"Yes, Fabrique, it was my little craft, La Buena Fortuna, which the Lieutenant De Lucena pursued till a shot from the Mole fort shortened him by two feet. I claim their lives, for they are my friends and patrons, and would have supped with me to-night at Trohniona had not your devilish fellows came upon us like a herd of wild cats, just when I was kicking and cuffing yonder rascally raterillo, who has made off with all my dollars. So I fled from the wayside-well, for I knew not whose free company your lads had the honour to be, and feared they might relieve me alike of life and all care for my packages."
Jack and I now began to breathe a little more freely; for as all this took place in less time than I have taken to write it, there was some difficulty in realising the conviction that we had been waylaid, doomed to death and saved, with such rapidity: yet so it was, and so ended the scene of that night to which I can never recur without a chill of awe and horror, blended with a very decided sensation of anger and just indignation.
Notwithstanding the alleged solemnity with which his word was plighted to the malevolent major of the sainted regiment of Lagos, "in the kingdom of Algarve," Fabrique relinquished his cruel purpose, unbound us at his brother's request, and restored to us our arms, horses, and little baggage—everything, in short, not even excepting the letter of poor Paulina. He gave us cigars, a hearty quaff from his bota, and then a bow so low that his black velvet sombrero almost swept the dewy sward. He then drew off with all his band towards the Sierra de Honda, and in two hours afterwards we were comfortably seated by the kitchen fire in the posada of Trohniona, at supper with his brother the contrabandista, who was en route for San Lucar.
For some time after, throughout the night in which these startling events occurred, in fancy I saw before me the cold, stern visage and fierce glaring eyes of Urquija, and above all other sounds I seemed to hear the deep hoarse rush of the subterranean Rio de Muerte.
CHAPTER XIV.
THE SPANISH STEAMER.
Whatever may have been the emotions with which we regarded the formidable relative of our contrabandista, we spared him the humiliation of listening to the just appreciation we had of the character of Fabrique; and enlivened by those songs and stories with which the honest fellow endeavoured to raise our spirits and efface the terrible recollection of that hour upon the hills of Trohniona, we supped upon a guisado and bottle of valdepenas.
Now I may inform the uninitiated that the aforesaid guisado was a stew, such as can only be made in a real Spanish pipkin. It consisted of two chickens, a plump partridge, and a hare, well seasoned with oil, garlic, pepper, and saffron all simmered together When hot and steaming, the giblets, &c., are fished up from the depths of the savoury pipkin, with just such a wooden spoon as paunchy Sancho used, when diving therewith into his beloved flesh-pots at the wedding of Camacho.
Supper over, and a fresh bota ordered, Pedro assumed his guitar, and while we cleaned and examined our swords and pistols, and all the people of the posada, the patron and patrona, the waiteresses, the stabler, and the little half-naked muchaco who cleaned the boots and turned the spit, crowded near, he, the jovial contrabandista, turned his dark eyes and well-bearded visage towards the dusky wooden ceiling, and while his swarthy cheek glowed in the light of the kitchen fire, struck up one of those lively seguidillas which are the delight of the Spaniards, and skilfully he brushed the strings with his finger-points in a manner which I believe is peculiar to the Andalusians.
A very amorous love ditty succeeded, and when the roguish eyes of Pedro wandered knowingly from one person to another, the patrona blushed with pleasure, and all the waiteresses simpered and spread out their short but full-flounced skirts, or displayed their handsome red stockings, to let their well-shaped legs be seen, as well as their pretty zapatas; for the roving and romantic contrabandista, whose habits are so full of life and energy, is ever a welcome guest at the wayside inns of Spain, and to none more than their fairer inmates.