“When I was certain he had gone I climbed out from under the table. I stood, drew my sword, and started poking the thatch above the rafters. We knew this was one of the places they liked to hide things, the Spanish. It was always good to search there. And sure enough, after walking up and down the room a few times stabbing the straw I had a success. I punctured a wineskin. It startled me. I thought I had run through something living. Then I could smell what it was and stood beneath the stream and opened my mouth. I washed my face in wine, it ran into my eyes, but most of it I managed to get down my throat. I could still hear shots, and there was some shouting, but it wasn’t directly outside, it wasn’t close. When I had drunk all I could I lay by the fire, as near to it as I dared. I can hardly tell you the pleasure I felt. The warmth of the fire, the warmth of the wine. I slept. I have no idea for how long. It might only have been ten or fifteen minutes but had I not been woken by more beating at the door I would, I suppose, have slept on until the French arrived or the householder came back to wake me with the edge of his axe.