an by the conquering Turk. Conqueror only in
name, after all; for he who conquers is he who lives in history for a
great action, and whose undaunted courage fires other souls long after
he is at rest.

"But all this is very ancient history, of the days of Spain's greatness;
now she is a decadent nation," says the superficial observer. The column
of the _Dos de Mayo_ on the Prado of Madrid, with its yearly memorial
mass, shows whether that spirit is dead, or in danger of dying. The
second of May is well called the "Day of Independence"; it was, in fact,
the inauguration of the War of Independence, in which Spain gained
enough honour to satisfy the proudest of her sons. The French had
entered Madrid under pretence of being Spain's allies against Portugal,
and Murat, once settled there to his own perfect satisfaction, made no
secret of his master's intention to annex the whole peninsula. The
imbecile King, Charles IV., had abdicated; his son, Ferdinand VII., was
practically a captive in France. The country had, in fact, been sold to
Napoleon, neither more nor less, by the infamous Godoy, favourite of the
late King.

A riot broke out among the people on discovering that the French were
about to carry off the Spanish _Infantes_. The blood of some
comparatively innocent Frenchmen was shed, and the base governor and
magistrates of Madrid allowed Murat to make his own terms, which were
nothing less, in fact, than the dispersion of the troops, who were
ordered to clear out of their barracks, and hand them over to the
French. The two artillery officers, Daoiz and Valarde, with one infantry
officer named Ruiz, and a few of the populace, refused, and, all
unaided, attempted to hold the barracks of Monteleon against the French
army of invasion! The end was certain; but little recked these Spaniards
of the old type. Daoiz and Valarde were killed, the former murdered by
French bayonets after being wounded, on the cannon by which they had
stood alone against the whole power of the French troops; Ruiz also was
shot. On the following day, Murat led out some scores of the patriots
who had dared to oppose him, and shot them on the spot of the Prado now
sacred to their memory. Thus was the torch of the Peninsular War
lighted. As one man the nation rose; the labourer armed himself with his
agricultural implements, the workman with his tools; without leaders,
nay, in defiance of those who should have led them, the people sprang to
action, a