That some great enterprise was on foot there could be no doubt, from the secrecy maintained by the general as to the object of the march, the solitary places through which their route lay after leaving the Madrid road, and the deserted places, cork woods, chesnut thickets, &c. in which they concealed their bivouacs at night. Great excitement existed among the troops, and many were the surmises as to what might be the ultimate object of this sudden expedition, until it became known that to force the pass of Miravete, and destroy certain forts erected at the bridge of Almarez on the Tagus, were the intentions of the enterprising leader. On the evening of the 15th May, the troops destined for this particular service entered the city of Truxillo, the place from which Don Balthazzar[*] takes his title. It is, like most Spanish cities, situated on a rocky eminence, contains about four thousand inhabitants, a handsome Plaza, and several churches. Ronald was billeted on the very house in which the famous conqueror of America, Pizarro, was born, and the mouldered coat-armorial of whose noble family yet appeared over the entrance-door. He had just finished a repast of hashed mutton and garlic,—time had reconciled him to the latter,—and was discussing a few jugs of _Xeres seco_ with his host, when the serjeant-major of the Gordon Highlanders, tapping at the door with his cane, warned him to join Captain Stuart’s out-picquet as a supernumerary subaltern. [*] The Condé is still alive. I saw his name mentioned in a French paper some months ago. His host, Don Gonzago de Conquesta, a lineal decendant of Pizarro, was detailing the once great honours of his now decayed house when this unwelcome intelligence was brought to Stuart, who, snatching his cloak and sword, vented a malediction on the adjutant, and departed in no pleasant mood, bearing with him a couple of bottles of the _Xeres seco_, which were pressed upon him by Don Gonzago, who said that he never went on duty (he was a _Capitan de Cazadores_) without plenty of liquor. It was a lesson he had learned in his campaigns "under the great General Liniers, at Buenos Ayres, in 1807." The out-picquet, which Ronald departed to join, was posted near the river Almonte, at the base of the large mountain, on the summit and sides of which appeared the three divisions of Truxillo,—the castle, the city, and the town, as they are styled. And often, as he hurried down the hill, he looked back at the picturesque Spanish city, with its gothic spires and belfries, its embattled fortress, lines of frowning ramparts built on masses of rock, and its thousand casements, gleaming like burnished gold in the light of the setting sun. It was a beautiful evening: the air was cool and balmy,—the sky blue and cloudless, and the clear atmosphere showed vividly the various tints of the extensive landscape, where yellow fields, green thickets, and the windings of the Almonte stretched away far in the distance.