Clubbing my rifle, I then rushed out; and charging them in the smoke and confusion, dealt Juan Roa a tremendous blow with the butt end, which levelled him beside the two ruffians who lay bleeding in the narrow passage. Escaping a pistol shot from Juan, but receiving two desperate cuts from the termagant patrona and the wasp Pedrillo, I reached the end of the passage, sprang through the common hall, and found the outer door fastened. By main strength I tore it open, and reached the external gallery, over which I dropped, though it was fully twelve feet from the ground; and, just as I did so, the boy Pedrillo fired one of Juan's pistols after me; but I escaped it, and ran down the mountain slope, loading my rifle as I went, and driving a bullet home into each barrel. Grey morning was spreading along the east, and the red flush of the coming sun was brightening behind the dark towers of Gibral-Faro, and sparkling on the lattices of Malaga. The aromatic plants were putting forth their sweetest perfume, and the light foliage of the sugar-cane, the cotton plant, and the citron tree, were shaking off the heavy dews of night. The air was clear and cool; after the toils of the past day, the sleepless night and its terrors, the fresh dewy atmosphere revived me, and, dashing down the lonely mountain-side, I reached a little puebla, and reported the whole affair to the officer who there commanded a party of the carabineros of Antequera. A sergeant and twenty troopers galloped away to the posada, which they found completely deserted by all its living tenants; but they hung the body of the patron upon a tree, burned the house to the ground, and conveyed the mangled remains of poor Jack Hall to Malaga, where they were interred next day, with all the honours of war, in that corner of the Campo Santo which is appropriated for the burial of strangers; and there the marines of the Blonde fired three volleys over the grave, where as noble a heart as Her Majesty's service possessed was committed to the earth of Spain. An hour's examination before a magistrate, who swore me across my sword as to the particulars, was all the judicial inquiry ever made; we sailed next day, and reached Portsmouth, after a fine run, and without any other mishaps; but I shall never forget that terrible night among the mountains of Antequera, Martin Secco, his wife's tail, and the horrors of La Posada del Cavallo. Jack's adventure elicited a burst of applause, and was voted the story of the evening, notwithstanding the great spice of the miraculous and holy, which had seasoned the narrative of the Major Don Joaquim. CHAPTER VII THE HALT IN A CORK WOOD