no moon had risen, I was passing through the great street which leads to the old Moorish castle, and counting ever and anon in the pocket of my cassock three poor pistareens, which were all I possessed, but which I was hastening to bestow upon a poor widow. Her husband, a brave guerilla, had been taken in a skirmish at the Pena de los Enamorados (or Lover's Rock), which stands a league from Antequera, and, after a brave resistance, had been bound with cords, and shot that morning in the Plaza—"

"By the Count de Morella?" cried Don Joaquim.

"Yes, by Cabrera."

"Bah—I thought so," said the major, grinding his teeth; "proceed, reverend padre."

"The little pistareens were all I had in the world, and when I thought of the poor widow and her six children weeping by the corpse of their unburied father, and unable to buy masses for his sinful soul, I paused to gaze at the old castle of the Moors, and sighed to know the secret of the treasures that lay hid among its ruins; and then I craved pardon of Madonna for the thought, as all the gold of the infidels is buried under the spell of such enchantment as no man may break and live.

"Well, señores, I was just thinking of these strange things when a hand was laid heavily upon my shoulder; I turned, and by the light of a shrine at the corner of a street, saw a dark face and a tall figure girdled by a scarlet sash full of daggers and pistols.

"'Who are you,' I asked fearlessly.

"'Fabrique de Urquija.'

"'Go, go,' said I, feeling my heart leap at the name; 'I am but a poor priest, and can give you nought but my blessing.'

"'Your blessing be hanged! señor padre, hand over all you possess, or by the Holy Face of Jaen,'—and grinding his teeth he grasped a poniard.

"'As I live I possess nothing but my cassock and these poor little pistareens which are for a widow and her starving children.'

"'Then off with the cassock, and give me the pistareens to boot. Your garment I must have, for I mean to play the priest to-night, and visit a dame whom I may make a widow, too, some of these days.'

"In vain I begged him to leave me the pistareens, but this demon of avarice only laughed, and touching his pistols said,—

"'Quick, quick, and here take my jacket and maldito, begone without looking behind you.'

"The exchange was soon made; with a hoarse laugh the robber thrust himself into my threadbare cassock, and with loathing I drew on his old velvet jacket, which was tattered and full of holes. He then bade me farewell with mock solemnity; and glad to escape so easily I hastened away, but had not gone many yards when I heard the voice of the terrible Urquija commanding me to 'stop;' and believing that, repenting of his clemency, he only meant to poniard me, I turned and fled with all the spaed of my poor old legs, fervently invoking the saints, and praying to Madonna that the vision of the sacrilegious pursuer might be obscured, and that I might escape.

"'Come back, padre, come back, there is a mistake,' I heard him crying; 'por vida del demonio, stop, or it will be the worse for you!'

"But, blessed be Heaven, I escaped and reached the humble house of the widow, where her little ones gathered round me, and sought to clutch as usual the long skirts of my cassock; but, ay de mi, they were gone, and with them my pistareens, so that I was without the means of buying bread for the children of the dead guerilla.

"What shall I do!" thought I, and mechanically felt the pocket of the jacket; it contained something hard: what is this! I pulled it forth, and Madre Maria! found the sudden cause of the robber's oaths, pursuit, and vociferations, for by the exchange of our apparel I had become the possessor of one hundred golden pistoles!

"I had never held so much money in my hands before; find for a long time I was quite bewildered how to dispose of such a treasure. First I made the hearts of the widow and her little ones glad, and the rest I bestowed on the poor old nuns of St. Theresa, who had just been stripped of all they possessed in the world, and were begging their bread in the public streets of Antiquera—thanks to the liberal Government of Spain."

The idea of the robber so egregiously outwitting himself occasioned great satisfaction among all the listeners; the goatherd was so delighted that he thrice flung his hat up to the ceiling, and aloud 'viva' greeted the old padre as he finished his little story.

"I once had a more narrow escape than yours, Padre José," said the Major Don Joaquim, "and but for the intervention of the blessed St. Anthony of Portugal whose brother officer I have the felicity to be, I had not had the happiness of addressing you all to-night, or enjoying these roasted castanos, or the most excellent vino tinto of the worthy señor patron."

"Through the intervention of San Antonio," exclaimed all present; "do tell us, señor oficial, all about this."

"You have heard of St. Anthony, señores?" said the major to us.

"One of the seven champions of Christendom, who broke enchantments, fought with giants, and did all that sort of thing," said Slingsby; "of course, who has not heard of him?"

"Ah, who, indeed?" said the major.

His words smacked of a miracle, and every one present became at once interested. Lighting a fresh cigar, and replenishing his wine-horn from the big-bellied leathern bota, the major pushed his red forage cap a little more on one side, fixed his dark eyes on the glowing embers, and, with all the air of a man who is rallying his forces to tell an interesting narrative, began in the following words.

CHAPTER V.
THE REGIMENT OF SAN ANTONIO.

You must know, Señora patrona, and señores, my friends, that Saint Anthony, the patron of Portugal and patriarch of monks, though born at Heraclea in Upper Egypt, on the borders of Acadia, so long ago as the third century, is now a member of the battalion in which I have the honour to hold the commission of major; and that he has been many times visible in its ranks, mounting guard, and always when under fire, or engaged with the French or Spaniards. Under Wellington in the last war he was frequently seen among our men, clad in a cloak of white wool, and wearing an inner garment of hair-cloth, with a bell tied to his neck, and a pig trotting beside him, for it was his favourite animal when he was hermit near the village of Coma. When our esteemed regiment was first embodied about a century and a half ago at the city of Lagos, in the ancient kingdom of Algarve, the blessed St. Anthony was enrolled in the muster-book thereof, as a private soldier, that he might be its especial patron and protector, even as he is the patron of the whole Portuguese nation.

He conducted himself with such fidelity, valour, and distinction, that he soon passed through the ranks of corporal and sergeant, and having restored, no one exactly knows how, the colours of the regiment, after they were lost at the battle of Almanza in 1706, he was appointed captain, and his pay, together with four marevedis from each soldier, were devoted to buy masses for the souls of our comrades who die on service—a very pretty perquisite, padre José, for mother church.

It would be a vain task in me to attempt enumerating the miracles performed by St. Anthony during the one hundred and eighty seven years he has belonged to the valiant regiment of Lagos in the kingdom of Algarve; for in danger, doubt, difficulty, or death, his comrades have never sought his aid in vain.

Our colours have been thrice lost in battle, after prodigious slaughter you may be sure—being Portugese colours; and were thrice restored to us, being found quietly in the colonel's tent the next morning, with the naked footmarks of a man and a pig—the blessed pig of course—impressed upon the turf! At the passage of the Guadalquiver, our drum-major was swept away and would have been drowned beyond a doubt, had he not called upon St. Anthony; and lo! an old man of most venerable aspect, clad in skins like this shepherd beside us, but with a long beard and leathern water-bottle hanging at his girdle, suddenly appeared among the reeds by the river side, and stretching out his crook, fished up the ponderous Anibale Pintado lightly as a straw, though he was at that moment in heavy marching order, with knapsack, blanket, great-coat, sword and his canteen, which was full of brandy. Then to think of the wounds that have been closed, the bullets that have been extracted, the bones that have been set, the sick made whole and fit for service, by our soldiers merely thinking on, or praying to, the glorious St. Anthony, would occupy all the paper in the kingdom of Algarve; but his crowning miracle was the birth of a child of the regiment, for one of our soldiers' wives being in labour, during the siege of Roses, and calling upon the saint in her pain, to the astonishment of the whole allied armies was delivered of a little drummer boy in the uniform of the battalion of Lagos! I hope I have now said enough to convince you that the regiment, and every member of it, are under the peculiar protection of the saint, and this, as I am about to have the honour of telling you, I experienced myself, although not a Portugese, but a native of the fair city of Seville; and as a further proof of what I have adduced, I will take the liberty of reading to you from my pocket-book, the following certificate of the military service performed by the saint—which certificate I copied fairly from the books of the noble regiment of Lagos in the kingdom of Algarve, being the document which was forwarded by one of my predecessors, then in command of the battalion, when recommending the blessed saint to further promotion from the rank of captain which he had held since the year 1706. (With this long and pompous flourish, the Spaniard opened his pocket-book, and read a translation from the Portugese, which ran as follows.)*

* See notes at end

"Don Herculeo Antonio Carlos Luiz, José Maria de Albuquerque e Arajo de Magalhaens Homem, noble of Her Majesty's household, cavalier of the sacred order of St. John of Jerusalem, and of the most illustrious the military order of Christ, lord of the towns and partidos of Moncarapacho and Terragudo, hereditary alcalde-mayor of the ancient city of Faro by the sea, and Major of the Regiment of Infantry of the noble city of Lagos in the kingdom of Algarve, for her most faithful majesty, Donna Maria, Francesco Isabella the first; whom God and the Blessed Virgin long preserve, &c., &c., &c.

"I hereby attest and certify to all who shall see these presents, signed at the bottom with my sign-manual, and the broad seal of my family arms a little to the left thereof, that the Lord St. Anthony of Lisbon (commonly and most falsely called of Padua) has been enlisted, and has borne a place in this regiment since the 24th of January, ever since the year of our Blessed Lord Jesus Christ 1668.

"I do further certify, upon my word of honour, as a noble, a knight, and a good Catholic, what hereunder followeth.

"That on the said 24th of January, 1668, by order of His Majesty Don Pedro II. (whom God hath in glory), then Regent of the valiant kingdoms of Portugal and Algarve for Don Alphonso VI.,—St. Anthony was duly enlisted as a private soldier in this Infantry Regiment of Lagos, when it was first formed by command of the same illustrious prince; and of that holy enlistment there is a register extant in vol. i. of the records of the said regiment, page 143, wherein he gave as security or caution for his good conduct, the queen of angels, who became answerable to the colonel that he would never desert his colours, but always behave as became a good Portugese grenadier. Hence did the saint continue to serve and do duty as a private until the 12th of March, 1683, on which day the same Prince Regent became King of Portugal by the death of his brother Don Alphonso VI., when he was graciously pleased to promote St. Anthony to the rank of Lieutenant of Grenadiers in the said regiment, for having, a short time before, valiantly put himself at the head, of a detachment of the regiment which was marching from Jurumenha to the garrison of Olivença, both in the province of Alentizo, and beat off four times their number of Castilians who had been lying in ambush for them, with the intention of carrying them all prisoners to the castle of Badajoz, the enemy having obtained information by spies, of the march of the said detachment, every soldier of which saw our blessed patron, visibly, and to all appearance in the body, and attended by his pig.

"I do further certify, that in all the above-cited registers, there is not any note of St. Anthony being guilty of bad conduct, disorder, or drunkenness; frequenting taverns, or other improper places; nor of his ever having been flogged or sent to the guard-house when a private: Thus during the whole time he has been an officer, now about one hundred and nine years, he has constantly done his duty with the greatest alacrity, at the head of the grenadiers, upon all occasions, in peace or war, conducting himself like an officer and a gentleman of good breeding; on all these accounts I hold him most worthy of being promoted to the rank of aggregate-major to our noble regiment of Lagos, with every other favour Her Majesty may be graciously pleased to bestow upon him. In testimony whereof, I have hereto affixed my name, at the Castle of Belem, this 25th day of March, in the year of our redemption, 1777.

"MAGALHAENS HOMEM."

(Thus ended this wonderful certificate, the contents of which, together with the pompous gravity of the reader, made Jack and I almost choke with suppressed laughter. The major then continued)—

Hereupon Her Most Faithful Majesty, who reigned at that time—now seventy-eight years ago—was pleased to promote the saint to the rank prayed for, and he is now our lieutenant-colonel by brevet. Once in each year it is the custom to send an officer to Lisbon to receive the pay and perquisites of St. Anthony from the royal treasury, and in the course of last year this most honourable duty devolved upon me.

We were then quartered at Barbacena in the jurisdiction of Elvas; and to this place I travelled alone from Lisbon, with the pay of the saint, which was to be given to the care of our chaplain. Being in moidores, it was not very bulky, but its value was great—its sanctity greater; and after traversing in safety the whole province of Alentijo, it was with some anxiety I saw the mountain Sierra, which lay between me and my destination, rising in my front, about sunset. The hope of being able to get across those rocky hills before the approaching night set fairly in never occurred to me. I found myself in a solitary spot, without shelter near, or any place where information of the right way could be gathered, and my horse was growing weary.

The sunlight died away behind me, and shed its last rays on the white walls, the square campanile and tall cypresses of a convent which crowned a height on my left; and on the red round towers of an old castle that topped a rock on my right; but both were in ruins and desolate, as the wars of the infidel Moors, ages ago, had left the first, and the desolating retreat of Marshal Massena had left the second. The older fragments of a Roman aqueduct lay between, and half hidden among wild shrubs. The pathway was rugged; untamed goats scrambled about; snakes hissed in the long grass, and eagles screamed in mid air. Ave Maria! it was impossible to conceive a place more dreary and desolate; but the way became still wilder, and as I progressed into the gorge of the Sierra, even the ruined works of man and the traces of his feet disappeared. I was in a desert, and, save the faint crescent moon, without a light or guide.

As I rode slowly on, thinking of the bright golden moidores of our Lord St. Anthony, with which my pouch was blessed, and reflecting on the prize they would be for any sacrilegious picaros who might be hovering in this dark wilderness, ever and anon humming a song, muttering an ave, and feeling the percussion caps on my pistols, I suddenly met a strange figure in the dim moonlight—a goat-herd, as he seemed to me.

He was clad in a zamarra of sheepskin, which he wore with the wool outwards; his white hair hung in tangled masses upon his shoulders; a bota was slung at his girdle, and he carried a stout Portuguese cajado, with a little cross stick nailed thereon, to give it more the aspect of a pastoral staff, than a weapon of defence.

"Vaya usted con Dios, Señor Major," said he.

"God be with you," I reiterated, a little scared on finding that this stranger knew my name; "you have the advantage of me, Señor Pastor."

"Hombre, do you think so? but do not be alarmed, for I am an old Christian, without stain of Moor or Jew in my veins. I am no enchanter——"

"Ave Maria, I should hope not!"

"Yet I know that you have in your pouch the pay of St. Anthony of Lisbon, whom rogues and fools style of Padua—what the devil should he have to do with Padua?—in your left breast pocket, all in fair round moidores of gold—eh, señor?"

"Very true, pastor," said I, slipping a finger into my near holster, and keeping my horse well in hand and beyond the reach of his cajado; "but how came you to know me?"

"I know every officer and soldier in the regiment of Lagos as well as if I had made them—and you especially, Señor Major."

"Well—and about the moidores," said I, uneasily; "you know of them, and what then?"

"Merely this, Señor Don Joaquim; that if you would arrive at Barbacena to-morrow with the pay of the patron of the regiment of Lagos——"

"In the kingdom of Algarve," suggested Jack Slingsby.

"Si, señor; and would hand it over safe and sound to the reverend chaplain," continued the old man, in a manner so impressive that a chill came over me, the more so as I saw his sunken eyes shining in the dim moonlight like two bits of green glass; "you will beware, my son and comrade, how you taste the wine of Xeres to-night."

"The wine of Xeres, father pastor," said I, with a loud laugh; "Heaven forgive you for the tempting thought; I am not likely to taste aught to-night but the chilling dew; yet if a good cup of Xeres did come my way——"

"Avoid it as you would poison, or by the soul of St. Anthony you will repent it."

At that name I raised my hand to my cap in salute, like a good soldier of the regiment of Lagos; while waving his hand authoritatively, the old man hobbled up the slope of the mountain pass and disappeared. As he did so I heard the tinkle of a bell, and for the first time perceived a little pig trotting by his side as he vanished in the shadow of the mountain and its moonlit rocks.