A silent inclination of the head was returned by his fellow-sufferer, to the Student. Colonel La Coste signalled to the officer, and the firing party shouldered arms. A dead silence prevailed, and, at the movement of the muskets, my heart beat wildly as a startled girl. Many of the French soldiery turned pale, and but a very few looked on the scene of death with indifference. The emotions of the peasants were now beyond concealment, and tears and prayers were freely given to the sufferers. “Are you ready?” inquired the commandant. The elder Spaniard bowed, while the Student boldly exclaimed, “Ready!” Colonel La Coste nodded to the lieutenant; at a motion of his sword, the firing party came to the present, and the next moment the fatal word was given--a volley answered it--and Velasquez and his companion dropped dead on the pavement of the court-yard. Hastily, a cloth was thrown over the bleeding bodies, the court-yard was cleared, the soldiers were ordered to rest and refresh themselves, and I returned to the kitchen of the posada, at the same time a guest and prisoner; and, in the same apartment, and within twelve hours,--I supped with the departed, and breakfasted with their executioners--Such is the fortune of war! CHAPTER XXX. THE RESCUE. “_A kinsman is part of a man’s body, of his heart, but a foster-brother is a piece of his heart._” Waverley. |Those who have been familiarized with warfare, know well, from personal experience, how callous it renders the heart to human suffering. To me these scenes were new--and to witness my fellow-men coolly hurried to eternity, without even the mockery of a trial, had occasioned a sensation too painful and powerful to be overcome. When, therefore, Colonel La Coste and his officers sate down to breakfast, I felt mine, indeed, to be a sorry appetite. The dead guerillas in the courtyard were still before my eyes, and men with whom, in the full pride of youth and health, I had taken my evening meal last night, were now “stark and stiff;” and my morning repast was to be shared with their executioners. I could not forget them; they rose to my imagination like Banquo’s ghost, and completely marred my appetite. Colonel La Coste, who in his own rough way had played the part of a kindly host, guessed the cause of my depression, and endeavoured to remove it. He had been three years a prisoner in England, and spoke our language tolerably.