"Vaya usted a los infernos!" exclaimed the alcalde, in a towering fit of official indignation; "I shall show you how we treat those who enter our city of Arcos without proper credentials, and I verily believe you to be a couple of pitiful raterillos. Search and secure them!" How this affair might have ended, I have no means of knowing; but nothing saved us from much trouble and perhaps danger, but the sudden discovery of a letter, which was found by one of the alguazils who rudely plunged a hand into one of my pockets. It was addressed in high-flowing terms to the most illustrious señor, the captain general of Andalusia, and bore the great official seal of the Governor of Her Britannic Majesty's garrison of Gibraltar. On beholding this, the countenance of the alcalde fell. This human bladder, which was inflated by so much wrath and Jack-in-office pride, suddenly collapsed. His manner changed at once; he was profuse in his apologies, and on a wave of his hand, those alguazils who, a moment before, were ready to drag us to some foul prison and rudely too, like ruffians as they doubtless were, slunk aside and withdrew; and in five minutes after we were mounted, clear of Arcos, and trotting along the road which ascended from the banks of the Guadalete. "Those Spaniards will never change," said Jack; "they will ever be bullies or cravens; so cudgels or cannon shot are the only means of argument with them." We then laughed at the whole affair--at the absurd pomposity of the alcalde, and the idea of our being arrested as spies.