After I had run about five hundred yards, I saw that I had gained nearly three upon our column in front, and that likewise the Christino horsemen were left behind some hundred yards more; with the exception of three, who were fearfully near me.  The first was an officer without a lance; he had fired both his pistols at me, and was twenty yards in advance of his comrades; there was a similar distance between the two lancers who rode behind him.  I determined then to wait for No. 1, and as he came up delivered cut 3 at his horse’s near leg—­off it flew, and down, as I expected, went horse and man.  I had hardly time to pass my sword through my prostrate enemy, when No. 2 was upon me.  If I could but get that fellow’s horse, thought I, I am safe; and I executed at once the plan which I hoped was to effect my rescue.

I had, as I said, left the podesta with Sheeny’s portmanteau, and, unwilling to part with some of the articles it contained—­some shirts, a bottle of whiskey, a few cakes of Windsor soap, &c. &c.,—­I had carried it thus far on my shoulders, but now was compelled to sacrifice it malgre moi.  As the lancer came up, I dropped my sword from my right hand, and hurled the portmanteau at his head, with aim so true, that he fell back on his saddle like a sack, and thus when the horse galloped up to me, I had no difficulty in dismounting the rider:  the whiskey-bottle struck him over his right eye, and he was completely stunned.  To dash him from the saddle and spring myself into it, was the work of a moment; indeed, the two combats had taken place in about a fifth part of the time which it has taken the reader to peruse the description.  But in the rapidity of the last encounter, and the mounting of my enemy’s horse, I had committed a very absurd oversight—­I was scampering away without my sword!  What was I to do?—­to scamper on, to be sure, and trust to the legs of my horse for safety!

The lancer behind me gained on me every moment, and I could hear his horrid laugh as he neared me.  I leaned forward jockey-fashion in my saddle, and kicked, and urged, and flogged with my hand, but all in vain.  Closer—­closer—­the point of his lance was within two feet of my back.  Ah! ah! he delivered the point, and fancy my agony when I felt it enter—­through exactly fifty-nine pages of the New Monthly Magazine.  Had it not been for that Magazine, I should have been impaled without a shadow of a doubt.  Was I wrong in feeling gratitude?  Had I not cause to continue my contributions to that periodical?

When I got safe into Morella, along with the tail of the sallying party, I was for the first time made acquainted with the ridiculous result of the lancer’s thrust (as he delivered his lance, I must tell you that a ball came whiz over my head from our fellows, and entering at his nose, put a stop to his lancing for the future).  I hastened to Cabrera’s quarter, and related to him some of my adventures during the day.