The Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours"Grant, James
General
The Phantom Regiment; or, Stories of "Ours"
Grant, James
Adventure stories; British -- Foreign countries -- Fiction; Soldiers -- Fiction
We received from him a letter to the Governor of Gibraltar, stating
that our explanations of the affair of the guarda costa had perfectly
satisfied him; and on our rising to retire he made us an offer of a
cavalry escort as far as San Roque, which lies within a few miles of
our garrison; but being aware that we should be obliged to maintain
both the horses and the men, and to make them a handsome donation at
parting, I declined, saying that we had an idea of returning by San
Lucar de Barameda, and would there take the steamer for Gibraltar.
"But remember there is that restless gentleman, Don Fabrique de
Urquija," said the general, smiling; "he makes the roads very unsafe,
and does not hesitate to commit such outrages as have not been known
in the land since Marshal Massena marched through it."
We assured him of our being without fear in the matter; on which he
laughed, saying that he knew "los Brittanicos, of old, and that, like
our fathers who fought under Wellington, Hill, and Grahame, we also
were without fear," and we parted, highly flattered and delighted by
our interview with this old Castilian hidalgo.
We lounged long in the Alameda, where the notice our uniform
attracted was rather an annoyance. After dining at the hotel and
making the most of our costume that our light marching order would
admit, we appeared at the door of Donna Dominga's residence in the
Calle del Alcazar, just as the cathedral clock struck eight; for the
Spaniards are too well bred to esteem any one the more for being late
at a conversazione, for such is a tertulia in fact and in effect.
A number of sedans, borne by servants in livery, were standing about
the steps of the mansion; and the links and torches flared on the
coats of arms that decorated the panels and the collars of Santiago
and Calatrava which surrounded them. Various long-visaged and
spindle-shanked representatives of the pure did blood of los Cuatros
Reinos, untainted by the stain of Moor, or Jew, or heretic, were
stalking through the vestibule with due gravity and grandeur.
We were ushered forward by one servant, and were announced by another
on entering the saloon, where our old friend Donna Dominga sat with
fan and snuff-box in hand receiving her guests; and as her son had
prepared her for our visit, she was in a prodigious flutter, with her
fat round face forming the apex of a pyramid of black satin and black
Cadiz lace; for her veil, which was of the finest texture, fell over
all her person.
By her side sat the pretty Paulina on a rich low tabourette,
gracefully as a Spanish lady sits at mass, or a Moorish maiden on her
little carpet, for it is from their Arabian conquerors that the low
seats of the Spanish dames are borrowed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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