of a butcher, pushing his way into the midst of the crowd. "What is it that has brought you all out of your beds, and set corregidor and alcade and the rest of them running about the town at this time o' night?" "You know as much about it as we do, friend Esteban," replied one of the persons addressed. "It seems they are arresting somebody, but whom I cannot tell you." "Somebody!" reiterated another bystander, "some dozen you mean. Why man, there were near upon thirty alguazils entered the house, armed all of them to the very teeth. It must be something out of the common way to render such a force as that necessary." "They are there, perhaps, not so much to seize the prey as to hold it when taken," said Esteban. "Mayhap the corregidor has a notion that it cannot be very agreeable to true-hearted Spaniards to see their countrymen and friends thrown into prison, and hung and shot at the command of the French. By the Holy Trinity! we are a craven and degenerate people, or such things would not be." "Hush! man," said another speakerin alowertone, "such wordsaredangerous. But yonder is Nunez the alguazil, I will ask him whatis going on." And making his way to the door, he exchanged a few worus with one of the men that had been left to guard it, - and returned to Esteban's side. "He knows not whom they are arresting, but Nicolas the beggar gave the information." "Nicolas!" exclaimed the butcher, "has that crippled cur turned informer? Nay, then, let him keep clear of me. This very morning I gave him an alms and a bone, but, by the tail of St Anthony's pig, a cudgel shall be his welcome when he next crosses my threshold." "Where is the hound?" cried another; "'tis but a moment since I saw his ill-omened visage in the crowd." Before any search could be instituted for the mendicant, the house door was thrown wide open, and the magistrates issued forth, preceding the Empecinado, handcuffed, but preserving his usual commanding gait and stern unquailing countenance, amidst the fixed bayonets of his guards. "The Empecinado!" exclaimed Esteban the butcher, to whom Diez was personally known. VOL. LII. NO, CCCXXI. A sorrowful groan ran through the crowd on learning the name of the prisoner, and the corregidor, apprehensive of a rescue, quickened his step, and ordered the escort to close well up. The force he could command, however, would probably have been totally inadequate to enable him to preserve his prize, had not the large number of French troops, quartered within a few hours' march of the Burgo de Osma, operated as a more effectual check on the populace. "The Empecinado!" repeated Esteban, in the tone of a man stunned and stupefied. "Ha!" roared he, and giving a bound that carried him across the street, and upset one or two of the bystanders, he grasped by the throat a figure that was endeavouring to steal away and follow the corregidor and his myrmidons. "Help! murder!" shrieked the man, as well as his compressed windpipe would allow. "Help! Senor Corregidor!" "Silence, traitor!" vociferated the butcher, and dashed his captive to the ground. Two or three lanterns were brought to the spot, and their light fell on the hideous face of the mendicant, now pallid and quivering with deadly ter ror. "You betrayed the Empecinado," said Esteban, placing his heavy foot upon the breast of the prostrate wretch. "No! Senor, no!" cried the beggar, "'tis false; I told no one of his coming." "You betrayed the Empecinado," repeated the butcher in an unaltered tone, but pressing hard upon the chest of his victim. "Mercy! Senor," shrieked the unhappy Nicolas, "I betrayed him not, I knew not he was here." "The butcher's brow contracted, and he threw the whole weight of his body upon the foot which held down the beggar. "Liar!" he exclaimed; and a third time he repeated, "You betrayed the Empecinado." The blood gushed from the mouth of the traitor. The first sight that on the following morning greeted the eyes of the corregidor of the Burgo de Osma, was the dead body of Nicolas hanging by the neck from a tree opposite his windows. A paper pinned upon his breast was stained by the blood that had flowed from his mouth, but not sufficiently so to prevent the magistrate from reading the following words, "Los Vendedores del Empecinado, Numero Una, Venganza!" * The corregidor could not repress a shudder as he turned from the window, and thought who might chance to be Numero Dos. This daring and significant demonstration, whose authors it was impossible to discover, owing to the fidelity with which the secret was kept, alarmed the authorities, and their first care was to send off to the village of San Esteban de Gormaz, where the nearest French detachment, consisting of three hundred infantry, was quartered, in order to obtain a sufficient guard for the important prisoner that had been made. These troops immediately marched to the Burgo de Osma; and as the intelligence of the Empecinado's capture spread, other parties, both of infantry and cavalry, kept pouring in, until in a very short time nearly three thousand men, commanded by a brigadier-general, were assembled in the town. The Empecinado having been arrested by the Spanish authorities, it was thought proper to go through the formalities of trying him by a civil tribunal, instead of subjecting him to the more summary operation of a ten minutes' shrift and a dozen musket balls, which would have been his lot had the French themselves been his captors. Accordingly the corregidor was charged to get all ready for the trial, and to collect the necessary witnesses to prove the murders and robberies of which the Empecinado was accused; for the French had throughout affected to consider him as a mere bandit and highwayman, and as such not entitled to the treatment or privileges of a prisoner of war. The room in the town prison in which Diez had been placed, was a small stone-floored cell, damp and cold, which the jailer, anxious to curry * favour with the French, had selected as one of the most comfortless dungeons at his disposal. It had no window or opening looking out of the prison, but received air and a glimmering sort of twilight through a grating let into the wall that separated it from a corridor. Furniture there was none; a scanty provision of straw in one corner served the prisoner to sit and lie upon. His hands were free, but he was debarred from exercise, even such as he might have taken within the narrow limits of the cell, by weighty iron manacles, worthy of the most palmy days of the Inquisition, which were fastened upon his legs in such a manner as to prevent his walking, or even crossing his prison, otherwise than by a succession of short leaps, in taking which his ankles could not fail to be bruised and wounded by the severity of his fetters. One morning shortly after his incarceration, the Empecinado was lying on his straw bed, and reflecting on the circumstances of his position, which might well have been deemed desperate. But Martin Diez possessed, in addition to that headlong courage which prompted him to despise all dangers, however great the odds against him, other qualities not less precious. These were, an unparalleled degree of fortitude, and a strength of mind that enabled him to bear up against sufferings and misfortune that would have reduced most men to despondency. However abandoned by friends and shackled in his own resources, he never allowed himself to despair; and it was this heroic spirit, added to great confidence in his physical energies, that, fifteen years later, when he was led out to execution, prompted the most daring attempt ever made by a prisoner to escape, naked and weaponless, from a numerous and wellarmed guard. To break out of the prison where he now was, certainly appeared no easy matter, and a sum in gold that he had on his person when he entered the town, having been taken from him, he could have no hopes of corrupting the jailer. While ruminating on the means of communicating with his friends without, he heard his name The betrayer of the Empecinado-Number One-Revenge! pronounced in a distinct but cautious whisper, and, turning his eyes to the only quarter whence such a sound could come, he beheld the grated window nearly blocked up by the head of a man, who was gazing at him through the bars. "Martin Diez," said the stranger, perceiving that he had attracted his attention; "dost thou not know me?" The Empecinado arose, and, approaching the window, recognised the features of a certain shoemaker named Cambea, a native of Aranda, and who had served with him in the war of '92. He had been thrown into jail for some offence which was, however, of so trifling a nature, that he was not confined to a cell in the daytime, but had the run of the prison, and even worked at his trade by the connivance of the jailer. Having learned that the Empecinado was a prisoner, he watched an opportunity to visit him, and now offered to do all in his power to aid in his escape. The risk of discovery was too great for Cambea to remain long in conference with the guerilla. A few sentences, however, were exchanged, and he then went away, but returned the same afternoon, and with a lump of wax contrived to take an impression of the lock on the Empecinado's dungeon-door, in order to get a key made by a friend he had in the town, who by trade was a locksmith. Two days elapsed without his reappearance, and Diez began to fear that their communication had been discovered, and Cambea subjected to stricter confinement, when the door of the cell gently opened, and the shoemaker entered, a key in his hand, and his face radiant with satisfaction. This difficulty being overcome, their plans were soon arranged, and it was agreed that on the following Sunday, while mass was celebrating, the grand attempt should be made. The day arrived, and at ten in the morning the wife and daughter of the jailer, their servant and the turnkey, having gone to church, the prison remained silent and deserted, except by the prisoners and the jailer himself, who was shut up in his apartment. Without losing a moment, and with the greatest silence and caution, Cambea repaired to the Empecinado's dungeon, and arming him with one of the knives he used for cutting leather, took him upon his shoulders, and in that manner carried him to the door of the jailer's room. The alcayde, or jailer, was lolling in a large well-stuffed arm-chair, and opposite to him was seated the lawyer appointed to conduct Diez's prosecution. On a small table between them were placed glasses and a dusty cobweb-covered bottle, with the contents of which the two worthies were solacing themselves, while they discussed the all-absorbing topic of the day, the trial of the Empecinado, and its probable, or rather certain result. As glass after glass was emptied of the oily old Xeres wine, the lawyer rehearsed his speech, the jailer found guilty, and passed sentence, until, step by step, and before the bottle was out, the Empecinado had, in imagination, and somewhat prematurely, been condemned, placed in capilla, confessed, and led out to execution. Just as the lawyer was conjecturing how he would look with the rope round his neck, some one tapped at the door. "Adelante!" cried the jailer, and Cambea made his appearance. "Senor Alcayde," said be, "the corregidor is at the prison-gate, and desires to speak with you." Putting on one side the bottle and glasses, the jailer hurried to receive the chief magistrate of the town, but as he passed through the door behind which the Empecinado was concealed, the latter made a sort of buck leap, with his fetters upon his feet, and grappled him like a tiger, seizing him by the hair with his left hand, and with his right clutching his throat so as nearly to strangle him. At the same time Cambea threw himself upon the lawyer, whose head he muffled in his own cloak, and then, taking him up in his arms, carried him bodily to the Empecinado's cell, and there locked him in. Then returning to the assistance of Diez, they tied the jailer's hands, and, putting a gag in his mouth, placed him also in the dungeon. The next thing to be done was to rid the Empecinado of his manacles, which was soon accomplished by means of riveting tools found in the jailer's room. But they had as yet only surmounted a part of their difficulties, and much remained to be done before they could consider themselves in safety. It is true, they had the keys, and could un lock the door and walk out of the prison, but the streets were swarming with French soldiers, through whom they would have to run the gauntlet before getting out of the town. To do this with less chance of detection, they returned to the dungeon, and, taking the clothes off its present inmates, put them on themselves. Cambea took possession of the lawyer's three-cornered hat, and Diez of that of the alcayde, and then arranging their cloaks in such a manner as to conceal the greater part of their faces, they walked out of the principal gate of the prison, carefully shutting it after them, and passing unsuspected through the French soldiers on guard. Fortunately, as it was the hour of high mass, all the town's-people were in the church, and the French took no notice of the two fugitives as they walked through the streets with grave and deliberate pace, studiously avoiding any appearance of haste, lest it might lead to detection. In this manner they had nearly got out of the town, when they perceived an orderly dragoon holding two horses, saddled and bridled, at the door of a house, apparently waiting for some officer of rank who was about to take a ride. The Empecinado had found in a pocket of his borrowed garments a box, full of that excessively fine and pungent snuff, called in Spain the encarnado de los frayles. Emptying the contents into his hand, he walked up to the soldier, and asked to be directed to the quarters of the general commanding. While the man was answering him, Diez threw the snuff in his face and eyes, and, opening his cloak, gave him a buffet that stretched him, stunned and blinded, upon the ground. Then, seizing his drawn sword, he sprang upon the officer's horse, and Cambea mounting that of the dragoon, they succeeded in passing the town-gate unchallenged. They had not been clear of the town five minutes, when they heard trumpets sounding and drums beating to arms, and soon the road in their rear was covered with light cavalry in hot pursuit. But their horses were good, the start they had was sufficient, and they speedily reached the mountains. Three days afterwards the Empecinado had rejoined Mariano Fuentes, and was again at the head of his band. THE WORLD OF LONDON. PART XIII. WALKING THE HOSPITALS. WE apprehend that few idle people, from choice, care to turn aside from the contemplation of busy life engaged in healthy industry, and from the excitement of the living streets, to explore the abiding places of disease, pain, and death: yet we would not care for the man who would not sometimes visit the homes of the miserable, take a lesson of life in the wards of an hospital, and anticipate the debt he will sooner or later have to pay, by seeing it paid by others. While you are killing the enemy-who is certain, notwithstanding, to get the better of you one day or another-with billiards, or dice, or gossip, or the bottle at the west end, it might do you good were you suddenly to be transferred to a medical or surgical ward of St Thomas's, St Bartholomew's, or Guy's; and, by the dismal light of a lamp, to contemplate the varied expression of human agony you will meet with on every side; the crimsoned flush of raging fever, the wandering eye and frothy lip of wild delirium, the halfcrown patch of hectic blush upon the shrunken cheek of the consumptive; death doing his work by sap and storm, by night and day, within the walls, within musket-shot of the scenes of your midnight revelry and mid-day languor, where your only business is idleness, your only pleasure dissipation. "Curse the fellow, he is not going to be funny this month," saith the reader: very likely not; therefore lay us down, or take us up, just as you are situated. Life has serious aspects, nay, even painful ones, and our business is to make you acquainted with both sides: therefore turn with us into this gateway, or go back again to your club, whichever of the two will afford greatest entertainment. You have hardly entered the precincts of one of our great hospitals, when you experience uneasy sensations. The unnatural quietude of those great quadrangles in the immediate vicinity of crowded thoroughfares, whose discordant noises reach the ear commingled in one general hum, amaze you. There is a conventual hush over the place; your footstep awakens the echoes of the piazzas and passages, as you make your way from one quadrangle to another. In the distance you may observe an irregular clump of lowly buildings, surmounted by domes and skylights; these are the dissecting and lecture rooms of the hospital, where the bodies of the dead are made subservient to the welfare of the living. You enter the house; what a strange acidulated smell! The smell of a barrack is peculiar-a frowzy, dampy smell: the smell of a workhouse is the frowziness without the damp: but the smell of an hospital is different from both; it is an odour, as it were, of spilt vinegar, very peculiar, especially in the dog-days, and not very pleasant. Then the surgical wards, the fever wards, the small-pox wards, have their own peculiar odours, which we might sniff through several pages with great satisfaction; but in pity to the olfactories of the unprofessional reader, we shall not dwell further on hospital odours. Who are those frowzy women in the bed-gowns and frilled caps crossing the square to and fro? These are nurses; sisters, as they are called -a name derived from those remote times when sisterhoods of religious women performed the kindly offices of tending the sick poor, as they do to this day in continental countries. You see in the expression of their faces how little care or anxiety they feel, hardened as they are by usage, in the performance of the most exquisitely painful duties; they look not like those whose daily and nightly task it is to moisten the lips of the dying, to close the eyes and decently dispose the limbs of the frequent dead. On the contrary, the great majority have the expression of comfortable jolly cooks in small respectable families where scullery-maids are kept. In the passages, or in the lobbies, as you progress towards the wards, if you keep your ears open, you may |