Uncle Curro seized the rope once more and went off to hang himself. He was determined to do it this time, and the fairy-man was determined he shouldn't. He gave Uncle Curro a little club, and told him that with it he would be able to possess his soul in comfort; for that he had nothing to do but say, "Bestir yourself, little club!" to make all the world run away and leave him in peace, with a wide berth.
Uncle Curro set out for home with the club, as happy as an alcalde with his stick. As soon as he saw the young ones coming toward him demanding bread with insults and impertinences, he said to the club, "Bestir yourself, little club!" and before the words were fairly out of his mouth, it began to deal about it in a way that speedily routed the children. Their mother ran out to help them, but, "At her!" cries Curro, "at her with all your might!" and with one rap the club killed her.
They gave notice to the magistrate, and presently the alcalde made his appearance with his officers. "Bestir yourself, little club!" ordered Curro, and the club came down on them as if it had been paid at the rate of a dollar a thump. It killed the alcalde, and the others ran away with such might that not one of them had a sole left to his foot. Then they sent a messenger to let the king know what was going on, and the king sent a regiment of grenadiers to take Uncle Curro of the little club.
But, "Bestir yourself, club!" bawled Uncle Curro, as soon as they came in sight, and threw the club in the midst of the files. The club begun its dance upon the ribs of the grenadiers, with a sound like a fulling-mill. It crippled this one's leg, and that one's arm; knocked out one of the captain's eyes, and, in short, the grenadiers threw away their muskets and knapsacks, and took to their heels, in the full belief that the devil was running loose.
Free from care, Uncle Curro lay down to sleep, with his club hidden in his bosom, for fear that somebody might steal it.
When he awoke, he found himself tied hand and foot, and on the way to prison. They sentenced him to ignominious death. The next morning they took him out of the dungeon, and, when they had caused him to ascend the scaffold, untied his hands. Out he drew his little club, and as he said, "Bestir yourself!" threw it at the executioner, who speedily yielded up the ghost under its blows. "Free that man," commanded the king, "or he'll finish with every one of our subjects. Tell him that he shall have an estate in America if he will leave the country."
Uncle Curro consented, and the king made him lord of lands in the island of Cuba, where he built himself a city, and killed so many people in it with his club that its name was called, and has remained, Matanzas.