CHAPTER XXI.
THE WIDOW; OR, THE ADVENTURES OF A NIGHT.
"I was quartered with my company of grenadiers at El Puerto, a wretched village in Andalusia; a poor place it was, that had been rifled by our foragers a dozen times, and we very unwisely made it still more miserable, by burning the best cottages before we were ordered to quit it.
"I quartered myself on the best casa in the village, a red-tiled hut, that belonged to a strange-looking fellow, whose long visage and long legs, great black eyes, yellow trunk breeches, green doublet, and sugar-loaf hat, made him seem half muleteer, half gitano. I believe, from his superstitious observances, that he was the latter wholly. You will know, doubtless, how famous Andalusia is for its women and horses. Ha! I wish you had seen the wife of my long-legged patron. She had the beautiful eyes and olive skin of her native province, with teeth like pearls, lips like cherries, and a face full of the sweetness of the mildest Madonna. Ha! ha! I am growing quite poetical! but wine or love always make me so. You will never see, even on our Boulevards, and that is a bold assertion, a pair of more superb ankles, than the short red petticoats of that Andalusian woman revealed to the pure gaze of your most obedient servant. Peste! I was quite enchanted with my pretty patrona, and determined on sending her husband, tied across a mule, as a spy to the British lines, that so I might be rid of him for a time, or for ever.
"They had a child, too, a merry little brat, with which I often played and toyed, to please its mother, whose heart was quite won by the bonbons I gave it; while her tall ghostly don of a husband stood sullenly aloof, smoking a paper cigar, and regarding me from beneath his broad sombrero, with eyes full of jealousy and malice. Now, as the devil would have it, the little brat had long been ailing, and seemed very likely to die at the time we came to El Puerto; and as she watched her sleeping infant, the mother's eyes were often suffused with tears. This, you may be aware, served but to make the charming Spaniard more interesting; for her melting black orbs seemed to be ever steeped in the most delicious languor.
"One evening I became very much aware of this; and after toying a little with the sickly infant, by tickling its neck with a braid of the mother's long black hair, while I lisped soft nothings from time to time, I departed to look for Jean Graule, my sergeant, to hold a consultation about the safe transmission of the señor patron to the British lines, and with my compliments to the officer commanding the nearest out-picquet.
"The evening was rather gloomy; I missed my way, and strolled into one of those underground vaults, bodegas, as they are called, where the peasants keep their wine in Andalusia. There I amused myself probing the pigskins with my sword, and imbibing the cool balmy wine from the orifice, till, somehow, a heaviness stole over me, and I fell fast asleep.
"About midnight I awoke, and found myself alone in the dark bodega, drenched with the wine that had flowed from the wounded skins; and feeling very cold, with the agreeable accompaniments of an aching head and sore bones.
"By the moonlight which struggled through a grated window, I sought my way out of the vault, up the stair, and gained the street of the silent Puebla, where I stood still for some time to rally my scattered faculties, and recollect where I was. While this passed, a man, who had been concealed under the shadow of a vine trellis, rushed upon me, and furiously struck at my breast with a knife or dagger. My shoulder-belt saved me from the stroke; 't was lucky that I had it on, otherwise I should not have been enjoying monsieur's society, and this glorious wine, to-night.
"'Ah, mouchard, vagabond!' I exclaimed, and closing in a desperate struggle with the would-be assassin, succeeded in striking him to the earth; where, holding my sword at his throat, I demanded his reasons for assailing me thus.
"'To have slain you!' he growled.