The good fathers encouraged us with their exhortations, and some of them, mingling with us in the most dangerous places in the ranks, said to us—
“My sons, do not be discouraged. Foreseeing this event we have saved moderate quantities of food, and we have wine also. Give this mob plenty of powder! Courage, dear boys! Do not be afraid of the enemy’s lead. You do more damage with one of your glances than they with a discharge of lead. Forward, my sons! The Holy Virgin del Pilar is with you. Don’t wince at danger; face the enemy calmly, and in the cloud of battle you will see the holy form of the Mother of God. Viva Spain and Fernando VII !”
We reached the church; but the French, who had preceded us by the sacristy, already occupied the high altar. I had never before seen a churrigueresque altar all covered with sculptures and garlands of gold, serving as a breastwork for infantry; nor had I ever seen niches which served as the lodging places of a thousand carved saints vomiting forth fire. I had never seen the rays of gilded wood which shed their changeless light from pasteboard clouds peopled by little angels, confused with gun-flashes; nor behind the feet of Christ, and back of the golden halo of the Virgin Mary, the avenging eyes of soldiers taking death-dealing aim.
It is well to say that the high altar of San Augustine was an enormous one, filled with gilded wooden sculptures, like others you have seen in any of the churches of Spain. It extended from the floor to the arch above, and from wall to wall, and represented in row upon row the celestial hierarchies. Above, the bloodstained Christ spread his arms upon the cross; below, and on the altar, a little shrine enclosed the