The good people of Vittoria enjoyed themselves, while we remained, as much as any other set of mortals in this transitory state of being. Apparently indifferent as to what might become of their politics, they assembled, during the cool and refreshing hours of evening, in groups around the doors, making merry among each other with lively chattering, and peals of laughter, that flew, in a sort of running fire, from one end of the city to the other.
About this time, the celebration of a grand festival, in honour of one of their numerous saints, was going forward. During its continuance, the place was in a state of noisy uproar, and the people were infected with a sort of dancing mania, enough to gladden the heart of St. Vitus himself. We were insufferably tormented with the unmerciful squealing of fifes, and upon the parchment they were perpetually drumming in our ears.
Between the hours of feasting, the towns-people, of all ranks and ages, sallied from their dwellings; old and young, rich and poor, were on the pavé, from the child in leading strings, to the wrinkled hag of eighty, all afflicted with the mania. On a signal for a general ballet, and the music striking up, the crazy multitude, electrified in every limb, commenced an exhibition of gymnastics unequalled by the most skilful artist, sufficient to make even an anchorite grin and stare. It was quite amusing to see the aged spinster, whose charms were faded by the hand of time, with pinioned elbows, tripping it with an antiquated beau; the withered grandame hobbling on her feeble pins to some venerable don; and the smirking lass with amorous eye, and attitudes enticing, figuring away with a gallant cavaleiro. It was, in short, a most ridiculous display of asses in human form. The Shakers of America, or the dancing Dervishes of Turkey, were in comparison tame. Pushing, jostling, screaming, and ogling, seemed to be all the mode throughout the motley crowd, so that were a stranger suddenly to make his appearance, he would fancy that the inmates of some lunatic asylum had been liberated, and were playing off their antics through the town. Ever and anon, some would retire within their doors, but other fools supplied their place, and in single ranks arrayed on either side the street, like those drawn up in a country dance, they exhibited in a style that Vestris might have wondered at.
There was a curious medley of mirth and sadness throughout the city, which to the sufferer and the invalid was but a mockery of his woes. Quietness and peace would have been far more grateful than such ill-timed, unwelcome and vociferous revels.
Early in September, 1813, accompanied by Lieutenant Rhodes, of the 39th regiment, I set out from Vittoria, on the route to Bilboa, for the purpose of embarking for England. Proceeding towards the northern Provinces, we arrived at Tolosa on the following day, where we remained one night. The landlord of the posada at which we brought up, was a very humorous character, and also an extremely odd fish; but he was one who had an eye to business, taking good care of the main chance, for, hearing of the success of the British arms, and that some of the troops were likely to pass that way, he fitted up his hotel in good style, and went to such expense, that it would have been a pity had he been disappointed. With regard to the exterior of his premises, he was determined to make a display of his loyalty, and therefore put up the sign of Fernando [Settimo], whose ugly countenance was no great attraction to the traveller. By his conversation, in a sort of mongrel Anglo-Spanish dialect, one would suppose that he was a veritable patriot, and that he reverenced the English. The inscription on his signboard, however, seemed to put a different face on the matter; for by his own shewing it would appear that upon the thick skull of this worthy the organ of destructiveness was strongly marked, or, in other words, that he was neither more nor less than a cannibal. The passenger, therefore, might well start with horror, on perusing the aforesaid notice, which by the arrangement of the painter, ran thus:
"FRANCISCO PEREZ, ESTALAGEM
FOR EATING
GENTLEMEN LODGED WITHIN."
Poor Francisco was evidently not in the school-master's line of march; for in his attempt at an English sign, by not minding his own stops, he publicly forewarned all who might be journeying that way, that their stops in this world should not be of long duration. Giving nevertheless this honest Spaniard full credit for all his promises of civility, and having no particular dread of being hashed up into minced meat, or an olla-podrida, we lodged ourselves in his hostelry, happy, after a long and fatiguing march, to get a place of rest, even under such inauspicious circumstances.
We arrived at Bilboa in a few days, having had rather a pleasant though protracted journey. Rhodes being a good travelling companion, we got on smoothly enough, with a certain independence of character very much to be envied; for as we were entirely out of the range of adjutants, orderly books, and other such unfashionable concerns, we felt like gentlemen at large, with light hearts, and, not being overburdened with cash, with still lighter pockets. As to our worldly goods and chattels, we might apply to ourselves Jack's favourite ditty.
"A handkerchief held all the treasure I had,
Which over my shoulder I threw," &c.