Antonio de la Trava.—­I was captured by your countrymen, captain; and as I had been a sailor from my childhood, they were glad of my services.  I was nine months with them, and assisted at Trafalgar.  I saw the English admiral die.  You have something of his face, and your voice, when you spoke, sounded in my ears like his own.  I love the English, and on that account I saved you.  Think not that I would toil along these sands with you if you were one of my own countrymen.  Here we are at Duyo, captain.  Shall we refresh?

We did refresh, or rather Antonio de la Trava refreshed, swallowing pan after pan of wine, with a thirst which seemed unquenchable.  “That man was a greater wizard than myself,” whispered Sebastian, my guide, “who told us that the drunkards of Finisterra would play us a trick.”  At length the old hero of the Cape slowly rose, saying, that we must hasten on to Corcuvion, or the night would overtake us by the way.

“What kind of person is the alcalde to whom you are conducting me?” said I.

“Oh, very different from him of Finisterra,” replied Antonio.  “This is a young Senorito, lately arrived from Madrid.  He is not even a Gallegan.  He is a mighty liberal, and it is owing chiefly to his orders that we have lately been so much on the alert.  It is said that the Carlists are meditating a descent on these parts of Galicia.  Let them only come to Finisterra, we are liberals there to a man, and the old valiente is ready to play the same part as in the time of the French.  But, as I was telling you before, the alcalde to whom I am conducting you is a young man, and very learned, and if he thinks proper, he can speak English to you, even better than myself, notwithstanding I was a friend of Nelson, and fought by his side at Trafalgar.”

It was dark night before we reached Corcuvion.  Antonio again stopped to refresh at a wine-shop, after which he conducted us to the house of the alcalde.  His steps were by this time not particularly steady, and on arriving at the gate of the house, he stumbled over the threshold and fell.  He got up with an oath, and instantly commenced thundering at the door with the stock of his musket.  “Who is it?” at length demanded a soft female voice in Gallegan.  “The valiente of Finisterra,” replied Antonio; whereupon the gate was unlocked, and we beheld before us a very pretty female with a candle in her hand.  “What brings you here so late, Antonio?” she inquired.  “I bring two prisoners, mi pulida,” replied Antonio.  “Ave Maria!” she exclaimed, “I hope they will do no harm.”  “I will answer for one,” replied the old man; “but, as for the other, he is a nuveiro, and has sunk more ships than all his brethren in Galicia.  But be not afraid, my beauty,” he continued, as the female made the sign of the cross:  “first lock the gate, and then show me the way to the alcalde.  I have much to tell him.”  The gate was locked, and bidding us stay below in the courtyard, Antonio followed the young woman up a stone stair, whilst we remained in darkness below.