others of the Christino generals drew
upon themselves imputations of lukewarmness, and even of treachery.

An aide-de-camp galloped up to Herrera, whose squadron had been
stationed with the reserve of the centre. His horse, an
Isabella-coloured Andalusian, with silver mane and tail, of the kind
called in Spain _Perla_, was soaked with sweat and grey with foam. The
rider was a very young man, with large fiery black eyes, thin and
martially-expressive features, and a small mustache shading his upper
lip. He was a marquis, of one of the noblest families in Spain. He
seemed half mad with excitement.

"Forward with your squadron!" shouted he, as soon as he came within
earshot. The word was welcome to Herrera.

"Left wheel! forward! gallop!"

And, with the aide-de-camp at his side, he led his squadron along the
road to Mendigorria, which intersects the hills whence the Carlists were
now being driven. They had nearly reached the level ground on the other
side, when they came in sight of several companies of infantry, who made
a desperate stand. Their colonel, a Navarrese of almost gigantic
stature--his sword, which had been broken in the middle, clutched firmly
in his hand, his face streaming with blood from a slash across the
forehead, his left arm hanging by his side, disabled by a severe
wound--stood in front of his men, who had just repulsed the attack of
some Christino infantry. On perceiving the cavalry, however, they showed
symptoms of wavering.

"Steady!" roared the colonel, knitting his bleeding brow. "The first man
who moves dies by my hand!"

In spite of the menace, two or three men ventured to steal away, and
endeavoured to leave the road unobserved. The colonel sprang like a
tiger upon one of them.

"_Cobarde! muera!_" cried the frantic Carlist, cleaving the offender to
the eyes with the fragment of his sword. The terrible example had its
effect; the men stood firm for a moment, and opened a well-aimed fire on
the advancing cavalry.

"_Jesus Cristo!_" exclaimed the young aide-de-camp. Herrera looked at
him. His features were convulsed with pain. One more name which he
uttered--it was that of a woman--reached Herrera's ears, and then he
fell from his saddle to the earth; and the dragoons, unable to turn
aside, trampled him under foot. There was no time for reflection.
"Forward! forward!" was the cry, and the horsemen entered the smoke. On
the right of the Carlists, in front, stood their dauntless colonel,