give us their liquor.--As I held him by the collar with one hand, I
pointed the bayonet at his breast with the other, and I again cried,
'Vino!'

"'Vino no tengo--nino, nino es!'--and he spoke the words with such a
look of truth and earnestness, that, had I not fancied I could trace
through the folds of his cloak the very shape of a small wine skin,
I should have believed him.

"'Lying rascal!' said I, 'so you won't give me the liquor? then the dry
earth shall drink it!' and I struck the point of my bayonet deep into
that which he was still hugging to his breast.

"Oh, sir! it was not wine that trickled down--it was blood, warm
blood!--and a piteous wail went like a chill across my heart!--The poor
Spaniard opened his cloak--he pointed to his wounded child--and his wild
eye asked me plainer than words could have done,--'Monster! are you
satisfied!'

"I was sobered in a moment. I fell upon
my knees beside the infant, and I tried to
staunch the blood. Yes, the poor fellow understood
the truth: he saw, and he accepted
my anguish--and we joined our efforts to save
the little victim.--Oh! it was too late!

"The little boy had fastened his small clammy hands round a finger of
each of us. He looked at us alternately; and seemed to ask, alike from
his father and his murderer, that help which it was beyond the power of
one of earth to give. The changes in the poor child's countenance showed