As soon as he could do it safely, the little brute who’d had the warrant came and kicked me in the stomach and spat at me—I must have had my pipe in my hand when I hit him, for he had a gash across his forehead—and the two whose heads I’d banged came along and kicked me too. Thank goodness, Bob and his chum weren’t there—I guessed that they’d been cute enough to cut away to the Club. Even then I rather enjoyed it (not the kicking part—I’d be even with those swine some day), thinking how disappointed they would all be when they found that I wasn’t Gerald. Some more soldiers poured into the room, the little brute pulled a dirty greasy cloth off a table, I was covered with it, carried outside like a sack of potatoes, and dumped into a cart. Something else soft was dumped in beside me, half-a-dozen chaps sat on me to keep me quiet, and off we drove. I could hear horses’ hoofs on either side of the cart and the clatter of scabbards and jingle of accoutrements, so knew I had a cavalry escort, and felt jolly proud that Gerald was such a big ’pot’ in the revolution business as to require one. We went slowly after a little while—going uphill. I wondered whether they were taking me to San Sebastian, but didn’t wonder long, because a minute-gun was fired—about the last of them—and it sounded quite close. In a minute or two we bumped and rattled across a wooden bridge, and then stopped. As I was hauled out, they pulled the cloth away from the soft thing beside me, and it was the body of the officer who’d been shot in the square. Ugh! that was rather beastly. An old chap came along—the boss of the fort, I suppose—and jawed to me in French and Spanish, and got savage when I couldn’t understand him. He thought I _wouldn’t_. He soon got tired of this, and I was led across the courtyard by a band of ruffians with fixed bayonets and loaded rifles (I saw them load their magazines). We passed behind the crumbling old walls, where a party of soldiers were cleaning out the saluting guns, and I was shoved into a kind of store-room, dug out of the rock or in the thickness of the walls, and shut in there by a big iron gateway of a door, on the outside of which a miserable little beast of a half-nigger sentry leant and smoked cigarettes.