Well, that was how I paid my second visit to San Sebastian—a bit of a change from my first visit, wasn’t it? I dashed out again to help Gerald and, as I turned round the walls, along he came and old Zorilla with him. The poor old chap was mopping some blood off his forehead, and though he did look so forlorn he bowed to me in quite a friendly way. I gave his hand a jolly good hard grip. It turned out that only a very few of his men round those guns had made any stand, and that Gerald had simply swept through them, driven them back under the walls of the fort, and the old man had surrendered. The little brown men were rushing like a pack of hounds after the retreating regulars, and Gerald’s officers were trying to stop them. They did manage to bring some back, but couldn’t stop the rest, who went careering along towards Santa Cruz, till fifty or sixty regulars, braver than the others, or perhaps unable to run any farther, faced round, formed up across the road, and began firing at them, when back they came grinning and smiling like spaniels who have been ranging too far ahead and know they deserve a hiding. A lot of them scrambled up the mountain-side to fetch their beloved boots, which they had dropped before they began charging down. ’The revolution is finished,’ Gerald said quite quietly, and began loading his pipe; but his fingers shook a little, and I knew that he was fearfully excited, although he did his best to conceal the fact. He had the field-guns brought into the fort, and stuck them through some vacant embrasures, where they could command the road leading down to the city. Then he began to get his chaps into some kind of order again. ’Would you like to hoist the flag, Billums? You can if you like,’ he said; and you bet I would. Some one—the ’Gnome’ it was—brought along a roll of black and green bunting; we climbed up to the flagstaff on top of the walls, and hitching it to the halyards I hauled it up, hand over hand. You should have seen Gerald’s chaps yelling and dancing about, and heard them shouting, ’_Viva de Costa!’ ’Viva los Horizontals!_’ and ’_Viva Don Geraldio!_’ I need hardly tell you which were the loudest shouts, but old Gerald never moved a muscle, and took them all as a matter of course. I stood on top of the wall and smiled down on them, and never had had a jollier spree. It was quite light now—a most beautiful calm morning, the air crisp and fresh—and the top edge of the ridge we’d just climbed down was a rosy red. Whatever the weather had been it wouldn’t have made much difference to me; I felt simply glorious, and thought of old Ginger, down aboard the _Hercules_, keeping his morning watch and trying to prevent the men from making too much noise over the Captain’s head and waking him.