He Was
A Leading Man Amongst The National Guards Of Valladolid, And
Delighted In Parading About The City On A Clumsy Steed, Which He
Kept In A Subterranean Stable.
Our next quarters were at the Trojan Horse, an ancient posada, kept
by a native of the Basque provinces, who at least was not above his
business.
We found everything in confusion at Valladolid, a visit
from the factious being speedily expected. All the gates were
blockaded, and various forts had been built to cover the approaches
to the city. Shortly after our departure the Carlists actually did
arrive, under the command of the Biscayan chief, Zariategui. They
experienced no opposition; the staunchest nationals retiring to the
principal fort, which they, however, speedily surrendered, not a
gun being fired throughout the affair. As for my friend the hero
of the inn, on the first rumour of the approach of the enemy, he
mounted his horse and rode off, and was never subsequently heard
of. On our return to Valladolid, we found the inn in other and
better hands, those of a Frenchman from Bayonne, from whom we
received as much civility as we had experienced rudeness from his
predecessor.
In a few days I formed the acquaintance of the bookseller of the
place, a kind-hearted simple man, who willingly undertook the
charge of vending the Testaments which I brought.
I found literature of every description at the lowest ebb at
Valladolid. My newly-acquired friend merely carried on bookselling
in connexion with other business; it being, as he assured me, in
itself quite insufficient to afford him a livelihood.
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