What Did Happen 



not be, strictly speaking, historical, except in Sir Robert 

 Walpole's sense of the word, as it did not — in confidence — 

 take place : for, seeing that the sun was going up upon our 

 wrath, and that we were likely to lose time, and only get 

 deeper into the mess, I recommended Harry to pay the 

 money, and come away, though I had previously been of 

 opinion, that if he had sat on his pony, and kept his rein 

 clear by means of his pistol, we might have gone away, and 

 left the money on the neutral ground. However, we had our 

 scene, and perhaps it afforded its fourteen-penn'orth and 

 twenty minutes' worth of amusement. 



Leaving the Venta del Castillo, our road ran along the 

 bay to Estepona, where we baited in a respectable posada^ 

 and breakfasted on turkeys' eggs (not bad things), fried 

 bread, and the famous amber wine of the place, made in the 

 posadas own vineyard. The hostess and her sister, cheerful 

 young women, entertained us with much pleasant badi- 

 nage while our breakfast was being cooked and eaten, and 

 wished to have their portraits taken ; but we said it was a 

 long ride to Marbella, and we must press on. 



To-day we had to pass a more than infernal number of 

 rivers ; eleven swollen torrents rushing down from the 

 precipitous range of mountains which skirt the coast. 

 These torrents were all level with the banks, some more 

 than a hundred yards wide, running like salmon-leaps ; and 

 as the ground had been much torn and cut about by the 

 recent floods (which must have been serious, for uprooted 

 trees were lying about in all directions, and great tracts of 

 the dehesa were smeared with mud and sand), we had no 

 assurance that the current — usually up to our ponies' 

 breasts — might not deepen into unforeseen channels, and 

 swamp us in the surging tide. Harry, who got used to 

 fording unknown rivers in the American deserts, took the 



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