"'Vino! quiero vino!' said I, to a poor half-starved and ragged native, who was stealing off, and hiding something under his torn cloak;—'Vino! you beggarly scoundrel! give me vino!' said I.
"'Vino no tengo!' he cried, as he broke from my grasp, and ran quickly and fearfully away.
"I was not very drunk—I had not had above half my quantity—and I pursued him up a street. But he was the fleeter; and I should have lost him, had I not made a sudden turn, and come right upon him in a forsaken alley, where I suppose the poor thing dwelt. I seized him by the collar. He was small and spare, and he trembled under my gripe; but still he held his own, and only wrapped his cloak the closer round his property.
"'Vino! quiero vino!' said I again; 'give me vino!'
"'Nada, nada tengo!' he repeated.
"I had already drawn my bayonet.—I am ashamed, sir, to say, that we used to do that to terrify the poor wretches, and make them the sooner give us their liquor.—As I held him by the collar with one hand, I pointed the bayonet at his breast with the other, and I again cried, 'Vino!'
"'Vino no tengo—nino, nino es!'—and he spoke the words with such a look of truth and earnestness, that, had I not fancied I could trace through the folds of his cloak the very shape of a small wine skin, I should have believed him.
"'Lying rascal!' said I, 'so you won't give me the liquor? then the dry earth shall drink it!' and I struck the point of my bayonet deep into that which he was still hugging to his breast.
"Oh, sir! it was not wine that trickled down—it was blood, warm blood!—and a piteous wail went like a chill across my heart!—The poor Spaniard opened his cloak—he pointed to his wounded child—and his wild eye asked me plainer than words could have done,—'Monster! are you satisfied!'
"I was sobered in a moment. I fell upon my knees beside the infant, and I tried to staunch the blood. Yes, the poor fellow understood the truth: he saw, and he accepted my anguish—and we joined our efforts to save the little victim.—Oh! it was too late!