to
abandon it to his allies. You might see the poor natives on all sides
running away; some with a morsel of food, others with a skin of wine
in their arms, and followed by the menaces and staggering steps of the
weary and half-drunken soldiers.

"'Vino! vino!' was the cry in every part of the village. An English
soldier, sir, may be for months together in a foreign land, and have a
pride in not knowing how to ask for anything hut liquor. I was no better
than the rest.

"'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