The public absorbed by this fresh incident, almost forgot the espada. El Nacional would fall also; he could not get out from between the horns, and the brute carried him along as if he were already impaled.
The men shouted as if their cries could have been of any assistance, the women sobbed, turning their heads aside and wringing their hands, when the banderillero, taking advantage of a moment when the brute lowered his head to gore him, slipped from between the horns to one side, while the bull rushed blindly on, carrying away the ragged cape on his horns.
The tense feeling broke out into deafening applause. The unstable crowd, only impressed by the danger of the moment, acclaimed El Nacional. It was the finest moment of his life, and in their excitement they scarcely noticed the inanimate body of Gallardo, who with his head hanging down was being carried out of the Plaza between the toreros and arena servants.
In Seville that night nothing was spoken of but Gallardo's accident, the worst he had ever had. In many towns special sheets had already been published, and the papers all over Spain gave accounts of the affair, which was wired in all directions, as if some political personage had been the victim of an attempt.
Terrifying news flew about the Calle de las Sierpes, coloured by the vivid southern imagination. Poor Gallardo had just died, he who brought the news had seen him lying on a bed in the infirmary of the Plaza, as white as paper, with a crucifix between his hands, so it must be true. According to others less lugubrious, he was still alive, though he might die at any moment. All his bowels were torn, his heart, his loins, everything, the bull had made a perfect sieve of his body.
Guards had been placed around the Plaza to prevent the mob anxious for news from storming the infirmary. Outside, the populace had assembled, asking every one who came out as to the espada's state.
El Nacional, still in his fighting dress, came out several times, frowning and angry, as the preparations for his master's removal were not ready.
Seeing the banderillero, the mob forgot the wounded man in their congratulations.
"Señor Sebastian, you were splendid!... Had it not been for you!..."