We found Castrò occupied by the head-quarters and greater part of one of the royal regiments of Carbineers; and every stable in the place being crowded with the troopers’ horses, we had the greatest difficulty in obtaining accommodation for our own wearied animals. Indeed, but for the interference of a Caballero, muffled up in a capacious cloak (who seemed to possess extraordinary influence over the Innkeeper), we should have been obliged to proceed on, or bivouac outside the walls of the town. His interference, however, caused a small shed, crowded with mules and borricos, to be cleared for the reception of our horses, into which, after some little trouble, they were all squeezed. A room for ourselves we were assured was quite out of the question;—and, as for beds, every mattress, bolster, manta, and blanket, that the posada afforded, had been secured by the Spanish officers. The same civil and influential personage again, however, befriended us, for, after a short time, whilst we were consulting where we should spread our cloaks for the night, the Innkeeper came to acquaint us that “ese Caballero Español”[158] had resigned in our favour “una pequeñissima sala,”[159] which had been reserved for his use; and that he had further directed it to be furnished with four sacks of chopped straw for our accommodation.
The Spanish officers, who had entered into conversation with us whilst standing at the portal of the posada, evinced great curiosity to know whence we had come, whither we were going, and what was the motive for our travelling, and very civilly invited us to pass the evening with them at some house where they were in the habit of assembling nightly. But being both hungry and weary, we made the latter an excuse for declining their invitation. They then plied us with questions touching the state of Granada; asked our opinion of the political condition of the kingdom in general; and, complaining of the difficulty experienced in obtaining news of any kind that could be relied on, begged to be informed if we had recently heard of any thing stirring at Madrid, and whether we purposed visiting that capital. To all these queries we replied that, our object being merely amusement, we had not troubled ourselves much by inquiring into the state of parties—that every thing seemed to be quiet wherever we had been—and that our future plans were undetermined.
With numerous offers of service, they then wished us good night, and we betook ourselves to the Sala, sending a message to the Caballero, who had so kindly given it up, to request he would do us the pleasure of joining his smoke with our’s; an invitation that did not require pressing.
Our visitor, whom we now had an opportunity of inspecting more closely and critically, was a tall, powerful man, with marked but good features, though the general expression of his countenance was decidedly bad. His brows were dark and shaggy, his cheeks covered with a forest of whisker, and his fierce, uneasy eyes intimated that he was one who had stopped and would stop at nothing to effect his purpose.
His curiosity concerning the object of our travels was not less, though more guardedly expressed, than that of the Spanish officers; and, by degrees, a kind of distrust, with which at first he evidently regarded us, wore off, and he expressed his unbounded love for and admiration of the English nation, collectively and individually. “I have seen much of your compatriots,” he proceeded, filling himself a bumper of wine, “though of late years my opportunities of mixing with them have been but few. I have ever found them to be true lovers of liberty—ever ready to lend a helping hand to neighbours in distress; yes, yes! whenever an oppressed people stand up for their rights, carajo![160] an Englishman has a G—d—n in his mouth, and a musket on his shoulder in a credo.—Pardiez, Señores! but these are excellent cigars! They are indeed legitimos,[161] and, entre nous, they are the only things being legitimas that I have any great taste for. To you Englishmen I may say as much. You, like myself, are lovers of constitutional liberty—detesters of absolutism, of a domineering aristocracy, of religious bigotry, and priestly mummery. These things are all very well for the ignorant; but we, who have read, and studied, and reflected, know the just value to set upon them.”
We gave a ready assent.
“This wine is sad trash,” he continued, after a flask of execrable black strap had been disposed of, “and I know that you English like a good glass of Xeres seco. I will therefore take the liberty, con licencia, of sending for some that I think will please your palate.” Upon which, calling the mozo charged with the care of the stables, he directed him to go to the house of a certain Don Hilario, and request su merced to send some bottles of wine.
“Say it is for me, Juan,” added our guest, or rather our host, with a marked emphasis on the personal pronoun; “say it is for me, and he will be sure to give you the right sort; but cuida’o![162] Tell him I have some friends with me—English officers; is it not so?” turning interrogatively to us, “and that half a dozen bottles will not be too many.”
Juan took his departure with a knowing glance at our friend, and in less than the “fumar de un cigarro,”[163] returned with the wine. It was excellent—the real “Sherris sack.” Bottle after bottle was drained, and every draught of the “fertile” liquor seemed, in the words of Shakspeare’s droughty knight, to have a “two-fold operation” upon our convivial entertainer; “drying him up the crudy vapours” that environed his suspicious brain concerning us, and rendering him extremely communicative respecting his own affairs: so that long before even the second bottle was emptied, he had pronounced us to be gente with whom he saw he could converse “con toda confianza,”[164] and had awakened much curiosity on our parts, with regard to himself.
Although he had appeared to us to be on a friendly footing with the officers of Carbineers, he now abused them in most unmeasured terms; asking if they had not evinced very impertinent curiosity, (how much sooner are the faults of others seen than our own!) to know all about our movements. “Those alacranes,”[165] said he, “are all traitors to their country, enemies to our glorious charter of liberty, and—whatever professions they may make to the contrary—have as little liking for a free-born Englishman as Sancho Panza had for unadulterated water.” “Indeed,” we replied;—truly enough, though somewhat jesuitically perhaps, wishing to draw him out;—truly, “from some observations they let fall, it is evident they are no great admirers of the present constitutional government.” “Admirers!” he exclaimed; “no, indeed, it brings them down to their proper level. But, carajo! if I had my way I would bring them down something lower; for I’d shoot every mother’s son of them, without the benefit of a dying confession. I’ll tell you how I would set about establishing a constitutional government, caballeros. I would first hang up the king; then give the garrote to all your dukes, marquisses, and condes; and lastly, to make things sure, root every bishop, priest, cura, and fraile, out of their snug hiding-places. That would be——” “But your religion?” interrupted we. “Qu ... e Religion! disparate![166] That would be the way to keep the French on their own side the Pyrenees! But let them come! they will find us ready to receive and able to beat them, in spite of the defection of our dastardly nobles. As for these carbineer officers, they are a set of fanfarrones, who are only fit to pavonearse por las calles.[167] I have done more service to my country than the whole of them put together. Look here,” he added, removing the handkerchief bound across his forehead,[168] and exhibiting a formidable scar; “this was not obtained in a brothel brawl; nor this,” showing a mutilated hand. “No, no, caballeros, my skin would not serve to carry wine in.”