lt. The disciples of the rod have fled from it, and those of the
musket have come in their stead.

At half-past four on the morning after our arrival in the mountains, I
was roused from a profound sleep by the sound of the bugle. A solitary
performer was blowing spiritedly into his instrument; what piece of
music he was trying to execute I could not make out, but that his
primary object was to "murder sleep" was evident, and he succeeded.
Losing all note of time and place, I thought for a moment I was in
London, and that this was a visit from the Christmas waits. But there
was a liveliness in the tones incompatible with the season when the
clarionet, trombone, and cornet-a-piston form a syndicate of noise, and
parade the streets for halfpence. The bugle was in a jocular mood. Judge
of my astonishment when I learned that this merry melody was the
Carlist's reveille! The insurgents had got so far with their military
organization that they had actually buglers and bugle-calls. Nay, more,
they had drummers and a brass band!

Now I think of it, there is an inadvisability in my calling them
insurgents while in their power; but what phrase am I to employ? In the
pass in my pocket I am recommended to "the Chiefs of the Royal Army of
his Catholic Majesty Charles VII.," as an inoffensive "corresponsal
particular," to whom aid and protection may be safely extended. But then
there are the Republicans, and if they catch me giving premature
recognition in pen-and-ink to the Royalist cause, they may rightly
complain that a British subject is flying in the face of the great
British policy of non-intervention. I think I have discovered an escape
from the dilemma. The Carlists speak of themselves as the Chicos, "the
bhoys," so Chicos let them be for the future, and their opponents the
troops--not that it is by any means intended to be conveyed that the
troops so called are much more martial than the Chicos.

Well, the boys have got buglers who bugle with a will. They blow a blast
to rouse us, another for distribution of rations; they have the
assembly, the retreat, the "lights out," and all the rest, as regular as
the Diddlesex Militia. I got up in the Cora's house, looked at the
Cura's pictures--which were more meritorious as works of piety than as
works of art--and hastened to the Plaza, where I was told there was
about to be a muster of the Chicos, and I would have a leisurely
opportunity of passing them under inspection. The Plaza