'San Fernando!' I roared. He had a revolver in his belt, I pulled it out—it was unloaded, but that did not matter—and ran up to the wagons, kicking and cuffing the miserable wretches. They shrieked out, 'Don Geraldio!' and bolted, but two of them.—rather drunk they were—came for me with their machetes, and didn't stop when I pointed the revolver at them.
It was a jolly awkward moment, but I gave the first a blow on the point of his jaw, which knocked him flying, and before the second could get at me, there were shouts of 'Yuesencia! Yuesencia!' and the officer from whom I had taken the champagne bottle cut him down, clean from the top of his skull to his mouth. He did it with a machete. More officers—half fuddled—came running up, and whether they thought I was Gerald or not, they were in a hopeless fright, and began to lay about them with the flat of their swords, and soon got their natives into order, although I saw a good many of them stealing away among the trees, laden with spoil.
"I GAVE THE FIRST A BLOW ON THE POINT OF HIS JAW"
Ugh! the brutes had evidently killed all the wounded. It was a perfectly sickening sight. I was beside myself with rage.
Then just as some mules were being hitched to that first field-gun, I saw a native trying to lead away a big black horse. The poor beast was limping badly every step he took, and the man was beating him cruelly. I rushed across, and the man saw me coming, and ran off. The horse had a very elaborate head-stall and blue saddle-cloth, and I felt certain that I had seen him somewhere before. 'Poor old fellow,' I said, stroking his nose. He was simply sweating with pain, and seemed to know I was a friend. I rubbed my hand down his legs, and looked at his feet, and soon found what the mischief was. One of his rear shoes was half off, and a projecting nail had made a gash in his frog, so no wonder the poor old chap was in such pain.
I found a bayonet and managed to lever the shoe off altogether, and then led him up to the field-gun. He came along as gently as a lamb, still limping a bit, but I do believe he was grateful, and as I led him between the lines of prisoners, one of them got quite excited, struggling to his knees, then to his feet, singing out, 'Yuesencia! El General! General Zorilla! Caballo del General Zorilla.'
Ah! now I knew. He was the very horse on which Bob, the 'Angel,' and I had seen Zorilla ride across the square at Santa Cruz. He seemed to know the prisoner, so I thought he might have been his groom, and undid the cord round his arms. Directly they were free, he threw them round the horse's neck and loved him.
'San Fernando!' I said, pointing up the road, and he nodded, 'Bueno, Señor! Bueno, Yuesencia!' and was as pleased as Punch.
The officers had, meanwhile, found enough mules for all three guns, and I sent them rumbling and rattling up towards the barricade, which the natives were already hauling away. You may bet your life I was jolly glad to see them make a start, for I knew that they were worth all the world to Gerald, and there was always the chance of some of Zorilla's regulars turning up and recapturing them.