He was soon tried in due form, and though the whole town rang with his terrible exploits, and the women praised his handsome figure, his reckless courage, and the great tact and skill by which he had so nearly eluded the pot-bellied Alcalde, he was sentenced "to be garotted at twelve o'clock to-day." Such was the detail given to us by the Spanish officer. As we neared San Roque, we found great crowds from remote parts of the judicial partido, all clad in the picturesque and antique costumes of the province, ascending the mountain on which the town is situated, and all anxious to behold the dying demeanour of the most famous of Spanish bandits--the greatest since Manuel Francisco was shot at Cordova two years ago. The mountain of San Roque stands at the head of a beautiful bay of the same name; and on looking back as we ascended, we had a charming view of the sea, with several large Xebecques floating like gigantic white birds with wings outspread upon its shining azure surface. A clear and brilliant morning sun poured a flood of light athwart the picturesque plaza of San Roque, into which, as one may easily imagine, the whole male population of the town--about eight thousand--were crowded. This plaza resembled a sea of human heads covered with black or brown sombreros; though there were many who wore only their own coarse black hair in netted cauls, and a few had scarlet forage caps. Above this crowd glittered the bayonets and the glazed shakoes of a battalion of Infantry of the Spanish line, from the adjacent barracks. These surrounded the high wooden platform of the garotte. Within their line were the poor old ecclesiastics of the two suppressed convents and three hospitals of San Roque, wearing the remarkable monastic costumes of a past age. The principal place was occupied by the commandant of the fortified camp of San Roque, who, upon our appearing among the crowd in our British uniform, sent his aide-de-camp, with a polite invitation for us to join his staff, which we immediately accepted. On the centre of the platform, which was about twenty feet square, and covered with black cloth, sat the fallen Fabrique de Urquija upon a little wooden stool, with his back placed against the upright post of the garotte, the iron collar of which encircled his brawny naked neck. His broad low brow was black as a thunder cloud; his eyes were fierce and keen, and with a lowering glance of scornful pride, he surveyed the masses who crowded on every inch of space that afforded footing. His ancles were chained to an eyebolt on the floor of the platform. Near him stood the old confessor José de Torquemada of Medina, barefooted; his cowl thrown back; in his wrinkled hands an ivory crucifix, which ever and anon he placed to the quivering lips of the doomed man in the interval of prayer. Poor Urquija! I forgot all his atrocities and the evil he would once have done to Slingsby and myself; and now I felt only pity for his terrible situation.