"Ain't it like home? He ought to be a drill-sergeant—eh, boys?"
A shout of laughter greeted this sally. The Spaniard, his complexion changing from olive to purple, strode forward and shook his fist within an inch of the corporal's nose. Wilkes, greatly tolerant of foreign eccentricity, preserved an unwinking front; but his bland smile was too much for the Spaniard's fast-ebbing self-control. With a snarl of rage he plucked a knife from his sash and aimed a blow at the Rifleman, which, had it taken effect, would assuredly have put an end to his interrogative career. But the corporal's left-hand neighbour, who had been lolling against a post, flung out his arm and arrested the stroke; almost at the same instant Wilkes himself got home a deft right-hander beneath his assailant's chin that hurled him senseless across the table. In a moment a score of Spaniards with drawn knives were surging around the little group. Being without arms the Riflemen had slipped off their belts and closed up to meet the attack. The colonnade now rang with fierce shouts, and from all quarters of the large square there was a hurry-scurry of idlers attracted by the noise of the fray. Cheerfully confident, the half-dozen British soldiers, their backs against the wall, kept the throng at arm's-length with the practised swing of their long belts. But the odds against them were heavy. It could only be a few moments before the Spaniards must get in with their knives, and then the 95th would be six men short on parade. One or two of the Spaniards had been hard hit; but the rest were drawing together for a rush, when suddenly, above the din of the mêlée, rang out the clear authoritative word of command:
"Attention!"
The habit of discipline was so strong that the British soldiers on the instant dropped their belts and stood rigid as statues. On the Spaniards the effect of the interruption was equally remarkable. Surprised at the sudden change of attitude, they looked round with a startled air to seek the cause of the Englishmen's strange quiescence. A horseman had reined up opposite the scene of the scuffle—a tall youthful figure, wearing the headgear of the 95th and a heavy cavalry cloak.
"Stand easy!" he cried to the Riflemen, over the heads of the crowd, "and don't move an eyelash."
With a dozen Spanish knives flashing before their eyes, the command was a severe test of discipline; but in the British army a hundred years ago rigid training had made instant unquestioning obedience an instinct. While the Spaniards were still fingering their weapons, and hesitating whether to finish off their work, the officer began to address them in pure Castilian.
"Pardon me, Señores," he said, "for interrupting what I am sure was a pastime. I am an English officer, as you see, and I fear that my men, ignorant of your customs and traditions, might have taken seriously what was no doubt begun in sport. There is no need for me to say a word, Señores about your valour; is not that known to all the world? and I am sure you would be the last to do anything to endanger the friendly alliance between your country and mine. The French are your enemies, Señores; they are ours too. We are fighting shoulder to shoulder in a noble cause. Confusion to the invader, say I! Hurrah for the independence of Spain! Cry Viva la España with me!"
Then turning suddenly to the Riflemen, he cried:
"Now, men, give three rousing cheers."
Wilkes and his friends cheered half-heartedly and with an air of endurance; but the Spaniards were not discriminating, and responded with shrill vivas.