CHARLES WATERTON, ESQ. XXXV 



see him. Father Bustamante was an aged priest, 

 who had been particularly kind to my uncle on his 

 first arrival in Malaga. My uncle went immedi- 

 ately to Father Bustamante, gave him every conso- 

 lation in his power, and then returned to his own 

 house, very unwell, there to die a martyr to his 

 charity. Father Bustamante breathed his last before 

 daylight; my uncle took to his bed, and never rose 

 more. As soon as we had received information of 

 his sickness, I immediately set out on foot for the 

 city. His friend Mr. Power, now of Gibraltar, was 

 already in his room, doing every thing that friend- 

 ship could suggest, or prudence dictate. My uncle's 

 athletic constitution bore up against the disease 

 much longer than we thought it possible. He 

 struggled with it for five days, and sank at last about 

 the hour of sunset. He stood six feet four inches 

 high ; and was of so kind and generous a disposition, 

 that he was beloved by all who knew him. Many a 

 Spanish tear flowed when it was known that he 

 had ceased to be. We got him a kind of coffin made, 

 in which he was conveyed at midnight to the out- 

 skirts of the town, there to be put into one of the 

 pits which the galley-slaves had dug, during the day, 

 for the reception of the dead. But they could not 

 spare room for the coffin ; so the body was taken out 

 of it, and thrown upon the heap which already occu- 

 pied the pit. A Spanish marquis lay just below him. 



" Divesne prisco natus ab Inacho, 

 Nil interest, an pauper, et infima 

 De gente." 



Thousands died as though they had been seized 

 b 2 



