This was the turning-point of the battle, and had the rebel infantry shown as much courage as their cavalry the Spaniards would have been utterly beaten; but their only idea was to get away; they bolted as fast as their legs could carry them, an example which was promptly imitated by the Spanish cavalry, who instead of charging the rebel horse in flank as they emerged from the valley, galloped off toward San Felipe, followed _nolens volens_ by Griscelli and his staff. It was the only battle I ever saw or heard of in which both sides ran away. If Mejia had gone to San Felipe he might have taken it without striking a blow, but besides having lost many of his brave _llaneros_, he had his unfortunate infantry to rally and protect, and the idea probably never occurred to him. As for the Spanish infantry, they stayed in the woods till the coast was clear, and then hied them home. Griscelli was wild with rage. To have his well-laid plans thwarted by cowardice and stupidity, the easy victory he had promised himself turned into an ignominious defeat at the very moment when, had his orders been obeyed, the fortunes of the day might have been retrieved--all this would have proved a severe trial for a hero or a saint, and certainly Griscelli bore his reverse neither with heroic fortitude nor saintly resignation. He cursed like the jackdaw of Rheims, threatened dire vengeance on all and sundry, and killed one of the runaway troopers with his own hand. I narrowly escaped sharing the same fate. Happening to catch sight of me when his passion was at the height he swore that he would shoot at least one rebel, and drawing a pistol from his holster pointed it at my head. I owed my life to Captain Guzman, who was one of the best and bravest of his officers. "Pray don't do that, general," he said. "It would be an ill requital for Señor Fortescue's faithful observance of his parole. And you promised to let him go." "Promised to let him go! So I did, and I will be as good as my word," returned Griscelli, grimly, as he uncocked his pistol. "Yes, he shall go." "Now?" "No. To-night. Meet me, both of you, near the old sugar-mill on the savanna when the moon rises; and give him a good supper, Guzman; he will need it." CHAPTER XVI. THE AZUFERALES. "What is General Griscelli's game? Does he really mean to let me go, or is he merely playing with me as a cat plays with a mouse?" I asked Guzman, as we sat at supper. "That is just the question I have been asking myself. I never knew him let a prisoner go before, and I know of no reason why he should treat you more leniently than he treats others. Do you?" "No. He is more likely to bear me a grudge," and then I told Guzman what had befallen at Salamanca.