The person he addressed, a handsome young Spaniard, shuddered at the horrible spectacle.
When he saw the crown and anchor, and his Majesty's cipher on the appointments of the dead officer, he became convinced of our quality, and changed his tone.
"'Tis true, he is an Englishman. But, gentlemen, were there not three persons in the hut?"
There were, indeed, and the Indian perished in the flames, making no attempt to escape.
The officer, who belonged to the army investing Carthagena, now treated us with great civility; he heard our story, and desired his men to assist us in burying the remains of our late commander.
We stayed that night with the captain of the outpost, who received us very civilly at a temporary guard-house, and apologised for the discomfort under which we must pass the night. He gave us the best he had, and that was bad enough, both of food and wine, before showing us into the hut, where we found a rough deal coffin, lying on the very bench that was to be our bed. This he ordered away with all the coolness in the world, saying, "It was only one of his people who had died that morning of yellow fever."
"Comfortable country this," quoth Splinter, "and a pleasant morning we have had of it, Tom!"
III.--The Piccaroon
From the Spanish headquarters at Torrecilla we were allowed to go to the village of Turbaco, a few miles distant from the city for change of air.
"Why, Peter," said Mr. Splinter, addressing a negro who sat mending his jacket in one of the enclosures near the water gate of the arsenal, "don't you know me?"