"I am glad to find that your high spirits have not deserted you, and that you are as merry a fellow as ever. Can it be, that those wretches have really starved you thus?"
"For four days, my friend," said De Mesmai; "four days and four nights, on my sacred honour! my most earnest entreaties for bread were disregarded. When I used humbly to request, Pan, gracios Senor Castellano,—pan en el nombre de Dios? This scowling coward used to point to the village ruined by Massena's troops, and reply,—Carajo! Perro é ladrone! El Español no hay nada. A quien Dios de mala ventura! 'Dog and thief! the Spaniard has none. Ill luck to you!' This was my hourly answer. Tête-Dieu! how my blood has boiled up within me, and I have longed to thrust my hand into his ungenerous heart. Sacre! with two of my gallant 10th at my back, and were I again astride of my fleet Norman, I could soon make these rascals fly like hares before the hound. But may this right hand and arm be withered and shrunken unto the shoulder, if ever again it spares the life of a Spaniard when my sword has once laid the dog at my mercy. I will revenge in red blood the countless—the never-to-be-forgotten indignities I have received from these infernal guerillas. They have been taunting me for these few days past with a defeat which, they say, Marmont has met with at Salamanca. Bah! Lord Wellington could never beat Marmont, and I know the rogues have lied."
Ronald smiled, but made no effort to undeceive him. "Take my arm, De Mesmai, and permit me to lead you from this place," said he, apprehensive that blows would soon be exchanged between the Gaul and Spaniard, who glared at each other with unspeakable hatred and ferocity.
"Vive la joie! how I rejoiced when I beheld the scarlet columns of the British descending by the Navil Moral road on Calzada de Orepesa! I knew that my hour of deliverance was at hand."
"Come, then; march, monsieur. Let us leave this dismal tower! Stand aside, worthy Senor Castellano."
"Satanos, Senor Officiale! it cannot be that you mean to release our prisoner?" asked the guerilla, grasping his poniard again.
"Unhand your dagger, you rascally guerilla! or I will seize you by the throat, and hurl you to the bottom of your tower," cried Ronald, laying his hand on his sword.
"Il a la mine guerrier," said De Mesmai sneeringly, in his native language, and laughing at the guerilla, who still hesitated; while others came crowding into the apartment, and began to handle the locks of their musquets. "Would to St. Belzebub I had a weapon to strike in with you! We would cut our way through these base plebeians, as through so many children."
"Look you, senores," said Ronald; "'tis madness of you to obstruct me. Our soldiers are thronging all about the village, and by a single blast on this, I will summon a hundred men in a moment." As he spoke, he disengaged from his belt the silver whistle which, as a light infantry officer, was now part of his appointments. By this movement the folds of his plaid were raised, and the golden cross of St. James glittered before the eyes of the Spaniards, whose favour was instantly won by the sight of the well-known Spanish badge of military achievement. They fell back right and left, and the passage was free. De Mesmai, vowing vengeance against them, departed with his deliverer, who soon got him attired in other clothing, which, though somewhat motley, was preferable to the rags he had lately worn.
Adjourning to a taberna, kept by an old Jewess, they partook of an olla podrida,—a mess composed of fragments of fowl, flesh, and various ingredients stewed together; an excellent dish, when well spiced and seasoned, and one that is considered very substantial and nourishing by the Spaniards. For this, and a stoup of very sour wine, the conscientious patrona charged Ronald two duros.