Antonio de la Trava.—I was captured by your countrymen, captain; and as I had been a sailor from my childhood, they were glad of my services. I was nine months with them, and assisted at Trafalgar. I saw the English admiral die. You have something of his face, and your voice, when you spoke, sounded in my ears like his own. I love the English, and on that account I saved you. Think not that I would toil along these sands with you if you were one of my own countrymen. Here we are at Duyo, captain. Shall we refresh?
We did refresh, or rather Antonio de la Trava refreshed, swallowing pan after pan of wine, with a thirst which seemed unquenchable. “That man was a greater wizard than myself,” whispered Sebastian, my guide, “who told us that the drunkards of Finisterre would play us a trick.” At length the old hero of the Cape slowly rose, saying that we must hasten on to Corcuvion, or the night would overtake us by the way.
“What kind of person is the alcalde to whom you are conducting me?” said I.
“Oh, very different from him of Finisterre,” replied Antonio. “This is a young Señorito, lately arrived from Madrid. He is not even a Gallegan. He is a mighty liberal, and it is owing chiefly to his orders that we have lately been so much on the alert. It is said that the Carlists are meditating a descent on these parts of Galicia. Let them only come to Finisterre; we are liberals there to a man, and the old valiente is ready to play the same part as in the time of the French. But, as I was telling you before, the alcalde to whom I am conducting you is a young man, and very learned, and, if he thinks proper, he can speak English to you, even better than myself, notwithstanding I was a friend of Nelson, and fought by his side at Trafalgar.”
It was dark night before we reached Corcuvion. Antonio again stopped to refresh at a wine-shop, after which he conducted us to the house of the alcalde. His steps were by this time not particularly steady, and on arriving at the gate of the house, he stumbled over the threshold and fell. He got up with an oath, and instantly commenced thundering at the door with the stock of his musket. “Who is it?” at length demanded a soft female voice in Gallegan. “The valiente of Finisterre,” replied Antonio; whereupon the gate was unlocked, and we beheld before us a very pretty female with a candle in her hand. “What brings you here so late, Antonio?” she inquired. “I bring two prisoners, mi pulida,” replied Antonio. “Ave Maria!” she exclaimed. “I hope they will do no harm.” “I will answer for one,” replied the old man; “but as for the other, he is a nuveiro, and has sunk more ships than all his brethren in Galicia. But be not afraid, my beauty,” he continued, as the female made the sign of the cross: “first lock the gate, and then show me the way to the alcalde. I have much to tell him.” The gate was locked, and bidding us stay below in the court-yard, Antonio followed the young woman up a stone stair, whilst we remained in darkness below.
After the lapse of about a quarter of an hour we again saw the candle gleam upon the staircase, and the young female appeared. Coming up to me, she advanced the candle to my features, on which she gazed very intently. After a long scrutiny she went to my guide, and having surveyed him still more fixedly, she turned to me, and said, in her best Spanish, “Señor Cavalier, I congratulate you on your servant. He is the best-looking mozo in all Galicia. Vaya! if he had but a coat to his back, and did not go barefoot, I would accept him at once as a novio; but I have unfortunately made a vow never to marry a poor man, but only one who has got a heavy purse and can buy me fine clothes. So you are a Carlist, I suppose? Vaya! I do not like you the worse for that. But, being so, how went you to Finisterre, where they are all Cristinos and negros? Why did you not go to my village? None would have meddled with you there. Those of my village are of a different stamp to the drunkards of Finisterre. Those of my village never interfere with honest people. Vaya! how I hate that drunkard of Finisterre who brought you; he is so old and ugly; were it not for the love which I bear to the Señor Alcalde, I would at once unlock the gate and bid you go forth, you and your servant, el buen mozo”. [37]
Antonio now descended. “Follow me,” said he; “his worship the alcalde will be ready to receive you in a moment.” Sebastian and myself followed him upstairs to a room, where, seated behind a table, we beheld a young man of low stature, but handsome features, and very fashionably dressed. He appeared to be inditing a letter, which, when he had concluded, he delivered to a secretary to be transcribed. He then looked at me for a moment fixedly, and the following conversation ensued between us:—
Alcalde.—I see that you are an Englishman, and my friend Antonio here informs me that you have been arrested at Finisterre.
Myself.—He tells you true; and but for him I believe that I should have fallen by the hands of those savage fishermen.
Alcalde.—The inhabitants of Finisterre are brave, and are all liberals. Allow me to look at your passport? Yes, all in form. Truly it was very ridiculous that they should have arrested you as a Carlist.