“Can’t say much for their manners. May be they are better than they look,” answered the elder seaman; “but if it came to a scrimmage, I can’t say but what I wouldn’t mind tackling a dozen of them.”
These remarks were made while Morton was taking a survey of the unpromising apartment. It had apparently been used as a barrack by the French when, not long ago, they occupied the village, and very little trouble had since been taken to clean it out. Morton asked the girl if his surmise was not correct.
“Yes, the demons! they have been here, and Heaven’s curse go with them!” she answered, with startling fierceness. “It was dark when you rode in, or you would have seen the number of houses burnt down, vineyards and orange-groves rooted up for firewood; but that was not all the harm they did. Woe, unutterable woe, they inflicted on thousands. I had a lover, to whom I was betrothed; they slew him, and me they rendered wretched. But I need not tell my own griefs. Thousands have suffered as much as I have. There, señor, that corner you will find the freest from inconvenience. Place your valise and saddle-bags there—they will be safe. We are honest, though our accursed foes have made us poor indeed.”
The poor girl’s dark eyes flashed fire as she spoke. Ronald felt sure that he might trust her entirely. He ordered Bob and Job, therefore, to deposit his scanty baggage in the corner indicated, and to follow him below.
“What! does the lieutenant think he’ll ever see them again if we does?” observed Bob.
“Orders is orders,” answered Job; “but just you keep a bright look out on the stair while we’re below, and as soon as we’ve stowed away some grub, we’ll take it watch and watch, and go up and sit on ’em. The Dons will find it a hard job to carry them off then, I’ll allow.”
Satisfied with their arrangements, the two seamen followed their officer. He took his seat at one end of the table, and, as he did so, he fancied the other guests seemed to regard him with more friendly glances than before. Not a minute had elapsed before Maria placed before him a smoking puchero (a dish to be found from one end of Spain to the other, composed of various sorts of meats minced with spices). There was a soup also, of a reddish tinge, from being coloured with saffron, and sausages rather too strong of garlic, and very white bread, and two dishes of vegetables, one of which was of garbanzos, a sort of haricot beans. There was wine also, and brandy; indeed, the inhabitants must have managed cleverly to hide their stores from their invaders to enable them to produce so good a supply. Job and Bob did not conceal their astonishment; the viands suited their taste, and they did ample justice to them.
Though Ronald was in love, and had just cause to be anxious as to its result, and though he had only just parted from his mistress, yet he was a sailor; he had been a midshipman, and he had always a remarkably good appetite; and now, much to his surprise (for when he stopped at the door of the inn he had no thoughts of eating), he felt every inclination to do justice to the feast set before him.
“He’ll do,” observed Job to Bob, as they sat at a respectful distance from their officer. “At first I could not tell what had come over him as he got on his horse after he’d been talking to that young lady up at the window. Whenever I sees a man able to take his grub, whatever’s the matter with him, I knows it’s all right.”
Ronald had addressed some of the Spaniards near him. They listened respectfully. He spoke to them of the tyranny to which Spain had been so long subject; of the sufferings she had endured; of the only means of freedom—the rising of the whole nation, as a man, to throw off the yoke. “The English will help you, but they can only help, remember. It is you who must do the work,” he added.