It was a fearful risk—the wooden beams were blazing fiercely, smoke and even flame burst out of the upper windows now and then; one end of the building already tottered under the fiery storm, but the woman's shriek sounded louder in my brave friend's ear than the roar of the furious flame. His stout English heart was a ready prompter. In a moment he seized a ladder, placed it against an open window, ran up rapidly, and plunged into the smoke and flame, while a cheer of admiration burst from the crowd below. There was a minute of terrible suspense; he was seeking the lost child in vain. Again he rushes to the window, half-suffocated with the smoke—"Where was the child?" he cried; "I cannot find it." My heart sank within me as I thought of the mother's despair; but she seemed less desperate than before, and, running under the window, cried—"Sorra a child I have at all, your honour; but since you are up there, will you just throw me down the bit of a mattrass that's in the corner, for it's all I have in the world."
My friend sprang out of the window and slipped down the ladder. He was just in time; the next moment, with a tremendous crash, the main props gave way, and the whole, building fell into a heap of blazing ruins. Now I only tell you this long story, to show what quaint, wild creatures where those Irish that General Evans took with him to Spain.
In the room next to mine a young Spanish cadet, belonging to the 2d light infantry, was billeted. He was about fourteen years of age, the son of a grandee of Spain. As his family was great and powerful, it was only necessary for him to go through the form of joining the army on service, when a commission in the royal guard would be given him. We soon made acquaintance. He was amused by my odd attempts to speak Spanish, and I was charmed with him. He was a rarely beautiful boy; his, regular features, long curling hair, small hands and feet, would have given him the appearance of effeminacy, but for the vigorous activity of his movements, and his bright bold eye. The best blood of Old Castile flowed in his veins and mantled in his cheek. The little cadet was most dainty in his dress; his uniform was the smartest, his plume the gayest, his boots the brightest, his gold lace the freshest in his regiment. His cap, epaulettes, and sword made expressly for him very small and light, in proportion to his size; and a beautiful black Andalusian pony to match, completed his equipments.
He rode out with me one day—that is, he rode, and I walked, soon after we became known to each other. Our way lay through the principal street of the town; the tall, white, solid-looking houses on each side had balconies for every window, some of them filled with gay groups of Spanish ladies, honouring us with their notice, as we passed. When we approached a large handsome dwelling, with huge gates opening into a court-yard, the black pony began to show symptoms of excitement, and by the time we got directly opposite, he was dancing about a great rate. The little animal was evidently accustomed at this place to such hints of the spur and rein as would make him display his paces to the greatest advantage. A tall, noble-looking woman and a graceful girl leant over the railing of the balcony, and kissed their hands to the cadet as he rode up. He answered by taking, off his gay cap and making a low bow, while the pony pranced more than ever. "Come, Doctor," said the youth to me, "You must know Dolòres and Pepìta." He threw his bridle-rein to a boy, and before I could recover from my surprise, had hurried me up stairs, and into the presence of his fair friends.
They were, sisters—Dolòres ten years older than Pepìta; both much alike, except in the stamp of years, so deep and unsparing in that sunny land. Their hair and eyes were black, glossy, and bright; their complexion deep olive; their teeth of dazzling whiteness; and there was something about the head and neck that made me, in spite of myself, think of swans and empresses. With what stately grace they welcomed us—with what a soft rich accent they spoke, telling us to "live a thousand years!" The little cadet declared that he was "at their feet;" but I suppose this was only a Spanish compliment, for instead of placing himself there, he kissed Pepìta's hand, sat down beside her, and began talking with perfect familiarity. Dolòres said something to me, but I could not understand it; and being dreadfully confused, I went to the balcony, and looked up the street. The young girl and the little cadet had a great deal to say to each other; they chattered and laughed merrily; then at times Pepìta would try to look grave, and, with a solemn face, lecture the beautiful boy, shaking her fan threateningly at him, when they would laugh more than ever.
At last I saw them looking at me, and heard him say that I was a doctor. Pepìta seemed struck with a sudden thought at this, and rose up, beckoning to him and me to follow. She led us across the court-yard into a long, passage; a large heavy door was at the end. She pointed to it, and said something to my companion in a pitying voice; then, instantly resuming her gaiety, pulled off the cadet's cap, threw it at him, and ran off, laughing merrily. At the end of the passage she turned, kissed her little white hand, and we saw no more of her.
"I do love Pepìta," said the boy; "I must win a ribbon in the battle, and then she will be so proud of her playfellow."
We opened the door and entered.
Near an open window lay an emaciated man upon a small camp bed. The fair complexion and blue eye bespoke him an Englishman. His face was covered with a bushy beard; his checks were hollow, his features pinched and sharpened. Pillows supported his head and shoulders; his arms lay helplessly on the outside of the bed, worn and thin; but the large joints, broad bony hand, and square-built shoulders, showed how powerful had been the frame that now lay wrecked before us. He raised his dull sunken eyes, as if by an effort, as we entered, and when he observed me, something like a smile of recognition passed over his wan face. I knew him at once, though he was strangely altered; he it was who, when a boy at school, had done me the insulting wrong. The blood rushed red to my face for a moment; but when I thought how pale and faint he was, it went back again, to my heart I suppose, for my pity yearned towards the poor sufferer.
He told me in a few words, slowly and painfully, that he had been wounded in a skirmish some weeks before, and afterwards attacked with typhus fever. His servant had that morning deserted, carrying off the little money he possessed, and every thing of value in the room. He was on unfriendly terms with all his brother officers, had quarrelled with the regimental doctor, and was now utterly destitute and helpless. The Spanish family, in whose house he was billeted, were very kind to him, particularly the two sisters; but they were in great poverty from these troublous times, and had sickness also among themselves.