bout carefully
to see if any were within view, we observed a young shepherd tranquilly
and unsuspiciously trimming a stick with his knife at the foot of a cork
tree. We called to him, and he, raising his head, sprang nimbly to his
feet, for, as we afterwards learned, the first who presented themselves
to his sight were the renegade and Zoraida, and seeing them in Moorish
dress he imagined that all the Moors of Barbary were upon him; and
plunging with marvellous swiftness into the thicket in front of him, he
began to raise a prodigious outcry, exclaiming, "The Moors--the Moors
have landed! To arms, to arms!" We were all thrown into perplexity by
these cries, not knowing what to do; but reflecting that the shouts of
the shepherd would raise the country and that the mounted coast-guard
would come at once to see what was the matter, we agreed that the
renegade must strip off his Turkish garments and put on a captive's
jacket or coat which one of our party gave him at once, though he himself
was reduced to his shirt; and so commending ourselves to God, we followed
the same road which we saw the shepherd take, expecting every moment that
the coast-guard would be down upon us. Nor did our expectation deceive
us, for two hours had not passed when, coming out of the brushwood into
the open ground, we perceived some fifty mounted men swiftly approaching
us at a hand-gallop. As soon as we saw them we stood still, waiting for
them; but as they came close and, instead of the Moors they were in quest
of, saw a set of poor Christians, they were taken aback, and one of them
asked if it could be we who were the cause of the shepherd having raised
the call to arms. I said "Yes," and as I was about to explain to him what
had occurred, and whence we came and who we were, one of the Christians
of our party recognised the horseman who had put the question to us, and
before I could say anything more he exclaimed:

"Thanks be to God, sirs, for bringing us to such good quarters; for, if I
do not deceive myself, the ground we stand on is that of Velez Malaga
unless, indeed, all my years of captivity have made me unable to
recollect that you, senor, who ask who we are, are Pedro de Bustamante,
my uncle."

The Christian captive had hardly uttered these words, when the horseman
threw himself off his horse, and ran to embrace the young man, crying:

"Nephew of my soul and life! I recognise thee now; and long have I
mourned thee as dead, I, and my