“gaspar ruiz had clambered up on the sill, and sat down there with his feet against the thickness of the wall and his knees slightly bent. the window was not quite broad enough for the length of his legs. it appeared to my crestfallen perception that he meant to keep the window all to himself. he seemed to be taking up a comfortable position. nobody inside dared to approach him now he could strike with his hands.

“‘por dios!’ i heard the sergeant muttering at my elbow, ‘i shall shoot him through the head now, and get rid of that trouble. he is a condemned man.’

“at that i looked at him angrily. ‘the general has not confirmed the sentence,’ i said—though i knew well in my heart that these were but vain words. the sentence required no confirmation. ‘you have no right to shoot him unless he tries to escape,’ i added firmly.

“‘but sangre de dios!’ the sergeant yelled out, bringing his musket up to the shoulder, ‘he is escaping now. look!’

“but i, as if that gaspar ruiz had cast a spell upon me, struck the musket upward, and the bullet flew over the roofs somewhere. the sergeant dashed his arm to the ground and stared. he might have commanded the soldiers to fire, but he did not. and if he had he would not have been obeyed, i think, just then.

“with his feet against the thickness of the wall, and his hairy hands grasping the iron bar, gaspar sat still. it was an attitude. nothing happened for a time. and suddenly it dawned upon us that he was straightening his bowed back and contracting his arms. his lips were twisted into a snarl. next thing we perceived was that the bar of forged iron was being bent slowly by the mightiness of his pull. the sun was beating full upon his cramped, unquivering figure. a shower of sweat-drops burst out of his forehead. watching the bar grow crooked, i saw a little blood ooze from under his finger-nails. then he let go. for a moment he remained all huddled up, with a hanging head, looking drowsily into the upturned palms of his mighty hands. indeed he seemed to have dozed off. suddenly he flung himself backwards on the sill, and setting the soles of his bare feet against the other middle bar, he bent that one too, but in the opposite direction from the first.

“such was his strength, which in this case relieved my painful feelings. and the man seemed to have done nothing. except for the change of position in order to use his feet, which made us all start by its swiftness, my recollection is that of immobility. but he had bent the bars wide apart. and now he could get out if he liked; but he dropped his legs inwards; and looking over his shoulder beckoned to the soldiers. ‘hand up the water,’ he said. ‘i will give them all a drink.’

“he was obeyed. for a moment i expected man and bucket to disappear, overwhelmed by the rush of eagerness; i thought they would pull him down with their teeth. there was a rush, but holding the bucket on his lap he repulsed the assault of those wretches by the mere swinging of his feet. they flew backwards at every kick, yelling with pain; and the soldiers laughed, gazing at the window.

“they all laughed, holding their sides, except the sergeant, who was gloomy and morose. he was afraid the prisoners would rise and break out—which would have been a bad example. but there was no fear of that, and i stood myself before the window with my drawn sword. when sufficiently tamed by the strength of gaspar ruiz, they came up one by one, stretching their necks and presenting their lips to the edge of the bucket which the strong man tilted towards them from his knees with an extraordinary air of charity, gentleness and compassion. that benevolent appearance was of course the effect of his care in not spilling the water and of his attitude as he sat on the sill; for, if a man lingered with his lips glued to the rim of the bucket after gaspar ruiz had said ‘you have had enough,’ there would be no tenderness or mercy in the shove of the foot which would send him groaning and doubled up far into the interior of the prison, where he would knock down two or three others before he fell himself. they came up to him again and again; it looked as if they meant to drink the well dry before going to their death; but the soldiers were so amused by gaspar ruiz’s systematic proceedings that they carried the water up to the window cheerfully.

“when the adjutant came out after his siesta there was some trouble over this affair, i can assure you. and the worst of it, that the general whom we expected never came to the castle that day.”

the guests of general santierra unanimously expressed their regret that the man of such strength and patience had not been saved.

“he was not saved by my interference,” said the general. “the prisoners were led to execution half an hour before sunset. gaspar ruiz, contrary to the sergeant’s apprehensions, gave no trouble. there was no necessity to get a cavalry man with a lasso in order to subdue him, as if he were a wild bull of the campo. i believe he marched out with his arms free amongst the others who were bound. i did not see. i was not there. i had been put under arrest for interfering with the prisoner’s guard. about dusk, sitting dismally in my quarters, i heard three volleys fired, and thought that i should never hear of gaspar ruiz again. he fell with the others. but we were to hear of him nevertheless, though the sergeant boasted that, as he lay on his face expiring or dead in the heap of the slain, he had slashed his neck with a sword. he had done this, he said, to make sure of ridding the world of a dangerous traitor.

“i confess to you, senores, that i thought of that strong man with a sort of gratitude, and with some admiration. he had used his strength honourably. there dwelt, then, in his soul no fierceness corresponding to the vigour of his body.”

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