His worship the adjutant de Plaza, the sergeant murmured, was having
his siesta; and supposing that he, the sergeant, would be allowed
access to him, the only result he expected would be to have his soul
flogged out of his body for presuming to disturb his worship's repose.
He made a deprecatory movement with his hands, and stood stock-still,
looking down modestly upon his brown toes.

Lieutenant Santierra glared with indignation, but hesitated. His
handsome oval face, as smooth as a girl's, flushed with the shame of
his perplexity. Its nature humiliated his spirit. His hairless upper
lip trembled; he seemed on the point of either bursting into a fit of
rage or into tears of dismay.

Fifty years later, General Santierra, the venerable relic of
revolutionary times, was well able to remember the feelings of the
young lieutenant. Since he had given up riding altogether, and found
it difficult to walk beyond the limits of his garden, the general's
greatest delight, was to entertain in his house the officers of the
foreign men-of-war visiting the harbour. For Englishmen he had a
preference, as for old companions in arms. English naval men of all
ranks accepted his hospitality with curiosity, because he had known
Lord Cochrane and had taken part, on board the patriot squadron
commanded by that marvellous seaman, in the cutting-out and blockading
operations before Callao--an episode of unalloyed glory in the wars
of Independence and of endless honour in the fighting tradition of
Englishmen. He was a fair linguist, this ancient survivor of the
Liberating armies. A trick of smoothing his long white beard whenever
he was short of a word in French or English imparted an air of
leisurely dignity to the tone of his reminiscences.