“The fate of Mascarenhas might have taught you better,” said he, “than to play this game.” And then added with a grim smile, “But we’ll see if an Englishman will not make as good a carbonado as a Portuguese!” This cruel speech made my blood run cold, for I knew well to what he alluded. I was at Lisbon at the time it happened, but the melancholy fate of Julian Mascarenhas, the Portuguese spy, had reached me there. He was burned to death at Torres Vedras! The Spaniard’s triumph over my terror was short-lived, indeed, for scarcely had the words fallen from his lips, when a party of the Fourteenth, dashing through the river at a gallop, came riding up. The attitude of the Guerillas, as they sat with presented arms, was sufficient for my fellows who needed not the exhortation of him who rode foremost of the party:-- “Ride them down, boys! Tumble them over! Flatten their broad beavers, the infernal thieves!” “Whoop!” shouted Mike, as he rode at the chief with the force of a catapult. Down went the Spaniard, horse and all; and before he could disentangle himself, Mike was upon him, his knee pressed upon his neck. “Isn’t it enough for ye to pillage the whole country without robbing the king’s throops!” cried he, as he held him fast to the earth with one hand, while he presented a loaded pistol to his face. By this time the scene around me was sufficiently ludicrous. Such of the Guerillas as had not been thrown by force from their saddles, had slid peaceably down, and depositing their arms upon the ground, dropped upon their knees in a semicircle around us, and amidst the hoarse laughter of the troopers, and the irrepressible merriment of the Frenchmen, rose up the muttered prayers of the miserable Spaniards, who believed that now their last hour was come. “_Madre de Dios_, indeed!” cried Mike, imitating the tone of a repentant old sinner in a patched mantle; “it’s much the blessed Virgin thinks of the like o’ ye, thieves and rogues as ye are; it a’most puts me beyond my senses to see ye there crossing yourselves like _rale_ Christians.” If I could not help indulging myself in this retributive cruelty towards the chief, and leaving him to the tender mercies of Mike, I ordered the others to rise and form in line before me. Affecting to occupy myself entirely with them, I withdrew the attention of all from the French officers, who remained quiet spectators of the scene around them. “_Point de façons_, gentlemen,” said I, in a whisper. “Get to your horses and away! Now’s your time. Good-by!” A warm grasp of the hand from each was the only reply, and I turned once more to my discomforted friends the Guerillas. “There, Mike, let the poor devil rise. I confess appearances were strong against me just now.” “Well, Captain, are you convinced by this time that I was not deceiving you?”