It was then that Mr. Sheeny detailed to me the particulars to which I have briefly adverted; and, informing me at the same time that he had a family in England who would feel obliged to me for his release, and that his most intimate friend the English ambassador would move heaven and earth to revenge his fall, he directed my attention to a portmanteau passably well filled, which he hoped would satisfy the cupidity of my troops.  I said, though with much regret, that I must subject his person to a search; and hence arose the circumstance which has called for what I fear you will consider a somewhat tedious explanation.  I found upon Mr. Sheeny’s person three sovereigns in English money (which I have to this day), and singularly enough a copy of The New Monthly Magazine, containing a portion of my adventures.  It was a toss-up whether I should let the poor young man be shot or no, but this little circumstance saved his life.  The gratified vanity of authorship induced me to accept his portmanteau and valuables, and to allow the poor wretch to go free.  I put the Magazine in my coat-pocket, and left him and the podesta.

The men, to my surprise, had quitted the building, and it was full time for me to follow; for I found our sallying party, after committing dreadful ravages in Oraa’s lines, were in full retreat upon the fort, hotly pressed by a superior force of the enemy.  I am pretty well known and respected by the men of both parties in Spain (indeed I served for some months on the Queen’s side before I came over to Don Carlos); and, as it is my maxim never to give quarter, I never expect to receive it when taken myself.  On issuing from the podesta with Sheeny’s portmanteau and my sword in my hand, I was a little disgusted and annoyed to see our own men in a pretty good column retreating at double-quick, and about four hundred yards beyond me, up the hill leading to the fort; while on my left hand, and at only a hundred yards, a troop of the Queenite lancers were clattering along the road.

I had got into the very middle of the road before I made this discovery, so that the fellows had a full sight of me, and whiz! came a bullet by my left whisker before I could say Jack Robinson.  I looked round—­there were seventy of the accursed malvados at the least, and within, as I said, a hundred yards.  Were I to say that I stopped to fight seventy men, you would write me down a fool or a liar:  no, sir, I did not fight, I ran away.

I am six feet four—­my figure is as well known in the Spanish army as that of the Count de Luchana, or my fierce little friend Cabrera himself.  “Gahagan!” shouted out half a dozen scoundrelly voices, and fifty more shots came rattling after me.  I was running—­running as the brave stag before the hounds—­running as I have done a great number of times before in my life, when there was no help for it but a race.