.. -*- encoding: utf-8 -*-

.. meta::
   :PG.Id: 44190
   :PG.Title: Boys of the Light Brigade
   :PG.Released: 2013-11-15
   :PG.Rights: Public Domain
   :PG.Producer: Al Haines
   :DC.Creator: Herbert Strang
   :MARCREL.ill: William Rainey
   :DC.Title: Boys of the Light Brigade
              A Story of Spain and the Peninsular War
   :DC.Language: en
   :DC.Created: 1905
   :coverpage: images/img-cover.jpg

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BOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADE
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   .. _`The 95th Charge Home`:

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      :alt: The 95th Charge Home

      The 95th Charge Home

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      Boys of the Light Brigade

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      A Story of
      Spain and the Peninsular War

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      BY

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      HERBERT STRANG

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      AUTHOR OF "TOM BURNABY"

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      With a Preface by Colonel WILLOUGHBY VERNER
      late Rifle Brigade

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      Illustrated by William Rainey, R.I.

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      BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
      LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
      1905  

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   |  To Spain they sent The Rifle Corps
   |  To teach the French the Art of War!
   |                            —*Old Rifleman's Song*.

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      DEDICATED
      BY PERMISSION
      TO
      FIELD-MARSHAL HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS

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      THE DUKE OF CONNAUGHT AND STRATHEARN
      K.G., K.T., K.P., G.C.B., G.C.S.I., G.C.I.E, G.C.V.O.,

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      COLONEL-IN-CHIEF

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      AND TO THE OFFICERS OF

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      THE RIFLE BRIGADE
      (Formerly 95th Rifles)

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   Preface

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Mr. Herbert Strang has asked me to write a few
words explanatory of the title he has chosen for this
book.

"The Light Brigade" was the name given to the first
British Brigade of Light Infantry, consisting of the 43rd
Light Infantry, 52nd Light Infantry, and the 95th Rifles,
which were trained together as a war-brigade at Shorncliffe
Camp in the years 1803-1805, just a century ago,
by General Sir John Moore, the Hero of Corunna.

These regiments subsequently saw much service together
in various quarters of the globe; they were engaged
in the Expedition to Denmark in 1807, the Campaign in
Portugal in 1808 under Sir Arthur Wellesley, including
the Battle of Vimeiro, and the famous Corunna Campaign
under Sir John Moore.

In July, 1809, The Light Brigade, consisting of the same
three corps, was re-formed under the gallant Brigadier-General
Robert Craufurd (afterwards slain at their head
at the storming of Ciudad Rodrigo in 1812), at Vallada,
in Portugal, and it was in the same month that it made
the forced march, famous in all history as "the March
of the Light Division", of some fifty miles in twenty-four
hours to the battle-field of Talavera.  In June, 1810, when
at Almeida, in Spain, "The Light Brigade" was expanded
into "The Light Division" by the addition of Ross's
"Chestnut Troop" of Horse Artillery,[#] the 14th Light
Dragoons,[#] the 1st King's German Hussars, and two
regiments of Portuguese Caçadores.

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[#] The present "A" Battery, R.H.A., which bears
its proud title of "The
Chestnut Troop" in the army lists to this day.

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[#] The present 14th (King's) Hussars.
Charles Lever, the novelist, recounts
some of their gallant deeds in *Charles O'Malley, the Irish Dragoon*.

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It was as "*The* Light Division", throughout the long
and bloody struggle in the Peninsula, and up to the Battle
of Toulouse, fought in April, 1814, that the regiments
of the old "Light Brigade" maintained their proud
position, so well described by Sir John Kincaid (who
was adjutant of the 1st Battalion at the Battle of
Waterloo) in his delightful book, *Adventures in the Rifle
Brigade*.  He writes of the 95th Rifles in the Peninsula as
follows:—

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"We were the Light Regiment of the Light Division, and fired the
first and last shot in almost every battle, siege, and skirmish in which
the army was engaged during the war.

"In stating the foregoing, however, with regard to regiments,
I beg to be understood as identifying our old and gallant associates,
the Forty-third and Fifty-second, as a part of ourselves, for they bore
their share in everything, and I love them as I hope to do my better
half (when I come to be divided); wherever we were, *they* were;
and although the nature of our arm[#] generally gave us more employment
in the way of skirmishing, yet, whenever it came to a pinch,
independent of a suitable mixture of them among us, we had only
to look behind to see a line, in which we might place a *degree of
confidence almost equal to our hopes in heaven*; nor were we ever
disappointed.  There never was a corps of Riflemen in the hands
of such supporters!"

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[#] The Baker rifle, a short weapon with
a flat-bladed sword-bayonet known
as a "sword", very like the present so-called "bayonet",
only longer.  Hence
the Rifleman's command, "Fix swords!"  The
three battalions of the 95th
were (with the exception of the 5th battalion
of the 60th Regiment) the only
corps in the British army armed with rifles
at the period of the Peninsular
War, all others carrying long smooth-bore muskets,
known as "Brown Bess",
with long three-sided bayonets.
The Baker rifle fired with precision up to 300
yards, whereas "Brown Bess" could not be depended
upon to hit a mark at
one-third that range.

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Such was the "Light Brigade" which gives its title
to this book.

The story deals with a period full of interest to Englishmen.
Napoleon, having overrun Spain with some 250,000
men, swept away and defeated all the Spanish armies,
and occupied Madrid, had set his hosts in motion to
re-occupy Portugal and complete the subjugation of
Andalusia.  At this critical moment in the history of Spain,
Sir John Moore, who had landed in the Peninsula with
a small British army only about 30,000 strong, conceived
the bold project of marching on Salamanca, and thus
threatening Napoleon's "line of communications" with
France—whence he drew all his supplies and ammunition.
The effect was almost magical.  Napoleon was compelled
instantly to stay the march of his immense armies, whilst
at the head of over 80,000 of his finest troops he hurled
himself on the intrepid Moore.  The latter, thus assailed by
overwhelming numbers, was forced to order a retreat on
his base at Corunna, a movement which he conducted
successfully, despite the terrible privations of a rapid march in
mid-winter through a desolate and mountainous country,
with insufficient transport and inadequate staff arrangements.
Thrice he turned to bay and thrice did he severely
handle his pursuers.  Finally, at Corunna, after embarking
his sick and wounded, he fought the memorable battle
of that name, and inflicted on the French such heavy losses
that his army was enabled to re-embark and sail for
England with but little further molestation.  The gallant
Moore himself was mortally wounded, and died the same
night.  The effects of the Corunna campaign were to
paralyse all the Emperor's plans for nigh three months,
during which time the Spaniards rallied and regained
confidence, and the war took a wholly different turn,
although it was only after five years' constant fighting
that the French invaders were finally driven out of the
country.

The Spaniards, on the other hand, animated by the
presence of their English allies, once again took up arms
in all directions and made a desperate resistance.  No
struggle was of more appalling or sustained a nature
than was their second defence of Saragossa, which, in
the words of the French soldiers engaged in the siege,
was defended not by soldiers but by "an army of madmen".

The following story has thus a double interest.  In its
account of Moore's great Retreat it illustrates what we
did for Spain in her dark days of 1808-1809; while in
the pages dealing with the heroic Defence of Saragossa
it illustrates what Spain did for herself.

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   WILLOUGHBY VERNER,
      Colonel,
      late Rifle Brigade.

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   HARTFORD BRIDGE, WINCHFIELD,
      13*th September*, 1904.

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   Contents

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*Chapter* I
   `CORPORAL WILKES WANTS TO KNOW`_

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*Chapter* II
   `SOME INTRODUCTIONS`_

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*Chapter* III
   `PALAFOX THE MAN, PALAFOX THE NAME`_

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*Chapter* IV
   `A DELICATE MISSION`_

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*Chapter* V
   `A ROADSIDE ADVENTURE`_

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*Chapter* VI
   `MONSIEUR TABERNE`_

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*Chapter* VII
   `PEPITO INTERVENES`_

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*Chapter* VIII
   `DON MIGUEL PRIEGO`_

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*Chapter* IX
   `SOME SURPRISES`_

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*Chapter* X
   `THE EMPEROR'S DESPATCH`_

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*Chapter* XI
   `NAPOLEON IN PURSUIT`_

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*Chapter* XII
   `CORPORAL WILKES ON GUARD`_

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*Chapter* XIII
   `DON MIGUEL'S MAN`_

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*Chapter* XIV
   `AN INCIDENT AT CACABELLOS`_

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*Chapter* XV
   `THE GREAT RETREAT`_

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*Chapter* XVI
   `THE BATTLE OF CORUNNA`_

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*Chapter* XVII
   `IN THE GUADALQUIVIR`_

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*Chapter* XVIII
   `A SQUIRE OF DAMES`_

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*Chapter* XIX
   `PALAFOX THE MAN`_

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*Chapter* XX
   `A DAY WITH TIO JORGE`_

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*Chapter* XXI
   `NIGHT ON THE RAMPARTS`_

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*Chapter* XXII
   `JUANITA`_

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*Chapter* XXIII
   `THE FIGHT IN THE RUINS`_

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*Chapter* XXIV
   `"A BON CHAT, BON RAT"`_

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*Chapter* XXV
   `PEPITO FINDS A CLUE`_

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*Chapter* XXVI
   `WANTED: DON MIGUEL PRIEGO`_

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*Chapter* XXVII
   `THE ELEVENTH HOUR`_

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*Chapter* XXVIII
   `THE LAST FIGHT IN SARAGOSSA`_

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*Chapter* XXIX
   `FRENCH LEAVE`_

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*Chapter* XXX
   `THE WHIP HAND`_

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*Chapter* XXXI
   `DOCTOR GRAMPUS AND A FRENCH COOK`_

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*Chapter* XXXII
   `THE PRISONER AT BAYONNE`_

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*Chapter* XXXIII
   `PALAFOX THE NAME`_

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*Chapter* XXXIV
   `DEAD MEN TELL NO TALES`_

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*Chapter* XXXV
   `DOOM`_

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*Chapter* XXXVI
   `SERGEANT WILKES WANTS TO KNOW`_

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`*Glossary of Spanish Words*`_

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   List of Illustrations

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Plate I
   `THE 95TH CHARGE HOME`_ . . . . . . . . . Frontispiece

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Plate II
   `A QUESTION OF SUPPLY`_

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Plate III
   `JACK CAPTURES A DRAGOON`_

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Plate IV
   `JACK MAKES AN OPPORTUNE APPEARANCE`_

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Plate V
   `FRANCISCO FALLS FROM THE PLANK`_

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Plate VI
   `JACK HAS A NARROW ESCAPE`_

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Plate VII
   `JACK LEADS A FORLORN HOPE`_

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Plate VIII
   `MIGUEL ESCAPES FROM THE GARDEN`_

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   Maps and Plans

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\1. `Map of Spain and Portugal`_, showing the positions
of the French, Spanish, and British forces at the
commencement of Moore's retreat from Sahagun

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\2. `Plan of the Battle of Corunna`_

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\3. `Plan of the City of Saragossa`_

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\4. `Plan of the Plaza Alvarez District`_

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The plans of Corunna and Saragossa are copied,
by kind permission of Professor Oman and the
Delegates of the Clarendon Press, from the former's
"History of the Peninsular War", Vols. I and II.

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.. _`Corporal Wilkes wants to know`:

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   CHAPTER I


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   Corporal Wilkes wants to know

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   An International Question—Discipline—An Onlooker—Lumsden
   of the 95th—Dogged—A Six Days' Ride—Puzzlement

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"What I want to know," said Corporal Wilkes, banging
his fist on the table in front of him—"what I want to
know is, what you Dons are doing for all the coin we've
spent on you."

He was seated with a few other stalwarts of the 95th
under the eastern colonnade of the Plaza Mayor, in
Salamanca; a nondescript group of Spaniards, stolidly curious,
blocked up the footway, and stood lounging against the
balustrade.  Getting no answer to his question, and
probably expecting none, the corporal jerked his chin-strap
under his nose, glared comprehensively around, and
continued:

"I asked before, and I ask again, what has become
of the ship-loads of honest British guineas you Dons have
been pocketing for I don't know how long?  Tell me that!
What have you got to show for 'em, eh?—that's what I
want to know.  Here are we, without a stiver to our
name, no pay for weeks, and no chance of seeing any.
And look at this: here's a boot for you; that's what your
Spanish mud makes o' good Bermondsey leather; and
rain—well, of all the rain I ever see, blest if it ain't the
wettest!"

He paused; the knot of Riflemen grunted approval.
The Spaniards, who had by this time become aware that
his remarks were aimed directly at them, turned
enquiringly to one of their number, who shrugged, and gave
them in Spanish the heads of the speaker's argument.
Perceiving that he had made some impression, the corporal
proceeded to follow up his advantage.

"What I want to know is, what 'ave we come here for?
They did say as we were sent for to help you Dons fight
the French.  That's what they said.  Well, the French
are all right; but what are you doing?  We showed
you the way at Vimeiro; that's a long time ago now—what
have you done since?  Where are all the armies
and the generals you talked so much about?  What's
become of them?  Tell me that!  Here we've been in
Salamanky a matter of fourteen days, but we ain't seen
none of them.  There's plenty of you Dons about, sure
enough, but you don't look to me like fighting-men.  Where
are you hiding 'em?—that's what I want to know."

There was no mistaking the glance of withering
contempt with which the speaker pointed his questions; a
movement of resentment was already visible among his
mixed audience.  The interpreter, whose dress proclaimed
him a seaman from one of the Biscayan ports, was now
volubly rendering the gist of the Englishman's taunts, to
an accompaniment of strange oaths and ominous murmurs
from the crowd.  Warming with their sympathy, he
became more and more excited, passed from explanation to
denunciation, and then, turning suddenly from his
compatriots, clenched his fist and poured out a torrent of
abuse in a lurid mixture of Basque and Billingsgate.  The
corporal, recognizing phrases that could only have been
picked up at Deptford or Wapping, smiled appreciatively,
and, with a wink at his companions, said:

"Ain't it like home?  He ought to be a drill-sergeant—eh,
boys?"

A shout of laughter greeted this sally.  The Spaniard,
his complexion changing from olive to purple, strode
forward and shook his fist within an inch of the corporal's
nose.  Wilkes, greatly tolerant of foreign eccentricity,
preserved an unwinking front; but his bland smile was
too much for the Spaniard's fast-ebbing self-control.
With a snarl of rage he plucked a knife from his sash
and aimed a blow at the Rifleman, which, had it taken
effect, would assuredly have put an end to his interrogative
career.  But the corporal's left-hand neighbour, who
had been lolling against a post, flung out his arm and
arrested the stroke; almost at the same instant Wilkes
himself got home a deft right-hander beneath his assailant's
chin that hurled him senseless across the table.  In
a moment a score of Spaniards with drawn knives were
surging around the little group.  Being without arms
the Riflemen had slipped off their belts and closed up to
meet the attack.  The colonnade now rang with fierce
shouts, and from all quarters of the large square there
was a hurry-scurry of idlers attracted by the noise of the
fray.  Cheerfully confident, the half-dozen British soldiers,
their backs against the wall, kept the throng at arm's-length
with the practised swing of their long belts.  But
the odds against them were heavy.  It could only be a
few moments before the Spaniards must get in with their
knives, and then the 95th would be six men short on
parade.  One or two of the Spaniards had been hard hit;
but the rest were drawing together for a rush, when
suddenly, above the din of the mêlée, rang out the clear
authoritative word of command:

"Attention!"

The habit of discipline was so strong that the British
soldiers on the instant dropped their belts and stood rigid
as statues.  On the Spaniards the effect of the interruption
was equally remarkable.  Surprised at the sudden change
of attitude, they looked round with a startled air to seek
the cause of the Englishmen's strange quiescence.  A
horseman had reined up opposite the scene of the scuffle—a
tall youthful figure, wearing the headgear of the 95th
and a heavy cavalry cloak.

"Stand easy!" he cried to the Riflemen, over the heads
of the crowd, "and don't move an eyelash."

With a dozen Spanish knives flashing before their eyes,
the command was a severe test of discipline; but in the
British army a hundred years ago rigid training had made
instant unquestioning obedience an instinct.  While the
Spaniards were still fingering their weapons, and hesitating
whether to finish off their work, the officer began to
address them in pure Castilian.

"Pardon me, Señores," he said, "for interrupting what
I am sure was a pastime.  I am an English officer, as
you see, and I fear that my men, ignorant of your customs
and traditions, might have taken seriously what was no
doubt begun in sport.  There is no need for me to say
a word, Señores about your valour; is not that known
to all the world? and I am sure you would be the last
to do anything to endanger the friendly alliance between
your country and mine.  The French are your enemies,
Señores; they are ours too.  We are fighting shoulder to
shoulder in a noble cause.  Confusion to the invader, say
I!  Hurrah for the independence of Spain!  Cry Viva
la España with me!"

Then turning suddenly to the Riflemen, he cried:

"Now, men, give three rousing cheers."

Wilkes and his friends cheered half-heartedly and with
an air of endurance; but the Spaniards were not
discriminating, and responded with shrill vivas.

"Thank you, my friends!" said the officer, when the
tumult had subsided.  "And now, as I have a few words
to say to my men before I ride off, I will bid you good-day."

In a few moments the pacified crowd dispersed in small
knots, discussing with interested curiosity the young
officer whose courteous firmness and fluent Spanish had
produced so remarkable an effect.  When, last of all,
the interpreter, having recovered from the blow, had
made his way across the square, the horseman called up
Corporal Wilkes, who advanced with a somewhat guilty
air and saluted.

"Now, Corporal Wilkes, what do you mean by this?
Have you forgotten the general's orders about brawling
with the Spaniards?"

The corporal shifted his feet uneasily, and began to
mumble an explanation in his slow ponderous way.

"That'll do," said the officer, cutting him short.
"You're always in hot water.  Get off to your quarters,
and report yourself to me in the morning."

"Very good, sir."

With a look of injured innocence he saluted and slouched
off with his companions, while the officer, touching his
horse's flanks with the spur, cantered away.  At the
angle of the colonnade the crestfallen Riflemen were
confronted by a tall stately figure in cocked hat and long
military cloak, who had for some time been quietly watching
the scene from an inconspicuous post of observation.

"Who's your officer, my man?"

The Riflemen halted in a line, struck their heels together,
and brought their hands to the salute like automata.

"Mr. Lumsden, your honour," replied Wilkes, looking
as though he would have liked to be elsewhere.

"Oh indeed!  Thank you!"

The commander-in-chief acknowledged their salute and
turned on his heel.  The men stared after him for a few
moments in silence; then Wilkes turned to his comrades,
and said with a rueful look:

"By gum!  How much of that 'ere rumpus did Johnny
see?—that's what I'd like to know."

Meanwhile Lumsden of the 95th had trotted off, across
the great square, past the church of San Martin, towards
the University and the Tormes bridge.  He was bound for
a farmhouse some five miles south-east of the city, where
it had been reported that a considerable quantity of flour
could be purchased for the troops.  Since the arrival of
his regiment in Salamanca a fortnight before, he had been
employed continuously on commissariat business, and was
the object of envy to his fellow-subalterns, who would
gladly have found some special work of the kind to vary
the monotony of life.

It was the 28th November in the year 1808.  Salamanca
was full of British soldiers, who had marched in on
the 13th amid a drenching rain-storm and the cheers of
the inhabitants.  They comprised six infantry brigades
and one battery of artillery, among the former being the
famous 95th Rifles under Colonel Beckwith, in which Jack
Lumsden was a second lieutenant.  The main artillery
force, with its escort, was near the Escurial, a few miles
from Madrid, under Sir John Hope, who was intending to
march northwards to join his chief; while Sir David Baird
lay at Astorga, with three batteries, four infantry brigades,
and a force of cavalry under Lord Paget.  The infantry
had marched from Lisbon under Sir John Moore, who
had succeeded to the chief command of the British forces
in the Peninsula recently vacated by Sir Hew Dalrymple.
At Salamanca Sir John expected to receive news of the
approach of a Spanish force under the Marquis of La
Romana, to co-operate with him in offensive movements
against the French.  The march had been particularly
arduous and uncomfortable; rain had fallen in torrents
for the greater part of the way, and owing to lack of
supplies the men were in a sorry state as regards clothes
and equipment.  But they nourished high hopes of soon
inflicting a heavy blow on the French invaders; and
though the delay, due to want of definite information
about the movements of the Spaniards and the position
of the French, was telling somewhat on the spirits of the
force, Sir John Moore was so popular with all ranks, and
enjoyed their confidence so thoroughly, that discontent
had only shown itself in half-humorous protests like that
of Corporal Wilkes.

Jack Lumsden rode easily through the darkening streets,
passed the sentry at the bridge head, and cantered along
the sodden road leading to Alba de Tormes.  Three miles
out of Salamanca he struck off to the left, and, carefully
picking his way among the ruts and depressions, reached
his destination just as the black darkness of a November
evening fell.  His errand with the farmer occupied some
little time.  He then accepted the refreshments pressed
upon him with true Castilian hospitality; and at length,
towards seven o'clock, set off on the return journey.

The moon was rising behind him, throwing a dim misty
radiance over the bare fields to right and left.  As he
reached the cross-roads, and wheeled round into the
highway towards Salamanca, he saw, some hundred yards
ahead, several dark forms on both sides of the road,
creeping along with stealthy movements in the same direction.
Carrying his gaze beyond them, he descried a man leading
a horse, who, he instantly concluded, was being followed
by a gang of foot-pads, or of the brigands who notoriously
infested every part of Spain.  Almost involuntarily Jack
pricked his horse forward; he saw that the furtive band
were rapidly lessening the distance between them and the
walking horseman, who every now and then half-turned
to look at them, and then resumed his slow progress.

The road was so soft, and the men were so intent upon
their expected prey, that they did not hear the sound of
Jack's approach until he was within a few yards of them.
Then a sudden splash in a large puddle caused them
to stop and look round; Jack galloped up, and as he
passed them, ostentatiously held his pistol so that a glint
of moonlight fell on the barrel.  At the same moment the
dismounted rider heard the pad of his horse's hoofs; he
paused, still holding the bridle, and turned towards Jack,
who pulled his horse across the road and glanced back
at the brigands.  They had now formed a group, and
stood in the middle of the road.  Jack clicked the lock of
his pistol.  After an instant's hesitation the men turned in
a body and vanished into the darkness.

"Many thanks!" said the pedestrian.  "I was never
more glad to see a British officer.  Those bandits have
been following me up for some minutes.  My horse is
lame, as you see, and though I've a couple of pistols
handy I'm afraid I'd be no match for eight big fellows
with their knives.  And I've a particular reason for
avoiding risks."

"They've had the discretion to sheer off," said Jack,
turning again towards Salamanca.  "It's unlucky your
horse is lamed.  Have you been riding far, sir?"

"About five hundred miles," was the reply.

Jack stared.

"No wonder your horse is lame—though you didn't
ride the whole distance on the same beast, I suppose."

"No indeed; but I've scarcely been out of the saddle
for six days—"

"Six days!  Hard riding that, sir."

"True.  The fact is, I've most important despatches
for Sir John Moore, and haven't wasted a minute more
than I could help."

Jack was off his horse in a moment.

"In that case, sir, pray take my horse and finish your
ride with equal speed.  If you bring news for the general,
no one will be more delighted to see you.  It's only about
three miles, and the road's straight ahead; I'll follow with
your horse."

"That's very good of you.  I didn't like the idea of
trudging in in this lame fashion.  You're sure you don't
mind?  Those brigands, eh?"

"Not a bit.  They won't show their noses again."

By this time the stranger had mounted Jack's horse,
and was preparing to ride off.

"By the way," he said, "to what address shall I return
the horse?—a pretty animal, begad!"

"I'm quartered at a worthy alderman's in the Calle
de Moros—El Regidor Don Perez Gerrion; my name's
Lumsden."

"Lumsden!" repeated the stranger with a start, letting
the reins fall on the horse's neck.

"Yes," said Jack, looking up in surprise.  "Why?"

"Oh!  Excuse me now.  I have my despatches to
deliver, and then I will call on you at the regidor's.  I
have a communication, probably, to make to you.  Au
revoir!"

With a wave of the hand he galloped off, leaving Jack
to tramp along behind him, in some wonderment as to
what communication a despatch-rider could have to make
to a subaltern of the 95th.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Some Introductions`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER II


.. class:: center large bold

   Some Introductions

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   The Grampus—A Turn with the Foils—An Interruption—Enter
   a Regidor—Flour and Water—A Soft
   Answer—Pepito—Biographical—Captain O'Hare—Mr. Vaughan
   is announced

.. vspace:: 2

It began to rain when Jack was still two miles out of
Salamanca, and he was wet and chilled when, having
put up the stranger's horse, he entered the regidor's
house and sought the general room, where, as he knew
from the sounds of laughter proceeding from it, his friends
and comrades were assembled.  There was a universal
shout as Jack pushed open the door.

"Here's the commissary-general!" cried a tall,
fair-headed subaltern of seventeen years.  "Look here, Jack,
if this corn-chandler business of yours gets you promotion
before me, I'll—I'll punch your head."

"Thanks!  Pommy, my dear, unless you're careful,
respectful, you know, you'll find your next billet will be
a stable or a pig-stye; you can take your choice.  A
pig-stye would be the easier got, perhaps—this country teems
with porkers; but there are plenty of mules too, and one
more won't matter."

"All the same, Lumsden," said Harry Smith, a lieutenant
of twenty-one, "I don't wonder Pomeroy's jealous.
We didn't all have the luck to be babies in Spain!  But
let me introduce a friend of mine—an old school-chum.
Lumsden—Dugdale, Percy Dugdale, otherwise the Grampus."

Jack found his right hand engulfed in a huge fist, and
shaken almost to a jelly.  It belonged to a tall young
man in civilian dress, stout, massive, broad-shouldered,
with a rubicund, open, ingenuous face, and a smile that
bespoke friendliness at once.

"Heard of you," said Dugdale cordially.  "Heard of
your little bet.  Reminds me of my wager with Blinks of
Merton when I was a freshman.  Bet me a pound to a
polony I wouldn't screw up a proctor; loser to eat the
polony.  I won—and bought a champion polony in St. Aldate's.
Blinks stood us a supper to be let off.  Ha! ha!"

The Honourable Percy Dugdale's chuckle had a quality
of its own.  While it seldom resulted from what others
would have regarded as wit or humour, it never failed to
breed sympathetic laughter, and the room rang with
appreciative merriment.

"What's this bet of yours, Lumsden?" asked Bob
Shirley, lieutenant in Jack's company.

"Oh, a little affair with Pomeroy!  He's so desperately
cocksure of everything, and what is worse, he will talk,
you know.  Said he'd hold me at boxing, at wrestling,
at swimming, at every mortal thing, including fencing, so
I bet him before we left Alcantara that I'd give him points
at them all, and we're going to begin with the foils."

"What are the stakes?" asked Shirley.  "Why didn't I
hear of this?"

"It's a guinea to a Bath bun.  Pomeroy's amazing fond
of Bath buns; and as at present I haven't a guinea, at
least to spare, and he hasn't a bun, we're going to settle
up when we get back to London, and you fellows can come
to Gunter's and see Pommy shell out twopence, if you
like."

"No time like the present," said Smith.  "We've half
an hour before supper, and nothing to do.  If you fellows
are game we'll make a ring now."

"I'm ready," said Pomeroy, pulling off his jacket, "if
the corn-dealer is."

"By all means," retorted Jack, laughing; "but I hope,
for the sake of the company, your riposte is better than
your repartee."

"No more cackle!" cried Smith.  "Let's get to business.
Where are the foils?"

At a word from Jack, a tall, strapping Rifleman, who had
followed him into the room, disappeared for half a minute,
and returned with a couple of foils in his hands.  He
handed one to his master, who had meanwhile peeled,
and the other to Reginald Pomeroy.  The two faced one
another; they were of equal height, but otherwise
presented a strong contrast.  Both were tall, but Jack was
slight and lissom, with dark hair, brown eyes, and clear-cut
features, while Reginald Pomeroy was heavier in build,
fresh-complexioned, with blue eyes and light curly hair.
In brief, if Jack was Norman, Pomeroy was as clearly
Saxon, and as they stood there, they were worthy
representatives of the two fine strains of our present English
race.  They were always sparring, always girding at each
other, but at bottom they were the best of friends, and had
indeed been inseparable chums ever since they entered the
Charterhouse together.

"Gad, reminds me of the mill between Jones of Jesus
and De Crespigny of the House, in Merton meadow," said
Dugdale with his capacious chuckle.

   |  "'His eyebrow dark, and eye of fire,
   |  Shows spirit proud, and prompt to ire,'"

quoted Shirley, amid a chorus of groans.

"Shut up, Shirley!" cried Jack; "if you begin spouting
poetry you'll shatter my nerve."

"Yes, by George," said Smith, "we had enough of
*Marmion* on the way out.  Shirley's a long way too fond
of poetry.  Now, you two, are you ready?  Buttons on the
foils?  That's right.  Now then!"

   |  "Charge, Chester, charge; on, Stanley, on!'"

shouted Shirley, who was irrepressible, and who, indeed,
was said to have got *Marmion* by heart a week after it
was issued, in February of this year.

The duel began.  The combatants were pretty evenly
matched, and as the spectators watched thrust and parry,
lunge and riposte, now cheering one, now the other, the air
became charged with electric excitement.  Right foot well
forward, left arm well behind his head, Jack watched his
opponent with the keenness of a hawk, and for a time
seemed to content himself with standing on the defensive.
He knew his man, and held himself in with the confident
expectation that Pomeroy would by and by become reckless.

"Two to one on Pomeroy!" shouted Dugdale, who was
growing excited.

"Done!" said Smith.  "Name your stakes."

"Anything you like; I'm not particular.  I want a new
pair of breeches.  Yours won't fit me, but mine'll fit you
with a little trimming'.  Gad, Lumsden was nearly pinked
that time.  Make it two pairs!"

"D'you mind moving aside?" said Shirley, who, being
head and shoulders shorter than Dugdale, found his view
obstructed by six feet two and a back broad in proportion.

"Sorry; get on my back if you like," said Dugdale.
"Won a bet by running a race with young Jukes of
Pembroke on my back.  I don't mind."

But Shirley contented himself with edging in to a place
beside the big sportsman.

The foils clashed; Pomeroy made a rapid lunge at Jack,
who instantly straightened himself, and before his
opponent could recover his guard, Jack's foil was out, and
slid along the other, and with a dexterous turn of the
wrist he sent the weapon flying out of Pomeroy's hand,
over the ring of onlookers, to the other end of the room,
where it clattered against the wall and fell with a clash
to the floor.

"Oh, come now!  I never lose my wagers.  I make a
point of it," said Dugdale with a rueful look.

"End of the first round; that's Lumsden's," said Smith
quietly.  "Five minutes' rest, then to it again.  Give you
six to one next round."

"No, thanks!  I'll wait a bit.  Can't afford to part with
all my pants.  What's that?"

Above the voices of the officers discussing the details
of the match rose the clamour of a repeated battering on
the door.

"Oh, I say!" cried Dugdale, "we can't have this
interrupted.  Is the door locked?"

"Fast," replied Shirley, adding:

   |  "'And neither bolt nor bar shall keep
   |  My own true—love—from—'"
   |

The quotation remained unfinished, for Jack laid Shirley
on his back and sat on him.  The knock was repeated
again and again, with increasing loudness; the door was
rattled with ever-growing vehemence.

"Set your back against the door, Giles," said Jack.
"It'll take some force to move your fourteen stone of
muscle."

The big Rifleman set his straight back against the door,
planted his feet firmly on the floor so that his body formed
an obtuse angle, and crossed his arms on his breast.  The
knocking continued.

"Can't come in," shouted a shrill-voiced ensign.
"We're busy."

From outside an angry voice bawled in reply.

"Be quiet, you fellows," cried Smith.  "Let us hear
who it is."

The noise inside the room was hushed, and through the
door came muffled tones of angry and excited
remonstrance.

"It's very bad language, but I can't understand it,"
said Smith, who now had his ear against the oak.  "Here,
Jack, you're the only fellow who knows the lingo; leave
that drain-pipe and see if you can make anything of it."

Jack rose from his wriggling seat, and, going to the
door, shouted "Who are you?" in Spanish.  A moment
later he turned to the company and said: "By George! it's
the regidor himself.  We'd better let him in."

"Not till I've licked you," said Pomeroy.  "Let the
old boy wait."

"That's Pommy all over," said Smith; "I'm Reginald
Pomeroy, and hang civility!  The regidor's our host, and
we owe him a little consideration."

"Exactly," put in Jack.  "Heave over, Giles, and let
me open the door."

He turned the key, threw the door open, and gave
admittance to the oddest figure imaginable.

"Pommy's Bath bun—underbaked!" said Shirley under
his breath.  The rest of the company were too much
surprised for speech or laughter.  The intruder was
presumably a man, but he was so completely covered with
an envelope of paste that form and feature were
undiscoverable.  Two unmistakable arms, however, were
wildly gesticulating; an equally obvious fist was being
shaken towards the group; and a human voice was
certainly pouring out a stream of violent language, of which
no one there, not even Jack, could make out a word.

"Come, Señor Regidor," said Jack in Spanish, "what
is the matter?  Really, you talk so fast that I cannot
understand you."

He laid his hand on the regidor's arm, but drew it back
hastily; it was covered with wet flour.

"Shut the door, Giles," he said, wiping his hand; "this
needs an explanation.  In fact" (he gave a quizzical glance
from the floor to the company) "it needs clearing up!"

Taking the fuming regidor gingerly by the hand, he
led him to the middle of the room, where, with Pomeroy's
assistance, he set to work to scrape away the clinging
paste that swathed the poor man from head to foot.  The
first shock of surprise being over, the rest of the officers
were now fairly bubbling with merriment, for the regidor
was too angry to keep still, and never ceased from
objurgating some person unknown.  Dugdale had stuffed a
handkerchief into his mouth to stifle his laughter, and
Smith was thumping Shirley vigorously on the back.
After some minutes' scraping with the foils, the new-comer
was revealed standing in a circle of clammy flour—a little,
round, pompous individual, with a very red and wrathful
face, made ludicrous by the stiff moustache, to which a
coating of flour obstinately adhered.

"Now, Señor Regidor," said Jack soothingly, "tell us
all about it.  I hope the mischief has gone no deeper than
your clothes."

And then the little alderman unfolded his pitiful story.
It appeared that he had gone round his premises in the
rain, to see that all was safely locked up for the night,
when he found that his barn at the back of the house had
been left open—not only the lower door, but also the
upper door, through which sacks of flour entered the loft.
It was very dark, and he had been unable in the rain and
wind to obtain a light.  Feeling his way into the barn, he
had crept up the ladder leading to the loft, stumbling as
he did so over an empty sack that covered the last two or
three steps.  Then, arrived at the top, he had lifted the
trap-door, and raised head and shoulders above the
opening, when without warning he was smothered by an
avalanche of flour, which took him so entirely by surprise
that he had fallen backward, and only saved himself from
a headlong descent to the foot of the ladder by clutching
at a rope that dangled a few inches in front of him.  It
was no accident, he declared, for he had heard the scurry
of some living creature moving in the loft.  On recovering
from his shock he had mounted again and searched the
place as thoroughly as he could in the darkness, but
without success.  He had then locked up the barn securely,
and being convinced that he was the victim of a practical
joke on the part of one of the subalterns billeted upon
him, he had come to demand satisfaction for the insult,
and compensation for the irreparable damage done to his
clothes.

Such was his story, told at much greater length, and
punctuated with many violent gestures and still more
violent expletives.  Jack listened to him patiently, while
the rest of the company stood in a ring about them,
striving with ill success to hide their merriment.  When lack
of breath at length brought the little man to a stop, Jack
spoke to him consolingly, assuring him that he was
mistaken, and that no British officer would so far have
forgotten the courtesy due to their obliging host.  The regidor
was not appeased; he was on the point of recommencing
his denunciation of the culprit, when Jack stopped him,
and said that he would question his brother officers and
convince the regidor that he was mistaken.  He then
briefly told his companions the outlines of the story he
had heard.  Just as he came to the point where the
shower of flour had descended on the unfortunate regidor,
he was annoyed at hearing a loud chuckle.

"Pomeroy, that's too bad," he exclaimed.  "How can
I persuade our host that we have had nothing to do with
his plight if you disgrace yourself like that?"

"Look here, Lumsden," said Pomeroy, "I'm not going
to be lectured.  As a matter of fact, I didn't make a
cheep."

"Sorry, Pommy," said Jack, with a glance at Dugdale.
"Well now, I can assure the regidor, on your honour,
that none of you had a hand in this?"

Every officer present gave his word.  Then Jack put on
his coat, and, slipping his arm within the regidor's, led
him off with a promise to investigate the matter, and see
whether any of the officers' servants had been in fault.
The moment their backs were turned, the same loud
chuckle was heard, followed by an unmistakable guffaw.
Giles Ogbourne, Jack's big servant, while maintaining a
rigid position against the wall, was putting his broad face
through the oddest contortions of amusement.

"What are you grinning at?" cried Pomeroy angrily.
"Was it you who gave that oily chuckle just now?"

"Beg pardon, sir," said Ogbourne, endeavouring to
look grave.  "I really couldn't help it.  'Tis a trick of
that young varmint Pepito; I be sure 'tis."

"That imp of a gipsy!  I told Lumsden he'd be sorry
he ever set eyes on the creature.  Why do you think he
is at the bottom of it?"

"Why, sir, I seed the boy bummelled out of the kitchen,
and prowling around by the barn, and, sakes alive, 'tis he
and no one else."

"Who's Pepito?" asked Dugdale.

"A young sprat of a gipsy Jack picked up outside
Queluz soon after we left Lisbon.  Here, Ogbourne, you
know more about him than I do.  Speak up."

"'Tis just as you say, sir.  Mr. Lumsden found the
critter on the roadside, a'most dead, and took'm up and
fed him, sir.  A thoroughbred gipsy, sir.  His band had
been cut up by the French after the fight by Vimeiro;
every man of 'em was killed dead except this mortal boy,
and a' got a cut in th' arm from a sabre.  Mr. Lumsden
gave him a good square meal, sir, and next day a' hitched
hisself on to us, followed us all along, went a-fetching and
a-carrying for Mr. Lumsden, for all the world like a little
dog.  Mr. Lumsden says to me: 'Giles,' says he, 'there's
enough women and childer along of us without this young
shaver; what'll we do with him?'  I couldn't think of
anything, so Mr. Lumsden he takes him to a Portuguese
barber and hands him over some money for the boy's
keep, and tells him to make a barber of him.  Bless you,
next day the varmint turns up again, and we can't shake
him off nohow.  If a' goes away for a day, back a' comes
the next, as perky as a Jack-in-the-box."

"A sort of millstone round Lumsden's neck," said
Shirley.

"Not but what he's useful," added Ogbourne.  "He's
first-rate at shining buttons and cleaning swords, and all
sorts of little odd jobs.  Only he's so full of monkey tricks,
you can't believe.  One night a' put two live toads in my
bed, a' did; another night a' mixed some dubbin wi' my
soup.  I tanned him, I did, but though a' blubbered hard
enough, next minute his wicked little black eyes were as
mischievous as ever.  Mr. Lumsden's got a handful, sir,
and that's gospel truth."

"If that's his character, depend upon it he's responsible
for the regidor's whitening," said Smith.  "We'll have to
abolish the boy; don't you think so?"

"Oh, I say!" struck in Dugdale, "never mind about a
scrubby gipsy.  I wish Lumsden would hurry up.  I want
to see Pomeroy lick him."

"You'll lose this time," said Smith.

Dugdale made a wry face.  "Didn't know he was such
a paragon.  Speaks Spanish as well as the Don.  Learnt
it for a bet, I suppose."

"No," said Pomeroy, laughing.  "He lived at Barcelona
till he was eleven."

"Where on earth's Barcelona?  Is it where the nuts
grow?"

"Yes—in the big square!" said Smith with a smile.

Dugdale grunted.  "But what was Lumsden doing
there?" he asked.

"Eating, and growing, and learning the lingo, of
course," said Pomeroy.  "His father's a partner in some
Spanish firm whose head-quarters are at Barcelona, and
lived there, as I say, until Jack was eleven.  Then, as
the kid was more or less running wild, I suppose,
Mr. Lumsden returned to London as head of the branch there,
and sent Jack to the Charterhouse, and that's where I
licked him first—"

"Now, Pommy, at it again!" said Jack's voice.

Dugdale chuckled, and Pomeroy looked aggressive; but
immediately behind Jack, as he re-entered the room, came
a figure at the sight of which the whole group broke out
in exclamations of welcome.

"Peter!" said Smith to Dugdale in a stage whisper.

The new-comer was a tall man of some thirty-six years,
wearing a big greatcoat and a peaked cap drawn over his
brow.  His face was particularly ugly, but redeemed by
a pair of bright good-tempered-looking eyes.  He stood
for a moment quizzing the company, while the water
streamed from his coat and made a pool on the floor.

"Bedad," he said, observing the pasty mixture there,
"sure if it's roast beef that it is, it's myself that's
thankful; but the flure's a queer place to mix the Yorkshire."

"No such luck," said Pomeroy.  "No chance of that
this side of Portsmouth; it's only a toad-in-the-hole this
time."

Captain Peter O'Hare laughed when they told him of
the regidor's plight.

"And who was the blackguard that did it?" he asked,
suddenly looking serious.  "Such conduct is terribly
unbecoming an officer and a gentleman."

"It was Pepito," exclaimed Jack; "that little scamp of
a gipsy who's been shadowing me since we left Lisbon.
I found him crouching in the regidor's stable, smothered
in flour from head to foot.  It appears he had made for the
loft as the only dry place, and emptied a bag of flour on
the regidor in sheer self-defence, being afraid of a
walloping if he was caught.  He jumped out of the upper door
and slid down a gutter-pipe.  I'm afraid that young man
will prove a thorn in my side."

Captain O'Hare having by this time removed his dripping
garments, Smith took the opportunity to introduce
his friend Dugdale.

"He's just escaped from Oxford, O'Hare; heard the
bugles sounding and couldn't sit still."

"What regiment, sir?" said the captain, shaking hands.
"I knew a Dugdale in the 85th."

Dugdale chuckled.

"My brother Tom, no doubt.  Laid him a poodle to a
pork-pie that I'd be at the front first, and here I am."

"Ah! an amachure, I preshume," said Captain O'Hare,
glancing at his civilian costume.  "Sure, an' I hope you'll
like it, for 'tis not all beer and skittles.  And that reminds
me; 'tis time we cleared the decks for supper.  You'll stay
and take pot-luck, Mr. Dugdale?"

"Thank you, sir! but, you see—well, we had a little
wager—in short, thank you, sir!"

O'Hare looked puzzled, and still more as he noticed a
smile on the faces of the rest of the company.

"Never mind, Grampus," said Smith with a nudge,
"they can fight it out another time, and meanwhile you've
saved your breeches."

At this moment Rifleman Giles Ogbourne entered the
room.

"Please, sir," he said to Jack, "there's a Mr. Vaughan
at the door as would like to see you.  I was to say 'twas
he that borrowed your horse a while ago."

"Show him in," said Jack.

"Beg pardon, sir, but he says as he would like to see
you alone."

"Oh, very well!" said Jack, rising, and he followed
Giles from the room.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER III


.. class:: center large bold

   Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   A Letter from Saragossa—An Invitation—Bad News—Spanish
   Apathy—Bonaparte—Jockeying a Nation—A Message from
   Head-quarters—More Puzzlement

.. vspace:: 2

The visitor was awaiting Jack beneath a dim lamp in the
vestibule.

"You won't mind coming into my bedroom?" said Jack,
after an interchange of greetings.  "It's the only place
where we can be alone."

He led the way, struck a light, and noticed that the
stranger was bespattered with mud from head to foot.

"I'm scarcely fit to come into a house at all," said the
latter apologetically; "but as things are, no doubt you'll
excuse me.  I had better introduce myself.  My name is
Vaughan, and I am acting as private secretary to
Mr. Stuart, our minister at Madrid.  As I told you, I have
ridden in with important despatches for Sir John Moore;
I happened to be with Castaños' army, and as I came
through Saragossa on my way to Madrid I was entrusted
by General Palafox with a letter to you, which I promised
to deliver to you in person if I should come across your
regiment.  Here is the letter."

He handed the paper to Jack, who looked at it in
surprise.

"General Palafox!" he said.  "I don't know him.  He
is the Spanish general who defended Saragossa recently,
isn't he?"

"Yes.  I assure you it was he who gave me the letter."

"Will you sit down while I look at it?"

Jack hastily broke the seal.

"I should add," said Vaughan, who had thrown himself
wearily into a chair, "that if I failed to find you, I was
to carry the letter to your father in London, whither I
am proceeding at once."

Meanwhile, Jack had opened the letter, which was
written in a crabbed and shaky handwriting.  "My dear
friend Jack," it began; and then Jack turned to the
signature, and read "Fernan Alvarez".  A light dawned upon
him; his look of bewilderment vanished, and he turned
back to the beginning with eager curiosity.  The letter
ran as follows:—

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent

MY DEAR FRIEND JACK,

.. vspace:: 1

My brave friend Captain-General
Palafox tells me that Mr. Carlos Vawn, who has of late arrived
at this city, is on the point of leaving for Madrid, and will then,
it is possible, return to England by way of Portugal, in which
case he will, without doubt, visit the camp of the great general,
Sir Moore.  By his courtesy I trust that this letter may come to
your hands all safe, and then I beg you will advise my agents in
Madrid, Señores Caldos and Gonzalez, inasmuch as I may be
quite altogether beyond the touch of your reply.  The last letter
I received from my dear friend your father tells me that you sail
instantly with Sir Moore's army, and I already hear that your
general landed soon after the blessed victory at Vimeiro.

You will have heard of our glorious defence against the
usurper.  We shall not grudge our sufferings if the example
of Saragossa do give heart to the other great cities of my poor
country so distracted.  For she will need indeed all her strength,
all her courage, all her heroism, in the storm which is now to
burst upon her.  Alas!  I can no longer hope to be of any
service; my strength fails fast; I am old; I die.  For myself,
I do not repine, but I am full of fear and trouble for the safety
of my poor Juanita, the little playmate whom I am sure you
will not have forgotten quite.  I have done my all to provide
for her, but who can see through the clouds of war?  We know
not what may come in a day.  And the danger is not to be
feared only from the outside.  In a letter to your father I have
told him of what I have done.  One thing is needed to finish
the things I tell him, and that is in the six words—mark
you—Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name.  I beg you commit these
words to memory, and burn this letter the moment after you
have read it.

I hope I may yet see you again before I die, but if it is not so
be, I say God bless you, and write myself for the last time

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

Your old friend,
   FERNAN ALVAREZ.

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*P.S.*—Remember always: Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name.

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"Palafox the man, Palafox the name!" said Jack half
aloud.  "What does he mean?  Did General Palafox
send a message with this, sir?"

"No.  I understood that the writer was a friend of
his and yours."

"He is a friend of mine.  He is my father's partner.
But I don't understand the letter.  It appears to hint at
something which he does not care to express clearly.
And he speaks of a letter to my father.  Have you that
too?"

"No; I know nothing about that."

"Then it is probably with Don Fernan's agents in
Madrid.  But I am forgetting to thank you.  Really, sir,
it was very good of you to undertake this private errand
when you must have been engrossed in public affairs.
We were just going to have supper; will you honour
us by joining our mess?"

"I am very tired, and not at all in company trim; in
fact, I had just declined a similar invitation from Sir John;
but—"

"You will, then?  I am very glad.  We will not keep
you late."

"I must first go and give a coin to the boy who showed
me the way here—a little gipsy fellow who said he knew
you."

"Pepito!  Let me deal with him, Mr. Vaughan; he has
an extraordinary knack of turning up just when he can
make himself useful.  You'll find a towel there; I'll go
and settle with Pepito, and you will follow me, won't you?
Our fellows will be delighted to meet you."

And Jack left his visitor to his ablutions.

There was much curiosity among the subalterns as to
the identity of Jack's visitor and the subject of their private
interview; but Jack volunteered no information, merely
telling them, as he passed through the room on his way
to find Pepito, that Mr. Vaughan would join them at
supper.

"So you boys will have to mind your p's and q's,"
said Captain O'Hare.  "No antics now.  Some of these
politicals are very starchy."

Consequently it was a quiet group to whom, in a few
minutes, Mr. Vaughan was introduced.  They were all
hungry, and Jack apologized for the plainness of the fare.

"You see, sir," he said, "Sataro, our Portuguese contractor,
has failed, and we all have to get what food we can."

"You won't find me fastidious," replied Vaughan.  "I
could almost eat my boots, I think."

"Mr. Vaughan has just ridden five hundred miles on
end," explained Jack.

"By George!" exclaimed Dugdale.

"Five hundred, bedad!" said Captain O'Hare.  "If
they were like the miles round Salamanca, sure you must
have come through a power of mud!"

"How long did it take you, sir?" asked Shirley.

"Six days."

There was a cry of astonishment.

"Gad, that beats Bagster of Trinity!" said Dugdale.
"Backed himself to ride sixty miles and eat sixty oysters
in a hundred and sixty minutes; lost by six oysters, and
always vowed he could ha' done that if the vinegar hadn't
run short!"

There was a general laugh.

"I could have done with the oysters—even the six,"
said Vaughan, who was tickled by Dugdale's whole-hearted
enjoyment of his recollection.

"And why did you pelt along so terrible hard, may I
ask, Mr. Vaughan?" said the captain.

"It'll be common property to-morrow, so I may as
well tell you.  I have been for some time with the staff
of General Palafox in Aragon.  Six days ago General
Castaños was totally defeated at Tudela."

"Good heavens!" cried Pomeroy; "another defeat!
It was quite time we turned up to help the Dons."

"What a cowardly crew!" added Smith.  "They run
at the sound of their own guns.  Bang! whizz! and Vamos,
they cry, which Lumsden will tell you means: 'Let us
skedaddle'."

"We mustn't be too hard on them," said Mr. Vaughan
quietly.  "They used to fight well, by all accounts.  There
were good men in Alva's time—not to go back any further.
All they want is proper leading.  Their generals happen to
be no match for the French marshals, and unlucky to boot.
A little British discipline would work wonders.  Well, as
I happened to be with the Spanish army, I rode off to
Madrid at once with the news, and our minister there sent
me off with despatches to Sir John."

"Lucky you were on the spot, sir," said Smith, "or
we might have waited till doomsday.  The villainous
way we are served with intelligence is the common talk
of the army."

"I judged as much.  The fact is, the Spaniards think
they can do the whole thing unaided; you gentlemen are
mere interlopers.  They'd like to have the French all to
themselves."

"Well, they've had a lesson at Tudela," said Pomeroy.
"Who had the presumption to beat them there?  Was it
Marshal Ney?"

"No, a Marshal Lannes.  It's rather curious how he
managed to take the command, seeing that as he rode
across the mountains a fortnight ago his horse fell with
him over a precipice, and every bone in his body
appeared to be broken.  But a clever surgeon named Larrey
mended him in some ten days—how do you think?  He
stitched him up in the skin of a newly-flayed sheep!"

"A wolf," said Shirley, "a wolf in sheep's clothing;
and the British dogs of war'll soon be at him."

"How does this defeat affect us, sir?" asked Jack.

"That depends on how the French follow it up.  Bonaparte
may—"

"Oh, I say, sir," cried Dugdale excitedly, "is old Boney
himself in Spain?"

"Didn't you know?  He crossed the border three
weeks ago.  He may swoop down on Madrid, for, except
Heredia and San Juan, there seems to be nobody to bar
his way."

"Bedad, sir, but there's a certain General Sir John Moore,
to say nothing of the 95th," said Captain O'Hare with a
laugh; "though, to be sure, 'twas Soult we were to tackle
first."

"Won't this defeat bring the French on our flank?"
asked Smith, already showing the strategical perception
that distinguished the victor of Aliwal.

"It certainly seems likely.  I found Sir John terribly
distressed at his imperfect knowledge of the French
position, and at the sluggishness of the Spaniards.  The proud
Dons seem to have no plans, and to be perfectly content
to drift along.  But that won't do against soldiers like
Bonaparte and his marshals."

"Do you know how many the French number, all told?"
asked Jack.

"I don't, and I'm sure no Spaniard does.  I heard
80,000 given as one estimate, but I shall be much
surprised if the total is not much larger than that."

"Whew!" exclaimed Dugdale.  "And we've only a
few thousand here at any rate.  What's the odds! an
Englishman was always worth ten Frenchmen, and I
don't care if Boney comes with a million."

"I admire your confidence and spirit, Mr. Dugdale,"
said Vaughan dryly.

"Though I'm hanged if I know what we're fighting
Boney in Spain for," added Dugdale.  "Not that that
matters."

"Indeed, but it matters a terrible deal," said Captain
O'Hare earnestly.  "We've crossed the mighty ocean—and
mighty unpleasant it was, bedad!—to help a disthressed
and downtrodden people; and sure 'tis we Irishmen
can feel for the like o' them."

Dugdale, feeling out of his depth, was silent for a time
while the conversation took a more serious tone, and turned
on the chain of events which had led to the presence of the
British army in Spain.

It was fifteen years since a little Corsican officer of
artillery, named Napoleon Bonaparte, had first drawn
attention to himself by his clever work at the siege of
Toulon.  In that time he had made himself Emperor of
the French and dictator of Europe, and become one of the
greatest figures in universal history.  His ambition was
insatiable and hitherto his success had been stupendous.
Within a few years he had subdued Austria, humbled
Prussia, hoaxed Russia, and plundered Italy.  Alone of
the nations, England had checked his series of triumphs
by her victories at the Nile and Trafalgar; but even in
England his name was held by the more timorous in awe,
and caricatures represented him as a voracious ogre who
made his meals of little children.  He longed to have
England also at his feet—a longing only intensified by
the success with which she had hitherto defied his efforts
cripple her trade.

Before he could subdue England, however, Bonaparte
saw the necessity of adding Spain and Portugal to his tale
of victims.  Portugal was our ally, and he gave her the
choice between breaking with us and fighting France.  She
held to her alliance, and was promptly overrun with French
troops.  Having crippled Portugal, he turned his attention
to Spain.  In that country the old King Charles had
allowed the government to fall into the hands of his
unscrupulous minister Godoy, who was universally detested.
The greater part of the nation wished the king to abdicate
in favour of his son Ferdinand, with whom he was
constantly quarrelling.  Taking advantage of these
dissensions, Napoleon sent a French force to Madrid, with
the intention, as the Spaniards believed, of supporting
Ferdinand.  But both Charles and Ferdinand were
summoned to meet Napoleon at Bayonne; there they were
in turn tricked into resigning the sovereignty, which the
emperor at once bestowed on his brother Joseph.  This
was the signal for a great national rising, the first which
Napoleon had yet encountered.  The Spaniards were
proud, high-spirited, and independent, and refused tamely
to submit to this arbitrary interference with their affairs.
In all parts of the country they proclaimed Ferdinand king,
and when Napoleon poured his troops in an endless stream
across the Pyrenees, their eyes turned to England as their
only stand-by, and to England they sent for help.  A
British army under Sir Arthur Wellesley landed in
Portugal, and defeated Marshal Junot at the battle of
Vimeiro; but, ere the victory could be completed and
followed up, the chief command was assumed in
succession by Sir Harry Burrard and Sir Hew Dalrymple, who
came out within a few days of one another.  To Wellesley's
disgust, they allowed the French, by the Convention of
Cintra, to withdraw from Portugal with the honours of
war.  But their action aroused intense indignation at
home; they were recalled, with Wellesley, to appear
before a court of enquiry, and Sir John Moore was
unexpectedly placed in command.

Meanwhile the French forces in the Peninsula had been
continually increasing; the regular armies of Spain had
been beaten on all sides; and instead of meeting, as he
had expected, large forces, well equipped at English
expense, ready to co-operate with him, Sir John found that
he had to defend the Portuguese frontier and undertake
offensive operations almost single-handed against a
victorious enemy many times outnumbering his own army.
Immense sums of money and stores of all kinds had been
given to Spain by the British Government, but owing to
the corruption of the Spanish officials, and the want of
any real governing authority, the gift was virtually wasted.
The Juntas, or committees, which had undertaken the
government of the various provinces, were all acting, or
rather talking of acting, independently, and were strangely
blind to their deadly peril.  They appeared to regard
England as an unfailing source of money and arms, and
in some cases actually resented the arrival of British
troops, in a sort of blind confidence that they were able
unaided to withstand the invader.

Mr. Vaughan had seen something of this during his stay
with General Castaños, and his account of what had come
under his own eyes kept his hosts interested to a late hour.
At length he rose.

"I am very tired," he said, "and as I expect to have to
ride again to-morrow, I know you gentlemen will excuse
me for leaving you.  Many thanks for your hospitality, and
may we meet again!"

"I will see you to your quarters," said Jack.  "Where
are you staying?"

"At an inn in the Plaza Santo Tomé.  I shall be glad of
your company, if the hour is not too late."

When Jack returned, half an hour afterwards, his man
Giles handed him a note which had been left at the house
by an orderly during his absence.


"The commander-in-chief", it ran, "presents his compliments
to Mr. Lumsden, and will be glad to see him at his quarters at
nine o'clock to-morrow morning."

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"Another letter," said Jack to himself; "and almost
as mysterious as the first.  I wonder what it can mean!"

He read the note again, but finding himself unable to
make any inference from the few simple words, he wisely
resolved to allow the morning to bring its own solution.
In the few moments that elapsed between his laying his
head on the pillow and falling asleep, his mind see-sawed
between the two letters.  Now it was Sir John Moore's
that was uppermost, now Don Fernan's; breaking the
darkness of his room he seemed to see the phrases, one
above the other, in letters of fire: "At nine o'clock
to-morrow morning"—"Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name".





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.. _`A Delicate Mission`:

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   CHAPTER IV


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   A Delicate Mission

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   Sir John Moore—In the Dark—A Roving Commission—Maps
   and Plans—Camp Critics—An
   Hidalgo—Mystification—Exasperation—Pepito again—A
   Bargain—Force majeure

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At nine o'clock next day Jack made his way through a
crowd of officers congregated about the door of the
archbishop's palace, where Sir John Moore was quartered.
It seemed to be nobody's business to show him up, so he
discovered for himself the room in which the commander-in-chief
was, as he supposed, awaiting him.  Entering at
the door, and lifting a heavy velvet curtain that hung
within, he found himself in a large chamber, at the other
end of which stood a group of officers engaged in what was
evidently a very animated discussion.  He noticed the tall,
handsome figure of General Sir Edward Paget, the
commander of the reserve; near him was General Anstruther,
a rugged, untiring Scot; in the centre of the group was
Sydney Beckwith, Jack's own colonel, rough of tongue
and unsparing in his demands on his men, but withal
kind of heart and true as steel.  He was at this moment
eagerly pointing to a map which lay outspread on a table,
over which bent several other officers, among them the
commander-in-chief himself.  Fine men as were all the
soldiers gathered there, Sir John Moore was easily first
among them.  At this time forty-seven years of age, his
tall graceful figure, crowned by a head nobly fashioned,
with classic features, large lustrous eyes, and bright
close-clustering hair, would have marked him out in any crowd
as one above the generality of men.  He was listening
intently to what Colonel Beckwith said.  His lips were
firmly compressed; every now and then the fingers of
his right hand restlessly tattooed upon the table.
Suddenly he straightened himself and moved backward a pace;
the hubbub of conversation ceased, and in the silence Jack
heard, in Moore's clear and measured tones, the following
words:

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I take the whole responsibility
of my decision; and I only expect my officers to prepare to
carry it into effect."

There was sternness, even a touch of irritation, in his
accent.  "There's something wrong," thought Jack; "I've
no business here; I'd better make myself scarce."

He withdrew into the corridor, and began to walk up
and down, with that curious feeling of excitement which
takes hold of a boy when waiting for an interview on some
unknown matter with his head-master.  In a few minutes
the officers left the room in a body, still talking with
animation, and passed down the corridor, away from Jack,
towards the street.  Judging that Sir John was now alone,
Jack returned to the room.  The general was pacing the
floor with long steps, his hands clasped behind him, his
head bent forward in anxious thought.  Jack hesitated a
moment; then stepped forward.  Sir John looked up, and
stood with legs apart, evidently not for the moment
recognizing his visitor.  Then his brow cleared; his features
softened in the kindly smile for which he was celebrated.

"Ah!  Mr. Lumsden, I think," he said; "I am glad to
see you.  I fear I have kept you waiting.  Yes, I see it
is twenty minutes past the hour.  Let me waste no time,
then.  Sit down at the table there."

Sir John seated himself at the opposite side of the table,
gave the lad one quick glance, and said:

"Without beating about the bush, are you willing,
Mr. Lumsden, to undertake an important and possibly
dangerous mission?"

"Certainly, sir."

The answer came without a moment's hesitation, and
the general seemed pleased.  Then, observing a look of
surprise on Jack's face, he went on:

"You wonder at my selecting you?  I happened to
overhear yesterday an eloquent address in Spanish by an
officer of the 95th, and when I came to enquire of Colonel
Beckwith, he told me that Mr. Lumsden's knowledge of
Spanish had already proved useful.  That is how it
happened, Mr. Lumsden."

He gave the young officer a friendly smile, and Jack's
cheeks flushed with pleasure as the general continued:

"You are the man I've been looking for.  What I want
you to do is out of your regular duty, but then a knowledge
of Spanish is out of the usual officer's acquirements,
more's the pity.  Do you know French also?"

"A little, sir; just well enough to understand what is
said and to make a shift to reply."

"That's well.  Now I suppose you have some sort of
notion of what my intentions were in marching from Lisbon, eh?"

"We've talked it over at mess, sir," said Jack with
a smile.

"Naturally.  Well, if you're to be of use to me, and
I think you will be, I must take you into my confidence.
What I want, Mr. Lumsden, is information—information
that I can rely on."  At this point he rose from his chair
and resumed his restless pacing to and fro.  "I started
to join forces with the Spaniards, but they haven't put
themselves into communication with me.  I don't know
their plans; I don't know what their Government is aiming
at.  I am in entire ignorance of the numbers or the
situation of the enemy.  The Spaniards seem to be living in
a fools' paradise; talk very big about their own armies,
and very small about the enemy; keep us short of
supplies, and shorter still of news.  I do know that a
fortnight ago General Blake's Spanish army in the north was
beaten, and now a Mr. Vaughan has brought me news
that General Castaños has been routed at Tudela; which
means that his co-operation with me is out of the
question.  Do you see what I am driving at?"

"You mean, I think, sir, that as the Spaniards are
beaten, the French are free to attack you."

"Precisely.  Now follow the positions on the map here
and you will see more clearly what I want of you.  Here
am I at Salamanca; Sir John Hope, with the cavalry and
guns, is marching to join me by Talavera and the Escurial—a
roundabout route, you see, and a long march that
might have been avoided if I could have been sure the
mountain roads were passable for wheeled transport.  All
the guns might have come by Guarda and saved a hundred
miles; but the Portuguese engineers assured me the road
was too difficult.  Farther north there is another division
under Sir David Baird, who landed recently at Corunna,
and is now at Astorga.  You see the positions?"

"Yes, sir; of course your idea was to join."

"Exactly.  But now you see that I dare not attempt
a junction with Sir David.  As long as General Castaños'
army remained, there was a hope, but now that all the
Spanish armies are beaten, the French are free to march
against us.  Their numbers, I believe, very much exceed
my own, so that if they get between me and Sir David
we shall be in an awkward hole.  And therefore I have
determined to retreat."

Jack opened his eyes.  A retreat had never entered into
his imagination.  He understood now what had been the
subject of discussion at nine o'clock, and suspected from
the general attitude of the officers, and from the few words
he had heard, that the decision to withdraw without firing
a shot did not meet with the approval of the staff.

"I have already sent orders to Sir John Hope," Moore
went on, "to retire by way of Peñaranda and Ciudad
Rodrigo, and Mr. Vaughan has been good enough to offer
to carry a letter to Sir David Baird ordering him to
re-embark at Corunna, and land his division at Lisbon.  God
knows I would have run great risks to help the Spanish
cause, but the Spaniards have shown so little ability to do
anything for themselves that I should only sacrifice my
army, and do no good to Spain, if I attempted the
impossible."

The look of anxiety and worry had returned to Sir
John's face.  It cleared, however, in a moment, and he
continued brightly: "Now, Mr. Lumsden, you see the
position.  The questions are: Where is the enemy? and
What is he going to do?  The French were, a fortnight
ago, at Valladolid; if they go north-west in force they will
come across Sir David's division; if they come south, and
are reinforced by the French from Tudela, they will threaten
Sir John Hope's flank, and I must then do something to
relieve the pressure.  But any movement on my part would
disclose my position and strength to the enemy, who, I
hope and believe, at present know nothing about me.
What I want then, Mr. Lumsden, is exact information
of the enemy's whereabouts and numbers, and I think
that you, with your mastery of Spanish, are the most
likely officer to obtain it."

"I am ready to start at once, sir," said Jack.

"That's right.  If you're the fellow I take you for, you
won't want any further instructions from me.  What means
you use I must leave to your own discretion.  I'll supply
you with anything you require; money in moderation.  I
am terribly hard up; our Government showers gold on the
Spaniards, but can't afford to pay my army.  Now, before
we settle the matter, it is only fair to warn you of the
danger you run.  If you are caught by the French within
what they claim to be their lines, you'll be shot, as sure
as eggs is eggs.  Think of it then; you have free choice.
Will you go?"

"I'll take the risk, sir," replied Jack instantly.

"It is confidential, of course," added the general.
"You will report direct to me what information you
obtain, or, in my absence, to one of my aides-de-camp
or to General Paget."

"I am at liberty to employ messengers?"

"Certainly, but you will satisfy yourself that they are
trustworthy."

"And may I have a map?"

"Of course.  We haven't too many, and they are not
particularly good, but send your man, and I will have one
looked out within an hour.  How long will it take you to
make your preparations?"

"Not a minute longer than is necessary to get a
Spanish dress and requisition a mule," answered Jack
with a smile.

"You'll make a presentable Spaniard," said Moore,
smiling back.  "But wouldn't a horse serve you better
than a mule?  You were riding a good mount yesterday."

"A horse would attract too much attention, I think,
sir.  And I was used to riding mules when I was young."

Sir John laughed.

"You're not a very ancient Pistol even now, Mr. Lumsden,"
he said.  "But that's the right spirit; regard
yourself as a man and you'll do a man's work.  Well, that
is settled, then.  I'll send you some money, and I hope
you will do me valuable service and come back with a
whole skin.  Stay; you want a Spanish outfit.  I know
the very man who can be useful to you—a Spanish
gentleman, one of the old school.  I will write you a line of
introduction.  Let me see."  Sir John hastily rummaged
among a heap of papers.  "I mustn't forget one of the
names; that would be an unpardonable slight.  Here it is."

He scribbled a note, copying the address with some
care.  Jack read: "El Señor Don Pedro Benito Aguilar
Quadrato Garrapinillos de Sarrion de Gracioso," and
caught a twinkle in Sir John's eye.

"I am sure he will do all he can for you," added the
commander-in-chief.  "He is a good patriot, not a painted
one.  Now good-bye, and good luck to you!"

He shook hands with Jack, who, feeling as though he
trod on air, so much elated was he at the confidence placed
in him, went back to his quarters.  At the door he found
a small group of his fellow-officers, evidently in a high
state of excitement.

"Hi, Jack," cried Smith, as he came up to them,
"what do you think of this?  The army's going to
retreat."

"You don't say so?" said Jack with well-feigned surprise.

"I do, though.  Did you ever hear of such an order
from a British commander-in-chief!  We haven't even
had a glimpse of the enemy, and by all we can hear their
cavalry vedettes are at least four marches away.  I can't
for the life of me make out what Johnny Moore can be
thinking of.  How did he get his reputation, I wonder?"

"Depend upon it, he's good reason if he has ordered
a retreat."

"'He that fights and runs away,'" began Shirley; but
Jack had already gone into the house, where he found
his man Giles Ogbourne in the kitchen, polishing his boots
and hissing like a kettle with the exertion.

"Giles," said Jack, "cut off and find me a strong,
steady mule somewhere.  Then go to Sir John Moore's
quarters; say you have come from me; you'll get some
money and a paper packet; take them, with the mule, out
of the town as quickly as you can, and wait for me some
two miles along the Valladolid road.  Don't say a word
to anyone about me, mind."

"Very good, sir!"

Giles dropped the boots and departed on his errand.
Then Jack found his way to the palace of the much-baptized
hidalgo.  After the usual salutations, made on both
sides with more than ordinary regard to punctilio, Jack
presented his note.  Don Pedro, an old and stately
cavalier, with thin pointed features and wearing a crimson
skull-cap, looked up after reading it, and said:

"General Sir Moore's wishes are to a good Spaniard
commands.  If you will acquaint me, Señor, with the
manner in which I may serve you, I shall feel myself
indeed honoured."

Jack, bowing his acknowledgments of the hidalgo's
courtesy, went straight to the point.

"My general, Señor, has entrusted me with a
somewhat delicate mission towards Olmedo.  As you may
imagine, it would not be politic for me to make such a
journey as a British officer.  Relying on a certain familiarity
with your noble language"—here the courtly hidalgo
waved his hand in graceful acknowledgment—"I propose
to pass for the time as one of your countrymen.  I shall
need in the first place a dress, and secondly one or two
willing helpers."

"Ah! as to the dress," said the hidalgo musingly.
"Let me see.  You will do best to wear a quiet costume,
such as might become a well-to-do tradesman—say a
snuff-coloured cloak, a pointed hat, velvet breeches, and
high gaiters.  Well, give me half an hour, and I will have
the costume ready for you.  As to the helpers, that is a
little more difficult.  I have no intimate acquaintance in
the neighbourhood of Olmedo.  If you had asked me but
a few short months ago, I should have said that any of
my countrymen might have been trusted, but, alas! too
many now have betrayed their country to the usurper.
But now I bethink me, an old servant of mine keeps a
small inn, the Posada de Oriente, at Medina del Campo,
some twelve miles on this side of Olmedo.  He is an
excellent worthy fellow, and staunch, and if you so please,
Señor, I will write a note to him, asking him to serve you
as he would serve me."

Jack eagerly accepted the hidalgo's offer.  Don Pedro
opened a heavily-chased escritoire, selected a sheet of
paper, then cut a new quill, and proceeded with as much
formal deliberation as though he were penning a document
of state.  The letter finished, he carefully sprinkled it with
sand from a silver pounce-box, delicately shook the paper
clean when the ink was dry, and after folding it, impressed
upon it a seal some two inches in diameter.  The whole
operation had occupied nearly half an hour, which Jack
had utilized in thinking out his plans.

"I much regret to hear, Señor," said the hidalgo, as
he handed him the note, "that my dear friend General
Castaños has suffered a check, and that this may cause
some change in General Sir Moore's plans.  But I hope
your excellent countrymen will not be discouraged by this
temporary mischance.  'Tis but the fortune of war, or
perhaps a warning, a summons to us to cast off our
lethargy; and Spain will hear, and when she awakes, let
her foes beware."

Jack took his leave, thanking the hidalgo in flowing
Castilian, and requesting him to send the promised
costume to his quarters.  Half an hour afterwards the clothes
arrived.  Meanwhile Jack had procured a little saffron,
by whose aid he had given his complexion a sallow tinge,
and this, with the large-brimmed pointed hat, the cloak,
and other details of the costume, effected a complete
transformation in his appearance.  Armed with the note
to Don Pedro's old servant, he walked boldly out by the
front door into the street.  As luck would have it, the
first person he met was Captain O'Hare himself.

"Vaya usted con Dios!" said Jack, with a slight bow,
giving the usual Spanish salutation.

"Buenos dias, Señor!" returned the captain, with so
vile a pronunciation that Jack could scarcely repress a
smile.  He passed on unrecognized, and chuckled at
having so completely deceived the worthy captain.

Rather more than half an hour later he came to a
spot on the road to Medina del Campo where Giles was
patiently waiting with the mule.  The big private was
sitting on a heap of stones, holding the reins with one
hand while with the other he flung pebbles across the
road in idle preoccupation.  Jack went up to him.

"You Inglese soldier?" he said, in a foreign accent.

"Yes, mister."

"Inglaterra a fine region," said Jack.  "You go a viaje?"

"See then, what's a viaje?"

"A voyage, a march, on the mule back."

"No, I'm not goin' a march on the mule back."

"The mule is to you?"

"The mule bean't nowt to me."

"Where you go then?"

"What's that to you, mister?"

"What for you—?"

"Now look here, mister, doan't ye be too inquisitive.
Axing me forty questions indeed.  See then, I'll punch
your head, iss a wull, if ye—"

Jack burst out laughing.

"Well, Giles," he said, "that's a compliment to my
disguise at any rate.  Have you got the packet for me?"

"Yes, sir," said Ogbourne, springing to his feet with
a sheepish grin.  "Beg pardon, sir, but I took you for a
Don."

"I know you did.  Well now, get back to quarters,
and don't say a word to anybody about where I have
gone.  If you are asked about me—and no doubt you
will be—just say that I have been sent on an errand by
the general."

"Very good, sir.  Mumchanced as a scarecrow, sir."

"That's right.  Good-day!"

He sprang on to the mule, took a switch and the packet
containing the map from his man's hands, and rode off in
the direction of Medina del Campo.  It was fortunate that
he had previous experience of such steeds when a young
boy in Barcelona, for the animal began at once to play
pranks.  It got up first of all on its hind-legs, and then
gave a lurch forward, a movement for which Jack was
prepared, and which he defeated by a sudden violent strain
upon the reins that brought the animal to reason.  The
mule requires wholly different treatment from a horse.
Prick him with the spur, he stops dead; strike him with
a whip, he lies down; draw rein, and he begins to gallop.
Sometimes he will halt in the middle of the road, lift his
head, stretch his neck, draw back his chops till he shows
his gums and long teeth, and then give vent to sobs,
sighs, gurgles, squeals like a pig's; and thrash him as
you please, he will not budge a step until his vocal
exercises are finished.  Jack knew all this of old, and after
trying a few experiments the mule appeared to recognize
that he had no raw hand to deal with, and settled down
into a steady trot, making the bells upon his neck tinkle
merrily.

Jack had not ridden more than a quarter of a mile
when, as he was passing by a small clump of trees, the
mule stopped short, and not all his rider's coaxing sufficed
to make him move.  Springing off his back, Jack went
to his head, to see if leading would prove more effectual
than driving.  As he stood there a pebble fell at his feet,
then another, and another, coming, apparently, from the
sky.  He looked up, and there, ensconced in a fork of
one of the trees, crouched a small human figure.

"Well I'm hanged!" exclaimed Jack.  "Come down, Pepito."

The figure swung itself over the bough, clambered down
the trunk with the nimbleness of a squirrel, dropped lightly
from the lowest branch, and stood before Jack, looking
up into his face with a broad smile.  It was a curious
figure indeed: a boy about four feet six in height, with
tanned skin some shades darker than the Spaniard's olive
hue, thick red lips now open and showing strong white
teeth, narrow brow, arched nose, and long raven-black
hair that hung in a tangled mass over his eyes.  He was
not pretty, but there was something strangely attractive
in his smile, and his brilliant black eyes, with their
indescribable touch of mystery, were dancing with fun as
they met the surprised gaze of the young Englishman.

"And what does this mean, Pepito?" said Jack in Spanish.

"Go with Señor," replied the boy briefly.  He shivered;
it was a cold day, and the raw air cut through the tatters
which left his flesh here and there exposed.

"No, that's impossible," said Jack decisively.  "I
couldn't be bothered with you."

"Want to go with Señor," persisted the boy.  "Know
the roads—Medina, Valladolid, Segovia, all the places;
the Gitanos know everything."

"That's all very well, but I don't want you.  You'd be
in the way.  Besides, I'm riding.  You couldn't keep up
with me."

"Can run fast.  No mule can beat me."

"Nonsense!  I shall be riding all day, and you'd be
dead before night."

"I can get a mule, then."

"Where, may I ask?"

"From the Busne."

Jack knew that Busne was the gipsies' name for the
Spaniards.

"That means that you would steal it, eh?  Didn't I tell
you that if you were caught stealing you'd be hanged, or
at any rate soundly flogged?"

"Yes.  Hanged!"  He shrugged his shoulders.
"Flogged!"  He pulled aside his rags and showed the
marks left by old thrashings on his skin.

"Incorrigible little imp!" muttered Jack in English.
"Look here," he went on in Spanish, "you can't go with
me; that's settled.  You must go back to Salamanca.
I'll give you a note to Ogbourne—"

"He'll flog me."

"No.  I'll tell him to get you some clothes and see that
you are fed, and to keep his eye on you till I get back.
Now, will you promise me to keep out of mischief?"

"No."

"Impudent little beggar!  I suppose you know no
better.  You know at any rate that my man will lay on
pretty heavily if you plague him.  Look, here's a silver
peseta.  I'll give you this if you promise to go back to
Salamanca."

He held up the coin between finger and thumb.

"Give it me," said Pepito.

"Promise."

"I'll go with you, Señor," said the boy obstinately.

"Don't you understand?  It's impossible.  I can't be
clogged with you.  Come now, here's the money.  Cut
away, and when I see you next take care that you've
decent clothes on your back."

Jack rapidly scribbled a note, and gave it with the coin
into the brown lean little paw, eagerly outstretched to
receive it.  Pepito stowed them both into a pocket he
discovered somewhere among his rags, then grinned, and
said:

"Now I run with Señor's mule."

"Confound you!" cried Jack, losing patience at last.
"I won't have you with me."

He raised the switch which he had laid across the
saddle and made to strike at the gipsy.  Pepito looked
in his face with an inscrutable expression in his dark eyes,
shrank back from the expected blow, then slowly turned
on his heel and slunk away in the direction of Salamanca.

"The obstinate little mule!" said Jack to himself as he
watched him go.  "I don't wonder that Giles has given
him many a tanning.  I'd sooner be haunted by a ghost."

As soon as Pepito was out of sight Jack remounted,
and set the mule at a canter to make up for lost time.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A Roadside Adventure`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER V


.. class:: center large bold

   A Roadside Adventure

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   A Spanish By-Road—Negotiations—A Rupture—A Village
   Inn—Family History—Antonio the Brave—A Near Thing—The
   Other Cheek—Explanations—Recruits—Quits

.. vspace:: 2

For a few miles Jack followed the highroad, meeting no
one but an old wizened woman staggering along under
a basket-load of onions.  Then, thinking it well, as he
approached the district in which there was a possibility
of encountering the enemy's vedettes, to avoid the main
thoroughfare, he struck off to the right along what was
little better than a cart track, discovering from his map
that this would lead him to his destination by way of
Pedroso, Cantalapiedra, and Carpio, villages which were
scarcely likely to be selected as billeting-places by any
considerable force.  It was a dreary ride.  The road was
heavy with the recent rains.  It passed through a country
consisting partly of bare heath, partly of grain-fields, now
black and desolate.  He had started from Salamanca
shortly after eleven o'clock, and, owing to interruptions
and the state of the roads, it was nearly three in the
afternoon before he arrived at Cantalapiedra, little more than
half-way to Medina.  By that time he was hungry, and
his steed was both hungry and tired.  Dismounting before
a posada at the entrance to the town, he sent the mule
to be fed and rubbed down, and went into the house to
seek refreshment himself.

There was no other guest in the place, and the landlord,
slow and stolid like a genuine Spaniard, showed neither
pleasure nor displeasure at the appearance of a traveller.
In reply to Jack's request for food, he brought, after some
delay, a basin of very greasy soup of a reddish tinge, due
to the saffron with which it had been liberally sprinkled,
and a dirty carafe of violet-coloured wine, which Jack
found, when he poured it out, almost thick enough to cut
with a knife.  The bread, however, was eatable, if a trifle
salt, and Jack munched away with an appetite that evoked
a gleam of interest in the landlord's solemn eyes.  He
began to ask questions, and indeed to show himself
inquisitive, remarking on the strange fact of a young man
travelling alone through disturbed country at such a time.
Jack good-humouredly parried enquiries that seemed too
direct, merely explaining that he had been on a visit to
Salamanca, and was riding across country because, having
heard rumours that the French were in possession of
Valladolid, he had no wish to fall into their hands.  The
landlord dryly told him that travelling anywhere in Spain
was rather dangerous for a man with good clothes on
his back and money in his pocket, for if he escaped the
French he might fall in with bandits, and there was little
to choose between them when plunder was in question.
In answer to this Jack opened his coat and showed the
man the butt of a big Spanish pistol.

"Even a peaceful merchant," he said with a laugh,
"may prove an awkward customer to tackle."

The landlord shrugged.

"One against a troop of French cavalry, or a gang of
bandits, would fare rather badly," he said.  "I suppose
you will want a bed to-night, Señor?"

"Not I.  I'm going to push on to Medina."

"The saints help you to find your way in the dark, then!"

"Oh!  I shall find it.  The road is direct, you know, and
my mule will not wander."

He set off after an hour's rest and rode on in increasing
darkness.  What the landlord had said about brigands
gave him little concern.  For one thing, the mule trod
almost silently on the sodden road, and he had removed
the bell from its neck; for another, he had avoided the
highway, and did not suppose that much booty was ever
to be obtained on the by-roads; and lastly, he trusted to
his wits, his mule, and his pistol.  As he rode on, the air
grew colder and the sky darker; there was no moon, and
a thickening haze lay over the fields to right and left of
the road.  It was impossible to proceed at more than a
walking pace, except at risk of breaking the mule's knees
in a rut or ditch.  To divert his thoughts from the cold
and the unpleasantness of his journey, he ran over in his
mind the events of the last few days.  He dwelt particularly
on the strange message he had received from Don
Fernan Alvarez.  "Palafox the man, Palafox the name!"—what
could it mean?  How did it concern his old playmate
Juanita, whom he remembered, a little black-eyed
child, clambering on his father's knee, and listening with
her finger in her mouth to the stories told her by
Mr. Lumsden, so merry and frank compared with her stiff,
stately, solemn father.  Palafox!—he was a young general,
with a brilliant reputation; Jack had heard Colonel Beckwith
give high praise to his strenuous defence of Saragossa
against Verdier; but what likelihood was there that the
chances of the campaign would give Jack an opportunity
of meeting him!  Suppose he did meet him, what—

"Buenas noches, caballero!" said a thick guttural voice
at his mule's head, breaking into his meditation, and
giving him a momentary shock.

"Buenas noches, hombre!" he replied.

The mule had stopped short.  Jack saw dimly, right in
front of him, a thick-set figure clad in a heavy cloak, his
head covered with a pointed large-brimmed hat, reminding
the rider of pictures he had seen of Italian brigands.

"O Señor caballero," said the man, "will you have the
charity to tell a poor wayfarer the time?"

Jack was on the point of pulling out his big hunting-watch,
but it struck him suddenly that it was advisable to
be on his guard until he was sure of his man.

"Somewhere about seven o'clock, I fancy," he said
courteously.  "You are right in my way, my friend."

"Sí, caballero, but it is my way as well as yours."

"It is wide enough for both of us," rejoined Jack with
a smile; "and as I have some miles to ride, I shall be
obliged to you if you'll stand away and let me get on."

The man did not budge, but brought his left hand from
beneath his cloak and seized the off rein.

"Come, my friend, don't delay me.  'Tis a cold night,
and the sooner I reach my journey's end the better I shall
be pleased."

Jack spoke quietly and politely as before, but he was
watching the fellow with the wariness of a hawk.

"'Tis cold for me also, caballero; a fire and warm drink
await me yonder.  I am going to fight the accursed
French, and it strikes me a mule like yours will serve me
well.  I will trouble you, therefore, to dismount, caballero.
I perceive you are a tradesman from the town, and you
will admit the fighter is more useful to Spain than the
shopkeeper.  If you will do me the honour to descend, I
will mount in your place."

"Not so fast, my man," said Jack.  "I don't want to
hurt you, but if you continue to stand there you may come
to grief when I whip up my mule."

Realizing from Jack's firm tone that his object was not
to be gained without a struggle, the man suddenly threw
off the fold of the cloak enveloping his right arm, and with
a guttural oath lifted a huge mallet he carried in his hand,
springing slightly aside to give his arm free play.  The
movement was fatal to him.  With a sharp dig in the
groin Jack swung the mule round in the same direction,
and launched him full at his assailant.  Before the
ponderous mallet had time to complete its swing, the mule
had struck the man square in the chest, and as he reeled
and fell under the blow Jack brought down his switch
smartly across his brow.

"That's well saved, anyhow," said Jack grimly to
himself as he cantered on, and smiled as he heard the man's
curses pursuing him.  The mule seemed to share in his
rider's feelings, for as he trotted steadily on he lifted his
head high in the air, curled up his lip, and showed his
long yellow teeth, as though laughing at the man's
ignominious overthrow.  Jack let him have his way, and the
animal kept up the same pace unfalteringly, with never a
slip or stumble, until he reached the squalid streets of
Medina del Campo.  The curfew had just ceased ringing,
and the great market-square was quite deserted; but Jack
knocked at a house in which he saw a light, enquired
the way to the Posada de Oriente, and in a few minutes
was standing within the doorway of that hostelry.  To
judge by the various voices issuing from its interior, it
was entertaining a numerous company.

He presented to the landlord the letter he had brought
from the man's former master, Don Pedro, and was led
with some hesitation into the inn, while his mule was
handed over to an ostler.  The inn consisted of one large
apartment with a fireplace at each end, a timber roof
blackened and varnished by smoke, stalls at each side for
horses and mules, and for travellers a few small lateral
chambers each containing a bed made of planks laid
across trestles, and covered with sheets of coarse sacking.
"Rough lying," thought Jack, as he looked in at the open
door of one of these.  The floor was of brick, strewn with
rushes.  A large fire burnt in one of the grates, strings of
onions hung from nails on the walls, and the place was
pervaded by an odour of scalded oil and grilled tomatos.
Jack gave a comprehensive greeting to the company as
he entered.  A deep silence had fallen upon the room, and
he was conscious of the curious scrutiny of several pairs
of eyes; but knowing that the Spaniard is always reserved
with a stranger until assured that he is not, let us say, a
pedlar, or a rope-dancer, or a dealer in hair-oil, he paid
the company for the moment no further attention, but sat
down on a back seat pointed out by the patron, and ordered
food.  The landlord regretted that at short notice he could
supply him with nothing but a simple gaspacho.  Jack
laughed inwardly at the thought of how his friend
Pomeroy would turn up his fastidious nose at such fare, but
assured his host that in his present state of hunger he
could eat anything, and the gaspacho was accordingly
prepared.  Some water was poured into a soup-tureen, to
this was added a little vinegar, a few pods of garlic, some
onions cut into four, a slice or two of cucumber, a little
spice, a pinch of salt, and a few slices of bread; with this
the detestable mixture was complete.  As Jack began his
meagre meal the landlord opened the hidalgo's note, and
Jack threw a glance round the company.

Nearest the fire sat a lean, cadaverous old gentleman
closely wrapped in a chestnut-coloured cloak, and sipping
at a glass of dry Malaga.  Next him reclined the village
priest, a rotund figure clad in a black cassock, with cloak
of the same colour; he nursed on his knee an immense
hat, at least three feet long, with a turned-in brim, which
when upon his head must have formed a sort of horizontal
roof.  Then came a couple of arrieros, or carriers, in rough
fustian, with big leather gaiters and broad sashes of red
silk; and a loutish Maragato with shaven head, clad in a
long tight jacket secured at the waist by a broad girdle,
loose trousers terminating at the knees, and long boots
and gaiters.  A few young villagers completed the circle.
By this time the landlord had spread out his old master's
note, and was scrutinizing it with a puzzled expression,
his head screwed aside and his lips pursed up.  After a
few moments he appeared to come to the conclusion that
he would never decipher the crabbed handwriting unaided,
and handed it to the priest, a broad grease mark showing
where his thumb had pressed it.

"Here, Señor cura," he said, "be so good as to read it
to me; Don Pedro's hand is growing paralysed, surely."

The priest took it, giving Jack a humorous smile.

"Don Pedro merely introduces the caballero as a friend
of his," he said, "and asks you, for his sake and the sake
of Spain, to serve him in every possible way."

"To be sure," returned the landlord; "I have done it
without asking.  I have given the caballero a gaspacho,
and if he will wait till Antonio arrives he shall have a
puchero in addition, and a grilled tomato."

"Thanks, landlord!  I shall do very well," said Jack.
"But I fear I am a kill-joy, Señores.  Pray don't let me
interrupt your conversation."

"The caballero, being a friend of Don Pedro, may be
trusted," said the lean gentleman by the fire, taking a sip.
"He is welcome, particularly if he joins us in giving
God-speed to Antonio as he goes on his way to join the brave
guerrilleros."

"I shall be happy," said Jack.  "Antonio, I presume,
is a soldier of this neighbourhood?"

"Nay, Señor, all our soldiers are already with General
Castaños or the Marquis of La Romana or brave San
Juan, doing deeds of valour against the accursed French,
every man of them worth three of the enemy.  Were I
not old and worn, I myself would have led them, and
drawn the sword of my ancestors in defence of my
country.  I am a hidalgo of noble line, Señor, tracing
my descent back to a paladin who slew ten Englishmen
with his own sword, when, in the days of Great Philip,
we landed in England and held London to ransom."  (Jack
opened his eyes at this new light on English
history!)  "His blood still flows in my withered veins,
and my neighbours here know well that only my great
age keeps me from driving the French back across the
mountains at the head of my troop."

Most of the company applauded this patriotic speech,
but Jack observed a whimsical look on the priest's face.

"I rejoice to know," continued the hidalgo, "that the
old valour is still alive in the breasts of my countrymen;
they are flocking in their thousands to join the bands of
guerrilleros who dog the French at every step, and our
friend Antonio, whom we expect to-night, and who leaves
to-morrow for Saragossa, is one in whom the Spanish
valour most brightly shines."

"Antonio is a journeyman cooper, Señor," said the
priest confidentially, "a dare-devil by report, a
contrabandista too at times, and a great favourite in these
parts.  He is expected from Cantalapiedra to-night."

"And here he is," cried one of the younger men, who
had gone to the door.  "Late, but welcome.  Viva
Antonio!"

All the company but Jack rose to their feet to greet
the hero.  He came hastily into the room, flung the door
to behind him, bolted it, and heaved a sigh.  Jack saw
at a glance that he was no other than the man who
had sought to borrow his mule, and had found the
apparently inoffensive rider tougher than he expected.

"Señores, Señores," cried the man, "only by a miracle
and by my own courage have I escaped this night!
Blessed be the saints that I have a stout heart and a strong
arm, or I should have been but a dead man to-night!"

He spread himself with an air of bravado upon a low
bench, and as he removed his hat, disclosed a deep-red
wale across his brow.  His friends gathered about him
in consternation, and the old hidalgo rose painfully from
his chair, and, tottering across the room, handed a
bumper of Malaga to the panting new-comer, who quaffed it
gratefully.

"Yes, Señores," he continued, "but for the merciful
protection of Santiago and Santa Maria, and the fact that
I know no fear, I should have been lost to Spain, a cold
corpse even now.  Four miles back, as I trudged wearily
along the miry road, thinking of the kind friends and the
warm food awaiting me here—"

"Manuel," cried the landlord to a strapping youth who
stood with sleeves tucked up near the fireplace, "grill
a tomato for our brave Antonio."

"As I trudged along," Antonio resumed, "all at once
I heard a great splashing and clanking behind me, and
before I could stand aside, three horsemen were upon me.
They reined up when they saw me, and one of them called
me dog, and asked the way to Valladolid.  I knew by
his tongue that he was one of the thrice-cursed French,
and, commending myself to Santiago in a breath, I raised
my mallet and struck him upon the head, and he fell.
His comrades drew their swords and made at me over
their horses' necks.  I defended myself as best I could
with my good mallet, but it was an unequal fight, Señores,
and I was at my wits' end, when I bethought me that all
the French are craven curs, and I shouted aloud, as
though summoning a hidden band to the rescue.  The
Frenchmen started back, looked fearfully around, and
then, unmindful of their dead comrade on the ground, set
spurs to their horses and galloped away, one of them, as
he passed, striking me—with the flat of his sword, praised
be Santiago!—across the brow, and—"

"What was he like, hombre?" asked Jack quietly,
bending forward on his chair and looking the man full
in the face.

Antonio's jaw dropped.  He gave a scared look at the
speaker, and spilt the remainder of his wine upon his
boots.

"The brave fellow is overcome," said the hidalgo.
"Fill his glass, Manuel."

Antonio gulped down a second glass, and looked with
apprehension at Jack, who was now sitting back again
in his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on the abashed
Spaniard.

"A lucky escape, Antonio," said the cura with a
twinkling eye.  "In the morning, no doubt, some
passing arriero will see the dead Frenchman on the road,
and bring him here for dog's burial."

"No doubt, no doubt, Padre," said Antonio hurriedly.
"But I am faint, Señores, and as my nose tells me the
tomato is now well grilled, I would fain stay the pangs
of hunger."

As he devoted himself to the succulent fruit, the hidalgo
entered upon a long oration on the iniquities of the French
and the heroism of the Spaniards, with particular reference
to the guerrilla band in the Virgen mountains, whom
Antonio was on his way to join.  He concluded by calling
upon the company to drink the health of the brave
Antonio, and confusion to the French.  When the ringing
vivas had ceased, Jack rose from his chair.  Approaching
the hero, who looked far from comfortable, he held out
his right hand, and, laying his left on Antonio's shoulder,
said:

"I am glad that, as a chance traveller, I am here in
time to add my good wishes to so staunch a patriot.
With a spirit like yours, we shall soon succeed in driving
the enemy headlong through the passes of the Pyrenees.
I myself hope to do something in my small way for Spain,
but nothing I can do will match the valiant deeds of the
brave guerrilleros, who face the rigours of winter cold on
the barren mountains, and leave all the comforts of home
in their noble enthusiasm.  I call upon the sons of Spain
here present to drink once more a health to Antonio the
guerrillero, and confusion to the French!  Viva Antonio!
Viva la España!"

He grasped the hand of the astonished Antonio, and
shook it heartily, amid the applause of the company.
Antonio's look of amazement gave way gradually to one
of smug content, and when, after another flowery speech
from the hidalgo, the guests rose to take leave, the cooper
had quite recovered his wonted air of assurance.

After the departure of his guests, the landlord was
proceeding to bolt the door for the night, when Jack
stopped him.

"Don't fasten up yet, landlord," he said.  "I am going
farther presently."

"To-night, Señor?"

"Yes; the moon is rising, and I shall ride as far as
Olmedo."

"But, Señor, you may be set upon by French horsemen,
like Antonio here."

"I don't think so," replied Jack with a smile.  "Remember,
Don Pedro sent me here to claim your assistance.
He assured me you are a good patriot, and I don't suppose
you love the French any better than the Señor hidalgo,
or than Antonio, eh?"

"The French, Señor!  I hate them.  Every good
Spaniard hates them.  We are all caballeros, Señor, and
we're not going to have any masters over us but our
own hidalgos and the king—our own king."

"Have you seen anything of the French yourself?"

"The saints forbid!  They spare neither man nor beast.
If they came this way I'd have never a pig in my stye nor
a copa of wine in my cellar.  Antonio has seen some of
them to-night, and my son Manuel told me that a
squadron of dragoons passed through Olmedo and went south
yesterday, and all last week parties of French horse were
scouring the district north of Olmedo, playing the very
devil with the people."

"They came from Valladolid, I suppose?"

"No doubt, Señor; Valladolid has been occupied by
them for at least a fortnight past.  We're hoping every
day that the Marquis of La Romana or General Palafox
will swoop down on them and slit their weasands.  Or
maybe the English general Sir Moore, now at Salamanca,
will come and trounce them."

"You know the English are at Salamanca, then?  Do
the French know it?"

"Not from us, Señor.  Not a man of us will give them
any information."

"Well, landlord, I'm an Englishman—"

The man threw up his hands in amazement, and Antonio
gasped.  Jack watched the effect of his announcement;
he had come rapidly to the conclusion that as Antonio was
clearly regarded by his friends as a staunch patriot, there
would be no danger in disclosing his own nationality.

"And I've come this way to find out all I can about the
French.  I want two active young fellows to help me, and
I've been looking at these two fine lads—sons of yours,
I take it?"

"Yes, Señor, they are my sons.  Manuel is nineteen,
and his brother Juan a year younger, and 'tis ten years
yesterday since their poor mother went to heaven."

The two young men, with square-set faces and ragged
shocks of black hair, stood listening with interest.  Jack
had watched them narrowly during the evening.  They
had something less than the usual stolidity of expression,
looked fairly intelligent, and appeared likely to serve him
well as special messengers.

"They would have to be prepared for hard work," he
said, "at any hour of the day or night.  They would be
well paid, of course—"

"Señor," interrupted the landlord, "a good patriot
doesn't require pay for working against the French."

Jack thought he had heard a different account about
some of his host's countrymen, but he went on:

"Well then, you will not object to your sons entering
my service as messengers between me and my general?"

"But, Señor, I shall then be single-handed.  Who will
there be then to attend to my guests—to mix the puchero,
and stir the gaspacho, and rub down the mules?  The lads
could not leave their poor old father alone."

"Caramba!" struck in Antonio, who was now devoting
himself to a fried onion, "what is that?  Here am I
leaving my wife and three children, to fight the French."

"You've left them before," said the landlord dryly.

"And there's Don Pedro's letter, you know," suggested Jack.

The landlord glanced at the letter, which lay on the
table, and shrugged his shoulders.

"Well," he said, "I would do much for Don Pedro.
He was a good master to me; he gave me the money to
buy this inn; and since he asks me to serve you and my
country at the same time, I can't refuse, Señor—if the lads
are willing to go."

They at once professed their readiness to serve the Señor
in any way, and assured him that they were well acquainted
with the country for miles around.

"That's settled, then," said Jack.  "Now, Manuel, you
won't mind being employed at once?  Have you any mules
on the premises?"

"Two, Señor."

"Just the number required.  You will saddle up and
ride off at once to Salamanca.  I will give you a note to
take to Sir John Moore, the English general there.  If
you can't find him, ask for General Paget.  You can say
Paget?"

After two or three attempts, Manuel succeeded in
pronouncing a passable imitation of the sound.

"When you have delivered the note, you will return to
Carpio, and wait there for further orders.  Both in going
and coming you will take care to attract as little attention
as possible, and of course you will not say a word to
anyone, not even to your dearest friend, about your business.
You understand?"

"Yes, Señor.  And I have a friend near Carpio, a farmer,
who lives about a league out of the town, so that I can
stay with him if need be."

"Very well.  Go and get your mule saddled, and return
here for the note."

Jack wrote a few lines to Sir John, giving him the news
of the passing squadron of French horse he had just learnt
from the landlord, and ten minutes later Manuel left the
inn with the note and a little money to serve for his
immediate needs.

"Now, Juan," said Jack, when the elder brother had
gone, "go to bed and get what sleep you can till three
o'clock.  At that hour I shall want you to start with me
for Olmedo.  I'm pretty tired, so I shall turn in myself,
landlord, for a brief rest, and I shall take care that your
assistance is brought to the notice of my general and also
of your own juntas.  Good-night!"

At three o'clock, beneath a pale half-moon, Jack stood
at the door of the inn, waiting as Juan brought up his
mule.  He was about to mount, when he was surprised to
see Antonio issue from the door and approach him.

"I'm a rough common man, Señor," he said; "you're
a caballero.  My big tongue will not say what I have in
my heart, but I know what I owe you for your kindness
to-night.  Yes, Señor, it was like a true caballero not to
remember what had happened on the road; and I say,
Señor, that if ever there comes a chance to do you a
good turn, por Dios!  Antonio will not forget."

"Thanks, Antonio!" replied Jack, holding out his hand.
"We'll cry quits and part friends."

"Vaya usted con Dios!" returned the man; and then
Jack, followed by Juan, cantered up the quiet street.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Monsieur Taberne`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VI


.. class:: center large bold

   Monsieur Taberne

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Westphalian Light Horse—Mine Host—Two Menus—Feeding
   a Commissary—Practice in French—Another Bottle—A
   Sum in Arithmetic—Inferences—A Cold Prospect

.. vspace:: 2

Daylight was just breaking as the riders came to the
dreary outskirts of Olmedo, passing by one or two
desolate-looking vineyards, untidy brick-fields, gloomy
convents, and neglected kitchen-gardens, the walled town
itself rising before them on an eminence in the midst of
a wide sandy plain.

Jack had already learnt from Juan on the way that,
nearly a mile from the town, a small clump of pine-trees
grew, the only trees to be seen on all the barren heath.
This, Jack thought, would be a convenient spot at which
to leave the youth with the mules while he himself went
into the town and reconnoitred.  Accordingly, he sent Juan
into the wood with the animals and sufficient food to last
them the day, telling him to wrap his cloak well about him
to keep off the cold, and on no account to allow himself to
be seen from the road.  Then he proceeded alone into the
town, the narrow dirty streets of which he found in a great
bustle.  There appeared to be a horse at the door of every
one of the six hundred houses of which the place consisted,
and at the side of every horse there was a French trooper,
who was either brushing his mount, or fastening its
saddle-straps, or feeding it, or watching his comrades engaged
in one or other of those operations.  In short, three
squadrons of French dragoons, which had been quartered
on the town, were saddling up in preparation for
marching, and the streets resounded with the clank of metal,
the pawing of horses' hoofs, and the cries of the soldiers.

Jack made his way to the first inn, where he found the
landlord endeavouring to reconcile his Castilian dignity
with the obsequiousness demanded by the troopers he was
serving.  Ordering some chocolate, Jack sat down quietly
on a bench, prepared to pick up any scraps of information
he could gather from the half-dozen troopers who were
loudly conversing over their drink.  But a few moments
later a sergeant entered, in a rage at finding the men away
from their horses.  They left in a body, and Jack seized
the occasion to make a few discreet enquiries of the
aggrieved and perspiring innkeeper.  The troopers, he learnt,
were the Westphalian light horse, belonging to General
Maupetit's brigade, which formed the cavalry division of
the fourth army corps under Marshal Lefebvre, Duke of
Dantzig.  They had arrived in the town on the previous
afternoon, and the landlord, like all the inhabitants, was
anxious to see the last of them; for the town had been
visited by numerous smaller parties of horse during the
previous week, and the French always took what they
wanted, and were not very scrupulous about paying
for it.

While Jack was condoling with the landlord, he heard
the bugle ring out the "boot and saddle".  A few minutes
later the whole force moved out along the main road to
the south, leading to Villacastin and Madrid.  Jack stood
just within the door, watching them defile past, and he
could not but admire the excellent condition of the horses
and the soldierly smartness of the men.

"I wonder where they are bound for?" he said to
himself.  He knew, from a careful examination he had
already made of his map, that if the cavalry kept to the
main road it would bring them, within about thirty miles,
in contact with Hope's outposts, with the result that their
general, Lefebvre, would not remain much longer in
ignorance of the proximity of the British forces.

"I must see what they are after," thought Jack.
Hastening to the plantation outside the town, where he
had left Juan and the mules, he mounted and rode alone
after the dragoons, being careful to maintain a discreet
distance between himself and their rear.  After riding for
some three miles, he observed that they were leaving the
main road and bearing to the left.  Taking out his map,
he found that they were evidently making for Segovia by
the shortest cut, and the obvious inference was that they
were as yet quite unsuspicious of the proximity of the
British army, and had no intention of marching towards
the Portuguese frontier.  Riding another mile, to make
sure that this supposition was correct, Jack then returned
to the plantation, scribbled a note to Moore giving this
important news, and ordered Juan to set off with it, going
round Medina to Carpio, where he would meet his brother,
whom he was to instruct to carry the message to Salamanca.

Having thus despatched his second messenger, Jack
made his way back to Olmedo, with the intention of
obtaining a more substantial meal than he had yet had
time for.  He sought, this time, the principal inn of the
place, and found that with the departure of the dragoons
the inhabitants of the town, previously invisible, had now
formed little knots at the street corners, and were
condoling with one another on the indignities they had suffered
at the hands of the enemy.  The landlord was at first too
much occupied with the gossips at the door of his posada
to attend to a stranger, but Jack at last boldly took him
by the arm and declared that he must have food of some sort.

"Food!  All very well for a stranger to ask for food,"
he replied bitterly, "but these cursed Frenchmen have
stripped us bare, and are verily capable of eating our
children."

"Come, landlord," said Jack, "I heard an old cock
crowing lustily as I came up the street.  At least you
have an egg or two.  I don't love the French any more
than you; and I'll pay, which is more than they do, by
all accounts."

"Well, Señor, perhaps I can find you an egg, but you
must wait till I can send for it and borrow a frying-pan,
for a Frenchman knocked a hole in mine last night."

Jack sat down on a bench within the bar-room, and
listened to the conversation, or rather the declamation,
of the men at the door.  While he sat there waiting with
scant patience, for he was very hungry, the sound of
horses' hoofs was heard approaching, mingled with the
clank of steel.  The knot at the door melted away as by
magic, and a few moments later a small party of horsemen
clattered into the courtyard, and loud voices were heard
calling to the inn servants.  In a minute or two a portly
French officer clanked into the room, now empty save for
Jack.  He was clad in a uniform of some brilliance, with
a heavy shako and an embroidered white cloak, and the
stone floor resounded to the tread of his heavy spurred
riding-boots.  Giving a casual glance at Jack, who was
staying his hunger with a crust of dry bread until the egg
should appear, the officer strode up to the low counter,
smote it heavily with his riding-whip, and bellowed for
the landlord, in execrable Spanish, freely interlarded with
French expletives.

"Ohé, landlord!" he shouted.  "Palsambleu!  Where
has the hog hidden himself?  Ohé!  Come out of your
pig-stye, canaille that you are, and bring me some food."

He continued shouting and belabouring the counter,
setting the crockery rattling on the big dresser behind.

"Nice manners!" said Jack to himself, closely watching
the new-comer.  "I wonder who he is!"

At this moment the landlord entered with a fried egg,
which he brought to Jack without giving more than one
sullen glance to the boisterous officer.  This neglect
wounded the gentleman's dignity; he strode across the
room and, lifting his whip, spluttered:

"Insolent dog!  Don't you hear?  I order you to bring
me food, and, palsambleu! you had better hurry.  What
do you mean by keeping an officer of the emperor waiting
while you serve a beggarly tradesman?"

"In a moment, Señor," said the landlord, setting the
dish before Jack.

"Would the noble marquis like my egg?" said Jack
meekly in bad French.

"Egg!"  The officer snorted his contempt for such frugal
fare.  "Look you, landlord, I want soup to begin with,
and then a mayonnaise—sweet olive-oil, mind you—and
a capon well basted to follow, and—"

"Señor, Señor," interrupted the landlord, "I've not
any such things on the premises.  Your dragoons have
eaten me up already.  I can give you an omelet—"

"An omelet!  Morbleu, landlord!  If you don't hurry
with something more substantial than an omelet I'll slice
your fat cheeks into collops."

.. _`A Question of Supply`:

.. figure:: images/img-068.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: A Question of Supply

   A Question of Supply

He glared at the Spaniard and laid his hand on his
sword; and the landlord, giving up all attempt to preserve
his dignity further, scuttled through the door leading
to his kitchen.

"Holà!" cried the officer, calling him back; "before
you go give me a stoup of wine; none of your tarred
vinegar of Toro, pardi, but good wine of Valdepenas,
something with a tang.  Ventrebleu! it's a poor thing
if an officer of the emperor, who has to feed an army,
can't get good food for himself."

("Ah!" thought Jack, "we have a commissary here.
He ought to be worth something.")

The trembling landlord set a goat-skin and a cup before
the blusterous commissary, and hurried off to ransack his
larder for something wherewith to appease his
Gargantuan appetite.

After two or three draughts of wine the big man
appeared to be somewhat mollified.  He threw more than
one glance at Jack, as he strode up and down the room,
objurgating the landlord's sluggishness.  To Jack's
amusement and surprise, the Spaniard returned in a very few
minutes, bearing a steaming tureen of soup.

"Would the Señor like his meal served in a private
room?" he asked.  "There is only my own sitting-room,
with no fire at present, but if his excellency pleases a fire
shall be lit, and—"

"Tenez, tenez!" said the officer; "let me fill my
stomach, in the public room here by the fire.  I may
want the private room by and by," he added pompously;
"but meanwhile I have no objection to your guest being
present."

He glanced at Jack, who at once said, in his politest
tones:

"I shall be happy to retire if I am in the noble
marquis's way.  Personal convenience must, of course, give
way to the public service, and anyone can see that the
noble marquis is a very high functionary."

The deferential tone and the barefaced flattery
conciliated the big man.  Puffing himself out he said:

"Not marquis yet, young man, not yet, though it may
come—yes, it may come in time.  Lefebvre is Duke of
Dantzig: he rose from the ranks, and there's no reason
in the world why I, Gustave Taberne, shouldn't be a
marquis before long.  Personal business, you say?  Well,
my business is wholly personal at present, since it consists
in lining my not inconsiderable person, hein!  But I don't
regard your company as an intrusion, monsieur; far from
it; I welcome you heartily."

Jack bowed his acknowledgments.  Meanwhile the
officer had begun to gulp his soup with no little noise,
gobbling like a turkey-cock, as Jack described him
afterwards.  As his meal progressed he unbent still further.

"You are almost the first of your cursed countrymen
I've met who can speak tolerable French," he said.
"Where did you learn it, young man?"

"I picked up a little in Barcelona, your excellency,"
replied Jack, "but not till now have I had the opportunity
of improving myself by conversation with an officer used
to high society."

"Ah! you know a galant homme when you see him.
You have some sense, young man.  Yes, I'm commissary-general
to the Duke of Dantzig's forces, and, parbleu! in
the emperor's service I spare no one, neither myself nor
others.  Ohé, landlord, bring the next course."

The landlord brought in a number of dishes.

"Señor likes the puchero?" he said.

"Puchero, you call it?  Well, if this is puchero, I do
like it.  Now, par le sambleu, you wanted to put me off
with an omelet!  He! he!"

He lay back in his chair and roared.  Jack himself was
not a little amused, for he saw on the table a quarter
of veal, a neck of mutton, a chicken, the end of a sausage
called *chorizo*, slices of bacon and ham, a jug of sauce
made of tomatos and saffron and strong spices, a dish
of cabbage soaking in oil, and a platter filled with a
vegetable rather like haricot beans, called *garbanzo*.  All these
the landlord mixed in one big vessel so as to make a
mayonnaise, which Jack hoped did not taste as strong as
it smelt.  The commissary fell to with avidity, but he
was evidently fond of hearing his own voice, and his
tongue being loosened by the unexpected good cheer, and
by Jack's respectful admiration, he condescended to
converse between the mouthfuls.

"Pity your countrymen are not all as civil and sensible
as yourself," he said.  "If they'd only put a good face
on it, and pay willing obedience to King Joseph—though,
to tell the truth, he's only a proxy for the emperor,—they'd
live a quieter life and make the duties of the commissary
less of a torture.  I tell you, young man—moi qui vous
parle—there isn't a more harassed man in the army than
the commissary-general.  Hang me if he is not every way
as important as the commander-in-chief!"

Jack looked at him sympathetically.

"A general gets all the credit of a victory, but, parbleu! 'tis
the commissary that deserves it.  Who won the battle
of Austerlitz three years ago?  Folks say it was the
emperor, but between you and me, mon ami, it was I
myself, Gustave Taberne.  Soult, Masséna, Lannes, the
emperor himself—all very well, but could the men fight
if they weren't well fed?—tell me that.  And I feed the
army.  Skill, that is good; courage, that is better;
devotion, that is excellent; but a good meal has won more
victories than the cleverest tactics."

"The world knows nothing of its greatest men," said Jack.

The commissary gleamed approval, but at this point
the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a
corporal.

"Well, Antoine," said the officer, "where is the alcalde?"

"He cannot be found, mon colonel," replied the man.

"Cannot be found!  Cannot!  Who dares use such
words to the emperor's commissary-general?  The alcalde
must be found, or, parbleu!  I'll burn every house and
pig-stye in the place.  Let him be here in half an hour—not
a moment sooner, for I must finish my dejeuner; not a
moment later, for he will fare ill if he keeps me waiting.
Away with you, Antoine."

The corporal vanished.

"Ohé, landlord!" shouted the commissary.  "Another
bottle of wine.  No, don't take out the stopper.  Set it on
the table there in front of me."

The commissary gloated at the rotund wine-skin, but
made no sign of opening it.  Catching an enquiring glance
from Jack, he said loftily:

"I drink no more till my work is done, young man.
If I drank more now, I should get drunk; and if I got
drunk the emperor would call me a pig, and I should
deserve it.  Duty first, young man, always remember that."

"It astonishes me," said Jack, "—forgive my ignorance,
Colonel,—how you officers can make the calculations
necessary for feeding an immense army.  In our
little villages, for instance, if we keep the festival of a
saint or a guild, when there are only some hundreds of
mouths to feed, we either run short or have so much left
that bushels of good stuff have to be thrown to the pigs."

Jack spoke from recollections of the autumn bean-feast
in his little Surrey village at home.  The commissary rose
to the bait, and spoke, always with a thirsty eye fixed
on the wine-skin.

"Oh! as to that," he said, "we do everything by
system.  Nothing is easier when you have a system.
We allow a pound of biscuit a day to each man, and
half a pound of meat, and as much wine as is good for
him and can be got.  For myself, as you see, I can drink
a gallon without staggering, and hold a fresh bottle
always at arm's-length without touching it."

"Matchless strength of will!" exclaimed Jack.  "But
even so, the responsibility of obtaining just the right
quantity for so many thousands of men would make a
weaker man quaver.  The biscuit, for instance—what a
huge quantity you must consume!"

"Huge indeed!" said the commissary.  "Why, in Valladolid,
where I have come from, we use nine tons a day."  (Jack
made a rapid mental calculation: one pound of
biscuit to each man; nine tons a day.  "So there are
about twenty thousand men in Valladolid!" he concluded.)  "And
in the present temper of your confounded countrymen,"
continued the commissary, "such a man as I is
not to be envied.  I have had great difficulty in procuring
supplies in some places.  Like your landlord here, they
offer an egg, and we have to curse them before they bring
out the chicken.  But we stand no nonsense, I can tell
you.  Your alcaldes have bad memories, but 'tis amazing
how refreshing is a yard or two of hempen rope or the
touch of a cold pistol-barrel.  We had trouble in Valladolid,
and 'tis rumoured we are to have trouble in Segovia;
but let 'em beware, let 'em beware."

"Ah!  I'm afraid our poor people have small chance
against the hosts of your emperor—the finest soldier the
world has seen since Alexander the Great."

"You say true, monsieur; you are a sensible fellow—for
a Spaniard.  The Little Corporal is indeed a new
Alexander, destined to conquer the whole world, and,
parbleu! those upstart meddling shopkeepers of English into the
bargain.  Why, the emperor is at this moment marching
south, and my bag here is stuffed with bulletins of his
victories."

He pulled out a handful of papers, and spread them on
the table.  At this moment the corporal re-entered,
followed by the trembling alcalde of the village, whose
bemired dress showed that he had been hiding in no very
sanitary spot.

"Ohé, Don Long-chops," said the commissary, "you
thought to escape me, did you?  Now you and I will
have a reckoning."

As the alcalde was brought round the table until he
faced the commissary, Jack rose.

"I will bid you good-day, monsieur," he said politely.
"I have a long way to go, and be sure that in whatever
village I pass through I shall warn them that so capable
an officer is not to be trifled with."

"That is sound sense, pardi," said the commissary.
"You will do well to prepare them for my coming, and,
look you, if we meet again, you and I will drink as much
Valdepenas as our skins will hold—provided my duty is
done.  Au revoir!"

Jack bowed and took his leave.  The information he
had obtained from the self-sufficient commissary was
clearly of the highest importance.  There were twenty
thousand men in Valladolid: they were about to march
for Segovia; and the emperor himself was coming
southward at the head of an army.  It was evident that the
French were as yet in ignorance of the proximity of
Moore's army.  They were probably intending a blow at
Madrid; and Jack saw in a flash that this might have a
direct bearing on the movements contemplated by Sir John.

"Why shouldn't we march eastward and cut their
communications?" he thought.

The question was, how was this information to be
conveyed to head-quarters?  At the earliest Juan could not
be back before dark, even if he met his brother the
instant he arrived at Carpio.

"There's nothing for it but to go myself," said Jack
to himself, "and that's a pity.  I should have liked to
get a little more out of my budding marquis when he
is in one of his expansive moods.  Well, I've a cold
ride before me."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Pepito intervenes`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VII


.. class:: center large bold

   Pepito intervenes

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Precautions—Gone to Earth—Foundered—In the Nick of
   Time—The Allied Army—At the Marchesa's Palace—Social
   Salamanca—Light Refreshments—Messengers—A Recognition

.. vspace:: 2

The stable-yard lay to the rear of the inn.  Snow had
been falling lightly during Jack's conversation with the
commissary, and one of the servants was busily sweeping
the slush into a corner.  The stable doors were open, and
several lads and men were attending to the horses of the
commissary's escort, the universal hiss of men employed
in that occupation being mingled with curses which it was
lucky the Frenchmen could not hear or understand.  Jack
went up to one of the men and asked him to bring out
his mule.  The ostler turned from the horse he was
grooming and looked at Jack with an air of incivility,
if not downright insolence.  He made no movement to
carry out the order, and, glancing round, Jack became
aware that all the other stable-helps had left their work
and were gazing at him with the same distrustful,
lowering scowl.

"What's the matter?" he thought.

The men had been all civility when he gave his mule
into their hands on his arrival.  What could be the cause
of this unpleasant change of attitude?  Jack was puzzled.
Meanwhile he wanted his mule unhaltered and saddled,
and though he was tempted to do it himself, and not
trouble the reluctant servants, he saw that such a course
would not improve his position with them.  He knew the
Spanish character too well to bluster or dictate.  After
a pause of only a few moments he addressed the same
man quietly and politely, but with a firmness that admitted
no refusal; and the servant, dropping his eyes, turned
sullenly to do his bidding.

A few minutes later, as he rode out of the courtyard,
he met the alcalde, looking very angry and much
perturbed.  He was coming, evidently, from his interview
with the commissary.  He looked up at Jack as he passed,
and half-stopped, as though hesitating whether to address
him.  Jack was surprised to note the same quick glance
of suspicion in the alcalde's eyes as he had seen in those
of the stablemen.  The official seemed to be on the point
of speaking, but he gave a hurried and anxious glance
towards the window of the commissary's room, flushed
hotly, and with a final dark look at Jack turned away.
Jack rode on, feeling that the eyes of the whole inn were
upon him, and possessed by an unaccountable sense of
insecurity.

The meaning of it all flashed upon him quite suddenly.
The alcalde had seen him in close and apparently friendly
conversation with the commissary.  Their interview had
lasted for a considerable time, and must have been talked
about among the people of the inn.  Every Spaniard must
feel that no true patriot would hold amicable intercourse
with a Frenchman, an enemy of his country, except under
compulsion, and it was now evident to Jack that he was
regarded as a traitor, perhaps a spy, selling the interests
of his compatriots to the invader.  The thought made
him smile.

"Shall I go back and tell them?" he said to himself.
"They'd be surprised to find how the boot is on the other
leg."

But a moment's reflection convinced him that to reveal
his secret would not be politic, even if he were believed.
There were too many Frenchmen about the inn to make
it safe for him to enter into long explanations.  Then
another thought came which promised a spice of adventure.

"I shouldn't wonder if they follow me, and perhaps
try to do for me.  They will if they think I'm a French
spy.  I'll take the Valladolid road first, and cut off to the
left when I'm well out of sight from the town."

Careful not to look behind, he rode slowly on until a
bend in the road concealed him from the inn; then he
jogged the sides of his mule and quickened its pace from
a walk to a trot.

The snow had ceased to fall, and the afternoon sun
promised to thaw the light glistening mantle that covered
the bare country.  There was enough snow yet on the
ground to show clear tracks of his course to any pursuers.
Being anxious to get a good start, he soon urged his mule
to a gallop, hoping that, if he was indeed followed, the
hoof-marks might have been thawed away from the
high-road before he turned off to Medina del Campo.

After riding hard for some three miles he came to a
river.  On either side of the bridge the bank sloped down
to the water's edge, and Jack, feeling that his mule needed
a rest, saw here an excellent opportunity of learning,
without risk to himself, whether a pursuit had been commenced.
Dismounting, he led the animal carefully down the
shelving miry bank, and found that underneath the first arch
of the bridge there was ample room to conceal both
himself and the mule from the eyes of any but careful searchers.
The snow had by this time been converted to a washy
sludge, and the ground having been trampled by many
animals before his own, he had no fear of his tracks being
sufficiently marked to attract special attention.

He had remained in his place of concealment but a few
minutes when he heard in the distance, in the direction
from which he had come, the dull thud of hoofs.  As
they approached, the sounds were mingled with the
subdued hum of voices.  Jack waited with no little curiosity,
keeping a hand on his mule's reins to prevent the animal
from emerging into view.  The sounds grew louder.
Several riders galloped their steeds up to the end of the
bridge, and halted them for a moment as though in
indecision.  Then they resumed their progress and rode on
to the bridge, the clatter of hoofs awaking an echo from
the arches below.  When they had gained the other side
Jack crept carefully up the bank until he could safely peep
over the parapet, and saw four riders pelting rapidly
towards Valladolid.  He gave a chuckle as he recognized
the men who had behaved so churlishly in the stable-yard.

"A lucky miss!" he thought.  "They're after me."

They were riding horses, and it was clear that but for
his little stratagem he must soon have been overtaken.
What should be his course now?  He could not reckon
on their riding much farther along the main road, for they
would naturally enquire of anyone they might meet if a
tradesman had been seen riding a mule that way, and in
the course of a few miles, allowing for their greater speed,
they must suspect that their quarry had turned to one side
or the other.  Obviously he must lose no time.  Retracing
his steps, he led the mule from the muddy river-bed,
remounted, and rode along the tow-path in the hope of soon
discovering a road that would lead in the direction of
Medina.  In a few minutes he came to a rough and narrow
cart-track between two fields on his left hand.  It must
lead somewhere, and, being anxious at any rate to put as
much ground as possible between himself and his pursuers,
Jack wheeled his mule to the left and rode along the
rough track at a canter.

He found that it led into a somewhat wider road,
crossing it at an obtuse angle.  The ground was much cut up
by cart-wheels, and the mule laboured heavily on the soft
swampy ground.  Jack eased the pace, hoping that the
start he had obtained would enable him to keep well ahead
of his pursuers, even if they soon discovered their mistake
and had the luck to track him.  By and by he came to a
considerable ascent, up which he was fain to allow the
animal to walk, and on reaching the summit he found the
poor beast so breathless that he dismounted and walked
slowly on, leading the mule.  Turning after a while in the
direction from which he had come, he caught a glimpse, in
the far distance, of a group of riders coming towards him.
It was impossible to distinguish their figures, much less
their features.  Delay was dangerous; so without hesitation
Jack sprang again on the mule's back and set off once
more towards Medina.  For a time he was hidden from
the riders by rows of stunted trees that lined the road.
Then the road took a sharp curve to the right, and before
him he saw a long hill, sloping gradually down for nearly
a mile towards what appeared to be a plantation.  He
urged the mule now to its top speed, noting with some
anxiety that the animal was breathing with difficulty, and
showing other only too manifest signs of fatigue.  Before
he had reached the foot of the hill it was patently flagging,
and when, having passed that point, another upward ascent
began, the mule staggered once or twice, recovered itself,
staggered again, and, finally, just as Jack came abreast
of a low farmhouse that lay back some sixty yards from
the road, it dropped on its knees, its rider barely escaping
being thrown on his head upon the road.

"Whew!  This is awkward," he said to himself.  He
looked up the hill he had just descended.  "By George! there
they are," he exclaimed under his breath.  Four
riders had just topped the crest, and were coming
towards him, at no great speed, for their horses were
evidently tired; but clearly they must overtake him in
less than five minutes.  Jack looked around for some
means of escape.  He might stand his ground and fight
them, but the odds were against him, and a single crack
in the head would prevent him from reaching Salamanca,
and render useless the information he had obtained for
his general.  "I must run for it, but how and where?"
he thought.

At this moment he heard a sound behind him.  Turning
hastily, he was amazed to see a little dark figure clad in
a zamarra of sheepskin, a high-peaked, narrow-brimmed
hat, a red plush waistcoat with many buttons and clasps,
and a brilliant crimson-silk girdle about the waist.  In
one hand the dwarfish creature carried a large pair of
shears, in the other the reins of a half-clipped mule, which
walked meekly behind him.

"Pepito!" Jack gasped in amazement.

Pepito grinned.

"No time to waste, Señor," he said.  "I saw you come
down the hill, and the Busne behind you.  Your mule has
foundered.  Here is a fresh mule I was clipping; mount
him and ride on."

Clearly there was no time for explanations.  In a
moment Jack was on the mule's back.

"Thanks, Pepito!" he said.  "But what will you do?
Those fellows will kill you."

Pepito smiled.

"Never fear, Señor.  The Gitano is more than a match
for the Busne.  Ride, Señor, ride.  They have not seen
you yet.  Quick!"

He led the mule a few yards beyond the spot at which
Jack had halted, and pointed to a road that went off the
main-road to right and left.

"The left road leads to Medina," he said.  Then he
struck the mule sharply on the flank, and waved his hand
gaily to Jack, who set off at full speed, rounded a curve,
and was soon lost to sight.  As he disappeared, he heard
behind him the shrill notes of a song that was ever and
anon on Pepito's lips:

   |  "The Romany chal to his horse did cry,
   |  As he placed the bit in his horse's jaw,
   |  Kosko gry!  Romany gry!
   |  Muk man kistur tuté knaw."

He smiled as he heard the uncouth words, and rode on,
wondering by what cunning device the little gipsy would
throw the pursuers off the scent, as he evidently intended
to do.

Jack had intended to make his way back to the Posada
de Oriente at Medina, and there obtain a rest and a change
of mules.  But having got a fresh steed by Pepito's
fortunate intervention, he changed his plan, and decided to
make straight for Salamanca by Carpio and Cantalapiedra.
He had still fifty miles to ride, and after his experience with
the foundered mule he doubted whether one animal would
carry him the whole way.  But there was an off chance
that another mount might be procurable in case of need,
and his mission was urgent.  He therefore pushed on,
avoiding Medina, and taking a short cut for Carpio.  It
was four o'clock when he reached that town.  He halted
for half an hour to bait his mule and snatch a meal, then he
resumed his journey, and an hour and a half after dark he
entered the wretched streets of Pedroso.  He had ridden
but a few yards into the town when a figure on horseback
moved silently out from the shadow of a church and stood
full across his path.  He pulled up, and then a guttural
and husky voice addressed him roughly:

"Who go zere?  Qui va la?  Quien vive?"

Jack laughed quietly.

"Is the caballero himself the allied army?" he said in
his best Castilian.

"Donnerwetter noch einmal!" growled the horseman,
adding in bad Spanish: "Give the word, and quickly."

"You have the advantage of me, my good friend,"
responded Jack in English, "so you had better take me
to your captain."

Jack had now recognized the man by his uniform as a
trooper in the 3rd Light Dragoons of the King's German
Legion.  The dragoon grunted in surprise on hearing
English, and, wheeling his horse beside Jack's mule,
he laid one hand on his rein, and with the other held
his carbine close to the new-comer's head, and so
escorted him to the inn where the cavalry patrol was
quartered.

The officer there seated at ease, a burly moustachioed
Hessian, looked up as the trooper clanked into the room,
holding Jack by the sleeve.

"A stranger, Herr Rittmeister," he said in German,
"who cannot or will not give the countersign."

"Not such a terrible stranger, Captain Werder," said
Jack in English, recognizing the German as the officer
through whom he had obtained his horse in Salamanca.
A few words sufficed to explain his presence in such guise,
and half an hour afterwards, mounted on a spare horse
luckily at hand, he set off on the last eighteen miles that
lay between him and his destination.

It was seven o'clock when he reached Salamanca, and,
tired as he was, bespattered with mud from head to foot,
he proceeded at once to the general's quarters.  There he
learnt that Sir John was attending a reception given by the
Marchesa de Almaran, one of the grandes dames of the
city.  Leaving the horse at a neighbouring inn, Jack made
his way to the Marchesa's palace, hoping that the
commander-in-chief's explicit instructions would excuse any
want of ceremony there might be in his action.  He
pulled the broad brim of his hat well over his eyes, and
turned up the high collar of his coat, passed the English
guard of honour outside the palace, and, entering at the
open door, asked for the major-domo.

"General Sir Moore is within?" he said to that
functionary when he appeared.

"He is."

"Will you tell him that a señor waits below with
important news, and begs an instant audience?"

The major-domo looked somewhat suspiciously at the
dirty, travel-stained Spaniard before him.

"The general is in the sala, and there is dancing.  I do
not know that I can interrupt him now."

"If you will kindly give my message, the general will
see me," persisted Jack.

"What name shall I tell him?"

"I do not give my name.  Merely say that it is a señor
whom he knows."

The functionary shrugged, and led Jack within the
vestibule—a vaulted apartment not unlike the porch of a
church, illumined by a single small lamp.  Two or three
servants were gathered about a fire.

"Wait here," said the major-domo, and left the visitor.
The servants eyed him for a moment, then resumed their
conversation, of which Jack caught a few words here and
there.  A messenger from General Castaños—a long ride
from Saragossa—brave fellow—yes, a true caballero, no
other would have faced the perils of so long a ride through
country infested by the French—yes, such courage was
worthy of a true son of Spain, and far exceeded
anything of which the English were capable.  Such were
some of the remarks Jack overheard, and he smiled as
he remembered that Mr. Vaughan had ridden double the
distance, and come through equal perils, arriving earlier
after all.

Some minutes passed, and every now and then, as the
sound of guitars floated down the broad staircase, Jack
envied the good fortune of the officers who, he did not
doubt, were footing it gaily above.  Then the major-domo
returned and silently beckoned the visitor to follow
him.  He led him upstairs, through a narrow corridor
where, on benches of carved wood or plaited straw, lay
a variety of cloaks, hats, and silken scarves.  Pushing
open a door, the major-domo preceded him into a wide
dimly-lighted room.  "Remain here; I will fetch the
general," he said, and was gone.

Jack saw that the room was connected by folding-doors,
which were now thrown open, with a large salon lighted
by numerous candles.  It was crowded with a brilliant
assembly.  Along the walls sat many ladies in elegant
mantillas, each gracefully wielding the indispensable fan.
Among them was a sprinkling of priests and sad-eyed
students of the university.  The centre of the room was
occupied by the younger society of the city—Spanish
officers and lawyers, with young ladies in festal array,
engaged in dancing the javaneja to the music of a band
of guitarists stationed at the farther end of the room.  It
was the first time that Jack had seen this characteristically
Spanish dance since he had left Barcelona six years before,
and his feet itched to join in it.  He watched the couples
as they made their graceful rhythmic movements, each
holding a coloured kerchief in one hand, the other curved
over the head.  It formed an interesting spectacle against
the bright background formed by the red coats of British
officers of all ranks, who stood silent spectators, each no
doubt privately wishing that the unfamiliar dance would
come to an end, and that an opportunity might be given
them of teaching the señoritas the quadrilles which were
then all the rage in England, or country-dances, in which
they were still more at home.  Nearly all the men, except
those who were dancing, were smoking cigarettes.  Every
lady, young or old, had a flower in her hair.

The javaneja at length ceased, and the Spaniards gave
place with evident reluctance to the British officers, who
immediately set partners for a quadrille, and began their
task of tuition, to the great hilarity of the ladies.  Jack
was becoming impatient.  He had not caught sight of
Sir John Moore, and wondered how long he was to be
kept waiting in this dim ante-chamber.  He looked
around.  There were two or three tables set with refreshments;
but there was no tea, no ices, no punch; nothing
but urns of chocolate, small glasses of sugared water,
and a plate of azucarillos.

Jack wondered how the English section of the company,
among whom he had now recognized his friends Pomeroy
and Smith and several other of his acquaintance, would
be satisfied with this plain and simple fare, so different
from that provided at the luxurious entertainments at
home.  Two or three solemn servants moved quickly
about between the rooms, carrying glasses of sugared
water to the ladies.  As they passed Jack they eyed him
curiously, but with Spanish stolidity made no remarks.
Keeping in the shadow, he looked on at the animated
throng with ever-increasing impatience, wondering whether
the major-domo had forgotten him altogether.  By and by
he saw Pomeroy lead his partner to a seat, and come
towards the ante-room with the manifest intention of
seeking refreshment for her himself.  Jack stepped back
as Pomeroy crossed from room to room, and the subaltern,
throwing a curious glance at the strange cloaked figure
that stood there in the shadow, looked for a moment as
though he would like to question his right to be there.
But the moment passed, and almost immediately
afterwards Sir John Moore emerged from a curtained doorway
behind the band, and crossed rapidly to where Jack stood
awaiting him.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Señor," he said
in Spanish, with his unvarying courtesy, "but I have had
to listen for half an hour to a countryman of yours who
brought me news which, after all, happened to be a trifle
stale.  You have an important message for me, I understand?"

"I am Lumsden of the 95th," said Jack in English,
in a low tone which none but the general's ear could
catch.  Sir John started, and glanced keenly at Jack;
then a smile passed over his face.

"Capital! capital!" he said.  "I shouldn't have known
you from Adam.  Come into the farther corner, away
from these noisy dancers, and tell me your news.  You'd
rather be kicking your heels among them, eh?" he added
with a twinkle.

"Not till you have done with me, sir," replied Jack as
he accompanied the general out of earshot.  There, in a
dim corner of the room, he gave Sir John a succinct
account of his movements, assuring him that the French
were beyond doubt making for Madrid, ignorant of, and
not even suspecting, the proximity of the British column
at Salamanca.

"You have come very pat to the occasion," said Moore,
who had listened to Jack's story without interrupting it.
"You confirm what I already suspected from a previous
messenger.  No, not the messenger who came just now
from General Castaños, and whom the good people here
have already elevated into a hero; his news was three days
behind time.  But to-day the Spanish generals Bueno and
Escalente reached me from the Junta at Madrid, and made
a strong, and, I must say, insolent, protest against my
intended retreat, assuring me that General San Juan, with
20,000 men, has fortified the pass of Somosierra and
effectually blocked the way to Madrid, and urging me to march
towards him.  They would have talked a cow's hind-leg
off, Mr. Lumsden, but I effectually shut the mouths of
my informants by confronting them with Colonel Graham,
who has just come in from Talavera, where San Juan is
the prisoner of the villainous runagates from Castaños'
beaten army.  If the Spaniards depend on him to defend
the Somosierra pass their hope is a poor one.  However,
what you tell me proves that the French are not coming
towards me, and for the present at any rate I am perfectly
safe here.  Now, you have been so successful that I am
going to tax you still further.  You are very tired, no
doubt?"

"A good supper and a night's rest will cure that, sir."

"Then you'll be prepared to set off again to-morrow?"

"Certainly.  I am very glad to be of use."

"You have been of the greatest use; I shall act upon
your information, and at once.  And, by the bye, I must
congratulate you on your messengers.  Your two Spanish
lads brought me your messages, and gave me great hopes
that I had not misjudged you—hopes amply justified.  I
have despatches to write, so I will take leave of my hostess
and accompany you to the door."

In a few minutes Sir John Moore, cloaked and hatted,
was striding down the corridor with Jack by his side.
They came to the outer door, where by the light of a huge
torch a tall Spanish officer in brilliant uniform was taking
leave of two ladies with what struck Jack as somewhat
affected gallantry.  He glanced up as the Englishmen
passed, saluted Sir John Moore with much condescension,
and then, as his eye fell on Jack, started with an air of
bewilderment.  He looked again with still keener scrutiny
at the shorter of the two figures, whom he followed slowly.
At the porch Sir John bade Jack a cordial good-bye.  The
latter turned to the left, towards Don Pedro's house, but
had only walked a few yards when he felt a touch on his
arm.  Glancing over his shoulder without checking his
pace, he saw that he had been followed by the tall
Spaniard whom he had passed at the door.  The next
moment a voice that was oddly familiar addressed him in
smooth suave tones that struck him with a curious sense
of discomfort.

"Surely the Señor will spare a minute to an old friend."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Don Miguel Priego`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER VIII


.. class:: center large bold

   Don Miguel Priego

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Memories—A Self-confessed Patriot—Confidences—Plain
   Speaking—Reflections—A Public Departure

.. vspace:: 2

Jack stopped now, and faced round at the speaker, who
still had a hand on his arm.

"I recognized you at once," the man continued,
"though your disguise is good, very good.  I have not
seen you for a good many years, Jackino, but I never
forget any face I have once seen, still less one that I have
lived with in the days of childhood.  Don't you remember
your old friend—"

"Why, you're Miguel Priego," interrupted Jack, with
no great cordiality of tone.  "How you've grown!  Who
would have thought you would have topped me by a couple
of inches!  And what a swell, too!"

"Yes, I have changed more than you, amigo," said
Don Miguel with a complacency that irritated Jack,
already annoyed that his disguise had been penetrated.
"Ah! and there have been other changes, great changes,
since I last saw you, Jackino.  You are an English officer,
and I might perhaps not have recognized you so easily
if you had been dressed in your uniform like your friends;
but the hat and cloak—oh!  Miguel Priego would have
been a fool indeed if he had not known the dear companion
of his boyhood."

"You're rather more affectionate than you were when
we parted, Miguel," said Jack bluntly.

"Don't say that.  We were always good friends,
Jackino; is it not true?  You and I and Juanita—ah! what
fun we had in the old house at Barcelona.  Do you
remember the times when Don Fernan came from
Saragossa and brought Juanita on a visit to your father and
mine, and how we shared the presents he gave us?"

"Your share usually happened to be the biggest, if my
memory doesn't play me false."

"Well, I was the eldest of the three; I am three
years older than you, amigo mio, and four years older
than Juanita."

"How is Juanita?" asked Jack.

"In fair health, but paler than I should like to see
her.  But her grief will wear away in time, and when
she becomes my—"

"Her grief!  What do you mean, Miguel?"

"You do not know, then?  I am forgetting; of course
you do not get news very well here.  I myself rode in
only to-day from Saragossa, at the risk of my neck,
Jackino, with tidings of the unfortunate misadventure at
Tudela, and—"

"Come, Miguel," said Jack, "we can't stand here.
Where are you staying?  While I'm in this rig-out it will
be better for me to go with you than for you to come with
me."

"That is true.  Come, then; I am staying at the Fonda
de Suizo in the Calle de Zamora.  We can talk there at
ease, and I shall be glad on my part to hear again of my
old friends your father and mother, and to tell you of the
sad changes that have taken place, and the bright changes
also, dear friend."

Jack was very tired, and in no mood to make himself
amiable to a man for whom he had an intense aversion.
But he was so anxious to learn the meaning of Miguel's
hints and half-statements that he put his feelings in his
pocket and trudged along.  Ever since he could remember,
he had disliked Miguel, the only son of his father's second
partner, Don Esteban Priego.  They had grown up together
in Barcelona, and almost his earliest recollections
were connected with the petty meannesses and cruelties of
Miguel.  Three years older than Jack, Miguel had played
the bully with the younger boy until he grew strong enough
to defend himself; and then, not daring to molest him
openly, he had shown great ingenuity in devising petty
annoyances which were even harder to bear than his
former brutalities.  He was cruel to children and animals
smaller than himself.  Jack remembered how Miguel had
once lamed a spaniel of his in wanton mischief, and how,
whenever Juanita, the only daughter of Don Fernan the
senior partner, had been brought to Barcelona on a visit,
she had often run to Jack's house in tears to seek
protection from the boy's bullying and domineering.  The tone
in which Miguel had referred to Don Fernan and Juanita
gave Jack vague uneasiness, and he paid scant heed to
Miguel's talk by the way, and scarcely answered him.

Don Miguel, however, was quite content to do all the
talking.  He was a patriot, he said, and high in favour
with General Palafox.  He had early volunteered in
defence of his country, and had won rapid promotion, being
now indeed, though but twenty years of age, a major in
Palafox's Hussars.  When the news of Castaños' defeat
arrived in Saragossa, Palafox had sent him off with the
news to General Moore, and he boasted largely of his
readiness to undertake, with only one servant, so perilous
a ride.  Not, he thought, that his servant would have
been of much use had they come across the French; he
would have had to trust to his own skill and courage, for
the poor man had unfortunately lost an eye; still, he was
a faithful fellow and a good forager.

Jack caught himself wondering what service the man
could have rendered the master.  It was scarcely in
Miguel's character to allow a mere question of sentiment
to outweigh the loss of an eye.  Jack recalled his passion
for display; he could not imagine him willingly accepting
a one-eyed follower.  This thought passed like a flash
through Jack's mind while Miguel was proceeding to
dilate complacently on the scenes of butchery and
torture he had witnessed as he came through the country
of the guerrilleros, who had no mercy on the stray
Frenchmen they succeeded in ambushing.  Jack at last gave
utterance to an exclamation of disgust.

"Ah!" sneered Miguel, "that is your English squeamishness.
You English have no nerves.  What is the good
of your coming out here?  We will show you how to
deal with these accursed Frenchmen, and if your stomach
turns against it, well, go home to your nurses in little
England, and play with your tin soldiers and toy guns,
for you are no good in Spain."

Their arrival at the inn checked the reply that rose to
Jack's lips.  Don Miguel, in the same oily, languid tone
that was causing Jack more and more irritation, ordered
the landlord to make himself scarce, as he had important
business to discuss with his friend, and in a few moments
the two were left alone in the room.  The Spaniard flung
off his cloak, revealing the resplendent uniform of
Palafox's Hussars, and as he removed his hat Jack noticed
a long, livid scar running from his brow to his left eye,
disfiguring what was otherwise a well-looking countenance
so far as features were concerned.

"And how is your excellent father?" asked Miguel as
he lolled in the only easy-chair in the room.  "He is
lucky, truly, for the stock in London is a good one, and he
will do a good business, whereas with us these troubles
have brought trade to a stand-still, and we are obliged to
suspend all operations.  But things will improve.  Don
Fernan, with his shrewd head for business, foresaw what
would happen, and took steps to realize what he could
on the stock before the outbreak of war, which was a
very lucky thing for my father and myself and Juanita.
And he could not have chosen a more convenient moment
for dying, for—"

"For dying!  Is Don Fernan dead?" cried Jack.

"Dead as a door-post, poor man!  I thought you would
be surprised to hear it.  He had been ailing ever since his
exertions in the siege of Saragossa last summer—there
was something wrong with his heart, I think,—and when
the news came that General Castaños had met with a
mishap at Tudela, he held up his hands and cried: 'Oh
my country! my poor country!' then fell forward and died.
He was an old man, of course, and must have died soon,
and I have only come a little sooner into the inheritance
that was bound to come to me."

"Did Don Fernan appoint you his heir, then?" asked
Jack with a keen look.  "What about Juanita?"

"Does it not come to the same thing, my friend?
Juanita, of course, is Don Fernan's heiress, but since in
a little while, when the mourning is over, she will marry
me—"

"Marry you!"

There was contempt as well as surprise in Jack's tone,
and Miguel evidently felt this, for he replied with flashing
eyes, though with no change in his bland manner:

"Yes, marry me—that was what I think I said.  Of
course if my good friend Jackino has any objection—"

"Good heavens!  Juanita is a thousand times too good
for you!" Jack blurted out.

"Quite so; she is a thousand times too good for any
man.  But since she does me the honour to become my
wife, you will surely not have the impudence to question
her choice, dear friend."

He hissed out the last sentence, and bent a little
forward.  Jack shrugged.

"She wasn't always so fond of you," he said bluntly.

"That is not the point, is it?" returned Miguel with
an exasperating smile.  "The match has long been talked
of; Don Fernan and my father were agreed that it was an
excellent arrangement for uniting the business interests of
the two families.  And now that Don Fernan is dead I shall
marry Juanita as soon as possible, my father will retire,
and I shall be the sole partner of your excellent father, for
you, of course, have a soul much above business, and will
no doubt ere long be a field-marshal.  Perhaps, however,
you have no ambition to earn fame in the open and heroic
way?  Your costume would suggest, my friend, that you
are satisfied with a more modest and retiring part—but
still, no doubt, profitable—"

"It seems to me, Miguel," said Jack, interrupting him
very quietly, "that you have forgotten the last thrashing I
gave you.  Remember, I am always at your service.  But
I should not advise you to risk another scar like the one
you have already.  How," he added quickly, "did you
come by that?"

Miguel's sullen face assumed a dusky hue, and the scar
showed all the more livid.  He flinched, as bullies will,
before Jack's menacing attitude.

"Hot-tempered as ever," he said with an attempt to
smile.  "Why will you take offence so easily?  What
have I said?  Here I find you, an Englishman, in Spanish
dress, and I conclude, naturally enough, that you are
fulfilling an office of very great importance and
usefulness, and when I—"

"Now look here, Miguel, I don't want to quarrel with
you, but you'd better understand at once that I'm not
a child, and that your oily tongue won't do you any good
with me.  I don't suppose we shall see much more of each
other; when—if—you marry Juanita you will settle down,
I suppose, in Saragossa, and our paths won't cross.  I
tell you frankly I'm astonished that Juanita will have you;
but she's old enough to know her own mind—though our
girls in England don't marry so early—and I hope with
all my heart she'll be happy.  And now I think I'd better
say good-night!"

"And good-bye!" said Miguel sweetly.  "I will carry
your good wishes to Juanita, be sure of that."

"Where is she, by the way?" asked Jack.

"In Saragossa, with her aunt the Doña Teresa."

"And you are returning immediately?"

"Oh no!  I go on to-morrow towards Leon, with
despatches for the Marquis of La Romana.  The Spanish
generals will have to strike a blow without the assistance
of your General Moore, it appears."

Jack ignored the sneer.

"Well, good-bye!" he said.  "There's no need to
suggest that you should take care the French don't catch
you."

"True, true, Jackino.  Give my respects, when you see
him, to your excellent father, to whom I hope to have
before long the honour of sending the documents relative
to the changes in the business.  Adios, amigo mio!"

He accompanied Jack to the door, and looked after him
with a mocking smile.  Jack, pulling his cloak more
closely around him, and his sombrero lower over his eyes,
walked rapidly to his quarters, where, proceeding directly
to his room, he threw himself upon his bed with a sigh
of weariness and contentment.

But it was long before the much-needed sleep came to
him.  He lay awake, unable to keep his thoughts from
running round the circle of his adventures and dwelling
on his unexpected meeting with Miguel.  The more he
thought of his conversation with that gentleman the more
puzzled he felt.  As a child, Juanita had shrunk from the
boy and had never willingly gone into his presence.  It
was very odd that she should have overcome her dislike
and now be ready to marry him.  Perhaps she still
disliked him, and had agreed to the match merely because
it was desired by Don Fernan and Miguel's father, Don
Esteban.  But even then it was extraordinary, for Don
Fernan himself had never shown any liking for Miguel,
and had indeed on many occasions taken him severely to
task and punished him for acts of deceit and dishonesty.
Miguel did not appear to Jack to have changed: what had
altered Don Fernan's opinion of him?  Then, too, there
was Don Fernan's letter, in which he had spoken of his
anxiety on behalf of his daughter.  Why, if he were
satisfied with the proposed match, should he be anxious
about her future?  And what had General Palafox to do
with all this?  Miguel was the general's trusted messenger;
could Palafox have influenced Don Fernan's judgment?
Jack wished he could go to Saragossa, and enquire for
himself into all the circumstances—see Juanita, and
discover whether she were in truth a willing bride.  And
then he thought of the phrase Don Fernan had so
carefully impressed upon his memory: "Palafox the man,
Palafox the name," and with this repeating itself to the
hundredth time in his weary brain he at length fell asleep,
and slept on until he was awakened about ten o'clock next
morning by loud cries in the street.

Springing from bed, he ran to the window.  Men were
waving their hats, women their fans and handkerchiefs.
At every window there was a fluttering scarf.  Loud vivas
rose into the air as an officer in full uniform, followed by a
gorgeously-dressed orderly, clattered by.

The officer smiled with gratification at the warmth of
the cheers, and kissed his hand gallantly to the ladies
who peeped at him out of their mantillas.  Jack smiled
satirically.

"Pooh!  It's only Don Miguel Priego!  Confound the sneak!"

He was about to withdraw, when the orderly turned
his head to the left, as though seeking a share of the
admiration so lavishly bestowed on his superior.  Jack
noticed that one eye-socket was closed; the man's
remaining eye had a curiously malign glitter that gave the
beholder a strange sense of uneasiness.

"Is this how people feel when they talk of the evil
eye?" he said to himself with an unmirthful laugh.  Then
he donned his own clothes and went gloomily downstairs
to find his brother officers.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Some Surprises`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER IX


.. class:: center large bold

   Some Surprises

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   At the Cross-Roads—A Mêlée—Bagged—Franceschi's
   Chasseurs—Under Guard—A Hard Case—Moore's
   Plans—Reconnoitring—Within the Gates—Caged—Blind
   Man's Buff—A Strategic Move—A Dash on Rueda—An
   Alarm—A Chase in the Dark—A Tragedy

.. vspace:: 2

About two o'clock on a frosty December afternoon, some
ten days after Jack Lumsden's return to Salamanca, four
riders were walking their horses up a slight incline about
three miles out of Alaejos towards Valladolid.  Three
of them were troopers in the 18th Light Dragoons, the
fourth, riding slightly in advance of the rest, was Jack
himself, now wearing his own uniform, and mounted on a
fine black charger borrowed from the regiment to which
his companions belonged.  A few yards from the crest of
the hill, lying back from the road, was a mean-looking
hovel at the door of which stood a little black-eyed girl,
who watched the advancing riders with her finger in her
mouth.

"Hullo, little girl," said Jack in Spanish, pulling up as
he came abreast of her, "are we on the right road for
Tordesillas?"

The child gave a scared look at the troopers and fled
into the hut without replying.

"You've sent the timid little beggar into her burrow,"
said Jack with a smile.  At the same moment a heavy-browed
man appeared at the door, in the rough coat and
thick gaiters of a muleteer.

"Ha, my friend," said Jack in a genial tone, "your
little daughter needn't have been afraid of us!  Are we
going right for Tordesillas?"

"Straight on, Señor," replied the man, with stolid
countenance.  "Over the river; you can't miss your way."

"Thanks!  Any sign of the French hereabout?"

"Never a man—the saints forbid!" said the man with
a scowl.  "They carried off my last pig six months ago.
Gr-r-r!  I hate them!"

"Well, they won't trouble you much longer if we can
help it.  Buenas tardes!"

"Vaya usted con Dios, Señor!" replied the muleteer,
doffing his hat; and as the Englishman rode off, his little
daughter came to his side and watched with him their
retreating figures.

A mile farther on they had just crossed the stream of
which the man had spoken, when Jack suddenly reined up
his horse and in a low tone ordered his men to halt.

"Do you hear anything, Kelly?" he asked of one of the
troopers.

The man turned his head aside, and his companions sat
motionless, an expectant look upon their faces.

"Riders, sir!" said Kelly in a moment.

"I thought so," returned Jack.  "To our right, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a moment's silence.  Behind them came a
slight murmur from the full river, but more distinctly,
from some distant point beyond a wall-enclosed orchard
on their right, sounded the unmistakable clatter of horses'
hoofs on the hard road.

"Wait here," said Jack, springing from his horse.
"Don't make a sound.  I'm going forward to reconnoitre.
Hold my horse's rein, Kelly, and don't let him
champ his bit."

He ran forward, round a slight bend in the road.  In
two minutes he was back.

"Men," he said in a low voice, "there's a road to the
right, and half a dozen Frenchmen riding down towards
us.  I think they're French—by their helmets.  We four
are a match for the six, eh?"

The men grinned.

Jack rapidly took stock of the situation.  The wind was
almost due east; he and his men were riding north-east,
and as they were the smaller party, and had been travelling
only at walking pace, it was not likely that the enemy had
heard them coming.  The idea of dismounting his men
and forming an ambuscade at first suggested itself.  Jack
glanced round for a convenient tree or post to which they
might tether the horses; but though there were plenty of
trees beyond the orchard wall, the only way in was a
quarter of a mile to their rear.  This meant that even if
the ambuscade were successful two at least of the enemy
would be almost certain to escape, for Jack and his men,
with three carbines and a pistol, could at the best only
account for four at the first volley, and the remaining two
would have a start of half a mile before they could be
pursued.  On the other hand, if Jack told off a man to hold the
horses, his striking force would be reduced to three, and
there was always the risk that two of the horses—young
Spanish chargers purchased at Salamanca and only
half-trained—would break away at the sound of the firing.
For these reasons Jack preferred to trust to cold steel.

Giving his commands almost in a whisper, he drew up
his men in line under cover of the wall, about thirty yards
from the cross-road, ordering them to be in readiness to
charge at the word.  Each man silently drew his sabre
and Jack uncovered his sword, still fresh as when he
received it from the makers in Pall Mall.  It was not
perhaps quite so suitable for the purpose in hand as the
weapons carried by the troopers, but Jack knew that it
was of the highest temper, and felt confident that it would
not fail him.

In little more than a minute the increasing clatter
showed that the unsuspecting Frenchmen were approaching
the cross-roads.  There was no slackening of pace
as they neared the junction, and Jack inferred from this
that their route lay straight across the main road towards
Castroduno or Toro.  Every second seemed like a minute
to him as he waited for the horsemen to arrive, but after
what seemed an interminable delay two helmets at last
appeared beyond the angle of the wall.  Jack drove his
spurs into his horse, giving the word "Charge!" and,
with their leader a pace or two in advance, the three
troopers dashed forward.  In a few seconds the two
bodies met with a terrific shock.  The French dragoons,
unable to check their progress, had just had time to draw
their sabres; the leading files had half-wheeled their
horses to meet the storm, but the two succeeding troopers
were taken square on the flank, and all the advantage of
momentum being on the side of the attacking force, the
whole four went down like a ship struck by a squall.
Almost before Jack could realize what had happened he
was reining in his horse on the far side of the cross-road;
three of the Frenchmen were lying motionless on the road,
a fourth, dismounted, was defending himself with spirit
against one of Jack's troopers, and three horses were
scampering wildly towards Toro.  He was wheeling his
horse round, when, almost at the same moment, two
bullets whizzed past his head.  The two remaining
Frenchmen had halted before reaching the cross-road,
rapidly fired their carbines, and, turning round in the
direction from which they had come, were now galloping
wildly away.

"After them, Kelly!" shouted Jack to the corporal,
who was just beside him; and, leaving the other two
troopers to secure the dismounted Frenchmen, the two
dashed off at a mad gallop.  They were a hundred yards
behind at the start; the Frenchmen were down upon their
horses' necks, shouting to the beasts in a fever of haste.
But as luck would have it, they were heavy men; Jack
was a light-weight, and before the chase had proceeded
for two hundred yards he began to gain, and the interval
between himself and Kelly was increasing.  Foot by foot
he made up on his quarry; in little more than a mile he
was at the heels of the rearmost Frenchman.  The man,
feeling that he was at a disadvantage, suddenly swerved
towards the near side of the road, bending low as he did
so to avoid Jack's blow, and then, as Jack darted past,
pulled his horse on his haunches and wheeled round to
meet Kelly.  Thinking he could safely leave this man
to the heavy trooper, Jack rode on after the Frenchman
in front, and within a couple of minutes had him at his
mercy.  The dragoon had no time to turn and meet his
pursuer; with a horse of superior speed, Jack, coming up
behind him, had a terrible advantage over the fugitive,
who was painfully twisting himself round in the saddle
to meet the expected blow.  Choosing his opportunity,
Jack, dropping his own sword, wrested the Frenchman's
sabre from his grasp, and next moment drove him into
the hedge.

"Je me rends! je me rends!" cried the Frenchman,
panting.

"Comme de juste!" gasped Jack, who then turned to
see how Kelly was faring.  He had ridden down and over
the luckless dragoon, who, rising painfully to his feet,
called for quarter.  Being a strapping fellow, the trooper
had been unable to do more than maintain his distance
from the second Frenchman, who, however, seeing Jack
now standing full in his path, recognized that the game
was up, checked his horse, and quietly surrendered his
sword just as Kelly came bustling to his side.

.. _`Jack Captures a Dragoon`:

.. figure:: images/img-096.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Jack Captures a Dragoon

   Jack Captures a Dragoon

"Jolly good chase, sir!" said Kelly, as Jack and his
prisoner came up.  "The froggies showed the cleanest
pair of heels I ever did see."

"You stuck to it like a Briton," said Jack.  "Now
we'll get back to the others and see what damage is
done."

With the two Frenchmen disarmed between them, they
retraced their steps, the Frenchmen sitting limp and
careless, with a resigned expression of countenance that tickled
Kelly's sense of humour.

"Where do you come from, mon brave?" asked Jack
of the man next to him.

"From Rueda, monsieur le capitaine," answered the
trooper with a smile.  Jack chuckled inwardly at his
sudden promotion, and went on:

"And what is your regiment?"

"Mais, monsieur, the 22nd Chasseurs of General Franceschi's
cavalry.  And little did we think, monsieur, that
we should meet Englishmen to-day.  Eh bien! it is all the
fortune of war, and monsieur le capitaine rides a good
horse."

"No better than your own, mon brave," said Jack, not
to be outdone in politeness.  "Well now, how many of
your regiment may happen to be in Rueda, if I may ask?"

The trooper looked at him with twinkling eyes.

"Non, non, monsieur le capitaine," he said.  "You
have captured our patrol: c'est égal! but you want to
know too much.  I tell you how many?  Non, non; but
we are enough to capture all Sir Moore's army before
it ends its retreat to Lisbon.  Monsieur wants to spoil
the joke."

"Very well," said Jack with a laugh.  "I won't press
you; but there are more ways than one of killing a cat,
as we say in English."

He kept up an amicable conversation with the Frenchman
until they arrived at the cross-roads.  There he found
his two troopers mounting guard over the four wounded
chasseurs, and Jack was sufficiently new to warfare to feel
relieved and glad that no life had been lost.  The dragoons
had made clumsy attempts to bind up their prisoners'
wounds, and had allowed the least injured of them to
fetch water in his helmet from the stream.

"That's right," said Jack as he came up.  "We've
had an unexpected piece of luck, my men, and our capture
may be important.  But we have no time to lose.  We
made noise enough along the road to bring up the whole
French army if it's hereabouts.  Lucky the regiment isn't
far behind us.  Now help these fellows on to their horses;
we'll take them back to the hut we left a while ago, and
I'll leave them in your charge while I go on alone and pick
up a little information."

"May I come, sir?" asked Kelly.  "'Tisn't safe to go alone."

"Safer for one than two.  But come along; there's no
time to waste, and it's getting dark."

In a few minutes the cavalcade had reached the hut
on the hillside.  The muleteer glowered viciously at the
prisoners as they were led up to his door, and handled
his knife as though he would have liked there and then
to take vengeance upon them for the loss of his favourite
pig.  But Jack allowed no mistake about his intentions;
he told the man that the prisoners would remain with him,
in charge of the dragoons, until the British advance-guard
under General Stewart arrived.

"I'm going on to Rueda," he added.  "How far is
it from here?"

"A league and a half, Señor," said the man.

"That's about seven miles as your Spanish league goes.
Kelly, if General Stewart arrives before I get back, tell him
that there are some of General Franceschi's chasseurs at
Rueda on our right flank, and I've gone to find out how
many.  If all goes well I'll be back within two hours."

"Very good, sir!" said Kelly, and then looked as
though he would have said more.

"Well, what is it?" asked Jack.

"Beg pardon, sir, but you'll be nabbed as sure as a
gun.  Your uniform—"

"Don't worry, Kelly.  I'm going to borrow an outfit
from one of our French friends here.  Come, mon ami,"
he said, turning to the sergeant whom he had captured,
"I must trouble you to take off some of your things—your
helmet, say, and your cloak, your breeches, and your
boots; I think they'll be enough."

"Pardon, monsieur le capitaine, but I'm a soldier of the
emperor, and the emperor would shoot me as a traitor if I
parted with my uniform to an Englishman."

"That would be unfortunate.  But we can't stand on
ceremony now; make haste, if you please."

"But, monsieur," said the man, "the breeches won't
fit you."

"They will be a trifle baggy, but no one will be critical
in the dark.  Come now, hurry up!"

"But, monsieur, I shall be cold, I shall freeze.  If
monsieur will lend me his things in exchange, perhaps—"

"No, thanks!  If you're cold you'd better ask the
muleteer to lend you some things, or, better still, go to
bed.  Kelly, come and help the sergeant off with his
things."

But as Kelly approached him with a grin, the Frenchman
unclasped his cloak and proceeded to divest himself
of the garments Jack required.  Soon Jack was cantering
off on his reconnoitring expedition to Rueda.

By this time it was almost dark, and Jack rode gently,
partly in order to avoid mishap, and partly to spare his
horse in case hard work were required of him later.  His
blood tingled with the excitement of his recent adventure
and with anticipation of the unknown adventures before
him.  Like his brother officers, and indeed every member
of the army, from the chief of staff to the smallest
drummer-boy, he rejoiced in the sudden change of plan which Sir
John Moore had announced about a week before.  The
news he himself had brought to the general, reinforced by
further news obtained through Manuel and Juan, and by
information that the Spanish armies were concentrating,
had determined Sir John, on December 5th, to countermand
his order to retreat.  The French, he had learnt,
were not marching in his direction, but towards Madrid,
which, he was assured, was defended by large forces at the
difficult Somosierra Pass, and would resist to the utmost.
He put little faith in the Spaniards' power of resistance, but
he saw a possibility of creating a diversion in their favour,
and of cutting in between Soult and Napoleon and striking
a blow at the former.  If Madrid had not yet fallen, his
movement might draw off Napoleon and save the capital,
or at any rate he might make matters so unpleasant, by
seizing Valladolid and Burgos, that time would be gained
for the re-equipment of the Spanish armies.  If, on the
other hand, Madrid fell, he could still make a run for it.
He therefore ordered Baird on his left and Hope on his
right to move forward towards Valladolid, while he himself
prepared to advance on the same town by way of Alaejos
and Tordesillas, acquainting the Marquis of La Romana,
who was at Leon, some 120 miles due north of Salamanca,
with his intentions.

A few days after Moore had arrived at this decision he
received the news that Madrid had capitulated to Napoleon.
It was a severe blow.  He had hoped against hope that
the Spanish promises would at last be fulfilled, that their
boasts would at last justify themselves.  Once more the
Spaniards had shown their instability.  But Moore was
not disposed to alter his plans; there seemed every
probability of his striking a successful blow at the French
communications.  On December 11th, then, the infantry moved
out from Salamanca, General Paget marching with the
reserve for Toro, where his brother, Lord Paget, had
already arrived with Baird's cavalry, while Hope left Alba
de Tormes next day to join the main body on the Valladolid
road.  The advance along this road was led by General
Charles Stewart's cavalry brigade, consisting of Hussars
and Light Dragoons.  It happened that during the
previous week Jack had more than once been sent backwards
and forwards between Salamanca and Alba de Tormes
with despatches and reports, and he had come under the
notice of General Stewart.  When the advance was
ordered, Stewart, thinking that Jack would be useful in
gathering news from the Spaniards, and acting as
interpreter in matters connected with commissariat and
billeting, asked that he might be temporarily attached to him
as extra aide-de-camp, and it was while riding ahead to
enquire about billets in Tordesillas that Jack met with
the adventure just related.

As he rode along towards Rueda he could not help
feeling a glow of satisfaction at his continued good luck.
But he did not indulge in idle dreams.  It was now too
dark to see, but his ears were keenly alert to catch any
sound that betokened danger, and he told Pomeroy afterwards
that he felt as sensitive as a cat's whiskers.  His
enterprise was obviously full of peril, for he had no
knowledge of the number of troops in Rueda, or of that
town itself, and it behoved him to go warily.  If the
French force was large, there would certainly be outposts
at some distance from the town, and every now and then
he pulled up his horse and waited, straining eyes and ears
for a sound or a light.

At length, when he had been riding for about three-quarters
of an hour, he saw, at the bottom of a slight
hollow more than half a mile in his front, a twinkle of
light which he inferred came from a house by the
roadside.  Dismounting at once he led his horse off the road
to the left, and found that he was in a vineyard where
many of the poles used for supporting the vines were still
standing in the soil.  He led his horse well out of sight
from the road, tied him to one of these poles, patted
his neck, and then set off to walk through the field,
keeping a distance of about fifty yards from the highway.
The light shone more clearly now, and as he approached
it he went ever more and more cautiously, stopping at one
point to remove the spurs that, in spite of his careful
tread, made a slight clanking on the frozen ground.  At
thirty yards distance from the light he saw that it
proceeded from the window of a small cabin not unlike the
muleteer's behind him.  Now every step he took was
as stealthy as a cat's.  His pulse beat a little faster as
he came within a few feet of the cabin, though he was
barely conscious of this, so intent was he on the task in
hand.

He crept at first behind the hut and waited for a
moment.  Voices reached him from within.  Pressing his
ear against the wooden wall, he distinguished a few
exclamations in French, and then a burst of laughter.

"They're having a high old time!" he said to himself
with a chuckle.  "Evidently well occupied.  I'll chance it."

Stealing round the hut he fell down on hands and knees
and crawled till he came beneath the window; he then
removed his helmet, took a breath, and raised himself inch
by inch until he could just peer over the lower sill.  For
a moment his eyes were dazzled by the light.  As they
became more accustomed to it he saw four French
troopers, in the same uniform as the one he now wore,
seated at a round table playing cards.  An empty bottle
stood in the centre, and some glasses were half-full of red
wine.  Jack inferred at once that the cabin was a sort of
impromptu guard-room, from which sentries were posted
at the entrance to the village.

"Pretty sentries!" he said to himself.  "I wouldn't
give much for their skins if Boney caught them!  They're
making enough row to drown the sound of an army.  So
much for that."

Lowering himself with equal care, he crept away, rose
to his feet, and set off at a sharp walk towards Rueda.
Before long he descried a number of scattered lights
ahead.  Then he found himself in a lane that appeared
to lead towards the town.  "Here goes," he thought, and
without hesitation struck up the lane in the direction of
the lights.

It led straight into the principal street.  Jack walked
boldly on, thinking that boldness would attract less
attention than stealth.  He noticed that nearly all the houses
at this end of the place were lit up.  Sounds of merriment
floated upon the air—a laugh, a cheer, an exclamation of
anger, the clink of glasses, the rattle of dice.  There was
a small inn; twenty yards away Jack smelt fried onions,
and longed for his supper.  The street was empty, and
as he went forward he observed that the houses were
almost all dark, and guessed that the French were
billeted at the end he had passed.  By and by he came
to the Plaza, a narrow open space in the centre of the
town, and saw what was evidently the town-house
looming before him, a large building in the middle of the
square.  He halted in the shadow of a church porch.

"There'll be a sentry posted here," he thought.  "I
wonder which side of the building he is on!"  He hesitated
for a moment whether to proceed or to return at once,
seeing no prospect of obtaining definite information of
the number of the French.  "In for a penny in for a
pound," he said to himself; "I'll try another few yards."

He chose the street passing by the left-hand face of the
town-house, and stole along on tiptoe.  A narrow beam
of light fell obliquely across the street from an upper
window on his left, throwing a luminous circle on the
townhouse wall just above the level of his head.  He skirted
the wall, and had reached the mid-point of that face of the
square, when a voice suddenly arrested his steps.

"Señor, charity for a poor prisoner.  A copper, Señor,
for the love of God!"

The voice appeared to come from just above his head.
There was something in the tone that seemed familiar,
and with a quickening pulse he resolved to test the
surmise which had flashed upon him.  Retracing his steps
for a couple of yards, he looked up, and there, full in the
shaft of light from the house opposite, he saw the barred
grating of a dungeon, and, pressed against the bars—yes,
it was the small elfin face of the gipsy boy Pepito.
"Here's luck again!" he thought.  Being below the level
of the beam of light, Jack himself was out of sight, and
he knew that Pepito could only have caught the sound of
his footsteps, and must have addressed him without
knowing who he was.  Putting his hand into the pocket of his
breeches—forgetting they were not his own—he took out
a few copper coins, and stretched his arm up towards the
grating.

"Here you are, poor prisoner!" he said softly in Spanish.

A low exclamation answered him.  The coins were
taken, and a small lean hand pressed his gently.

"Muchas gracias," said Pepito; then turning to speak
to someone behind him in the cell: "A Christian gives
alms to the poor, and four noble Spaniards and a gipsy
boy will not go supperless to bed."

"Four noble Spaniards!" echoed Jack.  "Let me
speak with one of them."

Pepito disappeared instantly, and his place was taken
by a large, heavy-jawed Spaniard, whom Jack recognized
at once as the stableman who had led the pursuit of him
from Olmedo.  The man looked suspiciously at the French
uniform.

"Hist!  I may help you," began Jack, but at this
moment he heard the clamp-clamp of ammunition boots
approaching from round the corner behind him.  "The
sentry!" he thought.  "Silence!  I will come back," he
whispered.

He crept along the wall on tiptoe, in the direction away
from the approaching footsteps.  At the same time he
heard from within the cell Pepito's shrill voice in song:

   |  "Kosko gry!  Romany gry!
   |  Muk man kistur tuté knaw!"
   |

"Clever little imp!" he thought.  "He didn't give me
away to his companions there, and now he's trying to
smother the sound of my footsteps."

He turned the corner and waited.  The sentry was still
approaching with measured tread, and when he arrived
beneath the grating he cried angrily:

"Tais-toi, maraud!  Il faut te taire, ou je vais te brûler
la cervelle."

The singing ceased, and the sentry with a grunt resumed
his march.

"He's going to make the round of the building,"
thought Jack.  "So will I; but I hope to goodness no
one will be passing on the other side."

He tiptoed along and turned the other corner.  Not a
soul was to be seen.  He waited.  On this face of the
building was the door, over which a feeble light flickered,
and Jack wondered whether it was open, and if he would
be seen from within.  But there was no time for hesitation.
The tramping sentry was coming behind him.  Taking his
courage in both hands, Jack slipped along, passed the
door safely, turned the farther corner, and in another
half-minute was back under the grating, breathless with
excitement.

For a moment he stood listening.  The sentry had halted
in front of the building.

"Hist!  Are you there?" he whispered towards the
grating.

"Sí, Señor," said the man.

"Now, answer quickly.  How many French are in the town?"

"About a hundred, Señor."

"Foot or horse?"

"Half one, half the other."

"And they come from—"

"From Segovia, Señor."

"That'll do.  Where's that gipsy boy?"

"But, Señor—"

"Hush!  Where's the gipsy?"

"Here, Señor," said Pepito, pulling the Spaniard away.

"Here's a few pesetas.  Buy them all a supper from
the jailer.  All being well, I'll have you out to-night."

Then he thought for an instant.  He must make sure
his escape from the town.  What if the sentry were again
moving round the square?  Stepping softly into the road,
he picked up a large loose cobble and flung it with all his
force towards the corner farthest away from the road he
meant to take.  The stone struck the road several yards
beyond the building, and made a clatter as it ricochetted
along.  He heard an exclamation from the sentry, who
set off at a quick step in the direction of the sound.
Without more delay Jack hastened in the opposite direction,
hearing behind him, more and more faintly, the quaint
refrain of the gipsy's wild song:

   |  "Kosko gry!  Romany gry!
   |  Muk man kistur tuté knaw!"
   |

He arrived safely at the end of the street.  The mirth
of the French was even more uproarious, their fancied
security clearly still more confident.  Out of the town,
into the lane, Jack hurried at full speed; past the
guard-house, along over the field, among the bare vine-poles
until he reached his horse again.  A whinny greeted him.
He sprang on to the animal's back, and cantered back
rapidly in the direction of the Valladolid road.

"We'll make a clean swoop of them or I'm a Dutchman,"
he said to himself gleefully.  "Was there ever
such luck—and such bad management!  Won't Charley
Stewart be delighted!"

On he rode, keeping his ears open for the slightest
sound.  He had come, as he judged, within a mile of the
scene of his afternoon's adventure when he heard the
sound of horses trotting.  Turning off the road, he walked
his horse for some distance across the field and waited.
The riders were approaching him.  He tried to determine
from the sound of the hoofs how many they were.  Then
he heard voices—they carried far in the silence of the
frosty night,—and as they came opposite him he heard
an English voice say with a growl:

"'Pon my soul, the madcap deserves to be nabbed!"

"Charley himself!" chuckled Jack.  "Who goes there?"
he called.

The horses stopped, and a voice called sharply:

"Who are you?"

"Lumsden of the 95th."

"Gad, it's the fellow himself.  Come and show yourself,
you daredevil!  Where in the world have you been?"

"Into Rueda and back, sir," said Jack, saluting.

"And what the blazes have you been doing there?"

"Taking stock, sir.  There are a hundred French in
the town, cavalry and infantry mixed, and they're all hard
at it with drink and cards."

"The deuce they are!  No sentries, eh?"

"A few in a cabin this side of the town, sir, but they're
busy at the same game."

"Are they, begad?  Seymour, we'll collar this little
lot.  We were coming to rescue your dead body, young
man, and you've disappointed us.  Ride back, there,
and tell the squadron to hurry.  We'll draw first blood
to-night."

Ten minutes later the whole squadron of 250 men of the
18th Light Dragoons, General Stewart himself in
command, were on their way to Rueda.  Jack rode ahead by
the general's side—no longer in French uniform, for when
the squadron arrived on the scene Kelly came forward
and said:

"Brought these, sir; thought you might want 'em."

He handed Jack his head-dress and cloak, receiving the
Frenchman's cloak and helmet in exchange.

"I didn't bring the breeches, sir," added Kelly,
"thinking it might be a cold change to-night."

"Right, Kelly! and that reminds me that I've borrowed
some of the Frenchman's money; all fair in war, eh?"

General Stewart enquired of Jack as they rode how he
had contrived to pick up his information.

"Famous, famous!" he exclaimed when the tale had
been briefly told.  "We mustn't let a man escape if we
can help it.  If Franceschi doesn't hear of this we may
scoop up his whole division.  How are we going to escape
the sentries?  They can't fail to hear us on this hard road,
and we can't muffle the horses' hoofs."

"If you like, sir," suggested Jack, "I'll go ahead with
a few men across the fields and collar them first."

"You want to do it all, eh?  Very well; we'll halt when
you tell us.  If anything goes wrong, give us a hail and
we'll be on your tracks like the wind."

When he judged that the squadron had arrived at a safe
distance Jack gave the word, the general halted, and Jack
went forward across the fields with four men to make a
detour and come upon the sentries' cabin from the
direction of Rueda, thereby to deceive the Frenchmen into the
belief that the approaching riders were a party coming
out to relieve guard.  Jack's men had ridden two hundred
yards beyond the cabin, and were just turning to the left
to regain the road, when one of the men declared that he
heard the sound of trotting horses from the town.

"That's a relief patrol," said Jack.  "Ride back to the
general, Kelly; tell him we can hardly hope to surprise
the town now, and ask him to pick up the men in the
cabin as he passes.  Now, dragoons, forward with me
into Rueda."

They set spurs to their horses, and made for the road.
Secrecy was no longer possible; the approaching chasseurs
heard them, stopped short, hesitated a moment, then
turned tail and made at full speed back towards the town,
with Jack and his men close at their heels.

"Who's in first, my boys!" cried Jack, rising in his
stirrups and urging his flying steed.  On they went,
heedless of the road, sparks flying from the hoofs, the horses
snorting with the joy of the chase.  Into the town with a
clash and a clatter!

"Sauve qui peut!  Les Anglais!  Les Anglais!" shouted
the sergeant of the flying patrol.  Instantly the little town
was filled with noise, the inns belched forth their scared
revellers, from every house streamed soldiers, drunk and
sober, some in full uniform, some half-dressed, some
without swords, some without muskets, the chasseurs clamouring
for their horses, the officers of Lefebvre's infantry
shouting to their men to form up and stand firm in the
square.  Jack dashed on.  A pistol flashed at him; he
heeded nothing, keeping his eye on the form of the
sergeant who headed the patrol, and who had now
distanced his companions, and was clearly making in a panic
for safety.  By this time about sixty of the infantry had
formed up in some sort of order in the square.  Giving
rein to his horse, the sergeant of chasseurs, yelling
incoherent exclamations, dashed into their midst, cleft a
way through them, and pelted on towards the other end
of the town.  At his heels flew Jack, whom in the
confusion and the semi-darkness the Frenchmen appeared to
take for one of themselves.  Behind him he heard the
clatter of hoofs and the shouts of Stewart's dragoons as
they dashed into the town, the crack of pistols, the dull
thud of infantry muskets, then the clash of sabres and the
yells of wounded men.  Still he rode on.  "Not a man
must escape," the general had said, and not a man should,
if Jack could help it.

He was now out of the town, and the Frenchman was
apparently losing ground.  Jack spurred his panting horse,
and knew by the louder clicks of the hoofs before him
that he was gaining on the enemy.  But it was only for
a moment.  The chasseur shouted to his horse, flung a
mocking cry behind, and tore on at increased speed.
On went Jack, his mouth set, determined to run his
quarry down if only his horse would hold out.  Mile
after mile the chase continued; each horseman could hear
the pants of the other's steed, each rode headlong,
careless of ruts or stones, Jack hoping now against hope that
something would happen to check the Frenchman's career.
His own horse was almost done; he remembered that it
had had scarcely any rest for half a day, while the
chasseur's was probably fresh; and it occurred to him at length
that the Frenchman could easily have outstripped him if
he pleased, and must be holding him now for his own
malicious amusement, or perhaps to lure him on till he
reached a larger body of Franceschi's men.  Just as he was
wondering whether it might not be the more discreet part
to relinquish the chase, he caught sight of lights ahead.
The Frenchman was quickening his pace; evidently then
he did not expect to find friends in the village or town to
which they were coming.  Jack endeavoured to get still
more out of his own breathless steed.  On went the
chasseur at full gallop into the town.  At the door of an inn
a group of men was gathered, some of their number
holding flaring torches above their heads.  The crowd parted
to make way for the flying horseman, and he dashed
pell-mell through their midst.

"The game's up!" thought Jack with a sigh of
disappointment.  "Poor old horse!  You're done up."  He
rode into the crowd.  "After him!" he cried in Spanish,
pointing after the Frenchman.  "After him, hombres!
The English are at Rueda.  Don't let him escape.  My
horse is foundered; somebody mount and catch the dog!"

But not a man moved in response to his cry.  Jack
dismounted, trembling in every limb, and furious with the
Spaniards for their apathy.  As he led his quivering horse
towards the inn, and the throng gathered around him, he
stopped suddenly, for there, in front of the inn door,
stretched on his back, lay a soldier, his eyes closed, his
cheeks pale in the ghastly torchlight, a dark stain
marking the frosty road.

"What is it?  Who is he?" asked Jack.  He looked
round, and saw at the inn door a man with a reeking knife
in his hand.  As Jack passed, the man came forward.

"I did it!  One of the accursed French.  I killed him!"

He went on to explain that he was the posting-master
of the place.  The French horseman had ridden up half an
hour before and demanded refreshment; he had behaved
with such insolence and brutality that human nature could
not endure it.

"He was an enemy of my country, and I killed him!"
the man concluded.

Jack shuddered involuntarily, and stepped round the
corpse to enter the inn.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Emperor's Despatch`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER X


.. class:: center large bold

   The Emperor's Despatch

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Spoils of War—Hard Cash—A Good Bargain—"To Command the
   World"—A Wigging—"Missing"—Through the Night—Dead
   Beat—Grumbling—A Late Breakfast—Mixed Metaphors—A
   Change of Route

.. vspace:: 2

Jack threw himself wearily into a chair.  He was tired,
famished, disappointed—above all, disappointed,—for he
had set his heart on capturing the Frenchman as a crowning
achievement for this crowded day.  For a few moments
he sat staring with downcast eyes at the floor; then he
pulled himself together.

"It can't be helped," he thought.  "I did my
best.—Landlord, give me some food."

The landlord put down on the table, between two
smoking candles, the knife which he had retained up
to this moment.

"Some food for the caballero," he said to one of his
men.  "And you, Perez, go outside and bury that carrion
Frenchman."

Some minutes passed.  Jack found that he had no appetite
for the crude dishes set before him, and heard dully,
with inattentive ears, the slow monotone of the landlord,
who seemed to be anxious to justify to himself the act of
murder he had committed.  Presently two of the inn
servants entered.

"We have buried him, master," said the first.  "And
his clothes are rich; we thought maybe you would wish to
have them."

His companion came forward, and laid before the
inn-keeper a heap of garments.

"He was a handsome man," added the first.

"Fine feathers, fine feathers!" muttered the landlord.
He took the garments up one by one, turning them over
and commenting on them.  There was a black cloth
pelisse, a white dolman with gold braid and fur, and a
shako of scarlet cloth, surmounted by an aigrette of
white heron's plumes.  The uniform was ornate with gold
braid, cord, and buttons; and a rich sash of black and gold
silk, a small cartridge-pouch, a sabretache, and a long
Damascene sabre completed the brilliant appointments.
As Jack watched the landlord fingering the articles, he
recognized vaguely that they could only have belonged
to a soldier of high rank or position, and for the first
time he wondered what had brought the Frenchman to
this out-of-the-way village of Valdestillos.  The landlord
stroked the fur of the dolman caressingly.

"Worth some dollars, this," he said, shaking it out to
see its full extent.  As he did so, a folded paper fell to the
floor.  Jack was up in an instant.

"I want that," he said, fatigue, hunger, disappointment
forgotten at once.  He stepped forward, but the landlord
put his foot on the paper.

"No, no, Señor," he said quickly.  "He was my
prisoner; I killed him; all his things are mine."

"But don't you see," said Jack, now hardly able to
control his excitement; "don't you see, the man was a
despatch-rider!  That explains his rich uniform.  Perhaps
he was one of Napoleon's own aides-de-camp, and the fate
of all Spain may lie in that simple paper.  You must give
it to me, landlord; I must take it to my general."

Jack was too much agitated at the moment to perceive
that his urgent manner was likely to defeat his ends.  The
probability that the paper had value had aroused the
cupidity of the landlord, who stooped cautiously, picked
up the despatch, and thrust it into his pocket.

"It is mine—mine," he said gloatingly.  The man's
attitude served to quiet Jack's nerves.

"Very well," he said.  "Keep it.  I wouldn't be in
your shoes for something.  Your servants have seen the
despatch.  Look, there's a crowd of peasants gaping at
the door there.  You can't keep it quiet, even if anything
happens to me; and when General Stewart finds out what
a patriot you are, he'll send you to the Marquis of La
Romana, and then—"

Jack shrugged expressively.  The servants cast uneasy
glances at their master, who at first frowned at them, then
himself looked uncomfortable.

"What does the Señor offer for it?" he said at length
with a covetous leer.

"You sell your patriotism, eh?  Well, I'll give you five
dollars."

The landlord shook his head.

"I have lost many dollars of late through the war.  It
is worth more than five dollars."

"Well, I won't stick at a few dollars.  Say ten."

"No, no.  The Marquis of La Romana would give
more than ten."

"I won't haggle with you," cried Jack.  "I make you a
last offer.  If you accept it, you are so much to the good;
if you refuse it, you not only won't get a maravedi, but
you'll come pretty badly off when the authorities hear of it.
I'll give you twenty dollars, and not a peseta more."

The landlord looked at him enquiringly, as though
questioning whether he might not squeeze a few more
dollars from the young officer.  Jack eyed him firmly.

"That's final," he said.  "Twenty dollars, or nothing,
plus your country's curse."

"A paltry sum!" said the innkeeper.  "In cash?" he
asked cunningly.

"In cash.  I have the money here."

"Let me see it."

Chafing at the man's suspicion, Jack unbuckled his
belt, and counted out from the pockets on the inside
twenty small golden dollars of the old coinage of Spain.
The landlord's eye gleamed.  He took out the despatch
from his pocket, and held it doubtingly in his hand.

"Give me ten dollars first," he said.

Angrier than ever, but outwardly calm, Jack handed over
ten of the coins.  The man bit each one between his teeth,
and dropped them into his pouch.

"Take it, Señor," he said.

It was the most exciting moment Jack remembered in
his life when he took the folded paper in his hand, and
paid the balance of the price.  He turned it over; there
was no writing on it; the flap was fastened with a great
red seal; what if it was no despatch after all?  Instantly
he broke the seal, and, unfolding the stiff paper, read at
the top:

.. vspace:: 2

"To the Marshal Duke of Dalmatia, commanding the Second
Army Corps at Saldana, the Vice-Constable Major-General".

.. vspace:: 2

His eyes swam, and he felt a rush of blood to his cheeks.
The landlord was droning on to his servants, and Jack
remembered afterwards, with infinite amusement, that, at
this tense moment, he had heard as in a dream the
land-lord directing his servant to put out one of the candles;
one was enough: "'Tis a waste of good pork fat, and we
have no pigs left in Spain—bar the French."

He read on by the light of one guttering dip, running
his eye rapidly down the closely-written page.  Moment
by moment his joy increased.  The despatch was written
from Chamartin by Marshal Berthier, Prince of Neufchatel,
and Jack saw that it contained Napoleon's plan of
campaign, and gave information of the position of his armies
which would be beyond price to Moore.  Having read it
hastily, he went through it again with more care, fixing
the details in his mind in case by any mishap he should
lose it before reaching head-quarters.  What he read was
as follows:—

.. vspace:: 2

"I read to the Emperor your letter of the 4th of December,
which was brought by one of your officers.  His Majesty
approves of all you have done.  The brigades of Generals Debelle
and Franceschi are under your orders, and you can manoeuvre
them as you think proper.  The Emperor is of opinion that with
the division of Merle and the division of Mouton, together with
the four regiments of cavalry, nothing can resist you.

"What are you to do?  Take possession of Leon, drive back
the enemy into Galicia, make yourself master of Benavente and
Zamora.  You can have no English in your front, for some of
their regiments came to the Escurial and Salamanca, and
everything shows that they are in full retreat.  Our
advance-guard is this day at Talavera de la Reyna, upon the road to
Badajos, which it will reach soon.  It will be clear to you that
this movement must compel the English to hasten immediately
to Lisbon, if they have not gone there already.  The moment you
are sure that the English have retreated (of which there is every
presumption), move forward with rapidity.  There are no
Spaniards who can resist your two divisions.  Order shoes and
greatcoats to be made at Leon, Santander, and Palencia.  His
Majesty grants every demand for improving your equipment.
You may also require mules for your artillery, and horses to
remount your cavalry; but let it all be done according to the
regular forms of administration.

"It is possible that as soon as the dragoons of General Millet
arrive in Spain, the Emperor will send them on to you.  But
his cannot happen for a fortnight.  At the distance at which
you are you must be guided by what you think best, and look
upon all I write as only general instructions.  His Majesty
conceives that you will take measures to reduce the country
between the Douro, Galicia, and the Asturias, always most
carefully guarding Santander.  The 5th Corps, commanded by
the Marshal Duke of Treviso, has been ordered to advance on
Saragossa; the 8th Corps, under the Duke of Abrantes, whose
1st Division arrived at Vittoria on the 12th, will probably receive
orders to concentrate at Burgos.  Gunboats and armoured vessels
of any kind have orders to sail for Santander.  Load them with
confiscated English merchandise, cotton, wool, artillery, and
send all to France.

"Five divisions of Castaños' best troops have been routed
with even less difficulty than you found in beating the
Estremaduran army at Burgos.  The wreck of Castaños' army is
being pursued by Marshal Bessières, who has cut them off the
road to Estremadura, and is pursuing them towards Valencia,
several marches beyond the Tagus.  The Emperor's headquarters
are at Chamartin, a little country seat a league and
a half from Madrid.  His Majesty enjoys an excellent state of
health.

"The city of Madrid is quite tranquil.  The shops are all open,
the public amusements are resumed, and there is not the least
appearance of our first proposals having been emphasized by
4000 cannon balls.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

"THE PRINCE OF NEUFCHATEL,
   "Major-General.

.. vspace:: 1

"I will send you to-morrow a proclamation and some decrees
of the Emperor, in which you will recognize the style of him who
was born to command the world."

.. vspace:: 2

Every word was impressed on Jack's memory as though
burnt in with fire.  He had been disappointed of catching
a Frenchman!  He almost laughed aloud, for here, surely,
was a find worth a king's ransom.

"Landlord, I ride back to Rueda."  His voice had the
ring of authority.  "My own horse is tired.  I will ride
the Frenchman's horse.  You will keep mine here until it
is sent for, and a fair price shall be paid you for the other
if mine is returned to me safe and sound.  At once, if you
please!"

It was not the Spaniard's way to move with alacrity,
and it took fifteen minutes to saddle the horse and bring
it round from the stables.  Then Jack mounted, his whole
body tingling with joy; and, the despatch carefully buttoned
up inside his tunic, he set off on the fine Arab gray for
Rueda.

The horse was not too fresh, and went all too slowly
for Jack's eager haste.  It was near midnight when he
cantered into the open street of Rueda, and dismounted at
the door of the posada.  There was a light in this as in
many other houses, and he guessed that here he would be
most likely to find General Stewart.  The sound of his
horse's hoofs had drawn an orderly to the door.

"Ah, Benson, catch hold of this nag, there's a good
fellow!  Is the general up?"

"Yes, you'll find him in the first room, sir."

Jack waited to hear no more.  He almost ran into the
room, and found himself in the presence of General Stewart
and a few other officers.

"Oh, it's you!" said Stewart, turning on his chair to
face the intruder.  "Now, look here, Lumsden, this is all
very well, but things may go too far, you know.  'Twas
a mere fool's trick to bolt off after a runaway vedette
when, for all you knew, a whole army-corps was within a
mile of us."

"Sorry, sir," said Jack, "but I understood that you
wished to secure the whole party, and I went after the
only one that had escaped....  There are no Frenchmen on
the road; in fact, to the best of my belief there's only one
Frenchman between here and Valladolid, and he's dead."

"You got him after all, then?" said Stewart with a
gleam of interest.

"Unluckily no, sir; he got off.  It was another fellow,
and he carried this despatch."

The general took the paper without a word.  He opened
it, and began to read.

"Gad, what a find!" he exclaimed.  "Look here,
Seymour.  'Born to command the world', begad!"

The other officers got up and looked over his shoulder.
Jack watched their faces, and noticed how their expression
changed from an ordinary interest and amusement to an
excitement rivalling his own.

"By George, Lumsden," cried the general as he finished
the document, "you've found a treasure here!"

"It cost me twenty dollars, sir."

"Dirt cheap at twenty thousand!  How did it happen?"

Jack briefly told the story.

"Boney was always too careless about his aides-de-camp,"
said Seymour.  "The idea of sending the poor
chap off without an escort!"

"Spare your pity!" laughed Stewart.  "This must go
off to the commander-in-chief at once."  He looked at
Jack, and added dryly: "I suppose you are too tired to
take it yourself?"

"If you'll give me a fresh horse I'll start at once, sir."

"Very well, though you look dog-tired.  Have you got
a flask you can give him, Seymour?  That's right.
There's a fellow half an hour ahead of you, with a
despatch reporting our capture here—and I've put you down
as missing, my boy.  You're sure you can do it?  It's a
ride of nearly twenty miles."

"I'll go, sir," said Jack simply.  "May I mention two
things?  I left my horse at the posting inn at Valdestillos,
and promised to send for it and buy the Frenchman's gray.
Will you look at it, sir, and offer a price?  And there was
a little gipsy boy with a few Spaniards in the watch-house
here.  The boy has been rather useful to me; will you
order him and the rest to be released and looked after a
bit?"

"Done to both.  I'll buy the horse myself if he's fit;
and as for the boy and those Spanish louts, they were
released long ago, and the gipsy has kept the men in fits
with his monkey antics.  Now wait just a moment while
I scribble a note to Sir John, and then be off, and think
yourself a lucky young dog."

When Jack, fortified with Captain Seymour's flask, went
to the door to mount his horse, he became for the first
time thoroughly aware how tired he was.  He had been
in the saddle almost without intermission for more than
twelve hours, and as he lifted his foot to the stirrup, he
felt as though his thigh was weighted with lead, and on
the point of snapping.  But he would never have confessed
his fatigue, much less have abnegated his right to carry
the important despatch to the commander-in-chief; so,
aching but cheerful, he cantered off into the night.

He had a ride of eighteen or twenty miles before him,
and it was now past midnight.  "Thank heaven!" he said
to himself, "in three hours or so I shall be between the
sheets."  Soon after he started, snow began to fall in
scattered flakes, giving cold and gentle dabs to his face.
The horse answered to his spur, and trotted rapidly along
the solitary road, which grew whiter and whiter as he
proceeded, past the cabin where the French outpost had been
surprised, past the cross-road where the little tussle of the
afternoon had taken place, over the bridge, up the hill,
and thus on and on until he was within a couple of miles
of the town of Alaejos.

At this point he overtook suddenly another horseman,
whom the snow, driving now thick and fast, had hidden
from his sight, while the carpeted road had deadened the
sound of his own horse's hoofs.  Guessing at once that this
must be the courier bearing General's Stewart's earlier
despatch, the recollection that he had been reported missing
made him chuckle.  Throwing a word of salutation to the
rider as he passed him, he urged his horse to a gallop,
soon came to the advanced pickets of the British force,
and in a few minutes arrived at the door of the house in
which Sir John Moore had fixed his quarters.  The general
had not long arrived, and was still up, engaged in
arranging with a few of his staff the details of the next day's
march.  Jack was ushered to his room at once.  Staggering
in, white from head to heel, he drew Stewart's letter
and the intercepted despatch from his breast pocket, and,
holding them out towards the general, he said:

"A despatch, sir, from General Stewart."

"Ah, indeed!" said Sir John, rising in his chair.  "I
hardly expected—why, Colborne, the boy's done up!  See
to him."

Jack's face had turned the colour of his snow-laden
cloak, and he would have fallen had not Major Colborne,
Moore's secretary, hastily caught him and placed him on a
seat, asking one of the aides-de-camp present to give him
some cordial.  Meanwhile Sir John had hurriedly run his
eye over Stewart's covering note, and was now eagerly
perusing Berthier's despatch.

"Gad, we have him at last!" he exclaimed, as he came
to the end.  The assembled officers looked expectant of
an explanation, but at this moment the courier whom Jack
had passed on the road entered, bearing the despatch
announcing the capture of the French garrison at Rueda.

"Another despatch!" exclaimed the general; "Stewart
appears to have been busy."

Tearing it open, he said, with a jubilant note in his
voice:

"First blood, gentlemen!  The campaign has opened
at last.  General Stewart has captured fifty of Franceschi's
chasseurs and seventy of Lefebvre's infantry at Rueda,
and—why, what's this?  Lieutenant Lumsden missing!"

He looked across the room at Jack, who had now recovered,
and was sitting, half-asleep, with his back to the wall.

"You're Mr. Lumsden, surely?" he said.

"Yes, sir."

"I thought I could not be mistaken.  How is it you are
reported missing in the second despatch?"

"I was missing when the courier left, sir.  I overtook
him on the road."

"I see.  You're dead beat, I'm afraid, but I should be
glad to hear how you came by this despatch of yours, if
you can manage to keep awake for a few minutes."

Jack briefly gave an account of the circumstances.

"You did very well, uncommonly well, Mr. Lumsden,"
said Sir John when he had concluded.  "Colborne, be
good enough to send someone to see Mr. Lumsden safely
to the quarters of the 95th.  Mr. Lumsden, you will hear
from me to-morrow."

Jack rose stiffly and saluted; then, accompanied by one
of the aides-de-camp, he walked off to the quarters of his
battalion.  The officers had all gone to bed.  Learning
from Jack the name of his servant, the aide-de-camp
roused the servants' quarters, and, just as the church
clock was striking three, Jack was put to bed in a cosy
little room on the ground floor of the house by his man
Giles Ogbourne.

.. vspace:: 2

"What I want to know is, when are we agoing to have
a slap at the French?  Here we've been tramping and
camping for two months or more, and nothing to show
for it—not a shot fired.  And you call that sojering!"

The words and the grunt that followed came on Jack's
ears as it were out of a mist, along with the pungent
fumes of strong tobacco.  He had just awoke from a
heavy sleep; the window of his room was open, and he
could see the deep-blue sky of a fine December day.

"My friend Corporal Wilkes holding forth!" he said
to himself with a smile, and, turning on his back, he
listened for more.

"What are we here for?" went on the grumbler.
"What's the good of cleaning your rifle day after day
when it's had no chance of getting fouled?  It's nothing
but walking, walking, walking; 'ang me if we ain't out
on a bloomin' walking-match."

"There's been a bit of a scrum somewhere for'ard, so I
heard," put in another voice.  "P'raps things is waking
up, corp'ril."

"Shut up, Bates!  What's the good o' that to us?  It
was those long-legged dragoons, by all accounts.  Why
should they have it all?  Where does the 95th come
in?—that's what I want to know.  What's the good o'
pickin' out the Rifles from the whole army and then giving
them cavalry chaps the only job that's going?  Besides,
nothing'll come of it.  We shall only have a longer walk
than ever, you see.  A flick in the ear to the French, so to
say, and then we skedaddles!"

"That ain't fair, corp'ril.  Who says we're a-going to
sheer off?"

"Nobody *says* we're going to sheer off, but anyone with
half an eye could see those blessed grub-carts over there
cutting up the roads this morning, and anyone with an
ounce of gumption would know what that means.  That
ain't the road to Valladolid!  What I want to know is, do
the general mean to fight, or don't he?  If he do, let's step
off on shanks his mare and get to business; if he
don't—why, he's only spoiling good sojers, that's all I've got
to say."

"Not so much noise, corp'ril," said Giles Ogbourne;
"you'll wake Mr. Lumsden."

"Spoil his beauty sleep, eh?  Where's he been, getting
so dead tired that he ain't up to take his rations?  I don't
hold with such late hours.  Not but what he's a good
plucked 'un mostly, and I don't grudge him the—"

At this point Jack got out of bed, wincing as his aching
muscles reminded him of the previous day's hard work.

"You there, Giles?" he said, putting his head out of the
window.  "Get me some hot water, and then see about
my breakfast while I dress."

A guffaw broke from the soldiers below, and was
instantly suppressed.

"Yes, sir," said Giles, adding: "Beg pardon, sir, but
it's not breakfast, it's dinner."

Jack laughed.

"What!  Have I been asleep so long?  What's the time?"

"Gone four, sir, and mess is at a quarter past."

"Hurry up, then!  There's just time."

"Mr. Pomeroy's been twice to see if you was up, sir,
but he wouldn't let me disturb you.  And he said I was on
no account to say a word about—"

He caught himself up, with a blush that gave his honest
round face a very boyish air.

"About what?"

"I wasn't to say, sir."

"Oh well, cut off and fetch the water!  Been fighting
any Spaniards lately, Wilkes?"

"No such luck, sir.  Spaniards or French, it's all one
to me, and what I want to know is—"

Jack smiled and shut the window.

When he entered the mess-room he found the officers of
his regiment already seated, Colonel Beckwith being at
the head of the table.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Smith, who was opposite the door.
His exclamation drew all eyes towards Jack, and as he
passed down the table to take the place made for him
beside Pomeroy, the subalterns rapped knives and glasses
on the unstained deal, and gave a rousing welcome to the
wanderer.

"Of all the lucky beggars!" said Pomeroy in Jack's
ear, when the general greetings had subsided.  "And I
can't even punch your head!"

"You're welcome to try," retorted Jack, "but allow me
to get some dinner first.  I've had nothing but pucheros
and gaspachos for days past, and there are heavy arrears
to make up."

"Well, I don't want to take advantage of you, though
you have played me rather a mean trick."

"What do you mean?"

"Wine with you, Mr. Lumsden," interjected Colonel
Beckwith from the far end of the table; "a good ride,
begad!"

"Thank you, sir! most happy," said Jack, with a look
of mingled pleasure and surprise.  After the interchange
of compliments, Jack, turning again to Pomeroy, said
quietly: "What's Sidney driving at?  I've never been
honoured in this way since I first joined."

"Oh, he's anxious!" returned Pomeroy carelessly.

"Anxious!  About what?"

"About his job."

"How?  What?"

"'Fraid he'll be superseded, you know."

Jack was so much puzzled by the apparent inconsequence
of the reply that he failed to remark the wide
grin of amusement which all the subalterns within hearing
were vainly endeavouring to dissemble.

"He's trying to carry it off," added Pomeroy.

"I say, Smith, what does this lunatic mean?"

"What!  Haven't you heard the rumour?" answered Smith.

"'What great ones do the less will prattle of,'" quoted
Shirley *sotto voce*.

"What rumour?" asked Jack, more mystified than ever.

"Well, there may be nothing in it, but for my own part
I think it's a shame to promote a raw sub like you over
the heads of men like Colonel Beckwith and Captain
O'Hare, to say nothing of Pomeroy."

Jack, looking somewhat startled, appealed to Captain
O'Hare, who was bubbling with amusement.

"Are they all mad, sir?"

"'S mad's hatters!" replied O'Hare with a chuckle.
"'Tis a shame to keep ye in suspense.  The fact is, my
boy, as you'd have learnt if you'd only kept dacent hours,
you've been growing in your sleep.  You're like the
mushroom that blooms in the dark.  You went to bed a second
lieutenant and woke up a full-blown one.  'Tis most
unusual, this promotion, and bedad, 'tis Peter O'Hare
himself that's glad, so he is, and so's all the rest of us."

"Except me," said Pomeroy in a tone of regret; "for
as my superior officer I can't punch his head."

There was a laugh, under which Jack was glad to hide
his pleasure and embarrassment.

"And the worst is," added Pomeroy, "that it's another
bet won for the Grampus."

"By the way," asked Jack, "what's become of the
Grampus?"

"Oh!" said Smith, "he went off a week ago.  Said he
came out to be at the front; bet me Baird would open
the ball with Soult, and went to lend a hand."

"He'll be lucky if he isn't made mincemeat of by the
French, or else by Spanish bandits," said O'Hare.  "These
amachures would be safer at home."

At this moment an orderly entered and handed a note
to Colonel Beckwith, who, having read it, crumpled it up
and rapped on the table.

"Gentlemen, I may as well inform you, although of
course it must go no further to-night, that a change
has been made in our route.  We march for Toro to-morrow."

There was a dead silence, broken only by a half-audible
growl from Captain O'Hare.  The shadow of a
smile flickered across the colonel's face as he noticed
the glum looks of his officers.

"This change, I may add, is due to some news lately
received."  Here he glanced quizzingly at Jack.  "It's
not so bad as it looks, and you may take my word for
it that before the week's out we shall be in the thick
of it."

"Thanks be!" said Captain O'Hare.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Napoleon in Pursuit`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XI


.. class:: center large bold

   Napoleon in Pursuit

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   To the Douro—Pepito Turns Up—Four Noble Spaniards—At
   Sahagun—In Suspense—News from La Romana—On the
   Trail—War with the Elements—Word from O'Hare—A
   Cavalry Skirmish—A Break-down

.. vspace:: 2

Sir John Moore had instantly recognized the immense
importance of the despatch so opportunely discovered
by Jack at Valdestillos.  It informed him of the exact
positions of the various components of the Imperial army;
it assured him also that up to the present Napoleon's
ignorance of his enemy's whereabouts was profound.
But Moore knew that after Stewart's brilliant little affair
at Rueda it was only a matter of days before this
ignorance would be dispelled, and then Napoleon would without
doubt launch every Frenchman within striking distance
upon his track.  If, therefore, he pursued his original
intention of moving on Valladolid he would come into the
direct line of the emperor's advance, whereas, with his
new information about Soult's position, it was just
possible that he would have time to strike a blow at that
marshal before the huge masses converging on Madrid
could be wheeled round and hurried over the passes of
the Guadarrama in direct pursuit, or pushed forward from
Burgos upon his flank.  That Napoleon would interrupt
all other operations to crush him he had no doubt, and
if he was to strike at all it must be at once.

His own force numbered some 25,000 men, and he was
assured from several sources that he might hope for the
co-operation of La Romana, who was said to be at the
head of a continually increasing army of Spaniards at
Leon.  Thus reinforced, he would be more than a match
for Soult, if Soult, with some 16,000 men, were ill-advised
enough to risk an action.  On the other hand, if Soult,
probably the ablest of Napoleon's marshals, resisted the
temptation to close with Moore before the other French
armies came up, the British general would have, as he
himself said, "to run for it", with one army on his flank
and three others at his heels.  The risks were great; the
boldest general might well shrink from the ordeal with
which Sir John was now confronted.  But Moore's courage
and promptitude increased with the magnitude of the
peril; he fully counted the cost, and, feeling bound in
honour to take this one chance of saving Spain, he quickly
formed his resolution and set to work with energy to carry
it out.

Within a few hours of receiving the intercepted
despatch, Moore countermanded the advance to Valladolid,
and ordered his infantry to cross the Douro at Zamora
and Toro, throwing out cavalry as a screen for both
columns.  When the news spread through the ranks that
a rapid move was to be made against Soult, their
enthusiasm knew no bounds.  The dissatisfaction which all
had felt, the murmurs which had not been confined to
the men, gave place to jubilation, and it was with laughter
and singing that the advance-guard marched out of Alaejos
northward to the Douro.

Jack's regiment was brigaded with others to form the
Reserve, and the men had to curb their impatience for
some hours before their turn to march arrived.  It was
a bitterly cold day, that 15th of December, and, having
performed all their immediate duties, Jack and his fellow
subalterns were stamping up and down before their
quarters, wrapped in long cloaks, and doing their best to
warm their blood.  They had been so busy since Jack's
arrival that there had been no time to get from him a
full account of his recent adventures, but now, in their
enforced idleness, they kept up a fire of questions as to
where he had been and what he had seen, and how it
was that he had had, as they put it, all the luck.  Jack
found that the simplest means to escape the bombardment
was to give a consecutive account of the events at Rueda
and Valdestillos, to which his chums listened with interest,
scarcely remarking the modesty with which the narrator
minimized his own share in the bustling incidents.

"That boy Pepito, you see," he said at one point in
his narrative, "is not quite the thorn in the flesh we all
supposed he was going to be.  In fact, he has the
strangest knack of turning up at odd moments when he
can be of use—"

"A regular god in the machine!" said Shirley.

"A familiar spirit, I'd call him," said Pomeroy.  "I
never had much faith in witchcraft, but upon my word
I shall soon begin to believe that you're in league with
the powers of darkness, and no wonder you have such
confounded luck!"

"Talk of the—" cried Smith suddenly.  "Look at that!"

The subalterns, looking in the direction pointed out by
Smith's stretched forefinger, saw, at the other end of the
street, a strange cavalcade approaching.  Between two
stalwart troopers of the 18th Light Dragoons rode a picturesque
little figure on a gaily-caparisoned mule, the rider
cocking his head aloft with a consequential air that was
irresistibly comic.  Behind tramped a crowd of foot-soldiers,
and the rear was brought up by a troop of dragoons.

"By George!" cried Pomeroy, "it's Pepito himself,
riding in like a conqueror.

"And the French prisoners of Rueda behind him,"
added Jack.  "I'm glad to see the boy.  Giles, go and
see where they halt, and bring the little beggar to me."

In a few minutes Giles returned, bringing not only
Pepito but a group of four rather dilapidated-looking
Spaniards.

"My friends of the Olmedo inn," thought Jack, recognizing
them with a chuckle.  "Well, Pepito, so you've
turned up again, eh?"

"Sí, Señor," answered the gipsy with his captivating
smile.  "And with me the four noble Spaniards, Señor."

"So I see.  You seem in high feather.  You'd better tell
me what has happened since I saw you last on the way to
Medina."

Pepito stood in the centre of the group of officers,
while the four stablemen hung on the outskirts, Giles
keeping a watchful eye on them.  The boy, speaking in
rapid Spanish, with an occasional Romany word when he
found his emotions too much for him, told how, after
being provided with clothes by Giles Ogbourne, he had
started to track the Señor, in spite of orders to the
contrary.  Being hungry, and having no money, he had,
on arriving at the farmhouse where Jack had met him,
offered to clip the farmer's mules, such clipping being
the traditional occupation of the gipsies in Spain.  There
he had seen Jack's plight, caught sight of the pursuers,
and instantly determined the course of action he adopted.
When overtaken by the panting stablemen, he had sent
them off on the wrong track; but they carried him along
with them and threatened him with a lingering death
if he proved to have played them false.  He was cudgelling
his wits for a plan of escape when, as luck would
have it, they fell suddenly in with a troop of French
chasseurs, who captured the whole party, chose to assume
that they were spies, and bundled them into the
watch-house at Rueda to await punishment.

"Ay, ay, that cell!" said Pepito.  "It was dark and
damp and foul, and Señor knows how the Romany love
the fresh air and the open sky.  But still, there were the
Busne, the four noble Busne, Señor, and when I felt sad
I would laugh at them, and tell them what fools they
were, who the Señor really was, and how it was all their
own fault if they were shot.  Oh, it was good, Señor!"  The
gipsy's black eyes twinkled at the recollection.

"I'm afraid you're a mischievous young scamp," said
Jack.  "You'd better come along with me—that is, if
you'll behave yourself."

"Ta ra, ta ra!  Viva!" cried Pepito, flinging his knife in
the air and catching it as it fell.  "'The Romany chal to
his horse did cry'"—and singing his merry song he skipped
up to Giles, and dug the stolid Devonian in the ribs.

Meanwhile, Jack beckoned to the Spaniards, and they
slouched towards him with shamefaced sullenness.
Addressing the biggest of them, he said with a smile:

"Well, hombre, you will be wiser next time.  It might
have been awkward for you.  You'd better go home by
way of Salamanca, or you might happen to meet some
more Frenchmen.  Here, you may find this useful."

He gave the man a few pesetas, and the four dejected
fellows, muttering their thanks, shambled away.

Half an hour later the order came for the regiment to
march, and soon the men were swinging along on the way
to Toro.  It was a fine frosty day, and the cold, though
keen, was exhilarating.  The road, which in wet weather
would have been a mere slough of mud, was now frozen
hard, and walking was easy and pleasant.  Many women
walked with the regiment; others, with their children, were
perched on the baggage- and ammunition-wagons.  There
was joking and laughter; the prospect of soon meeting
the enemy whom they had been so long hoping to fight
gave brightness to the men's eyes and elasticity to their
gait.  Colonel Beckwith rode up and down the column,
throwing a word to this man and that, encouraging the
laggards and chaffing the boasters.  A little snow fell at
times, causing the women to snuggle under their cloaks
and the men to growl about wet boots; but during this
day's march, and the four succeeding days', the high spirits
of the regiment were well maintained, and it was with
surprisingly little loss by sick or stragglers that the
infantry arrived, on December 20th, at Mayorga, where a
junction was effected with the column under Sir David
Baird.  They moved forward again the following morning,
and their enthusiasm was raised to the highest pitch
by the news that Lord Paget, with the 10th and 15th
Hussars, had surprised a large body of French cavalry in
Sahagun, killing or capturing over 200 officers and men.

When they arrived at this place in the evening, the
main army found that it had outstripped its supplies.
Wagons were short, and neither food nor clothing was
to be had.  It was therefore imperative that a breathing-space
should be allowed, that time should be given for
recruiting their strength and repairing their equipment.
Eager as they were to fight, they were not sorry when they
learnt that at least a day's rest was to be given them.

But when the whole of December 22nd passed without
the expected order to advance, the men again began to
chafe at the delay.  Corporal Wilkes and some of his
cronies were sitting round their camp-fire on the evening
of that day discussing the situation.

"What I want to know," said Wilkes in a tone suggesting
that he would rather have resented the information—"what
I want to know is, why we don't up and at them
Frenchmen at once.  What are we waiting for?  True,
we ain't had much grub, and our toggery ain't exactly
what the general would specially admire on parade, but
over yonder, where that Marshal Salt, or whatever they
call him, is, there's plenty of tommy and fine clothes too,
and if we could only make a move we'd very soon be able
to fill our insides and polish up our outsides.  Here we
are, three days off Christmas, and where's the roast-beef
and plum-pudding to come from?  We'll have to sing for
it, by what I can see."

"Sing for it!" interposed Bates with a grunt.  "No,
thank'ee; we've had enough of the waits.  Ha! ha!"

There was a general guffaw at Bates's little witticism.

"I don't see nothing to laugh at," growled Wilkes,
resenting the interruption.  The others looked reproachfully
at Bates, who relapsed into abashed silence.

It was not until the morning of the 23rd that the general
of the Reserve, Sir Edward Paget, a younger brother of
Lord Paget, received marching orders.  On the evening
of that day he was to move his division forward from
Grajal del Campo along the road to Carrion, join the main
body, and halt until head-quarters should arrive from
Sahagun.  At this news the younger and less experienced
men found it almost impossible to keep still.

"Lie down and rest, you silly fellows," said Jack to
a group of men whom he saw fidgeting about in sheer
nervousness and anxiety.  "Look at Wilkes yonder; he
knows what war is, and he's snoring away, getting a good
sleep before the march to-night.  Here, Pepito, just come
and show these fellows some of your tricks, and keep them
amused, or they'll be dead-beat before they start."

Pepito, who had followed Jack like a shadow ever since
he had left Alaejos, obediently went among the men, and
soon had them laughing merrily at his absurd antics and
extraordinary gibberish.  The bleak winter day passed,
and at four o'clock, under a gray and leaden sky, the
Reserve at last set out towards what they hoped was to
be a brilliant victory.  The whole country was covered
deep with snow.  The men had been ordered to refrain
from talking or singing while on the march; and thus,
in cold and silence, the column trudged along in the
gathering night.

After some hours' tramping a halt was called, and the
men stood and shivered and wondered.

"What are we waiting for now?" growled Corporal
Wilkes, shaking the snow from his shako.

"To let the guns come up, shouldn't wonder," returned
his friend Bates.  "This blessed snow makes it slow
work to bring 'em along."

"I expect it's old Romana not up to the scratch,"
suggested Tom Plunket, the best shot in the regiment.
"Very likely he's lost his way, or forgotten the date, or
frizzing his moustache, or something, and that's keeping
our general waiting."

"Humph!" growled Wilkes, "another case of to-morrer,
to-morrer.  Tell you what, boys, these Dons will
say 'manaña' once too often.  When the last roll-call
comes they'll say 'manaña' as sure as fate, and then
where'll they be?—that's what I want to know."

"Hush! what's that?" said Sergeant Jones, a little
man known familiarly as "The Weasel".

A bugle-call was sounding.  Every man started to his
feet.  Surely the two hours' halt was over and the battle
was at hand.  But no; there was no sound of movement
among the troops, no cheer from the men near the general's
quarters.  While the men stood in a tense attitude of
expectancy, Jack came up out of the darkness.

"Men," he said quietly, "we are ordered back to
Grajal.  Fall in!"

Not a word broke from them.  Back to Grajal?  But
the French were not there.  Was the battle postponed
again?  No one appeared to know the meaning of this
new order.  They collected their kits, strapped on their
heavy knapsacks, and trudged despondently back over the
frozen roads.

At six o'clock that evening a note had been brought to
Sir John Moore from the Marquis of La Romana.  It read:

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent

LEON, *Dec. 22*.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

SIR,

.. vspace:: 1

The confidential person whom I had placed on the River
Douro has written to me on the 18th inst. that he is assured that
the enemy's troops posted at the Escurial are moving in this
direction.

He adds that if the person who gave him this intelligence
should not arrive the same day he would go himself to
Villacastin, twelve leagues from Madrid, to watch the two roads, the
one of which leads to Zamora, and the other to Segovia.

I hasten to give this information to your Excellency that you
may judge what measures are requisite to be taken.

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

LA ROMANA.

.. vspace:: 2

What Moore had expected and hoped for had come to
pass.  It was clear that Napoleon had learnt the British
position at last, and was hastening from Madrid northward
across the mountains with his whole army to crush
the little force.

"We must cut and run for it," said Moore to his staff
with a hard smile.  "And by Jove we'll give them a race!"

When Moore suddenly, ten days before, altered his line
of march from the Valladolid to the Toro road, Napoleon
had not had time to learn of the affair at Rueda.  He had
made up his mind that the British were retreating on
Lisbon, and had already despatched Lefebvre and Lasalle
in pursuit by way of Badajos, preparing himself to back
them up with an overwhelming army of 40,000 men and
150 guns.  The news of Stewart's exploit at Rueda reached
him on the 19th.  It had the effect of an electric shock.
Where before had been activity, there was now feverish
energy.  Couriers were sent on the instant to all parts
of Spain, ordering all the scattered units of his immense
force to converge on Valladolid, which he persisted in
believing to be Moore's objective.  Mere skeleton corps
were left to hold in check the shattered Spanish armies.
The rest followed Napoleon over the Guadarrama mountains,
or pushed along the Burgos road to join hands with Soult.

On the 21st, the same day on which Moore marched for
Sahagun, an immense French army, comprising the flower
of Napoleon's troops, left Madrid.  Marshal Ney, "le
plus brave des braves", led the van, and he was lucky in
bringing his troops across the Guadarrama in comparatively
fine weather.  But no sooner had he crossed than
a terrific snow-storm burst over the mountains.  When
Napoleon himself arrived from Madrid he found the passes
blocked with snow, guns, wagons, all kinds of impedimenta;
and the advance, on which so much depended, to
all appearance indefinitely delayed.

.. _`Map of Spain and Portugal`:

.. figure:: images/img-130.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Map of Spain and Portugal to illustrate Moore's Campaign

   Map of Spain and Portugal to illustrate Moore's Campaign

But opposition, even on the part of the elements, only
roused the emperor's indomitable energy.  The gale was
raging its fiercest, men and horses were being hurled over
precipices by the force of the wind.  The leading battalions
had actually turned back and were making confusion
worse confounded, when Napoleon appeared.  Addressing
the soldiers, he announced that he meant to overtake the
British at all costs.  He set thousands of men to clear the
drifts, others to beat down the snow into a hard road,
over which the artillery, harnessed with double teams,
crawled painfully northward.  He ordered the members
of each infantry section to link arms and thus help each
other along the perilous mountain way.  He dismounted
the cavalry, and used their horses to haul the guns.  Then,
gathering his staff about him, he bade them lock their
arms, and himself led the way, walking arm in arm with
Lannes and Duroc.  Thus, in the teeth of wind, snow,
and ice they pushed up the wild mountain steeps.  Half-way
up, the marshals and generals, who wore jack-boots,
were too much exhausted to move another step.  Nothing
daunted, Napoleon had himself hoisted on a gun, and sat
there astride.  He called to his marshals to do the same;
and thus, after four hours battling with the elements, the
grotesque cavalcade reached the convent on the summit,
where, with food and wine, the rigours of the march were
forgotten.

It was in this spirit of fierce determination that the
great emperor, sparing himself as little as his troops,
strained every nerve to accomplish the end he had in
view—the destruction of Moore's gallant little army.  If La
Romana's confidential agents had been napping, Moore
might indeed have beaten Soult, but only to find himself
enveloped by a force triple his own in numbers, commanded
by the most brilliant soldier of the age.  Fortunately,
information had reached La Romana, and through him
Moore, in time.  At the moment when Napoleon arrived
at Villacastin, only some three marches distant, Moore
was countermanding the advance on Sahagun.

That moment marked the ebb of Napoleon's fortunes.
Hitherto he had pursued his wonderful career with scarcely
a check; but the decision of Moore on that December
evening was the signal for the break-up of Napoleon's
power; it was the step that saved Europe.  It diverted
the emperor from his immediate purpose of conquest, and
engaged his huge armies in a fruitless and exhausting
chase; it gave Spain time to bethink herself and rise as
a nation.  Her rising set an example to Europe, by which
Austria and Prussia slowly profited, and which led Russia,
three years later, to that spirited defiance which burnt
Moscow and brought destruction upon the finest army
in the world.

The British retreated in two columns, one, under General
Baird, by the northern road to Valencia, the other, under
General Hope, by Mayorga towards Benavente.  General
Paget's reserve division, including the two light brigades
under Generals Anstruther and Disney, and five cavalry
regiments, remained for twenty-four hours behind the
main body.  It was on Christmas-day that Jack's
regiment received orders to march.  The men were formed
up in readiness for starting.  Every face was gloomy,
every heart bitter with rage.  It was only vaguely known
in the ranks why the advance had been so suddenly
countermanded, and the general opinion was that it was
due to the cowardice and incompetence of the Spaniards.
The officers remarked this spirit of sullen discontent, and
Captain O'Hare determined to make a personal appeal.
Calling his company to attention, he stood in pouring rain
and addressed them.

"Now, my boys," he said cheerily, "we must put a good
face on it.  The froggies are too many for us now, and the
general don't want every mother's son of you to be clapped
into a French prison.  We're off to Astorga, and bedad, if
Marshal Soult comes within reach of our heels, we'll give
him a good parting kick before Boney arrives.  But
remember, we form part of the rear-guard; 'tis the post
of honour because 'tis the place of danger.  If there is to
be any fighting, 'twill fall to us, and every man Jack of
you must keep himself as fit as a fiddle, or he won't be
able to do what's wanted.  I trust to you, my boys; and
sure we'll show that every Englishman, whether Scotch
or Irish, is worth ten Frenchmen yet.  Shoulder arms!
Left turn!  Quick march!"

"All very well," grumbled Charley Bates, as he swung
along beside Corporal Wilkes; "there's to be fighting at
Astorga, he says.  The general means to march us to
death first, and expects us to fight after!"

"You shut up, Bates," said the corporal sullenly.  He
was just as much irritated as his friends, but, being
disputatious by nature, he was ready to contradict anyone.
"I've fought under Johnny Moore before, and he ain't one
to run for nothing.  And you and me, Charley Bates, has
got to show a good example to them young orficers—Mr. Lumsden
an' the rest,—didn't you hear Peter say so?
So step out, my boy, and don't argue."

"Hear that, Pommy?" said Jack, who was nearer the
corporal than that worthy believed.

"I heard it," growled Pomeroy, "and I hope you'll
profit by Wilkes's example."

They needed all their strength of will to preserve their
cheerfulness.  A thaw had set in, and the road, running
between fields of soft rich loam, was knee-deep in slushy
clay.  All that day they tramped heavily through the rain.
They halted at Mayorga for the night, and pushed on next
day to Valderas, their clothes like sponges, their limbs
racked with pain.  At the halting-places they saw the
first signs of failing discipline.  Some of the men in the
regiments which had preceded them had broken out and
vented their rage on the houses of the Spaniards.  Food
was scarce; means of carriage were lacking; and the men
were so incensed against the inhabitants of the villages
through which they passed that they seized food for
themselves, and, the country being for the most part treeless,
tore down doors and sheds to provide wood for their
camp-fires.  But this marauding spirit had been as yet confined
to a few regiments; the men of the light brigades were
held well in hand by their officers, and refrained from the
ill conduct of their less-disciplined comrades.

As they marched on the 26th and 27th it became known
that Lord Paget's cavalry were having a warm time
behind them.  Soult had sent Lorge's dragoons in pursuit
of Baird's column, and the advance-guard of the
emperor's army at this time began to appear, until the five
British cavalry regiments were closely pressed by no fewer
than thirteen French.  But Paget was a consummate
cavalry leader; spreading his 2400 men as a screen to the
whole army, he showed ceaseless activity in fending off
the assaults of the French dragoons, beating them time
after time, and capturing many prisoners.  Every effort
of the French to break through and attack the infantry
was baffled and checked.  So admirably, indeed, did he
handle his men, that Napoleon imagined they were twice
as numerous as they actually were.

On the afternoon of the 27th, Jack was marching with
his regiment, the first battalion of the 95th, along the
road from Valderas to Castro Gonzalo, where the river
Esla was to be crossed.  Behind came the second battalion,
with other regiments, and the rear was brought up by
Lord Paget's cavalry.  The pace had been forced for some
hours, for the French were continually pressing closer,
and Sir John Moore was anxious to get his whole army
across the river without delay.  He had given orders that
when the passage had been completed the bridge was to
be destroyed, and Jack and his fellow-subalterns were
disappointed that this task, and the chance of a brush with
the enemy, would fall to the second battalion and not
the first.

About half a mile before they reached the village of
Castro Gonzalo there was a momentary stoppage of the
column, caused, as was learnt in a few minutes, by the
breaking down of the last of the baggage-wagons.  Jack's
company happened to be the nearest to the scene of the
accident, and as they halted, Captain O'Hare came up and
said:

"Lumsden, I'll leave you with a squad of men to repair
this confounded cart.  It's got our whole wardrobe in it,
and we can't afford to lose that.  Choose your men, and
don't be longer about it than you can help.  You'll
probably have the job done before the second battalion come
up, but if not, there'll be the hussars behind to see you
safe in."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Corporal Wilkes on Guard`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XII


.. class:: center large bold

   Corporal Wilkes on Guard

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Amateur Wheel-wrights—Wilkes Disappears—Dodging
   Dragoons—Night with a Picket—A Roman
   Bridge—Benevente—Wilkes enters a Protest—One
   MacWhirter

.. vspace:: 2

Jack was glad to have the chance of doing something that
was not merely trudging through slush.  He selected four
men to assist him with the wagon—Wilkes, Bates, Tom
Plunket, and his own man, Giles Ogbourne, who had some
experience of smith's work.  An inspection of the vehicle
showed that the tyre of one of the wheels had broken, and
with it one of the spokes.  It was evident that, unless the
tyre were repaired, the felloe would soon fall to pieces
if the wagon were hauled farther over the heavy road.
The first thing to be done was to take off the wheel.
Luckily the Portuguese driver had a spanner in the cart,
and with this the axle-cap was screwed off and the pin
knocked out.

"Now, Wilkes," said Jack, "you and Bates will look
after the cart while the others come with me to find a
smithy.  The second battalion will be up in a minute or
two.  If anyone asks, you can explain what has happened."

Jack started off with the other two men, who carried the
heavy wheel between them.  Reaching the village of Castro
Gonzalo, they went along the streets in search of a smithy.
Every house was deserted; the inhabitants had fled in
terror at the news that the French were advancing.
Nowhere was a smith's shop to be seen, nowhere a person
of whom to make enquiry.

"There must be a smithy somewhere," said Jack, "even
if the smith has taken to his heels."

"Maybe 'tis along the road to the left, sir," said Giles.
"The smithy sometimes lies a bit out of the village at
home."

"Perhaps.  Let us try it."

The three proceeded down the road towards Villapando,
in the teeth of a blinding storm of sleet.  At a distance of
nearly half a mile from the village they came to a small
stone house at the left of the road.

"Here we are!" said Jack, noticing a horse-shoe nailed
on the wall, and some broken bits of iron by the doorway.
"The door's open; the smith seems to have bolted."

He led the way in, and found himself in a dark smithy.
The forge was black and cold; evidently no fire had been
lighted there for some time.

"Now, Giles, kindle a fire.  You'll find some wood and
charcoal about, no doubt.  We must be quick about this,
for we don't want to be left in the lurch."

It took some time to get a good fire alight.  The wood
was damp, and Giles's tinder-box had not altogether
escaped a wetting.  But the fire was ablaze at last, and
then Jack set to work with the creaking bellows to blow
it to a heat sufficient to weld the broken ends of the
tyre.  The third man, Plunket, held the iron in the
glowing charcoal with the smith's huge tongs, while
Giles stood ready with the hammer to beat it on the
anvil.

"I'm afeard it won't be big enough to go round the
felly without a bit more iron," said Giles; "and there
don't seem to be a bit of the right kind here."

"Try it first.  The whole tyre may expand enough with
the heat."

But when Giles had welded the broken ends, and tried
to fit the tyre on the wheel, he found that it was too short,
as he had feared.

"We can't give it up," said Jack.  "Look round the
place and see if you can find a scrap of thin iron that
will serve the purpose."

After searching in the smithy and the surrounding yard
for several minutes, a strip of iron was discovered which
Giles thought might weld with the rest.  The tyre had
to be heated again and cut at the cleavage.  The small
piece had to be beaten until it was of the same thickness
as the tyre, and only after a good deal of patient manipulation
did Giles succeed in forming a tyre of the required
circumference.  It was finished, however, at last.  It fitted
on the scorching felloe, and after cold water had been
thrown on it from the blacksmith's tank, filling the air
with vapour and the characteristic smell of the smithy,
Giles declared that the wheel was good enough for another
campaign.

"That's right, then," said Jack.  "Now we must get
back to the cart.  By George! it has taken us a long time.
It's past five o'clock, and getting dark.  Raining as hard
as ever too!"

They trudged up the road and through the village,
expecting to meet the rear-guard of the British infantry,
or at any rate the cavalry.  But there was nobody to be
seen.  They hurried along out of the village towards the
spot where, in the gathering darkness, they saw the wagon
still standing in the middle of the road.

"But where are the bullocks?" cried Jack, noticing that
the shafts and rope traces were empty.

Hastening in advance of the men, burdened as they were
with the heavy wheel, he came to the cart.

"Wilkes, where are you?"

There was no answer; nor was there any sign of the
men he had left on guard.

"This is awkward, my men," he said, as the two came
up.  "The wheel's right, but those two fellows and the
driver have gone off, and the bullocks with them.  We
can't move the thing without animals."

"The corp'ril wouldn't budge without he were sent, sir,"
said Plunket.

"Maybe the French have come up in the dark and
captured 'em, sir," added Giles.

"Nonsense! the French were not so close as all that.  I
don't fancy our cavalry have gone by yet.  You two fellows
fix the wheel on.  I am going back to the village to find a
team.  I sha'n't be long."

Jack went back to the village in the darkness, going in
and out among the houses and the gardens, expecting every
moment to come upon some traces of the men and animals.
The night was silent, save for the steady downpour of rain
and the dull roar of the flooded river, he knew not how far
beyond.  Presently he heard splashing footsteps, then two
men rushed towards him breathless—first Giles, then
Plunket.

"The French dragoons!" panted Giles.

"Not our own men?" said Jack quickly.

"No, sir.  We heard hoofs, and ran up to the first
house and waited; and then two vedettes came up and
stopped at the wagon, and we heard the French lingo, sir."

"Then we must make ourselves scarce.  Have we time
to reach the bridge?"

But even as he spoke, the sound of galloping horses
and rumbling wagons came from the other end of the
village.

"We must cut, my men.  Follow me!" cried Jack.

Running at full speed along the Villapando road, he did
not draw breath until he reached the smithy where the
tyre had been repaired.

"We must wait here till we know what is happening,"
he said.

As they stood by the dark forge, they heard the clash of
steel and the shouts of officers from the village.

"Soult's men for a certainty," said Jack.  "I wonder if
our fellows are across the bridge."

Soon after came a clatter and rumble as of wagons
driven furiously, and then the thunder of horses' hoofs.
Crack!  That was a musket-shot.  Another, another,
then a rapid succession of reports, muffled by distance,
struck their ears.

"They're trying to drive our pickets in," said Jack.
"Come, men, we must try to find our own lines, or we
shall stand a poor chance of escaping with whole skins in
the morning.  All we can do is to cut across the country
over there; no one will hear us through this noise.  Come
along!"

Leaving the shelter of the smithy, he ran across the road
into the field opposite.  Great clods of earth clave to his
boots, and it was heavy running; but, followed closely
by the two men, he pounded on, listening for shots on
his right, and moving obliquely to the left to avoid the
skirmishers who, he guessed, had been thrown out by the
French.  As he ran he found the ground rising in a gradual
ascent.  The firing still continued in a desultory way, and
Jack rejoiced that the night was so murky that he and his
men would not, as they ascended the slope, present a mark
to the enemy.  They had run for nearly twenty minutes,
and were panting for breath, when they were suddenly
brought to a stop by hearing the click of a firelock directly
in front of them, and, as they ducked their heads, a shot
rang out, followed by the cry:

"Who goes there?"

"A friend—an officer of the 95th!" shouted Jack in
answer.

There was a murmur of astonishment.  In the darkness
several forms were heard rather than seen to advance, and
in a few moments Jack and his men were hauled over a
rough, semicircular embankment, where they found
themselves among a picket of the 43rd.

"Where the deuce do you come from?" asked the
sergeant in charge, letting go his hold of Jack's collar.

"Look here, my man, I'm Lieutenant Lumsden of the
95th, and—

"Beg pardon, sir," said the sergeant hastily.  "No
offence.  'Twould need cat's eyes to tell a dook from a
dustman in a night like this."

"What's going on, sergeant?  I want to get to the
bridge with my men.  Can you put us in the road?"

"Heavens above, sir, you'd be shot in a winking.  The
bridge is half a mile up-stream, and we're holding these
heights while t'other half of the brigade knocks a hole
in it.  We're the last picket this way, and as, judging
by the sound of it, the Frenchmen are dismounted and
a-trying to pass us, and we expect 'em here direckly
minute, I'm afeard you'll have to stay here till morning
light, sir."

"Oh, all right!  I'll take a hand if there's any fighting.
What has been going on this afternoon, then?"

"Troops all crossed, sir, except our half-brigade."

"Are the cavalry over?"

"Yes, sir.  They came up rather late; and directly they
and the guns was got over, the general had a hole knocked
in one of the arches—cut completely through, sir—so that
the rest of us will have to swim across, I expect, if we get
through the night.  And we'll all be drownded, sure as
fate.  Hark to the water a-rushing and raving behind us!"

His voice, indeed, was almost smothered by the roar of
the swollen river.  Getting what shelter was possible, Jack
and his men passed a miserable night with the picket of the
43rd, and were glad when the darkness cleared, and they
saw once more the grim dawn of another wintry day.

It brought little comfort.  The wind had risen to a
furious gale, beating sheets of snow and sleet in their
faces.  Jack and his men were shivering with cold and
ravenous with hunger, though the men of the 43rd shared
with them the scanty rations they had.  During the whole
of that day, and far into the night, they had to hold their
position, ever on the alert to repel a flanking attack of
the French cavalry, who several times galloped close up
to the bridge, always retiring more quickly than they came
before the volleys of the British infantry who lined the
heights.  More than once Jack thought of making his
way along the embankment and rejoining his regiment,
but the picket of the 43rd was always outnumbered; it
had lost several men, and he decided, every time the
opportunity of leaving occurred, that he would stay,
thinking that, after all, he could probably do more good
in the fighting line than in security on the other side of
the bridge.

At the bridge General Craufurd kept his men unremittingly
at the task of mining the arches.  There had
been no time to send an engineer forward to make the
necessary preparations; the men lacked the proper tools;
and the material of the bridge was so strong, and the
construction of the Roman engineers centuries before so
solid, that the task of penetrating the massive masonry
was of unusual difficulty.

Towards night the spasmodic attacks of the French
ceased altogether, and they withdrew out of range.  After
several more hours of cheerless waiting, word was passed
quietly along the entrenchments that the work at the
bridge was finished and that the troops were now to
retire.  The wet and weary men needed no urging; in
dead silence they crept along and down the heights
towards the end of the bridge, where General Craufurd,
commanding the rear-guard, was in person superintending
the crossing.  The middle arch had been cut completely
through, but the men had not to swim for it,
as the sergeant of the 43rd had anticipated, for planks
had been laid across the gap.  Jack was among the last
to cross, and as he passed over the narrow, shaking strip
of boarding, the impetuous and roaring torrent dashed
over it, threatening at every moment to carry away planks
and men together.  But the last man safely reached the
other side, and Jack, as General Craufurd passed him,
heard that fine soldier mutter with a grim chuckle:

"There!  We've dished the fools!"

A few minutes afterwards there was a terrific roar, that
for the moment drowned the fury of the torrent; then a
blinding glare that flashed along the gray masonry and
shot through the falling rain; and then, with a great
crash, two arches and their supporting buttresses fell to
the bottom of the river, where they lie to this day.  The
mine so laboriously excavated had exploded with complete
success, and between the French and the English raged
the boiling torrent, which effectually forbade present
pursuit.  Mocking cheers broke from the throats of the
tired, drenched soldiers; then they turned their backs
on the river and marched on, half-asleep, towards
Benavente.  Jack looked at his watch; it was just midnight.

When he awoke, at daylight next morning, some
minutes passed before he realized where he was.  He
had no recollection of going to bed; in fact, on arriving
in the town he had been so fatigued that he could have
slept in his wet clothes on the road.  But his man had
been anxiously on the look-out, and it was to him that
Jack owed his bed in the convent where his fellow-officers
had found lodgment.

His dazed senses were fully recalled to him by the
sound of Pepito's voice humming one of his gipsy songs
outside the door.

"Pepito!" he called.

The boy bounded lightly into the room with an eagerness
that bespoke, as clearly as words could have done,
the affection he now bore towards the young Englishman.

"Find Giles for me, my boy," said Jack, "and tell him
to get me something to eat—something substantial—for
I'm ravenous."

When the boy returned, Jack had dressed.

"Find him?  That's right.  So you got here safely
yesterday!  You've not been up to any mischief, I hope?"

"No, Señor," replied Pepito gravely.  "But I can, now
that you are here."

Jack smiled, and then sprang up as Giles entered with
a dish that filled the room with a very savoury odour.

"What's this?" said Jack, sniffing.  "Roast hare, by
all that's glorious!  Giles, you're a wonder."

"'Twas Pepito, sir," said Giles.  "The young varmint
went out before 'twas light this morning and snared the
beast for your breakfast, sir.  I allow he makes himself
useful sometimes."

Pepito was grinning with pleasure, and Jack without
ado devoted himself to his meal.

"By the way," he said presently, "have you seen
anything of those two fellows I left with the wagon?"

A broad smile broke over Giles's ruddy face.

"They was brought in yesterday, sir, under guard, and
locked up in the guard-room.  They was mad, sir, both
on 'em, but Corporal Wilkes the worst.  He made a few
remarks, sir—" and here Giles gave vent to his loud
guffaw, and instantly straightened his face to its usual
stolid impassivity.

"Are they still locked up?" asked Jack.

"No, sir.  Captain Stovin ordered 'em to be released
when they'd had about two hours of it."

"Go and fetch them."

In ten minutes Corporal Wilkes entered, followed by
Bates, each man wearing a look of sullen discontent.

"Now, Wilkes, what have you got to say for yourself?"
said Jack sternly.

"Say, sir?  I ain't got nothing to say, nor I didn't get
a chance o' saying nothing.  It ain't common fairness, let
alone justice, that it ain't, begging your pardon, sir.  It
ain't for the likes o' me to question what an orficer says,
sir, to say nothing of an orficer like Bobby—beg pardon,
like General Craufurd.  But," continued the corporal, his
eloquence increasing with his indignation, "but, Mr. Lumsden,
sir, what I want to know is, what call the general
'ad to miscall me a straggler, to say nothing o' Bates, and
send us in under guard of a bloomin' corp'ril of the second
battalion—why, we're the laughing-stock o' the regiment."

"There now," said Jack with due gravity, suspecting
what must have occurred, "I suppose there was some
little mistake.  Tell me all about it."

Wilkes proceeded to explain that a few minutes after
Jack left with the broken wheel a heavy shower of sleet
had come on, and he and Bates had taken shelter beneath
the wagon.  From this point of vantage they had seen
the passage of the greater part of the second battalion,
which was whipping in all stragglers from the various
other regiments that had gone by earlier in the day.  In
the rear of the battalion rode General Craufurd with
Colonel Wade and other officers, and Craufurd's eagle eye
had at once remarked the abandoned wagon.  Riding up
to it, he descried the two figures crouching underneath,
and sternly demanded what they were doing there.

"I was beginning to explain, sir," said Wilkes, "but
before I could crawl out into the open, 'Enough of that',
says he.  'Come out of that, you skulkers!'  Me a
skulker!  And without sayin' another word he marches
us off to the bridge, where he hands us over to Corp'ril
MacWhirter, a feller I've the greatest dislike of.  'Here,'
says the general, 'see these two stragglers safe into
Benawenty, and hand 'em over to Colonel Beckwith with my
compliments'.  MacWhirter he sniffed, and it was hard
work to keep my hands off him, sir, for blest if he didn't
pass foolish and opperobious remarks all the way to
Benawenty, just a grunt here and there, like as if we was pigs,
and his two Riflemen like to bust 'emselves with laughing.
Now, sir, what I—"

At this point Captain O'Hare came into the room.
Jack, who had had some difficulty in keeping his
countenance, said hurriedly:

"Well, well, it was very unfortunate, but I'll see that it
is put right."

As Wilkes turned away, Jack heard him mutter under
his breath:

"Yes, and I'll put it right with MacWhirter."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Don Miguel's Man`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIII


.. class:: center large bold

   Don Miguel's Man

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Fine Feathers—A Fight by the River—Lax Discipline—Scenes
   at Astorga—A Cry for Help—The One-eyed Man—At Bay—A
   Warm Corner—Wilkes to the Rescue—Miguel
   Explains—Righteous Indignation—Wilkes's Supper

.. vspace:: 2

Captain O'Hare's eyes were twinkling as he watched the
aggrieved exit of the two soldiers, and when they had
gone he joined in Jack's shout of laughter.

"Ah! 'tis all very well for you to laugh at Corporal
Wilkes; but faith, my boy, we'll have to court-martial you
for deserting his Majesty's stores, to say nothing of my
best pair of galligaskins.  Begorra, let's hope they won't
fit the spalpeen of a Frenchman who gets them.  The
whole mess is rejuced to one suit."

Then, changing his tone, the captain proceeded to
inform Jack of what had happened since his arrival at
Benavente.  The inhabitants of the town had received the
British army with an attitude of sullen dislike and even
animosity.  Relying for their rations on what could be
obtained during the march, the troops had come into the
place tired and hungry, to find the doors barred and food
withheld.  The shops were all closed, the magistrates had
taken flight, and although the British were prepared to
pay for supplies, neither bread nor wine was to be had.
The men were already embittered by the hardships of their
long march, and disappointed of their hopes of meeting
the French in fair fight, and it was small wonder that
coldness where they might well have looked for warmth,
and aversion where they might have claimed active
friendship, provoked resentment and reprisal.  They were
received as enemies; they could scarcely be expected to act
as friends.

"Indade, the whole army's going to the dogs," said
Captain O'Hare dejectedly; "all except the Gyards and
the Reserve.  Things are as bad as they can be, and
there's worse to come.  The main body's looting, and
behaving worse than Pagans and Turks.  They should be
at Astorga by now, and we're to follow them in an hour
or so.  The company's falling in, and you'd better hurry
up, or you run a risk of finding an escort like our friend
Wilkes.  And bedad," he added, as the dull sound of
firing was heard in the direction of the river, "there's the
music again."

Jack had by this time finished his breakfast, and, hurrying
out with the captain, he found the 95th preparing to
move off.

"Hullo!" cried Smith, "you've turned up, then!  What
have you done with the wagon?"

"Where are my boots?" asked Pomeroy.

"And my best frilled shirt, the one with the ruffles?"
continued Smith.

"And my new highlows, the ones with the silver
buckles?" added Pomeroy.

"They are coming after us," returned Jack.  "If you
care to wait they'll probably be here in half an hour—and
Colbert's dragoons inside them."

As the regiment moved off, the firing behind them
became more and more distinct and continuous.  Bodies
of mounted troops could be seen on the horizon; a smart
cavalry action was apparently being fought, and the men
of the 95th were again jealous of what they considered the
better luck of the cavalry.  But Jack's company, marching
away at the quick step, was soon beyond sight of the
combatants, though for an hour afterwards the boom of
guns could be plainly heard.

Lord Paget was fighting one of those brilliant little
rear-guard actions that stamped him in an age of great soldiers
as one of the finest cavalry leaders of his time.  At
Benavente he had to deal, not with the ruck of Napoleon's
cavalry, who, be it said to their credit, were never wanting
in dash, but with the flower of the emperor's troops, the
famous Cavalry of the Guard, led in person by
Lefebvre-Desnouettes, his favourite general, who had been until
now the spoiled child of fortune.  When Lefebvre-Desnouettes
discovered that the bridge across the Esla was
broken beyond possibility of immediate repair, he rode
fuming up and down the river, vainly seeking a practicable
ford for the large body of infantry that had now
gathered on the banks.  On the farther side was a thin
chain of British vedettes; beyond these, as far as the eye
could reach across the great plain, there was no sign of
Sir John Moore's army except a few belated camp-followers
hurrying into Benavente.  The French general,
chafing with impatience, at last flung prudence to the
winds and decided to follow up the pursuit with his
cavalry alone, leaving the infantry to follow as soon as
the bridge could be patched up.  Fording the swollen
river with 600 chasseurs of the Guard at a spot some
distance above the ruined arches, he drove back the
vedettes in his front and pushed rapidly across the plain
in the direction of Benavente.  Meanwhile the news of the
crossing had brought the British vedettes at full gallop
from their posts opposite the fords below and above the
bridge; and when a few score had collected they made a
plucky charge at the head of the French column, and in
spite of their small numbers threw it into disorder.  The
discomfited chasseurs, supported by the succeeding
squadrons, rallied and pursued the audacious little band;
but they were again broken by a second charge, led in
person by General Stewart, who had come up with a few
reinforcements.  The British troopers broke clean through
the first line, and although they narrowly escaped being
cut off by the main body, they hewed their way out again
and retired in good order towards Benavente.  They were
only two hundred, the French were three times their
number, and Lefebvre-Desnouettes, irritated by these checks,
incautiously pressed them into the outskirts of the town.
There Lord Paget, with the 10th Hussars, lay grimly
in waiting.  Forming up his men under cover of some
buildings, he held them, straining at the leash, until the
chasseurs were well within striking distance, then he let
them loose, and the hussars, instantly joined by Stewart's
pickets, rode at the enemy at a headlong, irresistible
gallop.  The leading squadrons of chasseurs went down
like ninepins; the rest wheeled about, galloped back to the
Esla, and did not draw rein until they were safe on the
French side of the stream.  Lefebvre-Desnouettes himself
rode his horse at the river, but the animal had received a
wound and refused to face the water.  While still floundering
at the brink, it was seized by an enterprising British
trooper; the general was captured with seventy of his
men, and Napoleon was left chafing at the first decisive
check he had personally met with in Spain.

Meanwhile there was growing dissatisfaction in the
ranks of the British infantry, and even among the officers.
It had been stated, with some show of authority, that
Moore intended to make a stand at Astorga, but no one
believed it; a similar statement had been made so many
times before, always to be falsified.  Some of the more
clear-headed among the rank and file endeavoured to
prove to their discontented comrades that the retreat was
inevitable; Moore was no coward, and only the knowledge
that he was overwhelmingly outmatched would have
induced him to retire without giving battle.  He had nothing
personally to gain by running away; his military reputation
was at stake, and he had further the duty of showing
that Britain honourably stood by her pledges to Spain.  It
was a bitter disappointment to him, and nothing but a
strong sense of responsibility had actuated his decision
to march to the sea.

Unhappily a retreating army is always prone to get out
of hand.  Already marauding had taken place at various
stages of the march, and the sullen incivility of the
Spaniards provoked ill-tempered words and deeds on the
part of the British.  The road was encumbered with
stragglers, as well as with numbers of women and children,
who suffered from the inevitable hardships of a march
through wild country in mid-winter.  The confusion and
disorder were only increased when the troops reached
Astorga.  There they met the ragged Spanish regiments
of the Marquis of La Romana, who, in spite of Moore's
repeated requests that he would retreat northwards into
the Asturias, had marched westward into Galicia, giving
as his reason that the only available pass into the former
province was blocked with snow.  In retreating before
Soult his rear-guard had been cut to pieces by Franceschi's
dragoons at the bridge of Mansilla, where there had been
every opportunity of making a stubborn resistance.  They
arrived at Astorga in a state of panic, more like a crowd
of peasants driven from their homes than a regular army.
They were half-naked, and half-starved; many were
suffering from a malignant fever, and they were maddened by
cold, disease, and want.  Learning that large supplies of
food lay at Astorga, as well as stores of shoes, blankets,
and muskets, they prowled through the town, seizing
whatever they could lay hands on, setting an example
which too many of the British soldiers showed themselves
ready to follow.

When, on the evening of December 30th, Jack's company
marched into Astorga, they found disorder reigning
everywhere within its ancient turreted walls.  Several houses
were on fire, men were plundering on every side, all kinds
of objects were littering the streets.  Three divisions of
Moore's army had already left the town on the way to
Villafranca, and the only British troops now quartered
there were the Reserve under General Paget and the two
light brigades.  These had kept better discipline than
most of the regiments which had preceded them, and the
signs of havoc provoked a great burst of indignation from
the rear companies of the 95th as they swung round into
the great square.  Corporal Wilkes was especially voluble
in denunciation of the bad discipline among the Spaniards.
He was expressing himself warmly to Bates as they kept
step together, when the sight of a tall Spanish soldier in
somewhat better trim than the tatterdemalion rank and
file of La Romana's forces added fuel to his wrath.  The
men were standing near the lighted door of the Town
Hall, where Jack's company was to be quartered, and the
Spaniard looked with a cynical smile at the Riflemen
defiling past.  He had a villainous countenance, its
forbidding aspect enhanced by the fact that he had only one
eye, which was gazing at the men with a fixed, stony,
unwinking stare.

"What's that one-eyed villain of a Don doing there?"
growled Wilkes, staring into the solitary eye as he passed.
"Why ain't he keeping his men in order, instead of loafing
about like a London whitewasher out o' work?"

Jack heard the remark, and turned to look at the
one-eyed man; but a scuffle between a man of the 28th and
a squalid Spaniard drew off his attention for a moment,
and when the quarrel was ended by the Englishman's fist,
the man had disappeared.

After the men had been safely got to quarters Jack was
sitting in the room he was to share with Pomeroy and
Shirley when he was summoned to the Casa Morena.
He there found Colonel Beckwith vigorously haranguing
a Spanish officer, and was called on to act as interpreter.
Beckwith was insisting in no measured terms that the
officer should make some attempt to check the disorder
among his men, and Jack did his best to soften the
colonel's language without depriving it of its authority.
At the close of the interview, about eight o'clock at night,
he was returning to his quarters when he fancied he heard
a cry proceeding from a large house that stood alone, and
by its size seemed to belong to a person of some importance.
He stopped and listened; the cry was not repeated; he was
passing on, when out of the darkness a little boy ran up,
seized his hand, and began to pull him towards the house.

"Señor!  Señor!" he cried in a terrified wail, "my
father—he is being murdered.  He is an old man; he
cannot fight.  Come, Señor, and save him!"

Jack had broken from the boy's clutch and was already
making with long strides to the front door.  It was firmly
barred and unyielding to his pressure.

"Not that way, not that way, Señor!" cried the boy,
and seizing Jack's hand again, he led him to the back,
through a narrow enclosure, to a flight of stone steps, at
the head of which was a French window with one of its
halves open inwards, and a dim light shining through.
Running with the boy up the steps, Jack found himself
in what was evidently the sala of the house.  It was in
darkness, but a door at the far end giving on to a corridor
was open, and a dim light filtered into the room from a
lamp, consisting of a shallow bowl in which a wick was
floating on oil.  Treading very warily, the two crossed
the room to the corridor beyond; at the end of the passage
a brighter light was streaming from a half-open door, and
Jack, alert to catch the slightest sound, heard a rasping
voice say in Spanish:

"Now, you old dotard, I will give you one minute by
yonder clock.  After that the knife, and I will search for
myself."

Pushing the boy behind him, and signing to him to be
quiet, Jack crept cautiously to the door and peeped into
the room.  Tied to a chair, with a rope cut from the bell-pull,
was an old gentleman, very frail and thin, with sparse
gray hair and beard.  On the table before him a long
knife, driven into the wood, rocked to and fro with
diminishing oscillation; an angular man in Spanish uniform, his
back half-turned to the door, occupied a chair within a
couple of feet of the victim, and, leaning forward, elbows
upon his knees, gazed with a vengeful smile into the old
man's face.  At the side of the room a large escritoire lay
open, its contents thrown pell-mell upon the floor.

The old Spaniard, bound and helpless as he was,
looked steadily with unflinching gaze into the face of
his enemy.

"Do you think for a moment, wretch that you are,"
he said with quiet scorn, his tone strangely contrasting
with the fury of the other, "do you think for a moment
that you will cajole me with empty promises, or scare me
with insolent threats?  I expect no mercy from you—you
were always a villain,—but I can at least baulk your greed.
I am an old man, do your worst; your knife has no terrors
for me."

The man, springing to his feet, snatched the knife from
the table, and lifted his hand to strike; but Jack had
already sprung into the room.  The sound of Jack's step
arrested the villain's movement; he half-turned to meet
the intruder, disclosing as he did so the distorted features
of a man with one eye.  Even at that tense moment Jack
connected him vaguely in thought with some previous
experience, but there was no pause in his action.  Before
the man had time to wheel completely round, Jack struck
him a blow on the chin that felled him to the floor,
where he lay stunned and motionless.  The boy threw
himself on the fallen man with a cry of triumph, snatched
up the knife that had dropped from his grasp, and with
two quick strokes severed the cords that bound the old
man.  Then in a paroxysm of fury he turned to drive the
weapon into the would-be assassin's heart.  Jack stayed
his hand, and at the same moment heard the sound of
trampling feet, and a familiar voice exclaiming:

"This way, my men; we shall find the English bandit
here."

.. _`Jack makes an Opportune Appearance`:

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   :alt: Jack makes an Opportune Appearance

   Jack makes an Opportune Appearance

"Miguel!" said Jack under his breath, remembering in
a flash the one-eyed servant he had seen following him
in Salamanca.  Turning quickly to the old gentleman,
who now stood in seeming uncertainty what the new
interruption might portend, he pointed to the prostrate
man and said:

"It is this man's master."

Then, as there was obviously no time to parley, he
rushed to the door and slammed it, intending to turn the
key.  The key was not in the lock.  Pressing his knee
against the door, Jack looked round and saw the missing
key on the table.  He called to the boy to bring it, but
he was too late.  The door was pressed inwards in spite
of Jack's exertions; there was greater force on the other
side.  Feeling it opening inch by inch Jack turned on his
shoulder, set his back against the oak, and drew his
sword, preparing to give way suddenly and attack the
enemy before they could recover from their sudden inrush.
But the boy, with a quick wit that did him credit, had
rushed into the corner of the room, where there was a
space of some two feet between the jamb and the wall,
and there, crouching on the floor, he jabbed with the
knife through the slowly widening aperture at the legs of
the nearest figure.  There was a yell of pain; the pressure
on the door instantly relaxed; and Jack, putting forth all
his strength, had almost succeeded in closing it when
a musket was thrust into the gap.  Jack's muscles were
strained to the utmost.  From the clamour in the corridor
he knew that the enemy were preparing for a concerted
rush.  He called to the old Spaniard to push the table
against the door, but before that could be done he felt
overpowering pressure on the other side.  Hastily
forming his resolution, he sprang back suddenly; the door
flew open, and three of La Romana's ragged ruffians fell
sprawling upon the floor.  Others came behind, and one
of them, with his heavy flintlock, struck out of Jack's hand
the sword he had drawn, dropping his weapon immediately
with a yell as he felt the boy's knife in his leg.  Jack saw
that the old Spaniard had taken down one of two rapiers
that hung on the wall beneath the portrait of an ancient
caballero.  Exerting all his strength, he dragged the table
round so that it stood obliquely across the room, cutting
off a triangular corner.  Then he seized the second rapier,
and stood side by side with the Spaniard, behind the table,
facing their foes just as several of them were preparing
to leap across it.

Among them Jack now recognized Miguel Priego, his
face lit up with savage excitement, flourishing his sword
and goading on his desperadoes.  The boy had crawled
beneath the table, prepared to use his terrible knife on all
who came within reach.  The one-eyed man had recovered
from the blow dealt him by Jack, and had snatched a
musket from one of his fellows.  Fortunately none of the
firearms were loaded, and the Spaniards, mad with rage,
grudged the delay necessary to charge their cumbrous
weapons.

"I think, Miguel, you had better call off your
followers," said Jack, in a momentary lull that preceded
the rush.

There was no reply; in point of fact Jack scarcely
expected one.  Miguel was at the moment out of sight
behind a burly mountaineer, and Jack felt rather by
instinct than by any reasoned process of thought that
the Spaniard would scarcely let slip this opportunity of
taking him at a disadvantage.  Behind the table Jack
measured the forces opposed to him.  Six men were
gathering themselves for the onslaught—lean, half-starved
wretches for the most part, but ugly customers in the bulk.
A raw-boned mountaineer, armed with a long musket and
a rusty bayonet, was the most formidable among the
gang, and Jack marked him out for special attention when
the critical moment came.  It was not long in coming.
At the cry from Miguel: "Down with the English dog!"
the six made a simultaneous rush, and if they had not
impeded one another's movements they must have made
short work of the little garrison.  The lanky Asturian
lunged viciously at Jack, who dodged the point by a
hair's-breadth, narrowly escaping, as he did so, the clubbed
musket of another Spaniard on the right.  Before the
mountaineer could recover, Jack's long rapier, stretching
far across the table, had ploughed a gash in his arm from
wrist to elbow, and at the same moment the second
assailant, howling with pain, had dropped his musket and fallen
to the ground a victim to the terrible knife of the little
Spaniard, who had been forgotten by the enemy in the
excitement of the fight.

The old man, however, had been less successful; one
of his opponents had felt the point of his rapier, but,
attacked simultaneously by another, his weapon had been
dashed from his grasp, and he now stood defenceless
against the foe, who were beginning to push the table
into the corner of the room.  Miguel, having left the
brunt of the action to his allies, now advanced
resolutely to the attack; and Jack's rapier had crossed with
the long sword carried by his opponent, when through the
open door sounded the heavy tramp of feet; and a loud
voice was heard shouting: "What I want to know—"  The
sentence was never completed, for Corporal Wilkes
sprang into the room, cleaving a way through the
maddened Spaniards with his fist.  Before they realized the
meaning of this unlooked-for interruption, the corporal
flung himself on Miguel, caught him by the collar, and
hurled him upon two of his men, who fell under him with a
resounding thud.  Immediately behind Wilkes, Bates and
two other men of the 95th had dashed in, and the rear of
the unexpected reinforcement was brought up by Pepito,
who at once engaged in a tussle with the Spanish boy,
now upon his feet, for the possession of the knife.

Wilkes stood with clenched fists over Miguel, while his
companions of the 95th threw themselves on the other
Spaniards and speedily disarmed them.

"You hound of a Don!" cried Wilkes, preparing to
knock Miguel down if he should attempt to rise; "what
I want to—"

"Wilkes, let him get up," said Jack quietly, coming
round the table, the rapier still in his hand.

Miguel rose stiffly, his face expressing the purest
amazement.

"Verdaderamente!" he exclaimed.  "If it is not my
dear friend Jack!  There is some strange mistake.  And
I did not recognize you in your uniform, Jackino!  Last
time I saw you, you remember, you were dressed as one
of ourselves.  Truly, dress makes a world of difference,
amigo mio."

His tone had all the oily suavity that Jack knew so well,
and so cordially detested.  Wilkes was looking from one
to the other with concentrated interrogation in his eye,
ready at a word from Jack to lay the Spaniard low
again.

"Shut the door, Bates," said Jack, as he saw the
one-eyed man slinking in that direction.  "That's your man, I
think?" he added, addressing Miguel.

"My servant, who accompanied me from Saragossa,"
replied Miguel.  "And I am at a loss to understand—"

"So am I," interrupted Jack.  "I am at a loss to
understand why a man in your position should
countenance violence, robbery, almost actual murder."

"Robbery!  Murder!  Really, my dear friend, these
are strange words to me.  I was in the street, and one
of these men—soldiers in the army of the Marquis of
La Romana—told me that an English ruffian—it was a
mistake, yes, but he said an English ruffian—had forced
himself into this house: for what purpose?  It could only
be, as you say, to rob or murder.  You know what sad
excesses your troops, usually so excellently disciplined,
have been guilty of; and having but a short time ago
heard that your colonel—Beckwith, is that his name?—had
sternly ordered his men to refrain from acts of pillage,
why, my dear friend, was it not natural for me to come in
and do what little I could to prevent such admirable orders
from being disobeyed?  That explains—"

"Oh!" said Jack.  "And your man—was that his
errand too?"

"Perez?  Oh no!  He obtained my permission to visit
his old master, the faithful fellow.  It was inconvenient, for
we should now be on the road; but could I—would
you?—hesitate in such a case?  I was touched by the poor
fellow's devotion."

Perez' solitary eye gleamed with a baleful light singularly
out of keeping with the sentimental character thrust
upon him by his master.  He wriggled venomously in
Bates's grasp.  The burly Rifleman checked his contortions
by impressing his knuckles into the nape of his neck.

Jack turned to the old man, who had watched the scene
in dignified silence.

"I think, Señor, you can throw some light on this
man's devotion."

The Spaniard, in a few quiet words, told Jack that the
man had, in fact, been his servant, but had been dismissed
two years before for attempted robbery.  He had suddenly
made his appearance that evening, taken his old master
unawares, and when he had bound him had broken open
the bureau containing, as he supposed, the valuables he
coveted, and, failing to find them, had demanded the secret
of their hiding-place under threat of assassination.

"I owe my life," he concluded, "the little that remains
of it, to my son here, who providentially overheard from
his bedroom above the threats of this wretch, and to you,
Señor, whose chivalrous intervention came at a moment
when I regarded my case as hopeless.  I thank you!"

"This, Señor," said Miguel, turning to the old man,
"is to me a most extraordinary, a most painful, discovery.
The man was recommended to me by Señor Alvarez, my
father's partner"—Miguel's fluency in his present
predicament recalled to Jack's memory many of his youthful
essays in mendacity.  "It only shows, Señor, how sadly
one may be deceived by a specious exterior."

As he spoke he regarded his one-eyed follower with a
look of mournful disappointment.

If Perez' exterior at this moment was any index to his
quality, he was scarcely a man in whom the most credulous
would have placed confidence.  In Bates's iron grip
his body was quiescent; but the malignant glitter of his
single eye told of raging fires within.

"It will be my duty," continued Miguel with increasing
sternness, "to bring this wretch to justice.  Men, seize
him, and see that he does not escape.  He shall be dealt
with by the marquis himself."

The Spanish soldiers advanced to carry out Miguel's
order, but Bates merely tightened his grip and looked
enquiringly at Jack for instructions.  Jack could not but
admire Miguel's astuteness.  He was perfectly well aware
that the man would be released as soon as he was out
of reach; but while loth to let him escape scot-free, he saw
how powerless he was in the face of Miguel's declaration.
It was a matter for the Spanish authorities, in which,
except as a witness, he himself had no concern; and it
was nothing to the point that the Spanish authorities were
hiding in cellars, lofts, and even, as he had heard, in
pig-styes.  He turned to the old man, and said:

"I fear, Señor, that, as things are, we have no choice
but to return this man to the care of his present—master.
Bates," he added in English, "let him go."

In apparent abstraction, Bates gave a farewell twist to
the Spaniard's neck-band, shot him among the knot of
tattered soldiery in the doorway, drew himself up, and
saluted.  With a ceremonious bow Miguel followed his
men from the room, several of them carrying with them
painful mementoes of the affray.  Wilkes shadowed them
to the end of the corridor.  Meanwhile the venerable
Spaniard had taken a decanter and several glasses from
a press in the corner of the room.

"You will permit me, Señor," he said to Jack, "my
servant having deserted me, to offer you and your worthy
soldiers a little refreshment.  It is a poor expression of
my gratitude to you and them, but it comes, believe me,
from a full heart."

The men willingly tossed off their bumpers, and soon
afterwards escorted Jack to his quarters.  He there learnt
from them that while at supper they had been summoned
by Pepito, who announced in broken English, eked out
by gestures, that el Señor Lumsden was in urgent need
of help.  He had apparently been shadowing Jack as
usual, had seen him enter the house, and a moment after
heard Miguel hounding on his willing dupes to kill the
English bandit.

"The little rascal is always putting me in his debt,"
said Jack to himself as the squad saluted and marched
off.  "He is quite a guardian angel."

.. vspace:: 2

No one but Jack had cause to regard Pepito in this
gracious light.

"What I want to know," asked Corporal Wilkes wrathfully,
when he returned to his billet "—what I want to
know is, what's become of my supper?"

Only Pepito knew.





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.. _`An Incident at Cacabellos`:

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   CHAPTER XIV


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   An Incident at Cacabellos

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   Stragglers—Oblique Oration—The Massacre at Bembibre—Moore's
   Appeal—A Shot in the Dark—A Souvenir

.. vspace:: 2

There was no rest for Jack or his friends that night.  On
returning to his quarters he found that Colonel Beckwith
had called the officers of the regiment together, and was
already addressing them with more than usual seriousness.
He told them that their hope of making a stand at Astorga
was fated to be disappointed.  Sir John Moore had
decided to continue the retreat with all speed, either
towards Vigo or towards Corunna.

"It is useless to pretend I am pleased," said the colonel.
"None of us are that.  Some of the youngsters among
us may think that things would be ordered differently if
they were in command.  That's not our business.  The
general is satisfied that his reasons are good, and all we
have to do is to obey orders.  And that brings me to the
point.  A retreating army is always apt to get out of hand,
and a British army perhaps more than any other.  Take
any man in the regiment and he'll ask you why he should
retreat, and what the dickens is the good of running away
from a Frenchman.  We've seen already what disorder
and ruffianliness have disgraced some of the regiments.
And I tell you, gentlemen, I won't have that in the 95th.
We shall from this time form a part of the actual
rear-guard.  The second battalion leaves, with other regiments,
direct for Vigo to cover our left flank.  The safety of
the whole army will therefore depend much on us.  The
French won't let us off lightly.  We shall often be in
touch with them, and if there's any want of steadiness
they'll get through us, and then it's all up.  I ask you
then, gentlemen, every one of you, to keep a tight hand
on the men.  There must be no slackness, no relaxation
of discipline.  The honour of the regiment is in your
keeping, and, by heaven!  I'll never lift my head again
if the 95th fails me."

The colonel's vehement words sent a thrill through the
group, and Jack Lumsden was not the only officer among
them who vowed inwardly not to disappoint "old Sidney".
Beckwith went on to prescribe their immediate duties.
He alluded to the confusion and disorder in which they
had found the town, in great part due to the unexpected
presence of La Romana's ragged regiments.  The place
had been crammed with stores, consisting of shoes,
blankets, tools, muskets, ammunition, from which many
of the preceding regiments had been partially re-equipped.
But in the haste and muddle the distribution had been
mismanaged.  Many of the stores had been left behind,
and the town was full of British and Spanish stragglers
eager to plunder where they could.  The colonel instructed
his officers to see that pillaging was checked as much as
possible.  What stores could not be removed were to
be destroyed.

During the night, therefore, Jack and his chums were
busy in carrying out the colonel's orders.  It was found
next day that there were not sufficient draught animals
to serve for the transport of all the remaining stores, and
the 95th were employed for many hours in burning and
blowing up valuable stuff to prevent it from falling into
the hands of the French.

The regiments of the Reserve were to march in the
evening for Cambarros, a village some nine miles in the
direction of Villafranca.  Before they started, Captain
O'Hare paraded his company and repeated to them the
substance of what Colonel Beckwith had said to the
officers.

"I've heard a deal of grumbling at times," he said.
"You don't want to retreat.  No more do I, but our
chance'll come, please the pigs; and then I know who'll
be at the front—not the grumblers and skulkers, but the
men who know how to obey.  Now, my boys, I trust ye.
I don't want the general to send for me by and by and
say: 'O'Hare, ye've the most blackguardly company in
the whole army.'  We'll do better than the best, and sure
I'll be proud of ye.  And if there should be a man among
ye with a deal o' power over the company—a good soldier
let us say, but with a long tongue and a way of speaking
that—well, a way of speaking"—the captain studiously
kept his eyes from Corporal Wilkes: "if there's such
a man, to him I'd say, with all my solemn seriousness:
Ye've a deal of persuasion; then use it for the glory
o' the regiment; and bedad, I believe he'd know what I meant."

Corporal Wilkes, looking straight in front of him, had
turned a brick-red, and was unusually silent as the
company marched off.  To Sergeant Jones, the little
Welshman, toddling along by his side, he remarked presently:

"I hope you'll mind what Peter said, Sergeant.  As for
me, 'tis a good thing for the glory o' the regiment that
the second battalion's off another way, for all my good
resolutions would be turned into sour milk by the long
fiddle-face of Corp'ril MacWhirter."

After their sleepless night, and hard work during the
day, both officers and men were glad to fling themselves
down on rough beds of hay and straw when they reached
Cambarros at dusk.  But they had hardly settled to rest
when some dragoons came riding in with news that the
enemy were advancing in force.  The order was
immediately given to get under arms, and the march was
continued through the night.

The Reserve reached Bembibre, a dirty village of mud
and slate, at daybreak on January 1st, expecting now at
least to enjoy the rest so much desired.  But again they
were disappointed.  On entering the village they were
at once ordered to pile arms and clear the place.  It
presented the appearance of a town that had recently been
stormed and put to the sack.  It happened to be a depôt
for the wine produced in the neighbouring vineyards, and
large quantities were stored in the vaults and cellars of
the houses.  The inhabitants had shown themselves
unfriendly to the regiments of the main body of Moore's
army, and had provided food and drink for them only
with the greatest reluctance.  The result was that the
men of the least-disciplined regiments broke all bounds,
and set furiously to work to get for themselves what the
Spaniards had denied them.  Doors were wrenched off,
windows smashed, property of all kinds destroyed; and
the unfortunate discovery of so large a stock of wine had
the worst consequences.  Those were the days when hard
drinking was the rule in all classes of society.  It was
little to be expected, then, that rough soldiers, suffering
the hardships of exhausting marches on short rations, and
feeling bitter shame and humiliation at having to retreat
continually before a despised enemy, should prove able to
withstand the temptation to excess.  Ready to fight like
bull-dogs if the call came, they lost all sense of responsibility
at the sight of means to enjoyment, and set their
officers at defiance.

The Reserve spent that day and part of the next in
chasing the stragglers from the houses and driving them
along the streets towards the mountains; but the task
had been only partly accomplished when cavalry pickets
came in and reported that French dragoons were pushing
rapidly down the Manzanal pass in their rear.

"We must leave the ruffians to their fate," cried General
Paget furiously, ordering the Reserve to march out
towards Cacabellos.  Not until late in the day did the 95th
learn from the last of the hussar pickets what had happened
when they left Bembibre.  Lahoussaye's dragoons had come
galloping into the village, riding through the groups of
stragglers who flocked staggeringly along the road when
they heard the noise of the pursuing horse, and slashing
at them as a schoolboy does at thistles.  The French
made no distinction of age or sex.  They hewed their
way indiscriminately through drunken redcoats, women,
and children.  Even mothers who held up their babies,
pleading for mercy on them, were struck down as
ruthlessly as soldiers with arms in their hands.  Few escaped.
Those who did bore terrible signs, in sabre-cuts on head
and shoulders, of the revenge the French horse had wreaked
for their defeat at Benavente.

The road from Bembibre led over the crests of the
Galician hills, with ravines and gorges and precipitous
crags on both sides.  Then it made a rapid and crooked
descent, ending in a valley through which dashed a
thundering river, white with foam, bearing huge stones
and logs along with it in its tempestuous rush from the
Asturian mountains to the ocean.  Here the hill-slopes
were covered with gaunt trees, which, though now bare
of foliage, threw a mysterious gloom over the narrow
road.  Marching rapidly down this road against a
beating storm of sleet, and whipping up innumerable
stragglers on the way, the 95th at length arrived at
Cacabellos.

Here, just as they halted, Sir John Moore met them,
having ridden back with his staff the five or six miles
from Villafranca, where the main body had bivouacked.
The regiments of the Reserve were at once formed up in
columns in the fields by the roadside.  Sir John, his
fine face lined with care and sorrow, took up a position
in their midst, and then, in his clear penetrating voice,
amid a silence broken only by the distant thunder of the
torrent, he spoke in stern biting phrases of the disorder
and want of discipline he had lately witnessed.  With a
pungent irony that made many ears tingle, the
commander-in-chief concluded his address thus:

"And if the enemy are now in possession of Bembibre,
as I believe they are, they have got a rare prize!  They
have taken or cut to pieces many hundreds of drunken
British cowards—for none but unprincipled cowards would
get drunk in presence, nay in the very sight, of the enemies
of their country; and sooner than survive the disgrace of
such infamous misconduct, I hope that the first cannon-ball
fired by the enemy may take me in the head."

After a few words, addressed specially to the 28th,
which had done glorious service with him in Egypt, Sir
John turned rein and rode back to Villafranca.  His words
made a deep impression on both officers and men.
Previous appeals had not been in vain.  The reserve regiments
had kept much better discipline and committed fewer
excesses than the main body, and the general's stern
speech deepened the resolve of all good soldiers to abstain
from disorder, and merit Sir John's approbation.

Alas! all were not animated by the same spirit.  General
Paget bade the men encamp some distance away from the
town, and gave orders that no one was to enter the streets
unless accompanied by a non-commissioned officer, who
was to be held responsible for the orderly return of those
committed to his charge.  But no sooner had darkness
fallen over the camp than many of the soldiers, forgetting
the reproof of Sir John Moore, forgetting the subsequent
appeals of the company officers, escaped from their lines,
and, entering the town, resumed the old work of plundering.
During the night many were arrested by the patrols,
and two men were seized in the act of committing a serious
crime, of which few had yet been guilty.  They were
maltreating and robbing a poor old Spaniard, who, paralysed
with fright, was piteously beseeching them to take all that
he had, but to do him no harm.

"This means a drumhead court-martial!" said Captain
O'Hare when the matter was reported.  "Keep the men
in irons; Lumsden, take a note to the general from me."

Jack had delivered his note, and was returning to his
quarters, when, as he passed along a broad road shadowed
by trees on one side and a high wall on the other, he
felt that someone was dogging him.  He had heard no
pursuing footsteps; he was at a loss to account for his
strange uneasiness; but, obeying an impulse of which he
was only half-conscious, he turned suddenly round, moving
as he did so a little towards the wall on his right.  At the
same moment there was a report and a flash.  A bullet
whizzed past him; he could feel the rush of air on his
cheek, there was a dull thud as the missile flattened itself
on the stone wall.  Springing forward in the direction
of the report, he could just discern in the murk a tall
figure scuttling for cover among the trees.

The man had a dozen yards' start, but Jack, always
a good sprinter, had reduced the gap by half when his
quarry disappeared into the trees.  It was a narrow belt
of chestnuts about three or four deep, and, following the
sound of the footsteps in front, Jack dashed through,
heedless of obstacles.  A moment's scramble among roots
and brambles brought him to the far side; his assailant
had turned sharp to the right and was scampering towards
a high wall running parallel with the belt on the opposite
side of the road.  With a fine spurt Jack reduced the
gap to an arm's-length; his outstretched hand was within
a few inches of the man's collar, when, to his utter
amazement, the pursued disappeared into the wall.  Jack shot
past an open door, and before he could check his progress
there was a violent bang and the sound of falling bolts.
Jack pushed against the door, then threw himself upon
it with all his force; it did not even creak.  The wall
was too high to clamber over; it was too long to go
round; he had perforce to relinquish the thought of further
pursuit.

"Some poor demented Spaniard who has lost his all,
perhaps," he thought, and was about to resume his walk
when he noticed a small triangle of cloth projecting
between the door and the jamb.  The would-be assassin's
cloak had caught, and, but that the door was rather
clumsily fitted, would have prevented its being closed.
Without any definite motive, Jack drew his sword and
cut off the strip, which he put into his pocket, where it
lay for many days forgotten.  He said nothing about the
adventure to his fellow-officers, and it did not keep him
awake for an instant when, at a late hour that night, he
threw himself, worn out, upon his uncomfortable bed.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Great Retreat`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XV


.. class:: center large bold

   The Great Retreat

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Reprieve—A Fight in prospect—Trapped—Napoleon leaves
   Spain—Salvage—The Tragedy of War—In Motley—A
   Breathing Space—The Slough of
   Despond—Motherless—Thalatta!—A Batman's Battle

.. vspace:: 2

The growing spirit of indiscipline and lawlessness among
the Reserve determined General Paget to make a signal
example of the culprits.  Early on the following morning
he marched all the five regiments under his command
towards the crown of a low hill overhanging Cacabellos,
in the direction of Bembibre.  After sending pickets to
the summit, to keep the enemy under observation, he
ordered the whole division to form a hollow square, the
men facing inwards.  Some distance to the rear of each
regiment, the officers sat in drumhead court-martial.  The
men caught in the act of plundering were brought before
them, tried, and sentenced, and then taken into the square,
where, lashed to the triangles, they received the
punishment awarded.

During this scene the general sat stern and impassive
on his horse.  At one moment a cavalry vedette galloped
up with news that the French were in sight.  "Very well,"
replied the general, and the punishment went on.  Soon
another trooper appeared, to report that the enemy were
rapidly advancing.  "Very well," said the general, without
movement or further word.

So many were the offenders that the work of flogging
continued for several hours.  At length came the turn of
the two soldiers taken in the act of assaulting and robbing
the Spaniard.  They were summarily tried, and condemned
to be hanged.  At one corner of the square stood a tree
with accessible branches.  The unhappy men were conveyed
thither, with halters round their necks.  They were
hoisted on the shoulders of two strong Riflemen, and the
ropes were fastened to the lower boughs.

It was just twelve o'clock.  One movement of the
supporting men would leave the criminals dangling in
the air.  The whole division awaited in breathless stillness
the dread signal for execution.  General Paget looked
grimly down from his horse upon the wretched men, and
in his set face they saw no hope of mercy.  At this tense
moment a captain of dragoons galloped through a gap
opened for him in one side of the square.  Halting before
the general, he excitedly reported that the pickets on the
hill were being driven in.

"I am sorry for it, sir," said the general coldly; "and I
should rather have expected the information from a trooper
than from you.  Go back to your fighting pickets, sir," he
added sternly, "and animate your men to a full discharge
of their duties."

The officer retired.  General Paget was again silent.  His
lips twitched, his eyes flamed.  Then suddenly he burst out:
"My God! is it not lamentable to think, that when I
might be preparing my troops to receive the enemies of
their country, I am preparing to hang two robbers!  But
if at this moment the French horse should penetrate that
angle of the square, I will still execute these villains at
this angle."

Again he was silent, and now shots were heard from the
direction of the hill.  The awed soldiers looked with
consternation at their general's face.  How long was this
suspense to continue?  A brief pause; then, swinging
round in the saddle, Paget cried:

"If I spare the lives of these two men, will you promise
to reform?"

A quiver passed along the ranks; the men held their
breath; there came not a murmur from their parted lips.

"If I spare the lives of these men," again said the
general, "will you give me your word of honour as
soldiers that you will reform?"

Still the same awful silence reigned—and the ominous
sound of firing came nearer and nearer.

"Say 'yes' for God's sake!" whispered an officer to the
man next him.

"Yes," murmured the man.  His neighbours repeated
the word in firmer tones, and then, as though a match
had been laid to a train of powder, shouts of "Yes! yes!"
rang along the faces of the square.

"Cut the ropes!" cried the general.  The prisoners
were instantly released, the triangles removed.  The men
cheered, and as the square was reduced, and formed into
columns, the British pickets came slowly over the brow
of the hill, steadily retreating before the advance-guard of
the enemy.  Paget's orders were rapidly given.  The men
started at the double towards the River Cua behind them.
Three battalions crossed the bridge and took up their
position behind a line of vineyards and stone walls
parallel to the stream.  A battery of horse-artillery,
escorted by the 28th, was placed so as to command the
road in its ascent towards Cacabellos from the bridge,
and a squadron of the 15th Hussars, together with half
the 95th Rifles, was left on the Bembibre side of the
river to keep observation on the French.

"At last, my boys!" said Captain O'Hare.  The men of
his company were flushed with excitement.  At last!  The
weary waiting of two months was at an end; the enemy
were upon them; and now every man tingled with the joy
of the fight to come, and greedily watched for the foe.
The officers, looking along their ranks, could not but be
struck with the wonderful change.  Gone the blank despair,
gone the sullen discontent, gone the hang-dog look; every
man's face was lit up, every man's eyes flashed, every man
stood erect with an air of high-hearted staunchness that
had not been seen for many a day.

"There they are!" cried Pomeroy, whose keen eyes had
descried Colbert's hussars advancing cautiously over the
hill-top.

At this moment the bugle sounded for the last companies
of the 95th to retire across the bridge and occupy the
defensive positions allotted to them.  The men marched
with alacrity; it was certain there must be a fight now.
Jack's was the rearmost company but one.  It had only
reached the middle of the bridge when the 15th Hussars
came riding behind in hot haste, and the infantry were in
imminent danger of being trampled down.  The French
were pressing on in such force that the hussars, wholly
outnumbered, had been hurriedly withdrawn.  Unsupported,
the 95th were too weak to withstand a charge of
cavalry; they must retire, and there was no time to lose.

"Hurry your stumps!" shouted a trooper as he passed Wilkes.

"No hurry!" said the corporal coolly, looking over his
shoulder.

But behind them Colbert's hussars and chasseurs had
swept down on to the bridge and ridden into the
rear-most company.  Some of the latter were cut down, half
were captured, the rest succeeded in gaining the farther
bank, and joined their comrades behind the vineyard
walls.

"A close shave, mates!" said Wilkes.  "But let 'em
come on; we're ready."

General Colbert, a young and gallant officer, and reputed
the handsomest man in the French army, had reached the
bridge, and saw that the slopes on the other side were held
by artillery and what appeared to be a small infantry
escort.  All the regiments but the 28th were by this time
concealed from view.  Burning to distinguish himself, and
anxious to emulate the successful charge of Franceschi's
dragoons at Mansilla a few days before, Colbert did not
wait to reconnoitre the position and discover the actual
strength of his enemy, but ranged his leading regiment
four abreast, and led them straight for the bridge.  Paget's
guns played briskly on the French horse until, with the dip
in the road, they sank below the line of fire; then the
hidden infantry followed up with steady volleys from the
walls and hedges.  But the French were barely within
range.  The majority of the troopers escaped injury,
cleared the bridge, and dashed up the hill, to carry, as
they thought, all before them.  Then the men of Paget's
Reserve showed their mettle.  The 28th were drawn across
the road; the 52nd and the 95th were out of sight behind
the vineyard walls; and the French horsemen fell into the
fatal trap.  They suddenly found themselves in the midst
of a hail of bullets from left, and right, and front.  For
a brief moment they struggled on; then Tom Plunket,
leaping the wall and flinging himself flat on the slope, fired
two marvellous shots which killed Colbert and his aide-de-camp
in succession, whereupon the whole brigade wheeled
about and fled madly back to the bridge, leaving the road
strewed with their killed and wounded.

Cheer after cheer broke from the ranks of the exultant
British infantry.  Many of the men wished to leap the
walls and pursue the baffled enemy, and had to be pulled
back like hounds straining at the leash.  Not a man had
been lost since they left the bridge, and Paget's "Well
done, Riflemen!" was like wine to their hearts.

But the fray was not yet over.  Lahoussaye's dragoons
swept down to the river, avoided the fatal bridge, forded
the stream at several points, and tried to make their
way over the rocky ground and through the vineyards.
Finding this impossible, they dismounted and advanced
on foot in skirmishing order, meeting with a spirited
response from the 52nd and 95th, whom they first
encountered.  Then, as the afternoon wore on, Merle's light
regiments of the line came into sight, and in column
formation marched forward with loud cries to cross the
bridge.  For a few moments the 52nd were in danger of
being swept upon and overwhelmed, but the six guns from
the battery above opened a raking fire on the massed
columns of French, and drove them back pell-mell to
the other side.  For an hour longer the French
sharpshooters kept up a skirmish with the 95th and 52nd;
then, as darkness fell, they recognized the hopelessness
of their attack, gave up the contest, and hastened down
the slopes to the eastern bank of the Cua.

"By George, this is a change of scene!" said Smith,
standing with his fellow-subalterns around a hastily lit fire.
"Won't the Grampus be green when he hears what he has
missed?  I wonder what the fellow is doing?"

"Offering Napoleon long odds on something or other,"
said Jack with a laugh.

He had hardly spoken when the command came to form
up in marching order.  Sir John Moore had ridden back
from Villafranca on hearing Paget's cannon, and was
delighted to hear of his old friend's success.  The French
having suffered so decisive a check, he saw that the
Reserve could be safely withdrawn under cover of night.
The troops set out in better spirits than they had known
for many a day, tramping cheerily over the snow-covered
road with the comfortable assurance that at last they had
won the general's approbation and proved themselves men.
Their gaiety was doubled when they learnt from a wounded
prisoner on the way that Napoleon was no longer behind
them.  He had withdrawn part of his army, leaving Soult
and Ney to continue the pursuit.  The thought that they
had baffled the great emperor was delightful to the British
troops: they never doubted that Napoleon had seen he
was beaten by Johnny Moore, and had run away in sheer
petulance and chagrin.

Four miles after leaving the scene of their brilliant
rear-guard action, the Reserve arrived at the outskirts of
Villafranca.  Long before, they had noticed a red glow
in the sky, which as they approached threw a rosy light
upon the banks of dazzling driven snow.  As they drew
still nearer, the whole town seemed to be on fire.  In
every street great heaps of stores and provisions were
burning, and so thoroughly was the work of destruction
being carried out that guards had been placed even round
the doomed boxes of biscuit and salt meat.  But the
temptation was irresistible to hungry soldiers; many men,
as they passed, stuck their bayonets or pikes into junks
of salt pork that were actually on fire, and bore them off
in great glee.  The men had been marching so steadily
that the officers for the most part winked at this rescue
from the flames, Jack remarking to Pomeroy that they'd
all be precious glad to get a slice or two of the meat
by the time the march was ended.

After leaving Villafranca they passed through the defile
of Piedrafita into still wilder country.  Climbing Monte
Cebrero and emerging on to the barren plain of Lugo,
the troops reached Herrerias shortly before daybreak.
They were suffering intensely from fatigue and cold, but
their halt for food and rest was of the shortest; as soon
as day dawned they had to set off again.  Now that
daylight illumined the scene, they saw terrible signs of
the misery and disorder into which the constant forced
marching had thrown the main body.  The road was
strewn with wreckage of all kinds—horses were lying
dead, wagons lay shattered and abandoned; here was a
rusty musket, there a broken sword; worn-out boots,
horse-shoes, pots, articles of apparel, dotted the white
and rugged causeway for miles.  Worse than that, human
bodies were mingled with these evidences of woe.  At one
spot Jack saw a group of redcoats stretched on the snow.
Thinking they were stragglers asleep, he went to rouse
them.  They made no response to voice or touch; in their
sleep they had been frozen to death.

As the day wore on, other incidents added to the general
misery.  The horses of Lord Paget's cavalry were
constantly foundering through losing their shoes on the stony
road.  When this happened, the dragoons dismounted,
and led their chargers till the poor beasts could go no
farther.  Then, by Lord Paget's orders, they were shot,
so that they might not fall into the hands of the French.
Many a rough trooper shed tears as he raised his pistol
to the head of the faithful animal whose friend he was,
and as the cracking of the pistols reverberated from the
rocks, the sounds sent a painful shudder through the ranks
of the trudging infantry.

Hundreds of stragglers from the leading divisions
loitered along the road, causing an exasperating delay to
the march of the disciplined Reserve.  Among the laggards
were not merely the marauders and ne'er-do-wells who had
cast off all obedience, but veterans who were overcome by
the rigours of the winter cold and the heavy marching on
diminished rations.  Every mile brought new horrors.
Many sick and wounded were being conveyed in baggage-wagons,
which, as the beasts failed, were abandoned,
leaving their human occupants to perish in the snow.
Women and children panted along beside their husbands
and fathers, or rode in the few wagons that were left; but
many dropped on the road and died of cold and fatigue.
Looking back from a spur of the mountain chain, Jack
saw the white road behind covered with dead and dying,
a black spot here, a red spot there, showing where a
woman or a soldier lay sleeping the last sleep.  The
groans of women, the wails of little children, were torture
to the ears of the more sympathetic.  Sometimes a soldier
whose wife had given up the struggle, would fling himself
down beside her, and, cursing the general whose object he
so grievously misunderstood, remain to die.

Long after dark the Reserve reached Nogales, where
they remained for the rest of the night.  Before dawn,
however, news came that the enemy were pursuing close
upon them, and as they marched out, the rear companies
became hotly engaged with French cavalry.  The force
hurried on, across a many-spanned bridge, up a zigzag
road, skirmishing all the way, and halting at
favourable points to tempt the enemy to attack.  At one spot
the mountain rose up a sheer wall on the right of the
road, and on the left a deep precipice fell steeply to
a valley.  Here General Paget ordered the men to face
round.  The position could not be gained by a frontal
assault, and the enemy, waiting for their heavy columns to
come up, sent voltigeurs and some squadrons of cavalry
into the valley to attempt a flank attack.  But deep drifts
of snow having hidden the inequalities in the ground, men
and horses tumbled head over heels as they advanced,
and, amid grim cheers from the British troops above,
the French withdrew discomfited.

Fighting almost every yard of ground, the Reserve
continued their rigorous march towards Lugo.  Near
Constantino they were amazed to meet a train of fifty
bullock-carts crammed with stores and clothing for La
Romana's army.  Someone had blundered.  The Spaniards
were dispersed far and wide, and, but for its being
intercepted by the British, the convoy must inevitably have
fallen into the hands of the French.  Astounded at this
piece of Spanish folly, but rejoiced at the luck which had
brought clothes at such an opportune moment, the soldiers
soon stripped the wagons, many a man carrying off several
pairs of trousers, and enough shoes to last a lifetime.
Thus, when they were halted for action at the bridge of
Constantino, they presented a remarkable appearance.
Some wore gray trousers, some blue, some white; they
were new shod, but with no regard for pairs.  Corporal
Wilkes, in his haste to replace his own worn-out boots,
had put a black shoe on his right foot and a white one
on his left.  But there was no time to attend to niceties
of costume, for the enemy kept up an incessant fire all
the afternoon, and it was only at nightfall that the tired
regiments could withdraw from the eastern end of the
bridge and resume their march.

At dawn on January 6th they reached the main body,
drawn up in battle order three miles in front of Lugo.
The brigade of Guards were in their shirts and trousers,
cooking their breakfast, having hung their tunics and belts
to the branches of trees.  As Captain O'Hare's company
passed through them, one of the officers asked him if he
had seen anything of the French.

"Bedad, now," exclaimed O'Hare, "you'd better take
down your pipe-clayed belts from those trees, my dear,
and put them on, and eat your murphies, if you've got
any, as quick as you can, or by the powers those
same French will finish 'em before they're cold."

The Guards laughed mockingly; they themselves had
not fired a shot during the whole retreat.  But as the 95th
marched on they heard Paget's guns open on the advancing
enemy behind, and, turning, they gave the incredulous
Guards a derisive cheer.

No sooner had the Reserve reached Lugo than General
Paget ordered the men to clean their weapons and polish
their accoutrements as thoroughly as if they were going
on parade in the barrack-ground at Colchester.  Corporal
Wilkes had scarcely uttered a murmur for three days, but
this command was too much for him.

"Discipline be hanged!" he growled.  "We ain't out
for a picnic, nor goin' for a walk in the park, and what's
polishin' paste to do with lickin' the French?—that's what
I want to know."

But when he had recovered from the first feeling of
hardship he recognized that the general's motive was to
maintain the excellent discipline which had hitherto
prevailed in his division; and Wilkes was too good a
soldier not to do his best, even with the polishing
leather.

For three days the army lay at Lugo—three days of
incessant rain, which turned to slush the snow on the
hills, and proved more trying to the spirits and tempers
of the men than the frost had been.  There were large
stores at Lugo, and Sir John Moore judged it wise, after
the exhausting forced marches of the past weeks, to allow
the men a good spell of rest and plentiful supplies of fresh
food.  His position was very strong, and he hoped to
tempt Soult to a fight, being assured that the troops
would pull themselves together and give a good account
of the enemy.  But Soult was too wary to attack until he
had overwhelming numbers at his disposal.  His own
force had suffered almost as severely as Moore's, and
some of his divisions were still toiling on far in his rear.
After a few attempts to feel the British position he made
no further movement, and Moore waited and fretted in
vain.  He would not risk an offensive movement himself.
He had no hospitals, few wagons, no reserve of food or
ammunition; delay would weaken him and strengthen
Soult.  There was no alternative but to continue the
retreat.  The route to Vigo was definitively abandoned;
orders were issued for the whole army to slip out of its
lines on the night of the 8th, leaving the camp-fires
burning so as to deceive the enemy, and to make for the direct
road to Corunna, to which harbour the transports had
already been commanded to sail round the coast.  As
soon as darkness fell all the foundered horses were shot,
and such provisions, stores, and ammunition as were not
required were destroyed.  At half-past nine the first
companies moved off, and by midnight the whole position was
evacuated.

This was the beginning of the last stage of the army's
demoralization.  The frost of the previous week had quite
broken up; a pelting storm of sleet and rain assailed the
troops as they marched.  In the inky darkness many of
the guides missed their way amid the labyrinth of
vineyards, orchards, and intersecting paths.  Regiment after
regiment went hopelessly astray, and when General
Paget's reserve division reached the appointed spot on
the Corunna road, it proved to be not in the rear but
actually in advance of the main body.  In these
circumstances Paget moved his troops slowly, knowing that if
the enemy overtook the less trustworthy regiments behind
him the whole force would run the risk of being annihilated.

Through the black and rainy night, then, the men
marched, halting at intervals.  No man was allowed to
leave the ranks; all were filled with apprehension of what
might befall.  On the morning of next day the belated
divisions of the main body began to appear, and the
Reserve thankfully resumed its proper position of
rear-guard.

A terrible lack of discipline prevailed in all but a few
of the regiments of the main body.  Drenched by the
incessant rain, the men sought shelter in cottages and
outlying hovels whenever they were halted, with the result
that when the order for marching was given vast numbers
could not be found and had to be left behind.  All day
and all night the Reserve was harassed by the necessity
of beating up these loiterers, until officers and men alike
were almost overwhelmed with despair.

The experiences of that fearful 9th of January haunted
the memories of Jack and his friends for years afterwards.
From cheerless dawn to cheerless eve their eyes were
shocked, their hearts were riven, by misery almost passing
belief.  For mile after mile of that bleak desolate country,
a land of bluff and spur, torrent and ravine, men fell down
upon the road, groaning, weeping, dying of weariness and
disease aggravated by the bitterness of shame and despair.
Mules and oxen lay as they fell, and in the wagons they
had drawn, husbandless women and fatherless children
wailed and moaned, a prey to hunger and exhaustion.
Many a time Jack stuffed his fingers into his ears to
keep out the intolerable sounds, until the very frequency
of them made him almost callous, and he tramped along
with haggard face and the same sense of dreary hopelessness.
Smith was bent almost double with illness, Pomeroy
and Shirley were so utterly weary and dispirited that
they dragged their feet like old peasants racked with the
ague of the fields.  Even Pepito's vivacity had vanished;
for the greater part of every day he rode on a
gun-carriage, a silent image of depression.

As the 95th halted for a brief spell at a hamlet,
Corporal Wilkes, his tanned, weather-beaten cheeks drawn
and pinched, came up to his captain and said:

"Sir, Sergeant Jones's wife is dead."

"God help the poor fellow!" said Captain O'Hare;
"what'll he do now with those two little children?  How
are they?"

"Well, sir, and cosy; that good woman gave her life
for them.  The sergeant's crazy, sir, and the wagon's
come to grief that they were riding in.  I thought, sir—"

"Well?"

"I wouldn't like to leave 'em behind, sir, and the
sergeant's as weak as a rat and can hardly trail his pike.
Couldn't I carry one, sir?"

"Sure an' you can.  Take turns with another man.
And the other one—the poor little colleen—"

"Pomeroy and I will look after her," said Jack.  "It'll
give us something to think about.  We'll either carry
her by turns or get some of our best men to do it."

And so it happened that for the rest of the retreat two
little children, a boy and a girl, rode along in the rain
on the shoulders of tender-hearted Riflemen, who talked
to them and cheered them, so that the small things,
all unconscious of their irreparable loss, prattled and
laughed and felt exceedingly proud of their unusual
altitude.

It is the morning of January 10th; the regiments are
climbing the face of a range of hills, the last, they have
been told, that intervene between them and the harbour
of Corunna.  The rain has ceased, the sky clears, and as
the drenched and footsore warriors top the crest the sun
bursts through a lingering cloud and throws its low
beams from behind them.

"The sea! the sea!"

A great shout reverberates over the rugged hills.  Below
lies the little town of Betanzos, and beyond it the blue
white-crested waters of the Atlantic.  Corunna is only a
few miles distant; the end of the long agony is in sight;
and the sudden coming of weather springlike in its mildness
after the severity of winter, fills all hearts with
unutterable gladness.  Colonel Beckwith roars at his men
with a gruffness which nobody mistakes, and the fierce
tension of General Paget's face is relaxed for the first
time for many days.

"The finest retreat that was ever retreated," cries
Captain O'Hare, who, though he looks only the shadow of
his former self, has suddenly recovered his usual
cheerfulness.  "But what's afoot down yonder, begorra?"

All eyes follow his gaze downhill.  They light on a
curious spectacle.  In the distance the road is dark
with French cavalry, their helmets and accoutrements
flashing in the unwonted sunlight.  Between them and the
heights there marches a nondescript horde of stragglers,
in all uniforms, from all regiments.  But they are no
longer straggling.  Formed in a solid mass across the
road, they are retiring by alternate companies, one
company remaining to face the French, another marching
along the road until they reach a position whence they
can cover the first's subsequent retreat.  Time after time
Franceschi's horsemen charge; but every charge is beaten
back by the rolling fire of the British, who fight and retire,
retire and fight, with equal steadiness.

"Bedad, now, that's fine!" cries Captain O'Hare
enthusiastically.  "That's the greatness of the British Arrmy!
Three cheers for the fighting stragglers, my boys!"

Cheer upon cheer roll down towards the baulked and
angry French.  Stage by stage the army of stragglers
retire up the slope until they are safe within the
protecting lines of the Reserve.  There the curious incident
is explained.  Dr. Dacres of the 28th had entrusted
his instruments and baggage to the care of a batman,
who had loaded his mule's panniers so heavily that the
animal had fallen far behind the regiment.  During the
night the man slept in a cottage by the roadside, and,
rising before dawn, was astounded to find that the French
were almost within arm's-length.  Shouting to the numerous
stragglers in the vicinity, the batman, relishing a little
brief authority, got them into some sort of order and
began to fight a rear-guard action on his own account.  A
sergeant of the 43rd, seeing what was in the wind, hurried
up and assumed command of the growing companies.
It was by the skilful handling of this man, William
Newman by name, that the impromptu rear-guard had
held their own against the enemy's cavalry and been
brought safely out of danger.

The army remained for a whole day at Betanzos.  On
the 11th they marched out towards Corunna, the Reserve
being hotly engaged with the enemy's cavalry, and
disputing the last ten miles yard by yard, under the approving
eye of Sir John Moore himself.  Two bridges were blown
up.  On the 13th Franceschi's dragoons discovered a
ford, and Sir John, seeing that his main body was now
secure, ordered the Reserve to fall back on Corunna.  The
regiments had hardly left their bivouac when shots from
the French artillery came with a crash on to the roofs of
the houses they had occupied near the bridge.

It was with this thundering adieu reverberating in their
ears that the gallant 95th, along with their equally gallant
comrades in arms, marched into their new quarters at
Eiris, above Corunna, and attained, after much travail,
their long-desired haven.





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.. _`The Battle of Corunna`:

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   CHAPTER XVI


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   The Battle of Corunna

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   The Eve of Battle—Moore's Position—Wilkes is Himself
   Again—The First Shot—Advance 95th!—Hand to Hand—Wilkes
   in Action—A Message to Moore—The Commander-in-Chief—A
   Hero's Death—"Alone with his Glory"

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The great retreat was ended.  Sir John Moore's army, after
its terrible forced marches over 250 miles of wild country in
the worst of weather, had reached the sea.  Five thousand
men were left behind in sick, dead, wounded, stragglers,
and prisoners—a small proportion considering the awful
experiences they had come through.  The honours of the
retreat belonged to Sir Edward Paget and his regiments
of the Reserve, who had fought dogged and successful
rear-guard actions wherever opportunity offered, and had
come through the whole campaign with little loss.

But the crowning achievement of the retreat was yet
to be accomplished.  Sir John's purpose had been to
embark his army at Corunna on the transports he expected
to find awaiting him there, and to sail at once for home.
If this had been effected the history of the British army
would have lacked one of its most glorious pages.  When
Moore arrived at Corunna, the expected vessels were still
beating about under stress of weather in the Atlantic.
The embarkation was perforce delayed.  Meanwhile the
French were straining every nerve to catch their enemy;
it was more than likely that Soult would arrive in sufficient
force to compel Moore to fight, and the long-wished-for
opportunity of a great battle with the French would
come at last.

Corunna was packed with military stores.  In readiness
for anything that might befall, Moore gave his men new
muskets and rifles to replace the rusty weapons they had
brought with them across the hills.  He blew up a large
amount of superfluous ammunition, and then sat down in
security to await the arrival of the belated transports.

When, on the evening of the 13th, the Reserve fell back
upon the main army at Corunna, there was still no sign
of the ships.  The British army was in position on a range
of heights a short distance to the south of the city, and
Paget's hard-wrought troops were ordered to occupy the
little village of Oza, in the rear of the British line.  There
they formed, for the first time since the retreat began, the
real Reserve of the army.

During the next two days Jack had more than one
opportunity of visiting Corunna, where the Spaniards were
making vigorous preparations for defence.  For he was
selected as usual by the general to arrange with the native
contractors for the supply of provisions to the division.
In his journeys to and fro he supplemented the company
mess with small luxuries to which it had long been a
stranger.

"I could almost forgive you your good luck, Jack,"
said Pomeroy at breakfast on the 15th.  "But you should
have been in the commissariat; you are wasted as a
fighting-man.  Eggs, butter, cream, and coffee—why, the 52nd
across the way are as green as our coats with envy."

"If we stay here much longer we shall be back again
on the old rations," replied Jack.  "We shall soon eat
up the native produce; only our own regulation hard-tack
will be left."

"How are they getting on down at the harbour?"
enquired Shirley.

"Slowly, as far as I could see.  They don't seem to
have done much since the transports arrived yesterday.
It is ticklish work embarking the guns.  But they expect
to be ready to-morrow; and I hear that the Reserve are
to be the first to embark."

"I don't like that," remarked Smith indignantly; "after
we have borne the brunt of the retreat, they might at least
have let us see it through to the end."

"Oh! as for that, we may take it as a compliment,"
said Jack with a smile.  "It's a reward of good conduct.
Our baggage is to be sent down to-night, we are to follow
to-morrow at mid-day, and by the time the other divisions
are ready we shall be snug and comfortable."

"It seems to me," said Pomeroy, pointing out of the
window of the cura's house in which they were quartered,
"that by this time to-morrow some of us will be a little
too snug."

Jack and the rest, after a hasty glance at the heights
to which Pomeroy was pointing, could not help feeling
that the prospect of an unmolested embarkation was
indeed becoming remote.  They were now black with
the masses of Soult's infantry.

Soult's progress during the previous two days had been
very slow.  He found the British strongly posted; and
his experiences during the pursuit were calculated to
inspire him with a wholesome caution when tackling, not
as during the past fortnight an isolated rear-guard, but
the whole of Moore's army in battle array.  There were
three ranges of hills, on any of which an army defending
Corunna might be assured of a strong position.  But two
of these ranges were of too great an extent to be held by
Moore's little force of 15,000 men, and the British general
had been obliged to content himself with occupying the
innermost of the three, extending over about a mile and
a half of country to the south of the city.  It would have
been an entirely admirable position had it not been
commanded at the right extremity by a hill of considerably
greater height, and within easy cannon-shot, while beyond
this exposed flank was a stretch of open country extending
to the gates of Corunna, and offering the enemy a good
opportunity of turning the whole position.  But Moore
had no choice; he knew the risk he ran, and relied on
the valour and steadiness of his men, who, now that their
troubles were over, had become cheerful, confident, and
well-behaved British soldiers.  And with the instinct of
a great general he ultimately turned his very weakness
into a source of strength.

Throughout the day French troops continued to stream
westward along the hills, and when night fell Soult had
driven in the British outposts and was in full occupation
of the whole line of heights.  There were sounds of
incessant activity during the night, and at dawn on the
following morning the British found that the enemy had
dragged guns up the steep rocky eminence dominating
their right wing.

For several hours after daybreak, on that 16th of
January, the two armies stood fronting one another.  Moore
had sent all his cavalry, and most of his guns, on board
the transports, retaining only the infantry to fight Soult
if he attempted to interfere with the embarkation.  Hope's
division, consisting of Hill's and Leith's brigades,
occupied the extreme left of the British line, its flank resting
on the river.  Next came Baird's division, comprising
Manningham's and Bentinck's brigades, the latter facing
the little village of Elvina that lay at the bottom of the
slope held by the British, but almost under the frowning
heights occupied by the French batteries.  On the Corunna
side of the British position, and protected by the crest
of the hills, Catlin Crawford's brigade lay in support of
Hope's division, while Warde's two fine battalions of
Guards were posted a little farther to the right, ready
to reinforce Baird.

Almost out of sight of the French, in front of the
village of Oza, lay Paget's Reserve, ready to be hurled upon
any force attempting a turning movement against Baird.
It was so well concealed by the formation of the ground
that the French were not likely to discover its presence
until their movement was well developed.  Some distance
in Paget's rear General Fraser's division occupied a low
eminence outside Corunna, ready either to support Paget
or to hold in check the large body of French horse that
was found to be threatening the right rear of the British
position.

Dinner-time came, and there was still no forward
movement among the enemy.  Moore concluded that Soult had
made up his mind not to risk an attack, and consequently
made preparations for completing his embarkation.  The
reserve division, with orders to embark as soon as the
mid-day meal was over, grumbled while they ate their
plentiful rations, even those from whom no murmur of
complaint had been heard during the lean days of the
retreat.  Corporal Wilkes, whose courage and cheerfulness
during the black fortnight had more than once
earned him a word of praise from his officers, now made
no attempt to disguise his feelings.

"I call it a shame," he remarked, gazing moodily up
the valley to the dark masses on the heights, "that we
should scuttle away without even the chance of a slap
at 'em.  Of course they'll come on as soon as they see
our backs, and of course there'll be another fight.  Of
course there will.  But where shall we be?—shut up with
rats and cockroaches and shellbacks, and wishing we was
at the bottom o' the sea.  We've been doin' the worst of
the work—there ain't no arguin' as to that—why couldn't
they let us see it out?—that's what I want to know."

.. _`Plan of the Battle of Corunna`:

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   :align: center
   :alt: The Battle of Corunna

   The Battle of Corunna

At this moment the order is given to march; the men
shoulder their rifles and sullenly tramp down the valley
in the direction of the harbour.  For weeks they have
been straining all their energies to reach the coast;
now, when a few minutes' march will place them beyond
the reach of their enemies, and ensure complete immunity
from the insufferable horrors that have dogged their
footsteps during the retreat, their bearing is that of savage
resentment.

Suddenly the dull boom of artillery is heard far up
the valley; the division, as if at the word of command,
comes to an instant halt, and the men's faces clear as
if by magic.  Surely this must mean a fight after all;
they are to have their long-wished-for chance of coming
to grips with the enemy.  While they are thus waiting,
anxious expectancy on every face, an aide-de-camp from
the commander-in-chief dashes up at full speed.

"There is a general movement, sir," he says, addressing
General Paget, "all along the enemy's line.  An
engagement appears to be imminent.  The commander-in-chief
desires that you will return to the position you have
just left."

Never a general's voice rang out more thrillingly than
when Paget gave the order to countermarch.  Never
was an order received with more joy by officers and men.
In a few minutes the Reserve had regained its old position
around the little village of Oza.  There the eager troops
awaited, with what patience they might, the lurid moment
that was to compensate them for all their past sufferings
and humiliations.  This moment was some time in coming,
but it came at last.

The brunt of the attack fell, as Moore had expected,
upon Baird's division.  The guns from the opposite
heights, completely outranging the British artillery, played
upon Baird's front, and from the vantage-ground of the
rocky eminence on his flank raked it from right to left.
Under cover of this artillery fire a great French column,
preceded by a swarm of skirmishers, swept down the
hill, drove in the British pickets, cleared the village of
Elvina of a company of the 50th, and advanced up the
slope held by Bentinck's brigade.  A portion of the
column at the same time detached itself from the main
body and moved round the right of the British position
with the object of taking it in flank.  Moore instantly
seized the opportunity.  Hurling the 42nd and 50th
regiments of Bentinck's brigade at the French front
attack, and driving home the charge with the help of
Warde's two battalions of Guards, he swung round the
4th Regiment on Bentinck's right to meet the flanking
column, and ordered up Paget from behind the hill to
take this force in its turn in flank.

The hour has struck at last!  With a cheer the 95th,
who are in the van of the Reserve, dash forward in
extended order across the valley, where they come into
immediate contact with Lahoussaye's dragoons, who have
been pushed forward on the French left to assist the
turning movement.

The country, however, was far better suited for infantry
than cavalry tactics; low walls and ditches broke up the
formation of the horsemen and prevented them from
charging with effect, while giving excellent cover to the
Riflemen.  The Frenchmen made a good fight, and there
were several fierce combats between knots of Riflemen
and small isolated bodies of horse; but the 95th pressed
steadily forward, sweeping the enemy before them until
the dragoons were driven back upon the slopes of San
Cristobal, a low hill on the extreme left of Soult's
position.  There Lahoussaye dismounted his men and made
a desperate effort to hold the Riflemen at bay, while the
infantry that had hoped to turn Bentinck's flank were
fighting a losing battle with the other regiments of the Reserve.
It was here that many who had come unscathed through
the perils of the retreat fell under the withering fire of the
troopers.  A dismantled farmhouse, with some ruined
out-buildings, stood facing Corunna some distance up the
slope.  Encircling it was a low stone wall; other stone
walls, taking the place of the hedges in an English
landscape, radiated from it, dividing the surrounding fields,
and the ground on all sides was cut up by ditches and
ravines.  It was an ideal position for defensive tactics,
and Lahoussaye's men, sheltered behind the walls, made
an obstinate stand against the advancing Rifles.

The task of clearing the farm fell to O'Hare's company.
A rough cart-track led to a gap in the wall that had once
been the gateway, now blocked up by the French with
heavy wooden beams.

"Now, Riflemen," cried Captain O'Hare, "you have
your chance at last.  Remember Bembibre!" and with a
cheer he led the company straight at the gap.  When
the Rifles were within twenty yards of the walls they
were met with a murderous volley from the defenders, and
there were many gaps in the line before the wall was
reached.  Then began a fierce hand-to-hand fight, in which
every advantage was on the side of the defenders.  Again
and again the Riflemen mounted the wall and swarmed
up the barricade, only to be thrust back by the sabres
and clubbed carbines of the troopers.  Sergeant Jones,
whom the loss of his wife had made a dangerous foe
for a Frenchman to meet, succeeded in forcing his way
across, accounting for two of the troopers in his passage,
but the man behind fell to the pistol of a French officer,
and before the sergeant could be supported he was
surrounded by the enemy and sank under a dozen wounds.
Captain O'Hare, at the first assault, was stunned for a
few moments by a blow from a clubbed carbine, Pomeroy
received a cut over the brow from a sabre, and others
lay either dead or badly wounded within a few yards of
the gateway.

Jack, on the right extremity of the line, had attacked
the wall some fifty yards from the gateway, but the
ground falling away steeply at this point, the obstruction
was even more difficult to scale than in the centre.
Three times he and Wilkes, although gallantly supported
by their men, were thrust back after laboriously climbing
the steep bank that carried the wall.  He was about to
make a fourth attempt when he observed that a few yards
to the right, near an angle in the wall, the stones showed
signs of approaching collapse.  The bank had given way
at this point, several huge stones had already fallen
out of the wall, others were loose, and the mortar was
crumbling.

"Corporal Wilkes, order six men to load and fire at any
head that appears above the wall.  The rest go at them
again.  Bates, and you, Plunket, follow me."

Jack led the way to the weak spot in the wall, and
directing the men to work as quietly as possible, began to
remove the loose stones.  As he did so the surrounding
blocks came away without difficulty, and in the course of a
couple of minutes a hole some two yards wide and about
a yard and a half high, extending half-way through the
wall, was made just above the bank.  In the meanwhile
Wilkes had led another assault up the bank, and sounds
of fierce fighting still farther to the left proved that a
renewed effort was being made to carry the barricade.  A
glance to his left showed Jack that the other companies
were busily engaged with a large body of Lahoussaye's
horse, who had taken advantage of some open ground to
remount and threaten the regiment's flank.

Seizing a rifle dropped by one of his men, Jack ordered
Bates and Plunket to make a simultaneous attack with
him on the spot where they had broken half through
the wall.  Running up the bank, they put their shoulders
to the tottering masonry.  The wall shook, then cracked,
and falling, fortunately for Jack and his men, inwards,
left a gap a couple of yards wide.  There was a cloud
of dust, through which Jack, followed by Bates and
Plunket, dashed with a rousing cheer.  The three men
were at once surrounded by twice their number of
dragoons; but with their rifles they kept the Frenchmen at
bay, while Wilkes and the others, profiting by the
temporary diversion, scaled the wall.  "Come on, my boys!"
shouted Wilkes.  "What I"—crack on a Frenchman's
head—"want to know"—a second crack, and the big
fellow burst through the French troopers, followed by
several men of Jack's company.  Thus reinforced, Jack
led a vigorous charge; nothing could withstand it.  The
French troopers broke, and made a dash for their horses,
tethered in the rear of the ruined farm, but in their flight
they impeded one another's movements, and only a few
got away.

Meanwhile Smith, who in O'Hare's temporary absence
was in command of the company, formed up his men on
the far side of the farm, and continued the forward
movement that had been for the moment arrested.  Within a
few yards of the farm they were overtaken by General
Paget, who galloped up and said:

"Well done, Number One Company!"  Then, after a
careful examination of the ground in front, and of the
retreating enemy, he turned to Captain O'Hare, who had
recovered from his blow and came up eagerly.  "I think,
sir, we hold them safe in this quarter.  I shall be glad if
you can spare me one of your officers.  I have a message
for the commander-in-chief."

O'Hare, who, chafing at being knocked over, had remarked
Jack's share in carrying the farm wall, beckoned
him forward.

"Take one of the Frenchmen's horses yonder,"
continued General Paget, when Jack came up and saluted,
"and tell the commander-in-chief that the enemy on this
side are in full retreat.  We shall continue to push them
through the valley, and ought shortly to threaten their
great battery."

He pointed, as he spoke, to the rugged slopes, now
covered with a thick pall of smoke, on which Soult had
massed his heaviest guns.  A continuous dull roar came
from the battery, from which the French gunners were
pouring shot after shot at the British infantry.

With a parting hint to Jack that the commander-in-chief
would probably be found with Baird's division, General
Paget wheeled his horse round and returned down the
slope.  In a few seconds Jack was in the saddle, jumping
walls and ditches, and floundering through ravines towards
the village of Elvina.  The retreating French infantry,
broken but not yet dispersed, barred his direct progress.
He ploughed across the valley, finding terrible evidence
of the bitterness of the struggle in the scores of dead and
wounded dotting the fields from which the tide of battle
had now ebbed, and spurred his horse to a hand-gallop up
the gentle acclivity beyond.  When he reached the crest,
the whole battle was spread like a panorama before him.

Far to the left General Hope's division was slowly
pushing the French back through the village of Palavea,
from which they had driven the British outposts at the
beginning of the battle.  In the centre a severe struggle
was being waged for the possession of Elvina, where
Bentinck's brigade, after hurling back the frontal attack
and driving the enemy up the opposite slopes, was now
with difficulty holding its own doggedly against superior
numbers.  On the right the French flanking columns
were being driven steadily through the valley by Paget's
division, and Franceschi's dragoons were already retiring
behind the great battery, where eleven guns at almost
point-blank range were now tearing huge gaps in Bentinck's
slender columns.

Jack had halted for a moment to get his bearings; he
was beginning to make his way down the slope towards
Elvina when he caught sight of three officers on his left,
galloping towards him on the crest of the hill.  In the
leading horseman, mounted on a cream-coloured charger
with black tail and mane, he instantly recognized Sir John
Moore; the others were officers of the staff.  Jack had eyes
only for the general as the well-known figure swept up at
headlong speed to within a few yards of the spot where
he had halted, then suddenly drew rein, throwing the
gallant charger upon its haunches, with quivering nostrils
and heaving flanks.  Jack never forgot the picture of horse
and rider at this moment: the charger snorting with
excitement, its eyes dilated, its ears cocked forward, its
hoofs ploughing deep furrows in the soft earth; the rider,
with eyes fixed searchingly upon the enemy, seeming to
keep his seat without conscious effort, his whole being
concentrated in the lightning glance with which he took
in every detail of the fight.

He was about to move away when Jack trotted up,
saluted, and delivered his message.  Sir John seemed too
much preoccupied to notice who his informant was.  After
an instant's reflection he said: "Follow me, sir; I shall
probably have a message for General Paget in the course
of a few minutes."  Then, setting spurs to his horse, he
galloped down the hill towards Elvina.

As they approached the village the 50th Regiment,
commanded by Major Charles Napier, was making a desperate
effort to retake the place.  They drove the enemy at the
point of the bayonet through the village street and beyond
some stone walls on the outskirts; but there the French
rallied, and, being reinforced from the slopes above, again
advanced, capturing Major Napier, who was desperately
wounded, and pressing hard upon the 50th regiment and
the Black Watch, both of which were running short of
ammunition.  The 42nd, mistaking an order, began to
retire.  Then the commander-in-chief rode up, and
addressing them said: "Men of the 42nd, you have still your
bayonets.  Remember Egypt!  Remember Scotland!  Come
on, my gallant countrymen!"

With a cheer the Black Watch returned to the attack.
Moore followed the brilliant charge with kindling eyes.
"Splendid fellows!" he exclaimed.  He was just turning
to give Jack the promised message when a cannon-shot
from the battery above struck him to the ground.  For
one brief moment it might almost have been thought
that the hurt was a trivial one, for the general, raising
himself upon his right arm, continued to gaze eagerly
and with a look of noble pride upon the struggle beneath.
It was not until the success of his troops was assured
that he sank back and allowed himself to be removed
from the field.  Four soldiers carried him tenderly in a
blanket to the rear.  No doctor was needed to tell the
grief-stricken bearers that the wound was mortal.  The
injured man knew that there was no hope.  They would
have removed his sword; its hilt was pressing against
the wound.  "It is as well as it is," he said.  "I had
rather it should go out of the field with me."  As they
carried him towards Corunna he more than once bade
them turn to learn how the fight was going.  They bore
him to a house in the town; as he lay dying his mind
was filled with his country and the commanders who had
served him and England so well during the bitter days
of the retreat.  "I hope the people of England will be
satisfied.  I hope my country will do me justice."  He
spoke of Paget, asking to be remembered to him.
"General Paget, I mean; he is a fine fellow."  He left
messages for all his friends, and in the midst of his agony
mentioned for promotion several officers whose gallantry
in the field he had noticed.  He bore his dreadful
sufferings without a murmur.  Only when he dictated a last
message to his aged mother did he show signs of breaking
down.  And thus, nobly as he had lived, when night had
stilled the sounds of war and the stars blinked over the
awful field, the great soldier passed away.

Jack had accompanied the bearers to the little room
whither the general was carried, and remained for some
time doing such small services as Moore's aides-de-camp
required of him.  When it was seen beyond all doubt that
death was very near, he was sent back to the battle-field
with the sad news.  During his absence the fight had
been raging with undiminished fury.  The enemy were
retiring; the British were pressing forward on all sides;
and but for the lamentable event that had just occurred
it is possible that Soult's army would have been utterly
destroyed, for his ammunition was failing, and behind
him his retreat was barred by an impetuous torrent,
spanned by only one narrow bridge.  It was not to be.
Sir David Baird, who would naturally have succeeded
to Moore's command, had himself been wounded.  Sir
John Hope, to whom the command now fell, ordered the
advance to be checked as the shades of evening were
falling.  His decision was doubtless wise.  He was not
in a position to follow up a successful action, for the
cavalry and guns were all on board ship.  The advantage
already gained secured the immediate object for which
the battle had been fought—the safe embarkation of the
army.

When Jack, sad at heart, regained his regiment, below
the great French battery, he brought no message from
the commander-in-chief.  What the message would have
been he could only guess.  But he felt that had Moore
lived, the 95th would have had stern work to do upon
the rugged hills above.  Sadly the army retired into its
lines at Corunna; and as the last shot from the French
guns boomed across the valley, and the watch-fires of the
British pickets broke into flame on the heights, the body
of the noble Moore was laid to rest in the citadel, simply,
peacefully, without pomp, amid a reverent silence.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`In the Guadalquivir`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVII


.. class:: center large bold

   In the Guadalquivir

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   In the Dumps—Messages—A Fellow Passenger—A
   Match—Marcamiento—The Despatch Disappears—A Quick
   Recovery—Pepito Expostulates—Perez Plunges—Returned
   with Thanks—Mr. Frere—An Opportunity—A Volunteer—Pepito's
   Present—Before the Gale

.. vspace:: 2

The sadness which overshadowed the whole army was
partly alleviated by the bustle of embarkation.  The battle
had been won; the object of the great retreat had been
achieved.  There was nothing to be gained by postponing
the return of the victorious but battered army to England.
Delay would have enabled reinforcements to reach Soult,
which might place him in a position to renew his attack
with better hope of success; while the state of the British
army was such that it was impossible to follow up their
success by a pursuit of the French.  Sir John Hope,
therefore, upon whom the command had fallen through Moore's
death, gave orders that the embarkation of the troops
should be hastened, and within twenty-four hours the men
were aboard the transports, ready to set sail for home.

Jack was resting in the afternoon with the officers of
his company.  Illness and fatigue had worn them all to
shadows.  Pomeroy was wounded, Smith was so haggard
as to be hardly recognizable, while Shirley's spirits had
forsaken him, and his chums were too much depressed
even to object to the melancholy dirges which he quoted,
on the homoeopathic principle, for his own solace.  Jack
alone retained something of his old cheerfulness, and he
was doing his best to hearten his companions, before their
turn came to embark, when a messenger entered, saying
that Sir John Hope desired to see Mr. Lumsden at once.
He hurried off, and returned half an hour later with even
greater cheerfulness in his eyes and gait.

"What do you think, you fellows?" he cried.  "I am
not going to sail with you after all!"

"Thank heaven!" said Pomeroy, with his head bandaged.

Jack smiled at his old chum's petulance.

"I'm not so thankful, Pommy," he said.  "But for
one thing I'd much rather go home with you.  As it is—"

"Well, what's your one thing?" said Smith, as he paused.

"I'll tell you some day.  I don't want to leave Spain
just now, that's all."

"What are you going to do, then?" asked Pomeroy.

"Hope is sending me with a despatch to Seville, to Mr. Frere,
our minister there.  I'm to put myself at his orders.
The general thinks that people at home will be so mad
at this retreat that they'll howl for leaving Spain to its
fate; so it's very probable that I shall not be long
behind you.  And you'll be as fit as fiddles when I see you
again."

"My own mother wouldn't know me now," said Smith.
"You always have had all the luck.  Ten chances to one
you'll be promoted again, while we, what with our wretched
condition and that awful Bay of Biscay, shall either be
thrown to the fishes on the way home or drop into our
graves as soon as we get there."

"'Call for the robin redbreast and the wren,'" quoted
Shirley dolefully.

"Now, Shirley, cheer up!" said Jack.  "Don't give all
the fellows the blues."

"Faith, no," said the voice of Captain O'Hare, who had
heard the last words as he entered.  "I'm so weak myself
I could hardly kill a fly, but I'm captain o' this company,
and I won't have my men driven into the dumps.  There's
that Wilkes, now.  I left him outside, smoking some
unmentionable stuff with his mates, singing 'Down among
the dead men', in a voice that would scare an undertaker.
'Faith,' says I, 'it's delighted ye ought to be, seeing ye're
a sergeant before your time.'  'Sir,' says he, 'I'm only
promoted cos poor Sergeant Jones is down among the
dead men, and what I want to know is, whether it ain't
my dooty to have the nat'ral feelings of a man and a
brother.'  But what's this I hear, Lumsden?—we leave
you behind, eh?"

"Yes, though I hope you'll soon be out again.  Surely
our government won't throw up the sponge!"

"Bedad, not if they ask my advice.  No Englishman,
let alone an Irishman, ever turned his back for good on a
Frenchman yet; and as the war secretary's an Irishman,
why, I prophesy we'll be wid ye in six months, my boy."

"Oh! but I'll be home long before then.  There's one
thing I'd like to stay in Spain for, but I see little chance of
doing anything in it till the war's over, and then it'll be too
late, so no doubt Mr. Frere will send me home at once."

"Ah!  And your one thing?"

"A precious secret," interposed Pomeroy.  "Lumsden's
a mystery-man ever since he picked up that brat
Pepito, who's the owner of the evil eye if ever gipsy was.
Some cock-and-bull story of a hidden treasure, or a beautiful
heiress, or something of that kind, if the truth was
known; but Jack's as mum as a mile-stone."

A bugle sounded outside the house.

"That's our call, my boys," said the captain.  "Come
now, out and get the men into order, and march 'em off
with as much decency as their rags admit.  God bless ye,
my boy! please the powers we'll have you back in the mess
yet."

"'Fare thee well, but not for ever!'" said Shirley, giving
Jack a hearty grip.

"Good luck, old chap!" added Smith.  "Give my love to
the heiress Pepito finds for you, and if you should happen
to come across the Grampus, take my advice—don't
gamble."

Pomeroy shook hands silently.

"You'll give my love to the old people, Pommy?" said
Jack.  "I haven't had time to write to them since we left
Salamanca.  You can give them all the news."

Then they went among the men.  Sergeant Wilkes
looked astonished as he filed past and saw that Jack was
not among his company, and Jack felt sure that he
"wanted to know" more emphatically than ever,
especially when, on turning suddenly, he found that Pepito
was making farewell grimaces at all his friends in the
regiment.

"Now, Pepito," said Jack sternly, "if you're to come
with me, you must learn to behave yourself.  Cut away
and get my things ready; our ship leaves at nine to-night."

Jack's departure, however, had to be deferred until the
following morning, the wind being unfavourable.  Early on
the 18th of January, then, he went on board a bergantin of
some 300 tons, carrying his despatch for Mr. Frere in a
waterproof bag, and followed by Pepito bearing the few
articles he had been able to save out of his well-stocked
kit of a few months before.  Sir John Hope, when
taking leave of him, had asked him to put in, if possible,
at Vigo, and report to General Craufurd, if he were still
there, the recent happenings at Corunna.

His errand fortunately fitted in with the instructions of
the master of the brig.  Jack had to spend the night at
Vigo, where he learned that Craufurd had embarked his
brigade some days before, and had already sailed for home.
Next morning he was standing on deck, watching the
last bales of a miscellaneous cargo as they were lowered
into the hold, when, looking along the quay, he saw hurrying
towards him two figures which he recognized with no
little astonishment.  The one was a tall Spaniard in military
uniform; the other, still taller, was covered with a ragged
brown cloak, and staggered along under the weight of
a large valise.  Perceiving Jack's eyes fixed on him, the
foremost figure waved his hand with easy condescension,
and smiled, and when he was still several yards away,
began to speak:

"Ah, amigo mio, you look surprised!  As for me, I am
both surprised and delighted.  I had not hoped for the
pleasure of an old comrade's company on this voyage.
We will talk over old times, Jackino, and help each
other to face the perils of the sea."

"You anticipate a storm, then?" said Jack, with a
meaning look.

"Not anticipate, my friend; but one must be prepared.
And there is one peril that, storm or no storm, every
traveller has to endure."

"That is?"

"Mareamiento, amigo mio!  The motion of a ship produces
an unpleasant perturbation of the internal organs,
resulting in—"

Jack laughed.

"That's your peril!  Well, it's one that everyone has
to face for himself.  If I were you, when you feel the
perturbation beginning, I should lie on my back."

"But then I should have to turn over," said Miguel
seriously.  "However, you do not ask why I am prepared
to endure this disagreeable accident of travel; you
show no curiosity, my dear friend."

"About other people's business—no.  But I see that
your man appears none the worse for the punishment
which, no doubt, the Marquis of La Romana awarded him
for his outrage at Astorga—you remember?—the occasion
when you were so much shocked at the man's heartless
treachery."

"I remember well, dear friend.  Perez was the victim of
a sudden temptation, poor fellow.  You see, he has only
one eye.  He is not all there.  Oh, he was punished!  He
was made to take off his uniform—it had gold lace, you
remember?—and to dress as a servant, and that, to a man
of Perez' illustrious connections and personal pride, was a
great, an overpowering humiliation.  He felt the disgrace
so keenly that he assured me he could not live unless I took
him back into my service.  What could I do?  I could not
be responsible for the miserable wretch's self-destruction.  I
did what every man of heart would have done, and—  But
we are moving, my friend; the ship is oscillating like a
child's cradle; the wind catches the sails.  Yes, the voyage
has begun.  I think I will—ah!—descend."

As Miguel, leaning on the arm of his follower, disappeared
down the companion-way, Jack noticed a large rent
in the man's cloak, into which another material, by no
means a good match, had been clumsily darned.  He
started, and drew out of his pocket a jagged remnant
of cloth, the sole memento of his narrow escape at
Cacabellos.  In general appearance it closely resembled
the material worn by the Spaniard; but as both were
brown, and Spanish cloaks were usually of this colour,
it would not be easy, without close examination, to
establish their identity.

"It may be merely a coincidence," thought Jack, "but
it's queer, anyway.  I have no doubt he owes me a grudge;
I hit him rather hard.  And Miguel, who doesn't love me
either, would not be above reminding him of it."

With a careless resolve to be on his guard, Jack
dismissed the matter for the moment.  For two days he saw
nothing more of Miguel.  The wind was fresh, and while
Jack revelled in the rapid progress, and felt himself braced
by the keen salt air, Miguel, his man, and Pepito all passed
through various stages of misery and despair.  Pepito was
the first to recover, and from him Jack learnt that Miguel
had intended to attempt the journey southwards overland,
but that, having accidentally caught sight of Jack in Vigo,
he had made enquiries, and determined to risk the
sea-passage in his company.  This information Pepito had
picked up from one of the seamen, who had been accosted
and questioned by Perez before they left the harbour.

"Two villains, Señor!" said Pepito, as he concluded his
story.  "They do not love the Señor," he added, significantly
fingering the small knife that protruded from his
sash.  The action, like the weapon itself, was two-edged.
It was a warning to Jack and a menace to the two
Spaniards, who had just crawled for the first time from
below, and, unwashed and unshorn, presented anything
but a formidable appearance.  Nevertheless, whenever he
moved, Jack felt that Perez was watching him.  He never
succeeded in catching him in the act; he felt rather than
saw the glare of the man's forlorn eye.

Miguel volunteered the information that he was carrying
despatches from La Romana to the Supreme Junta at
Seville, and asked Jack what errand had brought him
southwards.  Jack, however, evaded the question, enquiring
into the present circumstances of La Romana's rabble,
and its prospects of escaping destruction.  The Spaniard
was evidently annoyed at Jack's want of communicativeness.
He gave the shortest answers to his questions, and
then, with a malicious gleam in his eyes, turned the
conversation into another channel.

"And when my errand at Seville is accomplished," he
said in his blandest tones, "I shall make my best speed
to Saragossa, where I shall find my pearl, my rose, querida
mia, the lovely Juanita.  Pity, Jackino, I cannot invite
you to my wedding.  It would give you so much pleasure
to see the two friends of your childhood united in the holy
bonds of wedlock; and when—"

But Jack had moved away; he walked forward and
watched the prow cutting its white furrow, thinking of
the old days when Juanita and he had both detested
Miguel Priego, and wondering how the girl could have
been persuaded to plight her troth to such a man.

The skipper told him that he hoped to make the mouth
of the Guadalquivir on the evening of the fourth day after
leaving Vigo.  He proposed to anchor there for the night,
and sail up to Seville next day.  Jack was so eager to
reach his destination and deliver his despatch that he
half-resolved to have himself put ashore at San Lucar, and
finish the journey overland.  With this intention, when
one evening the lights of San Lucar were sighted, he went
to his cabin for his despatch-bag, telling Pepito to carry
his few belongings on deck.  Lifting the bag, he was
struck by the appearance of fine scratches on the hasp
of the lock.  He held it close to the flame of his lamp
to examine it more thoroughly, and found in a moment
that the lock had been forced and the despatch abstracted.

"Pepito," he said quickly to the boy, "do you know
anything about this?"

"Nothing, Señor."

"The truth?"

"Fear makes lies, Señor; I know no fear."

"We shall not go ashore to-night.  Have you seen
anyone in my cabin?"

"No, Señor."

"Very well.  Say nothing about this."

Jack sat down to reflect.  Neither captain nor crew could
have any interest in stealing a despatch.  The bag had
contained nothing else.  Miguel and his man were the
only other passengers beside himself and Pepito.  What
would it profit either of them to tamper with the bag?
The possession of the despatch would be of real advantage
to neither of them; its loss would be merely an annoyance
to himself.  Anyhow, the despatch was gone; it remained
to be discovered whether it had been taken by Miguel or
Perez.

Pepito had been watching Jack's face.  He seemed to
divine what his master was thinking, for he came up to
him and said quickly:

"Señor, I know the Busne.  The paper is gone, and I
will find out where."

Jack looked back at him for a moment without speaking,
then he nodded, and Pepito hastened away with the light
footstep of a cat.

Two hours afterwards he returned, with a grin of glee
upon his elfin face, and a paper in his right hand.

"Señor's paper," he said.  Then, bringing his left hand
from behind his back, he produced a second paper, saying:

"The Busno's paper too.  Both were together in the
Busno's bag, beneath the Busno's pillow."

Jack frowned.  He looked at the address on the second
paper; it ran: "The Marquis of La Romana to their
excellencies the Supreme Junta at Seville."

"You must take this back, Pepito," he said.

"No, no," said the boy, his eyes gleaming.  "The
Busno and the one-eyed man are asleep; I should wake
them if I took the paper back.  The Busno took Señor's
paper.  Very well, I, Pepito, take the Busno's; and I will
tear it in pieces, and throw it into the sea."

"No," replied Jack.  "You are a clever boy, but you
must learn to do things in my way, not your own.  I will
give back the paper myself."

Pepito shrugged, as though expressing his inability to
understand an Englishman's mad way of doing things.
An idea had come to Jack; he would not restore the
despatch at present, but would wait until the morning.
Placing them both inside his tunic, and buttoning it up,
he lay down and settled himself to sleep.

Soon after daylight Jack heard angry, excited voices
in Miguel's cabin.  It was evident that the master had
discovered his loss, and that the man was bearing the
first brunt of his vexation.  Gradually the voices dropped
to a whisper, then there was silence, and Jack detected
a soft footfall in the passage.  The catch of the little
cabin-door was slowly raised; Jack coughed gently, the
catch dropped noiselessly, and the visitor disappeared
without a sound.

At breakfast Miguel, evidently preoccupied and ill at
ease, made no reference to the subject.  As Jack had
anticipated, he was not sure enough of his ground to
report his loss to the captain.  But his look became more
and more anxious, even agitated, as the vessel worked its
way in long reaches up the river.  Perez, lounging against
the bulwarks, was keenly watching Pepito, in whose
somewhat provocative bearing he seemed to find cause for
suspicion.  The gipsy was even more monkey-like than
usual, swarming up and down the yards, flitting around
and above his scowling enemy with a disconcerting
assumption that Perez was non-existent.

Suddenly, while Jack was watching the play of sunlight
on the mountain ranges in the east, he heard a cry,
followed instantly by a splash on the port side.  He sprang
across the deck, noticing as he did so the half-recumbent
form of Perez lolling unconcernedly at the spot he had
occupied for the past hour.  There was nothing to be
seen in the sluggish river below, and for a moment Jack
was inclined to think that his ears had deceived him; but
even as the thought passed through his mind he caught
sight of a small dark object rising above the surface some
yards in the wake of the vessel.  With a loud cry "Man
overboard!" he threw off his cloak, sprang on the bulwark,
and dived into the river.  The water was icy cold, but
fortunately in these lower reaches the current ran slowly,
and when he came to the surface, with the rapidity of a
practised swimmer, he saw the small black head much
nearer than he had expected.  In another second the
reason was clear; the owner of the head was swimming
towards him with slow leisurely strokes, and Jack began
to regret his precipitancy.

"The Señor will get wet," cried Pepito as he approached.
His tone was that of aggrieved expostulation.  "He will
spoil his fine clothes.  Ay de mí!  Why will the Señor
be so rash?  And he has only one uniform.  Now he will
have to travel as a Busno.  Ay de mí!"

Jack had now turned, and was swimming hard against
the current.  He heard Pepito remonstrating in his wake,
but although he treasured the remembrance afterwards, he
was in no mood at the time to be amused with his
follower's untimely zeal.  His heavy boots and water-logged
clothes, to say nothing of the numbing cold of the water,
made swimming anything but an agreeable exercise, and
he was heartily glad when he clambered into a boat that
had been promptly lowered from the ship.  Pepito
followed him a few seconds later, looking not unlike a water
rat as he emerged dripping from the river, in which he
seemed perfectly at home.  In the boat the boy showed
him, with an expressive grin, a piece of rope about five
feet long.  He had dragged it with him out of the river.
"What are you doing with that?" enquired Jack sharply.

"It belongs to the ship," was the reply.  "Pepito is
not a thief; he must give it back."

"How came you to fall in?"

"I was swinging on the rope."

"And it got untied?"

"No; it was cut."

Jack started and looked closely at the end of the rope,
which Pepito handed to him with a chuckle of enjoyment.
It had evidently been severed with a knife.

"Perez?" enquired Jack.

"Yes, Señor," said Pepito.

They had by this time come under the ship's quarter,
and a rope-ladder was let down for their benefit.

"Stay where you are for a moment," said Jack to the
bos'un; "I am sending another passenger."

As he clambered over the bulwarks Miguel met him with
assumed solicitude.

"You English are such sea-dogs, there is no keeping
you out of the water.  I trust, my friend, you will not
suffer a chill.  At this time of the year—"

He was warming to his theme when Jack stepped quietly
through the little knot of seamen gathered on the deck,
and went straight towards Perez, who was still lolling
against the bulwarks, with a gleam of malicious
enjoyment in his solitary eye.  Before the man was aware of
what was coming, Jack had seized him by the waistband,
and, using the bulwark as a fulcrum, had tilted him over
into the river.

Then Jack went below and changed his dripping garments
for the Spanish dress which he carried with him
in case of emergency.  He noticed as he did so that in
his absence his effects had been thoroughly ransacked.

When he came on deck he found that Perez, by no
means a favourite with the sailors, had been hauled out
with extreme deliberation, after swallowing some quarts
of the turbid waters of the Guadalquivir.  He glared at
Jack with concentrated malignity, but was physically
incapable of reprisal, even if his morale had not been
impaired by the knowledge that he had only got his
deserts.

The captain listened gravely to Jack's explanation, and
examined the severed rope with a judicial air.  Jack did
not consider it necessary to make any reference to the
incident of the despatches.

"I suppose," said the captain, "that the Señor will
wish to lodge an information?  A friend of mine is well
acquainted with a man of law in the Calle del Amor de
Dios, a very able man—he has one case of assault that has
lasted thirteen years."

"Thank you!" said Jack with a smile; "but as I only
propose to stay in Seville for a few days, I fear I shall
have to forgo your friend's friend's assistance."

The captain looked disappointed.

At length the vessel passed the Torre del Oro, a crenelated
octagonal tower near the landing-stage.  The brig
was moored, Miguel and his man, who had been below
since the incident, came on deck at the last moment, and
ostentatiously ignoring Jack's presence, stepped across the
gangway on to the quay.  As Miguel passed him,
however, Jack quietly touched him on the shoulder.

"Allow me, Don Miguel," he said, "to hand you this
packet.  It was found—you can perhaps guess where—with
some property of mine.  I have no occasion for the
one; you will perhaps permit me to retain the other?"

A dull flush mounted to Miguel's cheeks.  He took the
despatch without a word, gave Jack a glance in which
humiliation, chagrin, and undisguised hatred were strangely
mingled, and prepared to move off.

"A word," continued Jack, "before we part.  Your
Polyphemus is doubtless a very devoted servant, but if we
meet again, and I find him still at your elbow, you will
pardon me if I betray a little suspicion."

Jack turned abruptly away, leaving Miguel for once at
a loss for an adequate answer.  By the time he had
recovered himself, Jack, followed by Pepito, was half-way
across the quay.

.. vspace:: 2

Jack had never been in Seville before.  He was struck
by the forest of masts from ships lining the river bank, by
the whitewashed houses built in Moorish fashion, with
barricaded windows, and the narrow, busy, cobbled streets.
It was a fine clear day, and for almost the first time since
he landed, four months before, at Mondego Bay, he felt the
dry warmth of a southern climate.  He found his way
with Pepito along the river bank, past the bull ring, to
a comfortable inn in the Plaza Nueva, and having there
made himself as presentable as his worn and faded
garments allowed, he set off for the Alcazar, where he had
learnt that the British minister was then in conference
with the Junta.

He had some curiosity to meet Mr. Hookham Frere.
It had been common talk in the army that Sir John Moore
had received a number of almost insolent epistles from the
minister, who had gone quite beyond his province in
dictating the course of action which he thought the
commander-in-chief should follow.  Mr. Frere, indeed, was
not cut out for the delicate work of an ambassador, and
he was perhaps as little surprised as anybody when, two
months later, he was recalled by the dissatisfied
Government at home.  He was no doubt worried by the mingled
vacillation, braggadocio, and incompetence of the Spanish
authorities with whom he had to deal, and in truth their
behaviour was such as would have tried the temper of
a more patient and self-assured man than Mr. Frere.

He received Jack in a private room, and read the
despatch in silence, save when the news of Sir John Moore's
death provoked an exclamation.  He folded the paper and
laid it down on the table before him.

"Poor fellow!" he said.  "He always said he hoped to
die after a great victory.  You knew him, sir?"

"Yes, sir," said Jack.  "I had the honour to serve
under him through the campaign, and he was very kind
to me."

"Ah!  I am afraid our relations were a little clouded of
late.  I acted for the best.  I did some things I now
regret; they were due partly to my lack of trustworthy
information.  And now, though we have won a victory,
we have had to leave the country.  The army might
perhaps have sailed to Lisbon instead of returning home."

"I beg pardon, sir, but if you saw the horrible state
of our men you would be the last to say that.  They're
worn out with illness and hard work, eaten with vermin,
and have nothing but rags to cover themselves with.
I came off better than most, and you see what a
condition my uniform is in."

"Terrible!—I had hoped so much from this expedition.
The Spaniards have indeed been given a breathing-space,
but they will make little of it.  And they are so
untrustworthy, so untrustworthy, Mr. Lumsden.  At this time,
of course, it is of the utmost importance that the real
state of things should be known to all the Spanish
generals in all parts of the country; but I cannot depend
on the Junta here telling the truth.  There is General
Palafox, for instance, in Saragossa, a young man for
whose talents I have the highest admiration; he is, as
you may perhaps know, besieged by the French, and the
Junta has encouraged him with the news that great battles
are being won for Spain, and that armies will shortly
march to his relief.  All humbug, humbug!  Buoyed up
by false hopes, he will resist to the bitter end, and the
poor people of Saragossa may endure all the nameless
horrors of a protracted siege only to find themselves
disappointed and deceived.  And then they will blame us,
accuse us of deserting them in their extremity.  It would
be difficult now for any messenger to reach him; but in
any case I cannot depend on the Junta's telling him the
truth.  I am weary of it all."

Jack had listened to this speech with growing eagerness.
It suggested a means by which he might fulfil what had
been his dearest wish ever since he met Miguel in
Salamanca—to see Juanita Alvarez, and learn for himself that
she had really of her own free-will consented to trust her
life and happiness to Miguel Priego.  Until now it had
seemed idle to hope for such an opportunity, but why
should he not offer his services to Mr. Frere and volunteer
to convey to Palafox a true account of the progress of
events elsewhere?  And Palafox!—he had a private reason
for seeing him.  "Palafox the man, Palafox the name!"—the
phrase in Don Fernan's letter had never left his
memory.  At odd moments, when free from his duties, he
had found himself conning the words over and over again;
and lately he had begun to wonder whether the mysterious
message were not connected in some way with Juanita—whether
there were not some strange link binding Palafox
and Juanita and himself together.  His regiment had gone
home; he was now under the orders of the British minister;
he had been in dangerous places and circumstances of
peril before; why not combine the public service with his
private ends, and start for Saragossa?  His mind was
made up.

"Let me convey a message to General Palafox," he said.

"You!  It is preposterous.  You would go to your
death.  How could you, an Englishman, and an English
officer, hope to penetrate the French lines?  You would
be caught and shot."

And then Jack gave the minister a brief account of
himself, his early years in Spain, his recent work for Sir
John Moore done in the guise of a Spaniard.

"And so you see, sir," he concluded, "you could hardly
find anyone, not actually a Spaniard, with better chances
of success than I have.  I have been in Saragossa before,
and I have some command of Spanish—and I am not
afraid, sir."

Mr. Frere was evidently taken with the suggestion.
He had listened with growing interest to Jack's modest
story, and smiled at his account of his conversation with
the boastful commissary and his subsequent adventure
with the Spanish stablemen.

"And this gipsy boy of yours—would you propose to
take him with you?"

"Yes, sir; my chums regard him as my familiar spirit,
and I myself have begun to cherish a sort of belief that
I sha'n't come to much harm if he is near at hand."

"Well, Mr. Lumsden, I am much interested in your
story; I think, if I may say so, that you have shown great
capacity and resourcefulness, and fully justified poor Sir
John's confidence, and I confess, after seeing and hearing
you, that I have every hope of your succeeding in this,
perhaps the most difficult, certainly the most hazardous,
of all your enterprises.  And now, as that is settled, we
must lose no time.  When will you be ready to start?"

"When the first ship sails, sir."

"You will go by ship, then?"

"It will perhaps be quicker, and safer on the whole."

"What about French frigates?"

"I must take my chance of them.  Luckily I kept the
Spanish dress given me by Don Pedro de Gracioso; Pepito
has it in my bundle.  I shall, of course, go as a Spaniard."

"I wish I had your youthful confidence!" Mr. Frere
sighed.  "Very well; find out when the boat sails
northward, and I will have my despatch for General Palafox
ready at any time."

"You will answer for me to the military authorities, sir?"

"Certainly.  You may assume that you have six months'
leave; and for my part, I do not suppose that your
regiment will require your services any more in Spain."

At the conclusion of the interview Jack stepped into
the street with a light-heartedness he had not known for
many a day.  The winter, with all its fatigues and
disappointments, was passing away; he felt a strange
assurance that with the coming spring the tide of his
affairs would turn towards achievement and happiness;
and he returned to his inn with a buoyancy and eagerness
in his gait that caused many a head to turn and many a
face to smile.

With Pepito he hastened at once to the quay by the Torre
del Oro, only to learn that no vessel would sail for the
northern ports for some days.  "We can't wait for that,"
he said to himself, and immediately sought out the owner
of a large fishing-smack he saw in the offing.  After some
bargaining he arranged to hire the craft with its crew, to
sail, wind and weather being favourable, next morning.

On the way back to their inn he set a seal to the hold
he had unwittingly obtained on the gipsy's affections.
Coming to a clockmaker's, he stopped, looked in at the
window, then entered, and soon returned carrying a huge
silver watch, which he handed with its chain to Pepito.

"There, youngster," he said, "that's a little reward for
the services you have done me.  Take care you don't lose it."

The boy beamed his delight, and pranced along the
street in unfeigned ecstasy.

The sun shone brightly next morning, and the wind
blew fresh.  Accompanied by Pepito, Jack, in his Spanish
dress, went down to the quay, where, however, he found
that the master of the smack was not disposed to sail.
He foretold a strong gale from the south-west, and wished
to postpone his departure till the next day; but Jack was
so eager to arrive at Saragossa that he would brook no
delay.  After an hour's arguing and coaxing, and the
promise of double pay, he induced the mariner to attempt
the voyage, and at nine o'clock the smack cast off and
sailed slowly down the river.  The wind increased in force
as she approached the mouth.  On reaching the open sea
she encountered the full force of the blast, and, swinging
round, scudded before the wind at a speed that promised
a fast passage.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A Squire of Dames`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XVIII


.. class:: center large bold

   A Squire of Dames

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   In the Casa Ximenez—Cut Off—Ways and Means—A Race with
   Time—The Bridge Perilous—Into the Abyss—A Deserted
   House—Through the Streets—Adios—Señor

.. vspace:: 2

Near the convent of San Agustin, at the south-eastern end
of Saragossa, there stood, in the year 1809, an old, large,
gloomy house known as the Casa Ximenez.  It was not
in the best part of the city, but it had an air of high
respectability, and in truth had been for many years the
town residence of a prosperous burgher family, whose
name stood for all that was solid and dignified in civic
and commercial life.

On February 1st in the aforesaid year the spacious
rooms of the mansion were empty—all but one.  In the
gilded sala on the first floor, a chamber large enough to
contain fifty or sixty persons as well as its massive antique
furniture, sat two ladies, one old, the other in the heyday
of youth.  Though it was early morning, the room would
have been in pitch darkness but for two candles which,
set in the cups of a silver candelabra on the table, threw
a glimmering illumination upon the panelled walls.  The
sulphurous fumes of gunpowder hung heavily in the air.
The deep, square windows were shuttered on the outside;
there was no crack or aperture through which the light
of day could enter save a hole in one of the shutters,
and that at this moment was blocked by a long Spanish
musket, behind which stood a middle-aged man in the
sober costume of an upper servant.

Within the house all was silent, but from without,
penetrating the thick walls and the iron-clamped shutters,
came dull, heavy, thunderous sounds that shook the air,
set the candle flames quivering, and caused the elder of
the two ladies to start and shudder and moan as if in pain.
At intervals the man at the window withdrew the musket,
letting in for a few moments a streak of daylight that lay
white across the yellow glimmer from the candles.  With
silent deliberation he charged his weapon, passed it
through the aperture with a downward slant, and pulled
the trigger, going through the same series of movements
time after time with clock-work regularity.

The old lady watched him as if fascinated.  She was
small and thin; the hair beneath her elaborate cap was
white.  With the long bony fingers of one hand she clasped
her mantilla closely about her shrunken frame; the other
was held in the strong, warm hands of the younger lady,
who sat on the floor by the elder's chair and spoke to her
alternately in soothing and in urgent tones.

"You really must come, Auntie," she was saying.  "It
is not safe here.  Hark! there is another gun!  They will
break in before long, and then—oh! come, come now;
you can walk if you only try."

The old lady, still with her eyes fixed on the servant,
shook her head and clutched her mantilla convulsively.

"Does he kill—every time?" she said in a thin quavering
voice.

"How can we tell?  And if he does kill, it only makes
our position worse, for they will find out where the shots
come from, and they will burst in, and you—we—oh!
Auntie, it is our only chance.  See, I will support you;
if you lean on my arm you will walk quite well, and I will
never leave you.  Come!"

"I will not go," said her companion.  "I will not, will
not.  The French may kill me, I have not long to live;
but you, Juanita, you can escape.  Francisco will shoot
and kill until the very end; he and I will remain in the old
house, in the old house—"

"They are coming nearer, Señorita," said Francisco,
his respectful tone as quiet and unperturbed as though
he were announcing a visitor.

"You hear that?  You must come, Auntie.  I will not
leave you here!"

Springing suddenly to her feet, she stooped, threw her
arms around her aunt's body, and lifted her from her
chair.

"Francisco," she said, turning to the servant, "go on
firing.  If I do not return, come after me in ten minutes."

Then, straightening her back, she went to the open door,
bearing easily the wasted form of her aunt, who did not
resist, but moaned and muttered in helpless impotence.
Out into the corridor, down the broad staircase, the strong
girl carried the feeble woman.  She reached the patio;
then, instead of turning towards the great iron-studded
gate at the front of the house, she made her way to the
smaller but still strong gate at the back.  In the open
patio the sounds of musket shots were tenfold louder than
they had been in the house above; they were mingled with
the shouts of men afar off, the sudden shocks of
explosions, and the crackle of flames.  A pungent smell of
smoke filled the air.  The girl hastened her steps towards
the rear of the house, where the noises came less distinctly
to the ear.  Arriving at the gate, she set her burden down
gently upon a bench, quickly drew the bolts, and, promising
to return in a few moments, slipped out, closing the
gate behind her.

She found herself in a narrow irregular street.  On
the other side was a row of smaller houses, the upper
stories of which projected over the roadway.  At each
end the street opened to wider thoroughfares, and the
Casa Ximenez was nearer the northern extremity.  Juanita
gave a quick glance each way.  The house at the end
of the street on her left was in flames.  Nobody was to
be seen, but she heard fierce shouts, apparently in all
directions, growing ever louder.  She paused but for an
instant, then ran across the street to a door opposite
and hammered with her fists upon the wood.  She waited;
there was no answer, no sound of movement within.  She
knocked again with greater force, bruising her knuckles
until they bled.  Still no response.  She stepped back a
pace and looked up at the windows; all were shuttered.
She struck the door with repeated blows, and cried to
any who might be within to open it.  A shout to her
left caused her to start and look round with apprehension
in her eyes.  A French soldier, armed with a pike,
had just turned the corner, and behind him were others,
some armed with muskets.  At sight of them the girl
turned to run back to the gate of the Casa Ximenez.
Glancing in the other direction, she saw a figure hastening
from the nearer end of the street—a figure in the long
cloak and low hat of a Spaniard.  He caught sight of
the French and stopped short.

"Señor," she cried, "help us for the love of God!  My
poor aunt!"

"What is it, Señorita?" he said, running towards her.
"What can I do for you?"

She pushed open the gate and sprang through the
narrow entrance.  The stranger followed her, slammed
the gate behind him, and shot the two stout bolts into
their sockets.

"My aunt," said the girl, "is an invalid; I was trying to
save her.  The French are at the front; what are we to do?"

She spoke with decision, in rapid tones that conveyed
no impression of fear, but rather of courage and
determination.  The young Señor looked at the huddled,
helpless figure of the old lady on the bench.

"Señora," he said quickly to her, "we leave you for
a little.  Take me into the house, Señorita."

As she led the way the youth threw quick glances to
right and left, taking his bearings.

"Is anyone in the house?" he asked.

"Francisco; all the other servants have fled."

"Where is he?"

"In the sala."

"Take me to him."

Afterwards he remembered the peremptoriness of his
speech; at the moment neither noticed it.

Entering the room, he saw the servant loading and
firing as imperturbably as before his mistress departed.

"That's right; go on firing," said the stranger.  "Now
upstairs, Señorita."

She led him to the top of the house.  The windows at
the back overlooked the tiled roofs of the lower houses
opposite, slightly above the level of the parapet.  The
street below was filling with French soldiers, who were
battering and firing at the doors, without for the moment
doing much damage.  From the barricaded and loopholed
windows on the other side shots flashed at intervals; the
houses were evidently defended in some force, and the
throng below were taken aback by the deadly cross-fires
from above.  The stranger measured with his eye the
distance across the street from house to house.

"Have you any boards, tables, anything, about fifteen
feet long?" he asked.

"I do not know.  Francisco will know."

They ran downstairs.

"Can you bring the Señora up?" asked the youth.

"Yes, I carried her down."

"Please do."

Juanita hastened to the patio below; Jack went into
the sala.

"Stop firing now, hombre," he said to the servant.
"There is one chance of escape, from window to roof.
Are there any planks?"

Francisco put down his musket, and glanced keenly at
the speaker, with a touch of surprise at his urgent manner.

"None, Señor, but the boards of the floor."

"No time to tear those up."

He glanced round the room.  He saw that the heavy
curtains were enclosed at the top within an ornamental
wooden framework, square-cut, massive, and ugly.

"Steps?  A ladder?" he said.

"In the press at the head of the stairs, Señor."

"Quick! bring them here; and a hammer."

In a few moments Jack was standing on a short ladder,
hammering the planks of the framework apart.  Extending
over both windows and the wall between, they were
about sixteen feet in length.  A few hard blows wrenched
the fastenings, and two planks an inch thick lay on the
floor.  Side by side they measured three feet across.

"Now, ropes, cords!" cried Jack.

A long, stout bell-pull hanging from the ceiling caught
his eye.  Tearing it down, by the time Francisco returned
with a length of rope Jack had lashed the planks together
at one end.  Soon the other ends were bound as firmly
together.

"Help me upstairs with it."

They reached the topmost room, whither the girl had
already carried her feeble, whimpering aunt.  The
extemporized bridge was long enough to rest on the ledge of
the opposite parapet, with a foot each way to spare.  But
it could not be thrown across without a support at the
other end; its weight would more than counterbalance
any pressure that could be exerted on the end in the room.

"Another rope!" cried Jack.

He had noticed a strong staple in the attic roof above
the window.  Francisco came back in two minutes with
a long rope.  Jack lashed it round the end of the planks,
sprang on the window-sill, and pulled the rope through
the staple.

"Now let it out steadily as I push the bridge across."

Juanita stood with shining eyes, watching the young
stranger as he pushed the planks across the street, while
Francisco stolidly paid out the rope.  The bridge rested
on the parapet.

"Hold this end firmly against the sill," said Jack to
Francisco.

Juanita held her breath as the young fellow mounted a
chair, stepped out of the window, and walked cautiously
to the middle of the bending bridge.  In a moment he
was back again in the room.

"It will bear," he cried.  "I go first with the Señora."

He lifted the old lady carefully; she was too much
dazed to have any consciousness of what was before her,
and lay inert in Jack's arms, moaning "Ay de mí!  Ay de
mí!" incessantly.

"Wait till I return," he said to Juanita, who stood, her
cheeks flushed with excitement and hope, within the room.

Step by step he slowly bore the old lady across the
creaking, swaying planks, till he reached the other side;
then he laid her gently down behind the parapet at the
foot of the gable.  Then he sped back.

"Now it is your turn, Señorita," he said, preparing
to lift the girl.

"I can go alone," she said without hesitation.  "I
can," she repeated resolutely as Jack sought to detain
her.

Springing lightly on to the planks, she paused for an
instant, caught her skirt in one hand, bit her lips, and
then ran across as lightly as a hare, Jack watching her
with a tense feeling of anxiety mingled with admiration.
He gave a gasp of relief.

"Now, hombre," he said, turning to the old servant,
who had held the planks steady without uttering a word.

"Not so, Señor," he said; "I go last."

"Nonsense!  I am responsible for this.  Get on at once."

There were loud shouts from below.

"I am old, Señor.  The Frenchmen in the street have
seen us now; they will shoot; it matters little if I die."

"No more.  You must go.  The ladies require you."

From the parapet opposite Juanita was looking at them.
Her cheeks were very pale.

"Come, Francisco," she said in a tone of authority that
brooked no denial.

The man hesitated no longer.  He mounted the bridge,
and walked with slow, firm step towards his mistress.
An upward shower of shots pelted all around him.  One
struck him in the leg; he stumbled, nearly wrenching the
planks from Jack's grasp, and Juanita uttered a cry as
the poor man fell headlong into the street.

.. _`Francisco Falls from the Plank`:

.. figure:: images/img-211.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Francisco Falls from the Plank

   Francisco Falls from the Plank

Jack saw that there was no time to be lost.  A few
dexterous shots from below might destroy the bridge.
He must run the gauntlet.  He mounted at his end.  At
the same moment Juanita, with great presence of mind,
seized the other end, and held it firmly against the
parapet.  Three bounds, amid flying shots, and Jack reached
the parapet in safety.  Then, catching up the planks, he
hurled them down upon the crowd.

"You are not hurt, Señorita?" he said.

"Poor Francisco!" was her reply.  There was a
tremor in her voice, not from fear, as her next words
showed.  "I am ready, Señor; tell me what we are to
do now."

There was a trap-door a yard away, opening inwards.
Jack tried this with his foot; it was bolted, but the bolt
rattled, and could evidently be forced with little exertion.
Without hesitating he sprang heavily on to the wood; it
gave and fell in with a crash.  Jack's body had almost
disappeared into the opening, when as he fell he caught the
ledge with both hands, and though the sudden stoppage
gave his muscles a severe wrench, he managed to maintain
his grip, and hung on with legs dangling.

"Señorita," he said, "come and look down and tell me
what the drop is.  I cannot see, myself."

Juanita went down on hands and knees, and peered
into the darkness.  For a moment her eyes could
discern nothing; then, as they became accustomed to the
obscurity, she said that the trap-door opened into an attic
room, and that the floor was not far below.  Jack
instantly let go, and dropped.  The distance was but ten
feet.  Regaining an erect posture, he found, after a little
groping, a short ladder in a corner of the attic.  He placed
this in the opening, and went up into the light again.  It
was the work of only a few minutes to carry the old lady
down the ladder.  Juanita followed, and instantly busied
herself with her half-fainting aunt.

"Wait here, Señorita," said Jack, "while I go down
into the house and see if the way is open for escape."

The attic door was not locked.  Jack went out, down
the stairs, through the house from top to bottom, and
found every room empty, every window barricaded, and
the outer doors locked.  Unlike the occupants of the
other houses on this side of the street, the inhabitants
of this had clearly not stayed to defend it.  The front
door was bolted on the inside; at the door of a yard at the
back the bolts were drawn, showing that escape had been
made that way.  Jack pulled at the door; the lock held
firmly; it was impossible to force it; the only means of
exit was over the wall.  Hastening upstairs again, he
explained the position to Juanita, who looked at him with
the same quiet self-possession.

"Do you know any house in the centre of the city,
Señorita," asked Jack, "where you can take refuge?
Your own house is now, without doubt, in the hands of
the French."

"Yes, Señor, we have friends in the Calle del Coso
with whom we can stay."

"Then, if you will allow me I will escort you thither.
I do not know the town very well, but I know the Calle
del Coso."

"Yes, we will go.  But how can we take my aunt,
Señor?" asked the girl.  "Helpless as she was half an
hour ago, she is prostrate now.  You could not carry her
all the way."

"I think I know of a plan.  The first thing is to take
her downstairs, and I am strong enough for that."

In a few minutes all three were at the yard door.
Jack returned to the attic for the ladder, and having
placed that against the wall, he carefully carried the old
lady to the top, where he sat with her until Juanita had
also mounted, drawn up the ladder, and let it down on
the other side.  They were now in a narrow lane, in which
nobody was to be seen, though they knew by the shouts
and the gunshots that fighting was going on at no great
distance.  Leaving the old lady in Juanita's charge, Jack
went back into the house, and soon returned with a large
chair and two short props he had found in the patio.
Placing the old lady in the chair, he passed the props
through the legs on each side.

"If you will hold them at the back, Señorita," he said,
"I will take them in front, and then we shall be able
to carry the Señora between us."

Thus burdened, they walked slowly down the lane,
turned to the right, and found themselves in a street filled
with soldiers and citizens, among whom were many women
and priests.  Almost all, even the priests, were armed,
and many were hastening in the direction of the Augustine
convent, where the French, after a desperate struggle,
had just succeeded in forcing an entrance to the town.
Barricades had been erected at various parts of the street.
No one showed any surprise at the sight of an old lady
carried on a chair.  Strange incidents of the siege were
happening every day.  Every hour some new family was
obliged to quit its dwelling and seek safety in flight.
Unnoticed and unmolested, Jack and his companions in a
few minutes reached the house in the Calle del Coso to
which Juanita had referred.  They were admitted immediately
to the patio.  There Juanita found her friends eating
a meal the frugality of which spoke only too plainly of
the straits to which the city was now reduced.  The
exhausted condition of the old lady demanded instant
attention, and while the group of friends gathered about her
solicitously, Jack took a hurried farewell of her niece.

"Now that you are in safety, Señorita, I can leave you
and go to fulfil an errand I have.  I trust the Señora will
soon recover from her weakness and terror, and that you
will not suffer from the strain of this frightful morning."

"Señor, you have the heart-felt thanks of my aunt and
myself.  But for your timely help—I dare not think of
it.  And poor Francisco!  To think of him dead, killed
by those horrible French! ... We can never thank you
enough."

Jack was conscious of some constraint in the young
lady's manner, which he ascribed to the reaction from her
excitement and the peril recently gone through.

"I am only too glad that I happened to be passing
at that moment, Señorita," he said.  "And now, farewell!"

He bowed.  The young lady looked at him with a
curiously scrutinizing expression in her eyes; then,
returning his bow with somewhat more formality, Jack thought,
than the occasion required, she said:

"Adios—Señor!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Palafox the Man`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XIX


.. class:: center large bold

   Palafox the Man

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Night on the Ebro—Across the Boom—Heroines of the
   Siege—The Captain-General—An Interview—A Missing
   Letter—War to the Knife—An Interruption—Santiago
   Sass—First Impressions

.. vspace:: 2

So exciting an incident immediately on his entrance into
Saragossa had engrossed Jack's attention so thoroughly
as to drive from his mind the matter which, until he turned
the corner of the Casa Ximenez, had been giving him
much concern.  Where was Pepito?  That mischievous
but useful elf had been the life and soul of the sailors
during their rapid voyage from Seville to the mouth of
the Ebro.  When they disembarked at Tortosa he had
managed with great cleverness the hiring of horses on
which to continue the journey overland, and had ridden
with Jack across country until they reached the village
of Mediana, some fifteen miles from Saragossa.  There
Jack learnt that Saragossa was closely invested on all
sides by the French, and in particular that the Monte
Torrero, an eminence on the south-west of the city, was
in the hands of the enemy, who had made it the base of
most vigorous and sustained operations.

It was clearly impossible to penetrate the French lines
and enter the city on foot or horseback; the only other
means was the river.  Jack made anxious enquiry as to
the chances of finding the waterway open.  He learnt
that in the early days of the siege several boats had
eluded the vigilance of the French and come down the
river, and that, only a fortnight before, Francisco
Palafox, the brother of the captain-general in command,
had escaped under cover of night and was now at large,
endeavouring to raise a relief force.  But the peasants
of Mediana knew of no case of a boat going up-stream
and passing the French batteries since Colonel Doyle had
sent a number of new muskets into the city the day before
the strict investment began.  Further, in addition to a
bridge of boats near the confluence of the tributary
Huerba with the main stream, a boom had been thrown
across the river a few hundred yards below this point,
and it seemed most unlikely that now, in the seventh
week of the siege, the French sentries would have so
far relaxed their watchfulness as to allow the boom to
be crossed or broken.

This was bad news, and Jack, for the moment, felt
baffled.  He discovered, however, that at this time of
year Saragossa and the neighbouring district were covered
at early morning with a thick mist from the river and the
low-lying banks, and he felt that if he could take
advantage of this fact he might slip into the city despite
all the enemy's vigilance.  At any rate he determined to
make the attempt.  A bargain was soon struck at a
riverside village for the loan of a boat.  The oars were
carefully muffled, and after dark, on the night of January 31st,
Jack started with high hope on the last stage of his long
journey.

All went well.  It was a pitch-dark night, and the strain
of rowing a heavy craft against the stream necessitated
frequent pulls-in to the bank for rest.  But steady progress
was made mile by mile, until, about five o'clock in the
morning, sounds ahead indicated that the boat was
drawing very near to the French encampments.

Every stroke of the oars was now made with infinite
precaution, and the boat crawled along at a snail's pace.
Pepito, in the bow, leant over to watch for the boom which
blocked the waterway, and many times dipped his hands
into the icy-cold water so that touch might not fail where
sight was impossible.  The air was raw and chilly, and
Jack was delighted to learn, from his sensations in throat
and eyes, that the mist of which his informant had spoken
was an actuality.

It was drawing towards dawn.  The darkness was
yielding to a faint luminance that was not yet light, when
suddenly, a few moments after Pepito had withdrawn his
numbed hand from the water, the boat was pulled up with
a jolt, and a harsh prolonged creak testified that its nose
had come at last into contact with the boom—a heavy
chain drawn across the river from bank to bank.  Instantly
there was a cry from the bank on their right: "Qui va
la?"  At that same moment, without the least hesitation,
Pepito slipped noiselessly over the side of the boat into
the water, caught the chain with one hand, and
endeavoured to pull it down, whispering to his master to
row over.  But his puny strength was, of course,
unavailing, and he crept back shivering into the bows.
Jack, however, had at once divined the only possible
solution of the problem.  So heavy a chain must
undoubtedly sag towards the middle of the stream.  Was
the middle to his right hand or his left?  He pulled the
boat sideways against the obstruction, and told Pepito to
slip overboard and walk along the chain while he himself
gently paddled.  At a guess he moved to the right, and
was soon gratified by Pepito's whispered announcement
that the chain seemed to be sinking.  When the water
reached the boy's middle, Jack gently brought the boat's
head to the stream, and with two vigorous strokes drove
the unwieldy vessel across the boom.  The boat's bottom
scraped the massive links as it crossed; Pepito clambered
in rather too hastily and slipped; the sounds caught the
ears of the sentry on the bank, and another cry of "Qui
va la?" penetrated the mist, followed by a shot.  More
voices were heard; more shots; and then from a point
behind came the sound of a boat being run down the
bank.  Jack now plied his oars with might and main;
cries, followed by shots, rang out from the other bank,
and then, ahead and approaching him, he heard the
straining of oars against rowlocks.  There was no time for
hesitation.  Pulling hard on the left oar he headed for the
bank, taking his chance, and in a few seconds grounded
with a shock.  In an instant he was out of the boat, and,
followed closely by Pepito, started at a quick walk through
the clinging fog in what he guessed must be the direction
of the city.

They had not walked fifty yards when a terrific explosion
rent the air, deafening their ears and almost knocking
them backward.  Immediately afterwards the thunder of
heavy artillery broke out to their right, and the mist
beyond them was fitfully illuminated by lurid flashes.
Brought to a momentary stop, Jack again went forward,
with eyes and ears painfully strained, every fantastic eddy
of the mist presenting itself as a possible enemy.
Suddenly he looked round to see that Pepito was with him.
The boy was gone!  Retracing his steps, he peered through
the gloom, calling the gipsy's name softly.  There was no
answer, no sign of him.  Five minutes were spent in
fruitless search; then, within a few yards of him, Jack heard
the tramp of men marching rapidly in file.  With a mixed
feeling of annoyance and anxiety he turned and made off in
the opposite direction, crossed the district known as the
Tanneries, and after wandering about for nearly an hour,
dodging footsteps, and seeing with concern the mist
clearing, arrived at the turning of the Casa Ximenez just in
time to assist the young lady then so urgently needing
assistance.

Still anxious about the safety of the gipsy boy, Jack
felt, after leaving the house in the Coso, that he could do
nothing at the moment, and his first duty was to present
his despatch to General Palafox.  The sounds of combat
hurtled in the air; behind him clouds of smoke and flame
bore witness to the success of the French bombardment.
The street was full of men, women, citizens, soldiers,
priests, hastening from point to point, all armed, all with
fury and grim determination printed on their worn features.
Stopping a boy who was hauling along a barrow filled
with powder, Jack asked him where General Palafox could
be found.

"In the Palace of the Inquisition, by the Portillo Gate,"
replied the boy in surprise, scarcely stopping to answer
the question, and hurrying on again with his fatal load.
Before he had gone fifty yards a bomb fell into the barrow,
and, unknown to Jack, this little defender of Saragossa
was blown into eternity.

Jack hastened along the street, climbing the barricades,
shuddering as he saw the unburied corpses of the slain
lying before every church door, wincing in spite of himself
as the thunders of the cannonade resounded in his rear,
and admiring the courage of the black-robed noble ladies,
who went about the streets swiftly but quietly, some
carrying aid to the wounded, others almost staggering beneath
the weight of great bags of powder and ammunition tied
to their waists.  He hurried along the Coso, crossed the
Calle del Hospital, pursued his way to the Portillo Gate,
and at length, passing through a long covered approach,
reached the Palace of the Inquisition—the Castle of
Aljafferia, at the extreme north of the city, outside the
walls.  At the gate of the castle many people were going
in and coming out.  Jack joined the ingoing stream, and
found himself within the stately halls of the old palace of
the kings of Aragon, crowded with soldiers and people of
all classes.  Learning with some difficulty that the
captain-general was in one of the smaller salons, he at length
reached the room, and stood in presence of the man
whom for months past he had been more than eager to see.

José Palafox was barely thirty years of age, a tall man
with dark complexion, heavy brown moustache and
whiskers, and kindling eyes—kindling now, alas! with the
flame of disease as well as of patriotic ardour.  He was
seated at a table on which papers were outspread.  Every
now and then his frame was racked with coughing.  At
his right hand stood a grim-visaged priest, Don Basilio
Bogiero, his chaplain, whose fiery zeal in the defence of
the city was equal to his own.  Around were others of the
notable men of the place, whom Jack came to know before
many days had passed—the parish priest Santiago Sass,
the burly peasants known to the whole populace as Uncle
George and Uncle Marin, who had already proved their
valour at the first siege of Saragossa, six months before.
Making his way through the throng, he came to the
table, and, bowing to the general, presented him with the
despatch he had run such risks to deliver.

"From the British minister, Señor?" said Palafox in
surprise, looking keenly at Jack.

He broke the seal, and showed the handwriting to Don
Basilio, who nodded in answer to his mute enquiry.  The
general then rapidly cast his eyes over the despatch; Jack,
watching him, saw his features twitch as he read.  Collecting
himself, he folded it up and placed it in his pocket.

"My brothers," he said aloud, "this is good news."

A shout interrupted him.

"Good news! good news!" rang from lip to lip.  Santiago
Sass crossed himself and cried: "Praise to our Lady
of the Pillar!"  Don Basilio watched everything with his
fierce eyes.

"Yes, my brothers, good news!" continued Palafox.
"The great English general, Sir Moore, has smitten the
hosts of the accursed French; an army three times his
own he has smitten and scattered to the winds of heaven.
The traitor, the regicide, Bonaparte, has fled to France,
and our brethren in all parts of Spain are massing to
march to our assistance.  Praise to the noble English!
Praise to our noble allies!  Praise to the great and noble
Moore!"

"Praise to Our Lady of the Pillar!" shouted Santiago Sass.

The room rang with exultant cries, some in praise of
Moore and the English, others in adoring gratitude towards
the patron saint of the city.  The fervour of religious
enthusiasm was all the intenser because of the general
belief that the extraordinary failure of the first siege, six
months before, had been due to the miraculous interposition
of Our Lady.

While the exultation was at its height, Palafox whispered
a few words in the ear of Don Basilio, rose from
his chair, and beckoned Jack to follow him into a small
inner room.  There, having shut the door, he asked:

"Do you know the contents of the British minister's
despatch, Señor?"

"Not in precise terms, Señor Capitan, but I know
the facts.  I was myself with Sir John Moore's army.  I—"

"Pardon me, Señor.  You see what I am compelled to
do?  The patriotic ardour of the Saragossans is so furious
that I dare not as yet let them know all the truth.  And,
indeed, I do not yet give up hope.  Though Mr. Frere
tells me that I can no longer expect assistance from
without, I do not know—I do not know.  My brother is raising
levies to the south; others are gathering forces.  In any
case, our brave countrymen will form guerrilla bands, and
we shall give the accursed French no respite until they
are all driven back across the mountains.  And—but tell
me; I do not understand why I have received so long and
full a despatch from Mr. Frere and none from our own
Junta.  I should have expected that the Marquis del Villel
would have given you a despatch that would have been
of equal importance with the British minister's."

"That is easily explained, Señor Capitan.  I carry
Mr. Frere's despatch because I am myself an Englishman.
My name is Lumsden—Lieutenant Lumsden of the
Rifles."  Jack watched the general's face for a sign of
recognition of the name.

"Indeed! you amaze me.  You speak our tongue so—Lumsden!
I remember; I had almost forgotten it; a
friend of my old friend Don Fernan Alvarez—is it not so?
Alas!  Don Fernan could not survive the humiliation of
his unhappy country.  Are you the Señor Lumsden who
was Don Fernan's friend?"

"My father was his partner, Señor," replied Jack.

"Yes, and I had a letter for you, addressed to you by
Don Fernan, and left in my charge ere he died.  As I
understood, it was a duplicate of a letter sent to
Mr. Lumsden in London—your father, no doubt, Señor—and
Don Fernan asked me to retain it until I heard either from
your father or yourself, and if I heard from neither within
six months, I was to send it to an address in London that
he gave me."

Palafox was here overtaken by a fit of coughing, which
shook his fever-worn frame.  When the coughing ceased,
and the general lay back panting, Jack said quietly:

"And the letter, Señor?"

"That is what troubles me, Señor.  I regret to tell you—"

He was seized again with coughing; Jack waited
anxiously for the paroxysm to cease.

"I regret to tell you the letter is gone."

"Gone!" echoed Jack blankly.

"Gone, Señor."

"But how—why—can it have been lost, mislaid?"

"It was locked in my cabinet.  A fortnight ago my
cabinet was rifled, and a box of papers was taken away,
among them the letter addressed to your father."

"But still I do not understand, Señor.  Why should
anyone wish to steal a letter addressed to an unknown
Englishman?"

"No one wished that, I suspect," said Palafox with a
faint smile.  "The box in which the letter was placed was
exactly similar to another box containing papers of public
importance, including plans for the defence of the city.
That, as I surmise, was the box which the thief wished to
secure.  Luckily for Spain, unluckily for you, he stole the
wrong box, and apart from your letter obtained nothing
of any great importance."

"I am glad of that," said Jack instantly.  "Of course
I am disappointed and vexed about the letter, but a private
loss like that does not matter half so much as the loss of
your plans would have done; it's no good crying over spilt
milk, as we say, and I must put up with it."

"It is good of you to take the matter with such noble
resignation," said the courtly Spaniard.  "Believe me, I
regret the circumstance exceedingly.  I can only hope that
the French spy who stole the box—he must have been a
French spy; we have no afrancesados in Saragossa—I can
only hope that there was nothing in the letter that will
seriously affect your fortunes, and after all, it was a
duplicate, and the original is probably safe with your father in
London.  And now tell me, Señor, how you succeeded in
the daring and marvellous feat of entering our sorely
invested city."

Jack gave a brief account of his adventures, to which
Palafox listened with an air of the keenest interest.

"It will be more difficult to get out than in," he said at
the conclusion of the story.  "And yet to remain in the
city will be to court death or disease.  It cuts me to the
heart to think of the thousands who are dying here week
by week, not for want of food—we have provisions of a
sort in plenty—but for want of air and space.  We had
too large a population, Señor, when the siege began.  I
should have sent away the townsfolk; I see it now.  And
yet no, for the townsfolk are our most ardent and staunch
defenders; even when the courage of the soldiers flags, the
brave citizens cry "Guerra al cuchillo",[#] and "Hasta la
ultima tapia",[#] and when fell disease overtakes them in
the fetid cellars where they now mostly live, still with
pious resignation they cry: "Lo que ha de ser no puede
faltar".[#]  Such is their spirit, Señor, and hoping against
hope I maintain my defences, and, if God wills, shall yet
win the day."

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

[#] "War to the knife."

.. class:: noindent small

[#] "To the last wall."

.. class:: noindent small

[#] "That which is to be cannot fail."

.. vspace:: 2

During this speech Palafox had worked himself up into
a frenzy that brought on another fit of coughing; and
Jack, observing his unnaturally bright eyes, could not but
wonder whether the labours and responsibilities of the
defence were not affecting his mind.  In a moment Jack
said quietly:

"My position need not give you concern at present,
Señor Capitan.  I must stay in Saragossa for at any rate
a day, for I have to make enquiries after my old friend
Don Fernan's family.  His daughter, Señor—is she well?"

"I believe so; I hope so.  It is long since I saw her.
I wished her to leave the city before the siege, but, like a
true maiden of Spain, she preferred to remain and do what
she could to help the noble Countess of Bureta and the
thrice noble Maria Agustin, our heroic maid of Saragossa,
in serving the soldiers and tending the sick and wounded.
The Señorita is under the guardianship of her aunt, the
Doña Teresa, and if you will seek the Padre Consolacion,
he will give you all particulars of their welfare; he
undertook to watch over their interests at my special request.
If you stay with us for a time, then, Señor, you will want
a residence.  There is little choice; we are at the mercy of
the French guns; no house is safe, but—"

"I have been thinking, Señor," interposed Jack, as the
general paused: "Will you accept me as a volunteer?
I have some months' leave.  I not only have personal
interests in your city, but I feel that the struggle in which
you are engaged is one that I can throw myself into with
a whole heart.  The cause of Spain is the cause of
England, and if I can do anything—"

"Señor, I thank you; I welcome you with eagerness.
You are an officer; your experience with Sir Moore's army
will be of value to me.  Many of my best officers are dead;
many more have no experience.  If you please, I will
assign you a definite command on our defences; will you
come to me to-morrow at this hour?"

Jack was on the point of replying when loud vociferations
came through the door from the large room.  "Palafox!
Where is Palafox?  The captain-general!  Come!
Help!  Tio Jorge!  Palafox!"  The cries grew louder
and louder; heavy fists, muskets, pikes battered on the
door; Don Basilio's powerful voice was heard endeavouring
to quell the tumult.  Gathering himself together, and
bravely repressing the signs of weakness he had previously
shown, Palafox walked to the door, opened it, and stood
in the doorway.

"What is it, my children?" he said.

The noise was hushed; the crowd turned as one man
and seemed to be looking for someone.  Then a passage
opened up among them, and a huge brawny figure, with
capless, dishevelled head, torn clothes, and face and hands
black with the smoke of battle, elbowed his way through
till he came to the general.

"Viva Arcos!  Viva el valiente Arcos!" cried several in
the throng.

"Silencio!" in the stern, authoritative tone of Don
Basilio.

"Señor Capitan," said the big man, "the French are
making towards the Coso!  The Casa Ximenez block is in
their hands.  They are burning, butchering; they are beating
down our men at the barricades!  I come for the reserve,
Señor; for Tio Jorge and Tio Marin, and all their men!
At once, Señor; send them at once; for if time is lost, the
accursed foe will swarm into the centre of the town, and all
is lost."

Before Palafox could say a word, the priest Santiago
Sass seized a musket, and, raising his piercing voice,
cried:

"Follow me! follow me!  In the name of God and Our
Lady of the Pillar!  To the convent of San Agustin!  Tio
Jorge, Tio Marin, Jorge Arcos, follow me!"

He rushed out into the corridor, and the mob, in a
frenzy of enthusiasm, poured pell-mell after him, carrying
their heroes with them.  The room was left almost empty.
Don Basilio turned to Palafox and said quietly:

"They will recover any ground that is lost.  Spare
yourself, my son José."

"But the madness of Santiago leading them to the
convent!  The walls were breached by the explosion this
morning, and the French must now be in full possession of it."

"If the Augustine convent is where the explosion took
place," cried Jack eagerly, "that is near where I came in
this morning.  I found out by accident something of the
position there, Señor.  I think I could help.  Have I your
leave?"

Palafox looked kindly into the boy's shining eyes.

"Yes," he said, "go, and bring me word of what befalls."

.. _`Plan of the City of Saragossa`:

.. figure:: images/img-224.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Second Siege of Saragossa

   Second Siege of Saragossa

Jack sprang instantly towards the door.  As he passed
out, Don Basilio turned with an enquiring look towards
Palafox.

"An English youth, Padre," said the general, in answer
to his mute question.

"A leader of men," said the priest, and sat down to
write a proclamation.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`A Day with Tio Jorge`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XX


.. class:: center large bold

   A Day with Tio Jorge

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   A Barricade—Battering-Rams—A Lull—A Way In—On the
   Stairs—The Day's Work—A Triumph—Pepito's Watch

.. vspace:: 2

At the end of the covered way leading to the Portillo Gate
Jack found Tio Jorge giving instructions to a group of
armed citizens, who went off one by one on various
errands.  Seizing a favourable opportunity, Jack went up
to the big Spaniard, and in a few rapid words acquainted
him with his own position and intentions.  Jorge scanned
him for a moment with quick, penetrating glance, then
said:

"Señor will want a musket.  There is a stand of arms
at the corner yonder."

In two minutes Jack, armed with a musket of British
make—one of those opportunely thrown into the town
by Colonel Doyle the day before the siege opened,—was
hastening along by the side of Tio Jorge into the city.  On
entering the streets, the Spaniard summoned to join him
small bodies of citizens who were gathered at certain
points to act as reinforcements and reserves.  Soon he was
at the head of a considerable troop, all of the artisan class,
for in these days of stress every able-bodied man in the
city was transformed into a fighter.

As they ran, their ears were deafened by a loud explosion
on the right.  The air was darkened with dust; broken
slates and stones came hurtling down upon their heads;
but the eager citizens pressed on with an indifference that
showed how much accustomed they were to such incidents.

"A block of houses blown up between here and the
Santa Engracia convent," said Tio Jorge in answer to a
question of Jack's.  "But that is not our business.  The
French will hold the ruins, but they'll get no farther.  Our
men will beat them back.  'Tis more dangerous towards
San Agustin.  The French have gained more there in this
one day than in weeks on the Santa Engracia side.
Hombres," he cried to the men with him, "hasten,
hasten!  The French are over the barricades, and we
must drive them out at all costs."

They ran on.  Even in the rush and excitement Jack was
struck by the scenes of horror in the streets.  At one point
two corpses swung slowly on gibbets erected by the door
of a church.  Tio Jorge pointed to one of them, a look of
grim exultation on his face.

"He was my school-fellow," he said, "and my friend;
but I hanged him.  So perish all who falter and counsel
surrender!"

Wounded men were being carried to the hospitals by
women; some were limping or crawling with shattered
limbs and ghastly faces.  Women and children ran hither
and thither, some carrying goods from houses threatened
by the enemy, others food and ammunition for the fighters.
Though many of them bore only too manifest signs of
sickness and privation, they all seemed animated by the same
spirit of fierce determination, and a gleam lit up their worn
features whenever Tio Jorge, as he passed, threw them a
word of encouragement.

All the way along the Coso the sounds of firing in the
eastern quarter of the city came more and more distinctly
on the ear.  Dense clouds of smoke rolled towards them,
and Jack heard the crackle of flames, still invisible.  A
messenger with blackened face came towards Tio Jorge,
and announced that the French had captured three blocks
of buildings beyond the Casa Ximenez, and were slowly
but surely gaining ground.  The Spaniard, bellowing out
fierce maledictions on the enemy, hastened his stride, and
in a few minutes reached a street leading to the university.
Here the Spaniards had entrenched themselves behind a
barricade, where they endeavoured to find cover from the
musket-shots fired from houses on both sides of the streets.
The French, borrowing the tactics of the besieged, had
occupied these houses, and were shooting from windows
and loopholes bored in the walls.

The lean figure of the frenzied Santiago Sass was
conspicuous among the defenders of the barricade.  Disdaining
all artifice, he stood erect, a mark for every bullet, yet
unhurt, uttering derisive shouts, and mingling his battle-cry
with quotations from the Psalms.  Seeing Tio Jorge
approach at the head of his men, the priest hailed him
with loud acclaim.

"Twice," he cried, "twice, Tio Jorge, have we already
beaten back the men of Belial.  The hand of the Lord is
heavy upon them!"

"And shall be heavier!" cried Tio Jorge.  "We must
over the barricade, hombres."

Instantly Santiago Sass mounted the entrenchment, and
was first on the other side, his long cassock flying loose as
he led the charge, musket in hand.  Tio Jorge and Jack
were but a yard behind him, and with a great shout the
Spaniards swarmed over and dashed furiously at the French
advancing to the attack.  Nothing could withstand their
rush.  The French gave way, but instead of retreating
down the street they disappeared into the houses on either
side, bolted the doors behind them, and went to swell the
numbers of those who already occupied posts of vantage
within.  In vain the frenzied Spaniards beat on the doors
with their clubbed muskets; the massive panels were
unyielding, and a rain of bullets fell from above, thinning the
Spanish ranks moment by moment.

"Poles, bring poles!" shouted Tio Jorge.

Instantly men ran off, some of them only to drop on the
way.  The survivors returned by and by with poles and
beams, with which as battering-rams they drove at the
fast-closed doors.  They were shot down almost to a man;
but the places of those that fell were at once taken.  A door
here and there was burst in, and the heroic Spaniards
sprang into the gardens and patios, only to be killed or
wounded before ever they came to close quarters with the
French.

From the first Tio Jorge had selected as the special
object of his attack a large house on the right of the
barricade.  It was evidently held by a considerable force of the
enemy.  But all assaults upon its thick door had proved
ineffectual.  Even when a heavy beam was brought up as
a battering-ram it could not be used with effect, for the
door was at such an angle to the barricade that it could only
be struck obliquely unless the bearers of the beam advanced
for several yards into the open, where so many of their
comrades had already been struck down.  Tio Jorge
ordered his men to make an attempt to drive in the door
from the angle of the barricade.  Before the beam could be
thrown across, one of the men carrying it was shot.  The
rest persevered, hauled it over, and made for the door.  A
sheet of flame burst from the windows above; six of the
men were hit.  The weight of the beam being now unequally
distributed, the other men were dragged down, or
tripped over the bodies of the slain.

Jack had accompanied them.  Feeling a sharp pain in
his left arm, and seeing that nothing could be done at the
moment, he ran back to the barricade, narrowly escaping
being hit by flying bullets.  Behind the barricade he found
Tio Jorge with a few others, the only survivors of the band
which had come up with such ardour and enthusiasm.
The leader was furious, railing at fate and at the failure
of the men to back up their comrades, and shouting for
more men to come to his assistance.  Meanwhile, as Jack
stood by endeavouring to bind up what proved to be a
slight flesh wound, a lady came from the corner of the
street, bearing food and wine.  Seeing what Jack was
about, she placed her baskets on the ground, calling
upon the men to help themselves, and then with quick
deft hands completed the bandaging which Jack had
clumsily begun.

"You look tired," she said.  "Take some food, Señor."

Jack was only too glad to eat and drink.  It was the
first food that had passed his lips since he left the boat.
Tio Jorge, too, ate like a famished man.

"Gracias, Contessa," he said in a softer voice than was
usual with him.

When all had eaten and drunk, the lady picked up her
baskets and moved away without hurry towards another
part of the city.

"Who is she, hombre?" asked Jack.

"The noble Contessa de Bureta, Señor; a delicate, frail
lady, as you see, but as fearless as—as I myself."

There was a breathing-space, during which the men
rested, awaiting reinforcements, and rejoiced that the
French were contenting themselves with their work from
the houses, and made no further attempt at present to
storm the barricade.  Jack took stock of the situation.
The house on the right could not be taken by assault; it
was occupied in too great force by skilled marksmen.  To
ram the door by a direct blow was impossible, as
experience had proved; the fire from the houses was so deadly
that no bearers could live through it.  While Jack was
pondering, the little band had been reinforced by other
citizens, and Tio Jorge was on the point of ordering
another attack.  But he had uttered only a few words of
vehement encouragement when Jack interposed.

"Give me ten men, and I think in a few minutes we
could drive the French from yonder house without great
loss."

Tio Jorge looked doubtingly at Jack's eager face.  They
were crouching behind the barricade, and there was a
temporary lull in the firing.

"How will you do that?" asked the Spaniard.

"Attack them from above."

"Impossible! impossible!  If you got to the roofs you
could not get into the houses, for the trap-doors are all
towards the street.  You would be seen from the houses
on the opposite side, and shot down at once."

"Still, I think it is possible.  I have a plan."

"Well, then, go, Señor, in the name of Our Lady of the
Pillar, and I will remain here and fire on the French to
cover your movements."

Accompanied by ten men hastily selected by Tio Jorge,
Jack made his way to the rear, and came to a house which
had not yet fallen into the hands of the French.  Gaining
admittance, he led his men upstairs to the attic floor,
clambered out by the trap-door, and, before the enemy
had caught sight of him, succeeded in crawling over the
sloping roof to the opposite side.  Two or three men had
followed him safely.  Then the move was seen, and bullets
began to patter on the roof, so that the other men had to
follow Jack at great risk.  All but one managed to crawl
over and join him without hurt, and the nine stood with
him on the farther side of the roof, sheltered by the low
parapet from any shots that might come from that direction.

Then he led them quickly on to the roof of the adjoining
house, which was occupied by the French.  Immediately
over an attic window he cautiously started to loosen the
tiles, the Spaniards eagerly following his example as they
perceived his intentions.  After the first two or three tiles
had been gently prised out, the rest came away easily.
Half the men were employed in lifting the tiles, while the
others took them from their hands, and laid them quietly
in heaps at the foot of the parapet.  Under the tiles were
the joists, and as these were not connected by matchboard,
it was an easier matter than Jack had expected to
break an opening into the room below.  It was empty.
Such little noise as had been made on the roof had
evidently been drowned by the continuous firing in the houses
and streets.  Jack handed his musket to the man next
him, and, catching hold of one of the joists, swung lightly
down into the room.  The man handed him his musket,
then followed him, to be followed in turn by all his
comrades.  In little more than ten minutes after their arrival
on the roof the ten stood together in the attic.

"Now, hombres," said Jack, "we have to clear them
out room by room."

Followed by the Spaniards, he dashed from the attic
down the stairs into the first room on the floor below.
At the window were three men, so intent on firing at the
barricade that they were not aware of their danger until
the invaders were upon them.  When they turned and saw
their enemies they had no thought of surrender.  In this
bitter war surrender to a Spaniard was only another name
for death.  But before they could bring their muskets to
the shoulder the Spaniards were at their throats.  They
fell.  Instantly the victors rushed to another room.  In
a few minutes all the occupants of that floor were
disposed off.

By this time the rest of the garrison had taken the
alarm.  Many of the French had left their posts, and were
crowding downstairs in a panic, believing that a large
force of Spaniards had gained a lodgment in the house.
Tio Jorge below inferred from the slackening of the
enemy's fire that the bold attempt had been successful.
Without losing an instant he ordered some of his men to
make another onslaught with the beam on the door, and
sent others round to the back of the house, where a narrow
lane was at present clear of the French, to intercept any
who should endeavour to escape there.  Panic had now
seized the French in the house.  Fearing to be taken in
front and rear, most rushed downstairs towards the back
entrance, a few obstinately refusing to stir, and calling on
their comrades to stand firm.  But Jack and his men
poured in pursuit, shouting, to keep up the illusion of
their being a numerous body.  Below, the door at last
fell in with a crash before the strokes of the ram.  Tio
Jorge burst in, and found only a small knot of French
between himself and Jack's men.  The execution was
swift and sure.  Of all the French who had used that
house as their fortress only those escaped who, fleeing
out by the back door, cut their way through the Spaniards
sent by Tio Jorge to intercept them.

This brilliant success, won by citizens without the help of
the soldiery, wrought the spirits of the people to a high pitch
of exultation.  Santiago Sass, who had escaped in all his
wild peregrinations without a scratch, rejoined Tio Jorge's
band, and rolled out sonorous sentences in jubilant frenzy.
But the Spaniards were not satisfied with the first triumph
of the day.  There were other blocks of houses in
possession of the French.  After a brief respite, during which
reinforcements of soldiers and citizens came up in considerable
numbers, the defenders set to work systematically to
dislodge the French from the positions so hardly won.
The housetop device was put in practice wherever access
could be obtained.  For hours the struggle continued, and
Jack, who worked as hard as any man, was struck with
admiration of the untiring enthusiasm of the Spaniards.
Fighting from barricade to barricade, and from house to
house, they retook position after position, until, as early
dusk fell, the French had been cleared out of all the houses
and forced back to their impregnable position in the Santa
Monica and San Agustin convents.

The din of combat died down.  Jack had arrived at the
Casa Ximenez, the scene of his adventure in the morning.
Entering the house, he found many signs of its temporary
occupation by the French, but the fighting had been so
intense and so persistent that they had had no time to
perpetrate the wanton mischief and destruction which
usually marked their progress.  Jack went through the
house to make sure that none of the French were left,
and, entering one of the rooms, he guessed by the character
of its furniture and appointments that it belonged to the
young lady whom he had assisted earlier in the day.  The
French had been so much occupied in the lower rooms
that they had left this room untouched.  There were a
few trinkets on the dressing-table.  Jack put these into
his pocket, knowing that the Señorita would be glad to
receive anything of value that could be rescued.  Then,
descending into the patio, he found that Tio Jorge had
already told off a company of his men to occupy the house
during the night, in preparation for the renewed attack
which was undoubtedly to be expected in the morning.

"Come, Señor," shouted the big fellow, "we will now
go to the captain-general and tell him what we have done
for Saragossa this day.  And your part, por Dios! is one
that no Saragossan will forget.  Come!"

They left the house.  The sounds of bombardment and
musketry had ceased; parties of the citizens were moving
about collecting the dead and wounded; women and
children were emerging for a breath of air from the close
cellars in which they had sheltered during the day.  As
Tio Jorge and Jack passed into the street, they became
aware, from the attitude of a group of soldiers and citizens
all looking in one direction, that something unusual was
attracting their attention.  Looking up the street, towards
the same end at which he had entered it nearly twelve
hours before, Jack saw, by the light of the torches carried
by search-parties, a small figure advancing—the figure of
a boy, with a Frenchman's képi many sizes too large for
him almost obliterating his head, a Frenchman's sword
dangling from his belt, its point trailing a yard behind
him along the cobbles, and a Frenchman's musket
weighing down his shoulder.  The boy was staggering along
under his burdens, yet contrived to maintain an air of
jauntiness and assurance that held the Spaniards
spell-bound with surprise and curiosity.

"The imp again!" ejaculated Jack with a smile.

The boy caught sight of him, and, endeavouring to
hasten his step, tripped over his sword and fell headlong,
rising a moment after without musket or képi, and
revealing the swarthy face and unkempt hair of Pepito.

"Here I am, Señor," he said with his enigmatical smile.
"Not lost, Señor."

"So I see.  And what have you been doing?  What
do you mean by giving me the slip like that, and making
me think the French had got you?"

Pepito looked aggrieved.  He took out of his vest the
silver watch Jack had given him at Seville, and held it
dangling by its chain.

"Señor's gift; should it get wet?  Never.  I got into
the water; not the watch.  No, I put it on one of the
thwarts.  We got out of the boat.  Señor went so fast
that I forgot the watch.  It was Señor's fault.  I went
back for it, Señor; I got it; then when I came away—ha!
I hear the march of men.  I stop; I hide; all day long
from my deep hole I see the French shoot with their
big guns across the river.  I wait; I think, what if Señor
is dead?  I wish I had come with him, and let the watch
get wet.  Then, wonder of wonders! the Busne drive
the French back.  They go by my hole; one falls; then
all is quiet, and I steal out and get these things from
the dead man, and I come in and have Señor as well
as the watch."

Jack could hardly find fault with the boy for wishing
to preserve his own gift.  Explaining to Tio Jorge that
Pepito was a servant of his, he turned to resume his
interrupted journey northward, and bade Pepito follow him
closely.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Night on the Ramparts`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXI


.. class:: center large bold

   Night on the Ramparts

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   The Café Arcos—The Story of the Siege—Perfervour—An
   Oath—The Casa Alvarez—The Missing Sentry—Through the
   Lines—Miguel Enters Saragossa—Don Casimir is
   Astonished—Moonshine

.. vspace:: 2

On arriving with Tio Jorge at the Aljafferia Castle, Jack
found that Palafox had already received from Santiago
Sass news of the excellent work done in the south-eastern
quarter of the city.  But Tio Jorge insisted on telling
the story again, and dwelt with enthusiasm on the part
the English Señor had played—his idea to scale the roofs,
and his intrepidity in fighting by the barricades.  The big
Spaniard loved a hard fighter, and Jack could have found
no surer way to his confidence and respect.

"Excellent! excellent!" cried Palafox; "you came to
us most opportunely, Señor.  And let me tell you, the
good opinion of our brave Tio Jorge is itself the highest
praise.  Would to God that our success had been as
certain at other points!  Unhappily, the French have
exploded mines in the neighbourhood of Santa Engracia,
and the most heroic efforts of our men have failed to
dislodge them from the ground they have gained.
Unhappily, also, Don Hernando de Solas, my valiant
lieutenant there, was shot as he led his men for the tenth time
to the assault, and I have no one whom I can conveniently
send to take his place."

"Send the English Señor," cried Tio Jorge instantly.
"He has shown what he can do; he is an officer who
has served with the great Sir Moore; he is the very
man for the post."

Palafox looked for a moment doubtfully at Jack's
youthful face.

"You are young yourself, Don José," added Tio Jorge,
divining his general's reluctance.  "Por Dios! was there
ever before a captain-general so young!"

"It is an arduous post," said Palafox.  "Just now it
has to bear the brunt of the French attack, I fear.  But
you have shown valour and resource, Señor Lumsden;
will you undertake the command of Don Hernando's
district?"

"I will do my best, Señor, if you entrust it to me."

He spoke quietly, but his pulse leapt at the thought
of the work opening before him.  Accepting the general's
offer with alacrity, he set off in a few minutes with Tio
Jorge, who had offered to introduce him to his men, and
procure for him a Spanish uniform to replace his soiled
garments.  As they were hastening along the Coso,
crowded with people now that the day's fighting had
ceased, Tio Jorge stopped at the door of a big café.

"You must be famished, Señor," he said.  "You have
had nothing but a bite and a sup all day.  Here is the
café of my friend Jorge Arcos; let us enter.  When we have
eaten and drunk it will be time to seek the ramparts."

Jack was nothing loth.  In a few minutes he was seated
amid a crowd of ardent Saragossans, whose blackened
features and soiled garments bespoke the part they had
played in the defence of their city.  Jorge Arcos himself, a
robust and lusty Spaniard, attended to Jack's wants when
he had learnt from Tio Jorge that the young Señor was an
English officer who had done good work that day, and
been entrusted by Palafox with the Santa Engracia
command.  The big host, as well as the miscellaneous
company in the room, looked somewhat askance at the weird
figure of Pepito, who had closely followed his master.
His garb showed him to be one of the despised and outcast
gitanos; but on Jack's explaining that the boy had been
of service to him, Arcos shrugged, and brought him some
food and diluted wine, which the hungry little fellow
despatched with gusto.

As he ate, Jack fell into conversation with his host, and
showed a curiosity to learn something of the earlier history
of the siege.  The mere suggestion was enough to set
the man's tongue wagging.  He evidently loved the sound
of his own voice, and he owed indeed much of his popularity
with the citizens to his rough-and-ready eloquence.

"A remarkable siege, you say, Señor?" he said.  "It
is, in truth; never was such a siege since the world began!
And 'tis not the first time the French pack of wolves has
come to eat us.  Last year, by the favour of Our Lady of
the Pillar, we escaped their greedy jaws; and now also
again they shall rue the day they came a-hunting.  For
six weeks we have withstood them; 'tis six weeks since
they began to throw their bombs and balls into our midst.
Aha! and on the second day after, they sent a man to
summon us to surrender.  Surrender!  Little they knew
Don José Palafox, little they knew the hearts of our
people—of Tio Jorge here, and Tio Marin, of the padres Don
Basilio and Santiago Sass and Consolacion; aye, and of
our noble ladies and of our poor folks such as I myself.
Surrender!  Why, our people well-nigh tore the French
messenger in pieces!  We knew they were coming to
invest us; did they think we should open our gates or
that our walls would fall flat as the walls of Jericho?  Por
Dios!"

He uttered a scornful guffaw, and shouts of approval
broke from the crowd.

"No, no.  We had warning; the people from the
countryside came flocking in—workers in olive groves
and vineyards, potters from the villages, swineherds and
muleteers—and Don José gave them each his task, and
with our own people they toiled night and day to make
our city strong.  Men and women and children, sixty
thousand of us, we wrought upon the ramparts.  Some
carried earth in baskets, others plied the spade, others
went into the outskirts with picks and axes, and levelled
houses and orchards until, for half a mile round, the
country was as bare as my table here, a level waste on
which no enemy could find a wall or tree to shelter him.
Thus we strengthened our defences, building bastions and
raising mounds, till the whole city was encircled with
strong ramparts from the Ebro to the Huerba.

"And all this time our people were gathering food—great
stores of corn and maize, oil and fish; and some
were making powder and bullets, and others were building
barriers across the streets with timber and sand-bags, so
that if the accursed French did break through our walls
we could still fight from street to street, as you have seen
to-day, Señor."

"Yes, but they are gaining ground; how can we hold
out longer, Jorge Arcos?" said a voice in the crowd.

Arcos glared around and smote upon the table.

"Where is that coward?" he cried passionately.
"Where is he?  For whom does the gibbet stand in the
Coso?  Is it not there for cowards, and weaklings, and
traitors, and all who talk of surrender?  Hold out longer!
We have only begun.  The French have got in here and
there—well, what of that?  Every house captured costs
them a day; and every day brings our triumph nearer.
Have we not ample food?  Is there a wretch in Saragossa
who complains of hunger?  Set him before me; let me see
his face; he shall prove his words here in my presence,
or—"  He made a significant gesture, and continued:
"No, we are not hungry; we can hold out for months;
and meanwhile friends are hastening to our succour.
North and south, east and west, armies are collecting.
The French shall be hemmed round like pigs for the
butcher; the February rains shall descend and flood their
trenches; and by the grace of Our Lady of the Pillar we
shall be able once again to foil the plans of the Corsican
dog, and the men of Aragon will set such an example to
the men of Andalusia and Castile, of Leon and Estremadura,
of Catalonia and Navarre, that no Frenchman shall
be left alive between the mountains and the sea."

Loud vivas rang through the room as Arcos brought his
oration to a close.  It was no surprise to Jack to hear
such a speech from the lips of an ordinary café-keeper—every
Spaniard is an orator,—but he by no means shared
the speaker's assurance.  The influx of so many people
from the country must have swelled the population far
beyond its normal limit.  Overcrowding involved disease;
the encroachments of the French must constantly narrow
the habitable region; in the exposed parts only the vaults
and cellars would be safe from bombardment; and while
the operations of war claimed their full tale of victims,
Jack feared that pestilence would carry off still more.
But he said not a word of his apprehensions, and soon
afterwards, bidding his host and the company a cordial
adieu, he left with Tio Jorge and Pepito.

They passed the Franciscan convent beyond the Coso,
cut through narrow tortuous side streets, each barricaded
and guarded, passed the Capuchin nunnery, and came at
length to the district of Santa Engracia, in which a few
days before the French had gained a lodgment by sapping
and mining and direct assault.  As they passed along a
street from which the French had been driven at the point
of the bayonet, but which was now a mere heap of charred
and smoking ruins, Jack saw a young lady standing
before the smouldering embers of one of the houses.  By
her side was a little boy.  The lady, who could not
have been more than twenty-five years of age, was pale
and haggard, and gazed upon the ruins of her home like
a very statue of sorrow.  As Tio Jorge and Jack came
up to her, they heard her talking to the boy in low fierce
tones.

"It is the Doña Mercedes Ortega," said Tio Jorge half
to himself.  "What is the matter, Señora?" he asked.

She turned and threw back her mantilla.  Jack had
never seen a face in which utter woe and desolation was
so piteously imprinted.  Her eyelids were swollen with
weeping; her eyes blazed out of dark sunken rims; her
lips were quivering.

"That was my home," she said in an agony of grief
that Jack never forgot.  "My husband lies there, and
my father.  My brothers died on the ramparts; my little
girl died of fever in my arms.  Only Juanino is left, only
Juanino, he and I; we are alone—alone—alone!"

Jack turned away; there was a mist before his eyes.
Then suddenly the woman's tone changed from grief to
rage.  Her next words seemed to bite into Jack's soul.

"Stay, Señor!" she cried; "stay, Tio Jorge!  I call
you to witness what I teach my Juanino.  Yes, I teach him;
he will never forget; it is for a mother to teach her son
his duty.  He shall be a scourge to all the accursed race.
He shall kill, kill, kill, knowing no rest till he join his
father—his father whom the French have killed!"

The boy looked up in her face with eyes of terror.

"Put your hands together," she continued, "and swear
that henceforth, in war or peace, at home or abroad, in
the street or in the field, you will kill every Frenchman
you may meet, kill without mercy or ruth, and thus avenge
me and all your house.  Swear, Juanino!"

Jack shuddered as he heard the little fellow, whose age
was perhaps seven years, repeat the terrible oath his
frantic mother demanded of him.  At that moment the
horrors of war were brought home to Jack's mind more
forcibly than ever before; nothing in the terrible retreat
to Corunna had been so terrible as the picture of the
young widow's desolate grief and passionate longing for
vengeance.

He passed on, with Tio Jorge and Pepito, into a small
plaza out of which several narrow streets radiated.  The
place was familiar to him, and a few steps farther on he
recognized the Casa Alvarez, and remembered, what he
had forgotten till now, that the house of his old friend
stood almost within a stone's-throw of the Santa Engracia
convent.

"This was the head-quarters of Don Hernando," said
Tio Jorge.  "You had better make it yours also, Señor."

"Yes.  But let us go on to the ramparts now.  I want
to see the position, and the men.  Do you know, by the
by, what has become of the family of Don Fernan Alvarez?
The old Señor himself is dead."

"I cannot tell you, Señor.  He was a good man, was
Don Fernan.  He had one daughter; was it not so?  But
they were far above a poor man like me, and I know
nothing about the Señorita."

Jack felt a curious pleasure in knowing that the Casa
Alvarez was in his own district, and would actually be his
head-quarters.  Hastening down the street towards the
walls, he enquired whether the ramparts were manned in
force at night in anticipation of attack during the hours
of darkness.  Tio Jorge informed him that the French had
not risked a night attack in force since the beginning of
the siege.  They continued their mining operations, but
they had found it so difficult to make headway
above-ground, even in the daylight, that actual assaults and
fighting seldom or never occurred between dark and dawn.
The ramparts were therefore guarded by a sufficient
number of sentries, but not occupied in force, the defenders
being only too glad to recruit their overtaxed energies
with sleep.  When Jack arrived at the wall he found
sentries posted at intervals of a few yards.  He learnt
from Tio Jorge that his command extended from the Santa
Engracia convent some fifty yards to the north, where it
adjoined the Porta Quemada district under the charge of
a personal friend of Palafox, Don Casimir Ulloa.  It
happened that Don Casimir was making a round of his
sentries before leaving for the night, and to him Jack
was introduced by Tio Jorge at the point where their
commands met.  Tio Jorge then took his leave, promising
to call at the Casa Alvarez on the way back, and see
that a room was arranged for the Señor's occupation.

"Is all quiet to-night, Señor?" asked Jack, after the
first compliments had passed.

"Yes; nothing has happened since the French blew
up a house by the Santa Engracia convent just before
dark.  But one thing puzzles me, Señor.  Do you know
this part of the city?"

"I was here once before, but that was six years ago,
and I was too much a child then to remember it well now."

"But you will know that beyond the wall here, which
has been greatly strengthened and thickened, the ground
slopes steeply down to the River Huerba.  You can see
it; the water shines in the moonlight.  On the other side
of the ravine, at the top, are the French trenches."

"I see.  What puzzles you, Señor?"

"I am coming to it.  Every night for ten days past
I have been at this spot at this hour, and every night I
have either seen or heard a French sentry exactly opposite.
To-night, however, there is a difference.  At dusk we saw
the Frenchman tramping up and down behind the trench,
just out of range of your good English muskets, Señor;
we heard the guard changed; but a few minutes ago,
when I looked, I found that the sentry had disappeared.
Perhaps my eyes are at fault.  Will you look, Señor?"

Jack looked across the ravine.  A pale half-moon was
shining, as yet somewhat low in the sky, and the ravine
and river-bed were gloomed by black shadows.  The line
of the entrenchments showed rugged against the
background, in which watch-fires here and there marked the
night bivouac of the French.  From the far distance came
faint and fitful noises; the gurgling wash of the river
against its embankments made the only sound in the
vicinity.  Jack ran his eyes along the edge of the
entrenchment for a hundred yards in each direction.
Certainly no sentinel was in sight.

"Perhaps he is resting," he remarked.  "There is no
need for him to tramp up and down in sight all the time."

"True, Señor, but why to-night?  Why on this night
should we miss what we have seen without exception for
many nights past?"

"It is certainly strange.  I shouldn't think it implied
any particular danger of an attack; should you?"

At this moment Pepito touched him on the arm.

"Something crawling, Señor!" he said.

He pointed across the river towards a spot in deep
shadow half-way down the opposite slope.  Jack looked
in that direction, but failed to perceive any moving object.

"You are mistaken, Pepito," he said.

The gipsy was stretched now at full length on the
wall, peering, with his hands arching his eyes, into the
darkness.

"A man crawling!" he whispered.  "See!"

Jack and Don Casimir followed the boy's example, and,
keeping the moonlight from their eyes, at length discerned
a dark figure crawling slowly down the steep.  A moment
later, all three caught sight of a second figure following at
a short interval the first.

"They are coming within range," whispered Don Casimir.
"I will order my men to shoot."

"Stay!" said Jack quickly.  "Let us wait.  Pass the
word along the sentries not to shoot if they see two men
approaching.  Two men will not overpower us and capture
the city, Señor; there is something puzzling, as you
say, in all this.  We must find out what it means."

The men had now reached the foot of the opposite
slope.  On the ramparts several pairs of eyes were
watching them eagerly.  At the brink of the river they halted
for a moment, then stepped into the water.  Jack looked
questioningly at Don Casimir.

"Yes," said the latter, "the Huerba is fordable here."

Two figures were wading through the water.  They
gained the nearer bank; they climbed up.  When on dry
land again they no longer crawled, but clambered as
rapidly as might be up the steep ascent to the wall.  Jack
felt growing interest and excitement as they came up foot
by foot, with no attempt at concealment.  They were
within four yards of the wall.

"Quien vive?" asked Don Casimir in clear low tones.

"Silencio!" said the first of the two figures, holding up
a warning hand.  "I am a friend; help me up."

The wall was some fourteen feet in height, and there
was no apparent means of assisting the man below.

"If two of your men let down their muskets, I can
catch hold of them," said the man in a whisper.

The hint was acted on.  Don Casimir beckoned up two
of his men, who laid themselves flat on the wall, lowering
their muskets until the man below was able to grasp a
barrel in each hand.  Then they gradually drew up the
weapons hand over hand, and the man with them.  Don
Casimir, with drawn sword, kept a sharp look-out to
assure himself that the new-comers were alone, and that
this strange incident was not part of a French plot to rush
the wall.

In half a minute the spokesman was standing beside
the little group.

"Do I see Don Casimir?" he said, looking keenly at the
Spaniard, who had given a start of recognition as his
features came into view above the parapet.

"Yes, Señor," replied Don Casimir with a bow.
"This is a strange meeting."

"Strange indeed!  Ah, what an hour it has been!  I
thought we should never have got through.  Turn where
we would, the French seemed to have sentries everywhere."

"Except yonder, Don Miguel," said Jack quietly,
coming a little more distinctly into view.

Miguel made a quick turn at the sound of his voice,
and with a scarcely perceptible pause said:

"Ah! my dear young friend, who would have thought
of seeing you here?  What a pleasant meeting!  Yes,
as you say, except yonder.  But, as it happens, the sentry
yonder is now keeping guard in another world."  He
tapped the hilt of his sword significantly.  "We were
not in the mood to brook delay, and he was—well, one
Frenchman the less."

"All the same, they have replaced him pretty soon,"
remarked Jack dryly, "unless that is his ghost."

He pointed, as he spoke, to the form of a sentry leaning
on his musket at the spot that had been described to him
by Don Casimir as the customary post.

"It is strange," replied Miguel musingly; "one might
have expected a commotion—when they found the body.
But, yes—no doubt they hush these things up.  It would
reflect on their discipline."

Don Casimir, who had been looking from one to the
other in some astonishment, here interposed.

"But—do I understand, Don Miguel, that you have
come through the French lines?"

"Why, certainly, my friend; how else should I be
here?  We are from Seville, from the Supreme Junta,
with despatches.  We have ridden post-haste four
hundred and fifty miles in six days, as my friend here must
know, and by a miracle have succeeded in eluding the
wolves yonder.  But that reminds me—I should lose no
time in delivering my despatches to the captain-general.
I suppose he is still in the Aljafferia?  How goes it in
Saragossa?  I fear you have been hard pressed."

"Yes, indeed," replied Don Casimir.  "But the pack
of wolves outside is being thinned.  Every yard costs a
man."

"Ah!  I shall have much to hear," said Miguel, with
a meaning look at Jack; "and on my side I have not
a little to tell.  Adios, Señores!"

With a low bow he turned away, followed by his
companion, whom Jack had at once recognized, when he
gained the summit of the wall, as the one-eyed servitor
of evil memory.  There was no look of recognition in the
man's fixed stare as he left the group a few paces behind
his master.  Jack, however, was amused to note the attitude
of Pepito, who stood fingering his little knife with an
air of tragedy worthy of Mr. Kean himself.

"It was a daring feat," said Don Casimir, looking into
the moonlit distance as if gauging the difficulties that
must have beset any attempt to approach Saragossa from
that side.  "Indeed, except yourself, I believe no one has
got in for at least three weeks past.  But we have always
known Don Miguel as a match for any Frenchman.  He
gave many proofs of astuteness during the first siege.  He
is not easy to beat when readiness and resourcefulness are
needed.  It is strange," he added after an interval, during
which his eye rested on the figure of the French sentry,
"very strange.  I could have sworn it is the same man—the
man I missed an hour ago.  But, of course, it cannot be."

"The moonlight may be deceptive," suggested Jack;
but as he left the spot to return to his quarters he looked
thoughtful.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Juanita`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXII


.. class:: center large bold

   Juanita

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   The Brave Antonio—A Survey—Towards the Coso—A Deed
   of Daring—The Señorita Receives—Old Friends—Mig
   Prig—Don Fernan—An Ambush—José Pinzon—The Call of Duty

.. vspace:: 2

Next morning, as soon as it was light, Jack started for
a round of his district.  The Casa Alvarez was a large
square house, standing in the middle of a small plaza of
its own.  Exactly opposite its front, which faced towards
Santa Engracia, there were two smaller houses, known
as the Casas Vega and Tobar, the backs of which were
separated from each other by a narrow lane leading
towards the convent.  Each of these houses was the last of
a block of contiguous buildings, and they were, in fact, the
only houses in their blocks which were still intact, the rest
being more or less in ruins.  The front of the Casa Tobar
looked into a street running parallel with the lane and
entering the Plaza Alvarez on the side nearest the ramparts.
On the other side of the street ran a row of houses
parallel to the Casa Tobar block.  These also were mainly
in ruins.  The house exactly opposite the Casa Tobar
was known as the Casa Vallejo, and this, while at present
unharmed, was the immediate object of the French attack.
Thus in the vicinity of the Casa Alvarez there were three
parallel blocks of buildings along which the French were
working simultaneously.  Two of the blocks were
terminated by the Plaza Alvarez, and the last house in each
was in a line with the Casa Vallejo.  The Casa Vallejo
terrace was separated by a lane from the ramparts, for
the defence of which Jack was not responsible.

.. _`Plan of the Plaza Alvarez District`:

.. figure:: images/img-246.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Plan of the Plaza Alvarez District

   Plan of the Plaza Alvarez District

The features of the locality were pointed out to him
by a young Spanish lawyer, Don Cristobal Somiedo,
who had taken a voluntary part in the struggle, and had
acted as lieutenant to Jack's predecessor, Don Hernando
de Solas.  It was he, toe, who introduced Jack to his little
corps.  It consisted of about 380 men, of whom no more
than 250 could be regarded as really fit for duty, and even
of these, as they paraded before him, many looked as
though they should be in hospital wards.  The majority
of them were regulars, but nearly 100 were guerrilleros
driven into the city, before the actual investment began,
by the advance of the French.  Among the rest were
once well-to-do shopkeepers, whose businesses had been
ruined, and whose houses and shops had in many cases
been destroyed by the French bombs or mines.  They
were fighting side by side with artisans from the lower
quarters of the city, and peasants from the country-side,
all distinctions of class and occupation being forgotten
in the common peril.  Regulars and irregulars all bore
marks of the toils and dangers of their strenuous life—some
in their tattered garments, others in ghastly wounds,
others in their haggard cheeks and fever-lit eyes.  But
only one spirit animated them all: the determination to
spend their last energies in the defence of the city.

Passing down their ranks, Jack was struck by one face
that seemed familiar to him, and he stopped before the
man, endeavouring to recall the circumstances in which
he had seen him.

"Buenos dias, Señor," said the man, a stout thick-set
fellow wearing a heavy skin cloak.  He smiled somewhat
sheepishly as he saluted his new commandant.

The tone of voice brought back to Jack's memory the
roadside encounter with a man on the way to Medina,
and the subsequent meeting in the inn.

"The brave Antonio, is it not?" he said with a smile.

"Sí, Señor," replied the man.

"I am glad to see you engaged in such excellent work."

Passing on, Jack was introduced by Don Cristobal to
Pablo Quintanar, the chief of the guerrilleros, and learnt
that the man, though subordinate to the commander of
the district, expected a certain amount of consideration
as head of an independent party of peasant-warriors.
Jack was not taken with the man's appearance.  He had
a sinister look and shifty eyes, and replied in curt ungenial
tones to the few words addressed to him.

"Antonio, the man you spoke to just now," added Don
Cristobal, "is second in command of the guerrilleros, and
a much better man, in my opinion, than the chief.  You
appear to know him, Señor?"

"I met him once," was Jack's brief reply.

Having made acquaintance with his corps, and finding
that the French had not yet commenced their morning
movements, Jack proceeded to complete his survey of
the position.  Beyond the River Huerba he could now
clearly see the long rows of French trenches, the parallels
cut here and there by a series of zigzags constructed with
incredible labour to secure the besiegers' approach to the
walls.  The French had actually made good their position
on the near side of the river, immediately beneath the wall,
towards Santa Engracia, but they had hitherto forborne
to press their advantage, the height of the bank rendering
it difficult for them to storm the ramparts in that quarter,
and at the same time preventing them from blowing them
up by mines.

It was clear that no French attack was to be expected
from the Porta Quemada side of his district, for in order
to reach him the enemy would have to push their way
through some hundreds of yards of streets held by Don
Casimir, who had proved himself a very capable leader.
But on the Santa Engracia side he was exposed to what
was plainly the enemy's principal attack.  Their aim was
obviously to reach the Coso, and to connect the wedge
they were driving into the city in this quarter with the
wedge already inserted at San Agustin.

They had made considerable progress since the capture
of the Santa Engracia convent four days before.  They
treated each block of houses as a miniature fortress.
There was no attempt to carry it by storm until the
defences had been attacked by sap and mine.  As soon
as a house was blown up they rushed in and occupied
the ruins, where they entrenched themselves with bales
of wool, gabions, and sacks of earth, and began to drive
mines under the next block.

Anxious to see for himself something of their method,
Jack entered a house next to one recently blown up,
and, ascending to the top story, peeped through a
loop-hole pierced in the party wall.  The roof of the next
house had fallen in.  Some charred beams were still
smouldering.  Here and there a tongue of flame licked
the débris, and as the breeze blew in fitful gusts, dense
clouds of smoke rose into the air.

"They don't do their work very thoroughly," said Jack
to Don Cristobal.  "The shell of the house is still
standing.  A good explosion would have shattered the whole
place."

"They have changed their ways, Señor," replied the
lieutenant.  "At first they used big charges and
completely destroyed the houses; but they found that when
the ruins cooled, and they occupied the space, they had
no shelter from our fire.  Now they use smaller charges
and throw down only the wall next to them, leaving the
other walls and the roof uninjured.  The roof next door
was not brought down by the explosion, but by our own
men setting fire to the shell."

"A counter-stroke, eh?  Obviously two can play at
their game.  Well, it will be at least a couple of days,
I should think, before the ruins are cool enough for the
French to occupy the ground.  Probably they are busy
running a mine towards us."

A loud explosion at this moment shocked the air.  Looking
out of the window, across the barricaded streets, Jack
saw a column of smoke pouring from a house to his left,
at the corner of another block of buildings not in his
quarter.

"One house nearer the Coso," he said.  "Well, Don
Cristobal, we must do what we can to check their
progress in our direction.  Our men are no doubt
counter-mining."

"Not very successfully, I am afraid.  We have no
trained sappers and miners; only a scratch battalion
formed from the workmen employed on the great canal
of Aragon, a mile to the south, and they haven't been
accustomed to work underground."

"We must give them some practice, then," said Jack
as they left the house together.

Returning to the Casa Alvarez, which he had fixed on
as his permanent head-quarters, Jack learnt that there
had as yet been no sign of a French attack upon his
district.  The houses and barricades were well manned
by the Spaniards.  It was clear that their vigorous
opposition had deterred the French from attempting an
assault in force until they had made further progress with
their mines.  In pursuance of an idea that had occurred
to him, Jack sent for the foreman of the canal labourers
and took him at once into a small cabinet, where they
remained closeted for more than two hours.  At the end
of that time the workman, carrying a sheet of paper, left
the house, collected a gang of the labourers, and brought
them, armed with various implements, into the Casa
Alvarez, where he descended with them into the cellars.

Meanwhile Jack, leaving Don Cristobal in command,
made his way to the Aljafferia Castle to see Palafox.  His
interview with the general was brief.  He reported that
he had taken over command of his district, rapidly
surveyed it, and inspected his men.  He mentioned what he
had learnt of the recent operations of the French, and
was informed by Palafox that he might regard himself
as having a free hand in preparing measures of defence,
though he would be expected to make a daily report to
head-quarters.  The business of the interview being
concluded, Palafox said:

"You will be interested to hear that last night Don
Miguel Priego—he is connected, I believe, with your
father's house—got through the French lines by a stroke
of matchless daring, bringing me despatches from the
Supreme Junta.  Their view of my country's prospects is
brighter than Mr. Frere's; and Don Miguel tells me
that, from information he gained during his wonderful
journey across Spain, we may expect the siege to be
raised within a week."

"I am glad to hear it, Señor Capitan," said Jack
gravely.  Then, abruptly changing the subject, he
continued: "Can you tell me where I should be likely to
find Padre Consolacion?"

"At the Franciscan convent, no doubt; you will pass
it on the way back to your district.  The padre is doing
grand work."

Jack thanked the general and took his leave.  He was
anxious to find Padre Consolacion and discover from him
the whereabouts of Juanita Alvarez.  As he walked along
the Coso towards the Franciscan convent he came to the
house where he had left the young Señorita whose
acquaintance he had made on his first entrance to the town,
and remembering the trinkets of hers he had in his pocket,
he decided to call and leave them with her, and at the
same time enquire after her welfare and the health of the
fragile old lady whom they had rescued.  Rapping at the
door, he was in a minute confronted by a pleasant-looking
old duenna, who, on learning the object of his call, at once
asked him in.

"The Señorita said that if you called you were to be
shown up, Señor.  Follow me."

There was nothing unusual in this; in Spain a message
is always delivered in person, be the messenger high or
low.  Jack followed the old woman into a vast salon,
darkened by the closing of the shutters except at a small
window at the back.

"The Señora is ill; the Señorita receives," said his
guide, and went out, closing the door.

In a chair sat the old lady, looking vacantly around
the room, mumbling her lips and fingering the ends of her
lace mantilla.  She paid no attention to the visitor, but
the younger lady rose and came forward a few steps,
then stood in an attitude of mingled enquiry and expectancy.

"You will pardon me, Señorita; I could not help calling
to enquire—I am not sure of your name—"

"I don't think we mentioned it, Señor.  And that
reminds me of my own neglect—my unpardonable neglect.
I should certainly have asked the name of our—deliverer."

At this word Jack looked uncomfortable.  His fluency
in Spanish seemed for the moment to have utterly
deserted him.

"Oh," he exclaimed at a rush, "my name is Lumsden—Jack
Lumsden."

"Ah! an English name, is it not?  Then you are not a
Spaniard.  And yet you speak—just like one of ourselves."

Jack's reply was half-apologetic.

"Oh, well, I had a good deal of practice as a child.
I used to live in Spain."

"And now?"

"Now—I'm in the army—the English army—lieutenant
in the 95th regiment."

"Lieutenant?—May I congratulate you?"

"Congratulate me!" repeated Jack in some surprise.

"Yes; is it not permitted?  Among us it is quite the
custom to congratulate a friend on his promotion."

"Certainly, Señorita—" began Jack, wondering still
more; but before he could collect himself the girl
continued, with a twinkle of amusement in her eyes:

"Surely it is only the other day that you were an
ensign.  Can you have forgotten that too?  You were
not always so forgetful.  I fear—"

"True, Señorita, I was a kind of ensign, though in the
95th we've no colours to carry.  But—"

"I fear," she continued, after a scarcely perceptible
pause, "—yes, that you are—well, not quite so nice as
you used to be."

Her eyes were dancing with merriment, and in a flash
Jack recalled the time, six years ago, when a little maid
with just such eyes had been his occasional playmate in
Barcelona.  True, there was little other resemblance; she
had been an elf-like girl, with tangled hair, thin cheeks,
and the shy manner of a child unused to the society of
children.  Before him now stood a tall girl with a dignity
and self-possession beyond her years, her rounded cheeks
and bright eyes showing that the trials of the siege had
as yet touched her but lightly.

"Juanita!" exclaimed Jack, almost below his breath.
"Well, of all the extraordinary—of all the stupid—"

Juanita laughed outright—the old rippling laugh that
Jack now remembered well.

"I hope, Señor Lumsden, you are not referring to me,"
she said.

"You must think me an ass," he replied, half-amused,
half-nettled.  "But," he added, seeing a loophole, "it
isn't my fault.  It's you who have changed, not I.  And
I came to Saragossa on purpose to see you.  To think
it was you all the time!"

"Indeed we thank you.  I don't know what we should
have done without you," said Juanita more seriously.
"We could never have got away.  Don't think me
ungrateful; I knew you at once; but it was all so terrible,
and I saw you didn't know me.  And then, when all was
over, I ought to have explained, but I—well—"

"Didn't," said Jack with a smile.  "I see you haven't
changed so much after all.  The same Juanita,
mischievous as ever."

"I'm afraid not, Jack.  I'm years older than I was a
few months ago.  We were happy then; now everything
is different."

The tears stood in her eyes.

"Yes," said Jack, "I had heard; that is why I came to
see you."

They were silent; then Juanita, with a brave effort to
smile, said:

"Now, Jack, tell me all about yourself."

In a few words Jack gave an account of what had happened
to him since his arrival in Spain, Juanita listening
with an interest and excitement that every now and then
found expression in eager questions.

"But now," said Jack in conclusion, "it's your turn.
I have many things to ask.  Do you know, I met an
old friend not long ago, who told me something about you."

"Oh!  Who was that, and what was it?"

"Well, I called him an old friend—for your sake.  It
was Miguel Priego."

"Him!"  Her shrug was expressive.  "Why do you
say for my sake?"

"Well, considering what he told me—"

"What did he say?  Don't be mysterious."

"He said—that you were about to be married."

"Married!  Good gracious!  To whom?"

"To him!"

"To Mig Prig?"

Her scornful laugh was wholly convincing, and Jack
could not help joining heartily in her merriment when he
heard once again his boyish nickname for their common
tyrant.

"That's all right, then," he said.

"But surely you didn't believe it?" added Juanita, with
a touch of indignation.

"Well, time works strange changes, you know."

"Possibly," said Juanita, appreciating the retort; "but
not so strange as that.  Marry *him*!"

Her gesture was imperial in its disdain.

"Another of Miguel's lies!" said Jack.  "But," he
added thoughtfully, "there was usually a motive behind
them.  What can it be this time?  He gave me so many
details; said it had all been arranged between your father
and Don Esteban; he was to have the business; and all
the rest of it."

"Ridiculous!  My father would have been the very last
to think of such a thing.  He distrusted him—with good
cause."

And then she proceeded to give Jack a narrative from
which, as the tale was unfolded, he gained more than an
inkling of Don Miguel's designs.

More than two years before, when Napoleon formed his
alliance with Spain, Don Fernan Alvarez, a shrewd
observer of events, had suspected that the ostensible object
of despoiling Portugal was only a ruse by which the
emperor intended to make himself master of the whole
peninsula.  Foreseeing a period of confusion and anarchy,
the old merchant resolved to take time by the forelock and
set his house in order.  He went to Barcelona, the headquarters
of the business, and proceeded to realize his stock
as far as possible, with the intention of converting it into
bullion or valuables which could be laid aside as a
provision for his own declining years and his daughter's future.
On going into the accounts of the firm he found that Don
Esteban Priego's books showed large deficiencies, threatening
to more than cover his interest, not a great one, in the
business.  When the matter was brought to light, Don
Esteban was much distressed.  He had been for some time
in failing health, and had left the management of his
branch almost entirely in the hands of his son Miguel,
who, however, when brought to book by his father's
partner, indignantly protested against the implied charge
of dishonesty, and declared that if there was anything
wrong he at any rate was absolutely clean-handed.  There
was no time to investigate the matter fully.  After a
stormy interview Don Fernan left the office in charge of
a trusted clerk, and, taking with him the large sum of
money he had realized, together with the unsatisfactory
books, set out for Saragossa a few days before Barcelona
was seized by the French.

Owing to the disturbed state of the country he thought
it wise to travel with an escort of some score of well-armed
men, half of them his own retainers, half alguazils.  From
some undefined motive of prudence he kept his departure
secret until the last moment.  But, despite this precaution,
the party was ambushed at dusk, at a lonely spot on the
hills within two marches of Saragossa, by a horde of
brigands.  The escort made a stout resistance, but being
taken entirely at a disadvantage by superior numbers they
were overpowered.  Don Fernan himself was severely
wounded in the first moment of attack; several of his
men were killed or disabled; and the rest, seeing their
case hopeless, made their escape.

The brigands were about to kill the wounded, on the
principle that dead men tell no tales, when a body of
French horsemen rode down the hill at a gallop.  One
startled glance, and the bandits hurriedly decamped.  At
that time the French were posing as disinterested friends
of Spain.  The cavaliers showed every attention to the
wounded men, assisted Don Fernan into Saragossa, and
with a self-restraint that was remarkable in the light of
the subsequent behaviour of their countrymen, handed
over to him his books and boxes untouched.  This was
a double relief to the merchant, for, if what he learnt on
the way from his old body-servant José was true, he had
not only saved the treasure for his daughter, but preserved
it from the hands of the one man whom he had recently
had so much reason to mistrust.  José had been stunned
during the fight by a blow from a clubbed musket.  On
recovering consciousness he was amazed to recognize,
among the assailants, no other than Don Miguel Priego.
He could not be sure.  At that moment the French
appeared and the brigands fled.  But he felt that he could
hardly have been mistaken.

"That was where Miguel got his scar," said Jack to
himself at this point of the story.

A few months after Don Fernan's return to Saragossa
the French began the first siege of the city.  He
contributed largely to the funds raised for the defence, and
though scarcely able to walk played a not inconsiderable
part in the actual work behind the walls.  But such
unwonted exertions tried his already enfeebled health.  He
had never thoroughly recovered from his wound.  The
troubles of the siege were too great a strain for a man
of his age.  And though his strength revived a little when
the French were so signally beaten, he was again ailing
when the news of the fatal day of Tudela broke his
last hold on life.  The Saragossans gave him honoured
burial.

His last days were troubled by anxiety about his
daughter and only child.  He knew that if his property
became subject to the lingering processes of the Spanish
courts, very little of it would be left for Juanita.  He had
no near relatives or friends on whose integrity and business
capacity he could thoroughly rely.  Mr. Lumsden, his
English partner, would, as a heretic, probably be unable
to act as executor of a will, and in any case would be
seriously handicapped in any legal proceedings.  He
therefore made no will, but solemnly entrusted his servant
with the task of carrying out his wishes.  José was forty
years of age, wholly illiterate, but devoted to his old
master, and even more to Juanita.  He enjoyed Don
Fernan's entire confidence, and was fully informed of his
master's affairs.  A sum of money had already been
invested in England that would produce an income of about
£400 a year; of this Mr. Lumsden was trustee.  The
remainder of his property consisted of a country house
and estate near Morata, some miles west of Saragossa;
the family plate and heirlooms; and the money realized
by the sale of his disposable stock in Barcelona.  The
movable property was all given into José Pinzon's charge,
to be handed over to Juanita when the country should have
settled down again.

"That won't be yet, I'm afraid," remarked Jack, "but
no doubt José has it safe enough.  By the way, where is he?"

"I wish I knew," said Juanita anxiously.  "Nothing
has been heard of him since the great sortie of Captain
Mariano Galindo about ten days ago.  He volunteered
among the brave two hundred, and was one of the first
to spike the French guns.  But he never came back."

"Poor fellow!" said Jack.  "I'm very sorry.  We used
to be great chums.  There aren't many like him.  You
will miss him sadly."

"Yes, indeed; and I wouldn't mind about the property
if only he were safe."

"But surely his disappearance doesn't affect the property?"

"Well, you see, nobody else knows where it is.  Father
didn't tell me.  He thought there would be less risk of
harm if I knew nothing about it."

"But he would be sure to provide against José's death.
Ah!" he exclaimed, as a sudden light dawned, "that
explains it.  I had a letter from him in Salamanca, telling
me about another letter left with General Palafox.  No
doubt everything was explained in that."

"Was explained!  What do you mean?"

"The letter has disappeared—was stolen, mistaken for
plans of the city.  But there's still a chance left.  A third
letter was sent to my father.  We must hope it was a
duplicate of the lost one."

"Oh dear!" sighed Juanita, "to think that so many
people should be troubled with poor little me!"

"We seem to have rather muddled things among us,"
said Jack.  "But I see now what Mig Prig is aiming at.
Have you heard that he is back in Saragossa?"

"Miguel back!" exclaimed Juanita; in her tone there
was a hint of uneasiness.  "Oh, I do hope I shall not
meet him!  But I won't think of him."

"He's not worth it.—I was almost forgetting.  I have
brought some of your trinkets from the Casa Ximenez.
Will you—"

"Hark!" exclaimed Juanita, holding up her hand.
There was a loud crash as of falling masonry.

"They are bombarding again," said Jack, rising.  "I
must hasten to my post.  Good-bye, Juanita!"

"You will come and see us again when you have time?"

They both looked sympathetically at the huddled figure
of Doña Teresa, who had fallen asleep in her chair.

"Poor Auntie!" said Juanita.  Then, as Jack turned
towards the door, she folded her mantilla about her head
and dropped a low curtsy, saying demurely: "Adios,
Señor!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Fight in the Ruins`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXIII


.. class:: center large bold

   The Fight in the Ruins

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Mines and Countermines—In the Cellars—Burrowing—Y
   Mines—An Underground Enemy—The Foe Within—Planning
   a Surprise—At Dawn—Across the Barricades—In the
   Enemy's Works—A Bird's-eye View—Through the
   Wall—Sword versus Bayonet—Shut Out—A Mob Leader—Too
   much Zeal—Not Proven

.. vspace:: 2

Jack walked downstairs abstractedly, and was only brought
to himself by the sudden realization that he had almost
collided with a person entering at the door.  Looking up
with a murmured apology, he saw that the visitor was a
burly priest, in long cassock and broad sombrero which
roofed a round jovial face.  The priest was equally
apologetic, and eyed Jack curiously, stopping in the doorway
and turning round to gaze after his retreating figure.
Outside, Jack found Pepito perched on a stone post.  He
sprang to the ground when he saw his master.

"Well, imp," said Jack, "sticking to me as usual, eh?"

"Sí, Señor.  Señor knows the fat padre?"

"No.  Do you?"

"A friend of the Busno Don Miguel," replied the boy.

"Indeed!  How do you know that?"

"I saw them talking at the door of the great big house
over there."

He pointed to the Franciscan convent on the other side
of the road.  Jack looked thoughtful; he wondered whether
this was the Padre Consolacion of whom he had heard, and
was half-minded to turn back and make his acquaintance.
That he had been seen in consultation with Miguel was
somewhat disturbing.  But, on second thoughts, he decided
that he had already been long enough away from his
command at Santa Engracia, and he hastened his steps in that
direction, anxious to see how things had been progressing
there in his absence.

When he left the Casa Alvarez, two hours before, he
had given instructions for the commencement of operations
by which he hoped to beat the French at their own game.
From what he had learnt from Don Cristobal he saw that
the mistake up to the present had been the waiting for the
explosion of the French mines, the result being that the
enemy gained positions from which it usually proved
impossible to dislodge them.  The only means of keeping
them effectually in check was to practise countermining,
not in the hand-to-mouth manner in which it had hitherto
been attempted, but systematically, with a longer outlook,
with a regard to ultimate developments rather than to the
immediate repelling of attack.  During his interview with
the foreman that morning he had explained his ideas, and
learnt that, so far as the man's limited experience went,
there was no practical obstacle to their accomplishment.

The French, as he had seen, had been for some days
past working steadily through the three parallel blocks
of buildings that ran from the Santa Engracia direction
towards the Plaza Alvarez.  They had made equal progress
in all three blocks.  The limit of destruction was marked
by the Casas Vega, Tobar, and Vallejo, the first two being
at the end of their blocks immediately facing the Casa
Alvarez, separated from each other by a narrow lane,
while the last was separated from the Casa Tobar by the
street running into the plaza.  These three houses were
still standing, but it was obvious that they would form the
next points of attack, and it was highly probable that
even now the enemy had begun to cut galleries towards them.

Jack had made up his mind to anticipate the attack.
Before leaving in the morning he had learnt from the
foreman, whose name was Pulgar, that the work of mining
underground could usually be heard from a distance of
about forty feet.  From this he calculated that, if the
French began to work from their side immediately after
their last attack, there would be time for his own men
to drive a short gallery beneath the wall of each of the
three houses before there was any risk of their operations
being heard by the enemy.  He had therefore left instructions
for a hole to be cut beneath the farther party-wall of
each house, where it adjoined the house last demolished.
He told Pulgar to see that the digging was done as
quietly as possible, and to be on the alert to catch the
slightest sound of the approach of the French miners in
the opposite direction.

"Well, how are things getting on?" he asked of Don
Cristobal, on arriving at his post after his interview with
Juanita.

"Excellently," was the reply.  "Pulgar has kept the
men at work without relaxation."

"In shifts, I suppose?"

"Only one man can work at each tunnel, so he gave
each man half an hour; then his place was taken by
another.  Here is Pulgar himself."

"You are doing capitally, I hear, hombre," said Jack.
"How far have the men got?"

"The tunnels are nearly three feet long by this time,
Señor.  It takes about an hour to cut away a foot."

"Any sound of the French?"

"None, Señor."

"Very well.  Another four feet will finish these.  But
we mustn't stop at that.  We can't hope to keep the
enemy back altogether by one explosion at those walls.  It
would delay them, certainly, and do considerable damage;
but we'll have to prepare to give them much more trouble
farther back."

"I had thought of that, Señor."

"Well, I think we'll go and have a look at the cellars.
Come along.  Bring your measure with you; we shall
require that, and a candle."

Descending to the cellars of the Casa Alvarez, Jack found
that they ran along the walls on the west and north sides
of the building, at a distance of ten feet below the surface
of the ground.  They formed a series of arched rooms
leading one from the other, with small openings for ventilation
giving on the patio.

"Dark musty places these!" said Jack.  "Judging by
the appearance of them, they haven't been used for a
century.  There's not even a bottle of wine to be seen,
let alone a rat.  Ah!  I spoke too soon; sh-h-h!"

A rat had just scurried along the wall into its hole in
the corner.

"I have been thinking over things," resumed Jack,
"and I shall be glad of your opinion of the plan I have
partly formed.  Our object, of course, must be to hold
the French in check as long as possible; but if they
succeed in occupying the two houses opposite, and the Casa
Vallejo, we shall be very hard put to it to defend the plaza
and this house.  They outnumber us.  It is quite likely
that, in spite of all we can do, they will eventually succeed
in obtaining a lodgment in these three houses or their
ruins.  I propose, therefore, to plan our defence on the
assumption that they will do so.  This house in which we
now stand will be our fort, and we should arrange so that
we can do the enemy as much damage as possible from
this spot."

"That is reasonable, Señor," said Don Cristobal.

"Well, the greatest damage we can do will be done by
mines like their own—either to destroy their mines before
they have time to explode them, or to drive the enemy
back when they have exploded their mines and seized the
houses.  To do that effectually we require to drive at
least two galleries from these cellars under each house.
But the Casa Vallejo is too far away.  We haven't men
enough, and it would take too long, to cut a gallery from
here right across the plaza and street and under that
house.  The Casas Vega and Tobar are much nearer, and
I see nothing to prevent us from cutting the galleries
under them."

"In addition to the short tunnels already being cut
under the party-walls?" asked Don Cristobal.

"Oh yes!  You see my aim?  The short tunnels are to
delay their attack on those houses; the longer tunnels I
propose are to check their advance on this house when
they have captured the others."

"But why two long galleries, Señor?" asked Pulgar.

"Because, after we have fired one, the French will come
on in greater strength again, thinking we have done our
worst, and the explosion of the second will have a
shattering effect on them in every way."

"An excellent idea, Señor!" said Don Cristobal, "but
our men are not too strong, and it would cost immense
labour to drive two galleries.  It is forty feet across the
plaza between this and the houses opposite; you must
allow for several feet of tunnel in each house if you want
to spare the walls facing us—"

"Eight feet at least," interrupted Jack.  "I don't want
to destroy the houses entirely."

"Well, that makes ninety-six feet of tunnelling for each
house, and all the earth to be carried back as it is dug
out.  You will work your men to death, Señor."

Jack considered.  For the moment he envied some
friends of his who had commissions in the Engineers.
"They would have mugged up all this sort of thing in
their books," he said to himself.  How could he achieve
his purpose without running the risk Don Cristobal had
pointed out?  He stood for a time unconsciously tapping
the stone floor with his foot as he thought over the
problem.

"I have it!" he exclaimed suddenly.  "It's a case of
letter Y—you see?  Drive one gallery half-way; then two
branching out from it like the arms of a capital Y.  It
won't save time, but it will save labour, and we can't
afford to knock the men up."

"That is it, Señor," said Pulgar, rubbing his hands.

"Then I will get you to arrange with the men so that
they take turn and turn about.  And by the way, two
short tunnels must be cut between the Casa Vallejo and
the house next it on this side—the Casa Hontanon, is it
not?  Those houses are not so capable of defence as this
is, but we must do what we can to beat the enemy there
also."

Pulgar at once set off to arrange with the workmen,
while Jack proceeded to organize the garrisoning of the
houses.  Except for a few shells thrown over the ramparts
nothing had been done by the French since the explosion
of the previous evening.  The barricades in the streets
and lane were held by men of the Valencia regiment; Jack
selected other men from the same regiment, and some of
the best of the guerrilleros, and thus formed three
companies of twenty men each to garrison the three casas,
Vega, Tobar, and Vallejo.  Fifty men were held in reserve
in the Casa Alvarez.

As the day wore on, Jack found that the tunnelling
proceeded more rapidly than he had expected.  Working on
a more definite plan than hitherto, the men saw that their
chances of seriously checking the French advance were
much greater, and dug and carried with a dogged
perseverance that gave Jack a new respect for the Spanish
character.  By the evening the short holes under the
party-walls nearest the French were ready for the charges.
Thinking it advisable to see for himself what had been
done, Jack crawled through one of the tunnels with a
lighted candle, feeling the oppression of the dank confined
air.  He saw by the dim light that the sides and roof
were roughly shored up with timber, and that, as he had
wished, there was a slight slope upwards, so that the
head of the tunnel was only about four feet from the
surface.  At the end he listened for the sound of the French
miners, who, he guessed, were approaching, but hearing
nothing concluded that they were not as yet so far
advanced with their work.

Returning to the rear end of the tunnel, he arranged for
a heavy charge of powder to be placed in position with the
fuses.  When this had been done it was time to "tamp"
the tunnels—fill them up again with earth to a distance
greater than the depth of the mines below the surface.
This was necessary, or when the explosion took place it
would exhaust its force along the open tunnel instead of
in the upward direction intended.  But Jack decided not
to do any tamping until he was sure that the French had
driven their galleries so close to his own that the explosion
of his own mines would destroy the enemy's.  If he found
that the French tunnels were to the right or left of his
own, so far away that his explosion would not greatly
affect them, he would have to await the French explosion
and then use his own mines to repel the attack on the
buildings that would instantly follow.

Late at night Antonio the guerrillero, who had been one
of the most enthusiastic of the workers, reported that at
the farther end of the short tunnel into the Casa Vega he
had heard the faint sound of picks.  Jack instantly crawled
into the tunnel to listen for himself.  Undoubtedly the man
was right.  Giving orders that men should take turns to
watch all through the night at the tunnel head, he went to
bed after midnight, tired out with the day's exertions.

Before he fell asleep his mind ran over the strange
events with which the last two days had been crowded.
In particular he reflected on the story he had heard from
Juanita, and could not help wondering at the extraordinary
mischances which had befallen her affairs.  The letter
confided to Palafox must have contained instructions in
regard to the property which old Don Fernan had preserved
somewhere for his daughter, and had been written as a
precaution in case anything happened to his trusted
servant José.  Some perverse fate seemed to have decreed
that José should die and the letter be lost simultaneously.
And then his thoughts turned to Miguel.  His story about
the projected marriage was clearly a sheer fabrication; but
it showed what his intentions were.  He meant to take
advantage of Juanita's orphaned condition to coax or
cajole her into a marriage, and thereby to secure the
property which he knew must be hers.  It seemed improbable
that he could have learnt where her father had stored his
wealth; it might be that he supposed Juanita knew.  His
sudden nocturnal appearance in Saragossa, with a story
of overpowering a sentry, was in itself very suspicious.
Could he be playing a double game?  At any rate Jack
felt that he must be on his guard, on behalf of Juanita as
well as himself; that Miguel would not hesitate to injure
him he had now little doubt.

These thoughts, however, were banished by the
important work of the next day.  At dawn he learnt that
hour by hour during the night the approach of the French
had been more distinctly heard.  All that morning he paid
frequent visits to the Vega tunnel, and about eleven
o'clock he felt sure, from the direction and the proximity
of the sounds, that the French miners had arrived at a
point in a line with the head of his gallery.  The mining
continued; it would take them between six and seven
hours to reach the wall.  Leaving Don Cristobal in
charge, with instructions to keep as vigilant a look-out
as ever, Jack went to see how the Y-shaped mines from
the cellars of the Casa Alvarez were progressing, and then
made a general round of the district.  Several times
during the day he had heard the sound of explosions in
other parts of the city, but had been too busy to enquire
about what was happening.  He learnt now, however,
that a block of houses twenty yards nearer the Coso, in
the direction of the Franciscan convent, had been carried
by the French, by which means they had extended their
attacking front by nearly three times that distance.  He
heard also that trenches had been opened against the
Jesus Convent, in the suburb of San Lazaro, across
the river.  It was evident that the enemy were at last
arranging for a determined attack in that quarter, where
they had done little since the early days of the siege.
The possession of San Lazaro would enable them to harass
the whole north side of the city, the only portion that
hitherto had been immune, and where, consequently, the
greater part of the stores was collected and the mass of
the fever-stricken inhabitants huddled together.

About six o'clock he was recalled to the Casa Vega by
the news that the French gallery had reached the wall
and the tunnelling had ceased.  It would take them some
four hours, Jack conjectured, to tamp their mine; when
that was done they would no doubt retire from the tunnel,
and it would then be safe for the Spaniards to tamp their
mine in turn.  If they started to do so earlier, the sound
would betray them.  At ten o'clock all sounds from the
French end had ceased; then Jack, after allowing a short
interval, set his men to perform the tamping.  Working
without relaxation, they completed the task by two in the
morning.  Within four or five hours the French would
explode their mine beneath the wall.

The first thing Jack did on being awakened by Pepito
half an hour before dawn was to enquire whether any
sounds of the French progress had been heard in the
Casas Tobar and Vallejo.  In the former he learned the
mining had been heard for several hours; in the latter
there had been no sounds at all.  Satisfied that immediate
work would only be required in the Casa Vega, he
proceeded to get his men into order.

His plan, carefully thought out on the previous day,
was to withdraw his garrison from the Casa Vega, leaving
only one man to fire the mine; otherwise a large number
would be uselessly sacrificed.  The inrush of the French
after the explosion of their mine was to be the signal
for the firing of his own, and that in turn the signal for
a sortie of the whole of his available force.  By this means
he hoped to drive the French back to such a distance that
he could discover and blow up the galleries they were
driving into the Casa Tobar, and probably into the Casa
Vallejo also.

It still wanted some minutes of dawn when his motley
force was drawn up in the plaza behind the walls of Vega
and Tobar.  It numbered only 350 men in all—some
haggard burghers of the city, some rugged guerrilleros from
the country districts, a few regulars from General Fiballer's
Valencian regiment, a few of Palafox's grenadiers.  All
bore signs of the stress and toil of the past few weeks; but
all were animated by one spirit of indomitable resolution.
Fifty of the best marksmen were at once picked out to
garrison Tobar and Vallejo and harass the French with
musketry-fire from the windows.  Eighty good men were
drafted as a reserve.  This left 220, of whom 120 were
told off to make the main sortie over the barricade in the
street between Tobar and Vallejo, while 30 were appointed
to guard the shorter barricade across the lane between
Tobar and Vega.  The remaining 70 were ordered to
march to the upper side of the Casa Vega and make a
demonstration at the barricade erected in the street there.

Jack had resolved to lead the principal sortie in person,
and he devoted special attention to the organization of his
band.  Ten of the men were ordered to carry bags of
powder to blow up the French galleries into Tobar and
Vallejo, if the sortie party were able to push home their
charge.  Another ten were given short ladders and mats
to assist the rest across the barricade, which was of timber,
some twelve feet in height, and studded at the top with
sharp nails.  It had been constructed so hastily, and with
so little idea of the possibility of a sortie, that it formed
almost as formidable an obstacle to the Spaniards as to
the French.

The sortie party beyond the Casa Vega was entrusted
to Don Cristobal, the reserve to Pablo Quintanar, the chief
of the guerrilleros.  This man was very much dissatisfied
with the post allotted him; he grumbled and protested that
he deserved a more prominent part in the operations, but
Jack had a vague distrust of the fellow, and somewhat
curtly refused to alter his arrangements.

All was now ready.  In the chill foggy dawn the men
waited at their several posts for the expected explosion.
Sounds floated across the river from the French lines: the
blare of bugles, the rat-tat of drums, occasionally the loud
call of bustling officers.  Jack began to wonder whether
the French would wait until their galleries into Tobar and
Vallejo were ready, and then spring the three mines
simultaneously.  But the anxious period of waiting was at
length ended.  About an hour after daybreak there was
a dull roar; the whole district seemed to tremble; there
was the crash of falling stones and timber, a cloud of
smoke and dust from the Casa Vega, and with a shout
the French rushed into the ruined building beyond, to
make good their position there.

Then came a terrible interval of suspense, even more
trying to the nerves of the Spaniards than the long wait
for the French explosion.  When would they hear the
answering explosion?  Had the gallant fellow who had
offered to fire the train perished before his work was done?
Jack wondered, waited anxiously.  Second after second
slipped by; he could hear the ticking of the watch in his
vest pocket.  At last when, unable to endure the uncertainty
longer, he was about to rush into the casa himself,
a deafening noise like a thunderclap close at hand checked
him.  The French mine, acting immediately upon the wall
and at a considerable depth below-ground, had spent
most of its force on the wall itself.  But Jack's mine,
having only a few feet of earth above it, and being heavily
charged, exerted its destructive effect in all directions.  It
blew to fragments the ruins of the house adjoining the
Casa Vega, brought down what remained of its roof,
shattered the remnants of the walls on either side, and
filled the air for a hundred yards around with dust and
débris, a few of Jack's men, even in the plaza behind,
being injured by objects that were shot clean over the
houses.  Jack, from his position, could not see the extent
of the damage; but the fact that the explosion had
actually occurred left him in no doubt that the French in the
ruined house beyond the Casa Vega must have been
annihilated, and in the ruins, where they had but slight
protection, they must have suffered heavy loss.

But he hardly waited to estimate the effect of his
successful coup.  Immediately after the explosion he gave his
men the order to advance; they dashed from cover and
began to swarm over the barricades.  At the last moment
Jack sent a man with orders to barricade as far as possible
the newly-made breach in the Vega wall.  Then, with
Antonio at his side, he led the charge.  The dust was still
falling in clouds as they came to the Tobar barricade.  So
sudden was the unexpected event, and so swiftly did the
Spaniards move, that their manoeuvre was not discovered
by the French until the greater number had crossed and,
headed by Jack and Antonio, charged down the street.
But within fifty paces a shot rang out from beyond the
ruined house on their left; it was followed immediately
by a scattered fire, and amid yells of rage and pain many
of Jack's men fell.  The French were firing from the
half-dismantled houses they had rushed a few days before,
which, being somewhat remote from the scene of the
explosion, and sheltered by the ruins of the house adjoining
the Casa Tobar, had not suffered like the rest of the
French position.  Nothing daunted by their losses, the
Spaniards pressed on with shouts of "Nuestra Señora
del Pillar!  A la cuchillo!"  Don Cristobal meanwhile
had swept round the upper barricade.  The ruins beyond
the houses lately burnt were carried with a rush.  Drums
were heard beating not far away; there were loud shouts
in French and the hurried tramp of feet.  It was clear
that the enemy, not anticipating danger at this point, had
drawn away their troops in the direction of the Franciscan
convent; they had expected that under cover of the
explosion the Casa Vega would be captured, as a score of
houses in the same quarter had been rushed before, by a
handful of disciplined men.  No plans had been made
to meet so unexpected a movement of retaliation; for a
moment the battle was to the Spaniards.

But Jack knew well that he durst not attempt to push his
attack far.  He had given orders to Antonio, who had led
a small body to the assault of a house to the left, where the
street bent inwards from the ramparts, to blow up the head
of the gallery into the Casa Vallejo, then to retire towards
that house, recross the barricade, and take up a position
behind it.  To cover these movements, Jack directed a
party of his men to keep up a hot fire on the house at
the bend of the street, from which some French marksmen
had swept the front of the attacking force.  Within a few
minutes he heard a sharp report.  At the same time
Antonio's men came streaming back towards Vallejo and
over the barricade.  One of the French galleries was
evidently accounted for.

Meanwhile Jack's own position had been hotly assailed in
front.  The ruined houses on the right of the street were
now full of Frenchmen, who charged again and again
across the débris up to the party-wall, only to be driven
back by the men stationed there, under such cover as the
irregular remnants of the broken walls afforded.  There
was no time to barricade the gap; it was only a question of
time before the French must break through in overwhelming
numbers.  Don Cristobal had occupied the ruins
adjoining the Casa Vega, but he was now ordered back
across his barricade, from which he could protect the flank
of Jack's force when it became necessary to withdraw it.

At this juncture Jack felt the necessity of obtaining a
view of the whole position.  He looked round for some
point of observation.  Through a large rent in one of
the walls to his right he perceived the remains of a
staircase to the second story.  Was there time to clamber
up it before the French burst in?  "I'll chance it," he said
to himself.  Ordering his men to stand firm, he ran across
the narrow lane, through the wall, and began to ascend the
staircase.  It was a rickety structure; its top had been
blown away; it remained upright only by favour of one or
two stout joists which had been so firmly embedded in the
stone as to withstand the shock of the explosion when the
party-wall was cracked.  Up he went.  The stairs creaked
under him; at every step it seemed that the whole structure
would fall with him.  But at length he reached a spot
whence, through a hole in what had been once the wall,
he could see for a considerable distance over the quarter
occupied by the French.  To his left he saw the dreary
waste of ruins through which, by patient mining and sudden
rushes, the French had made their painful way from the
convent of Santa Engracia, which stood a woful spectacle
of destruction some hundreds of yards distant.

Eastward he traced their progress through a series of
dismantled buildings, up to within a short distance of the
Franciscan convent.  Farther to the right they had made
yet deeper inroads into the city, and were now almost
within arm's-length of the Coso.  Jack thought, with a
sudden pang, of the danger Juanita would soon be in, and
decided that at the earliest opportunity he must persuade
her to change her quarters and retire northwards, loth as
he was to see her in that fever-haunted spot.

Suddenly his eye was caught by a compact body of
French, about 500 in number, advancing at the quick step
across the wide open space outside the Santa Engracia
convent.  They had evidently been hurried from the
entrenchments beyond the walls.  At the same time,
glancing to the right, he saw another body of men
issuing from some buildings near the Coso.  Clearly no
time was to be lost.  Outnumbered already, he had only
held his own up to the present by having the advantage of
the defensive position.  But the position was not strong.
If the French occupied the adjoining ruins in force there
was scarcely an inch of cover for his men.  He must,
therefore, at once blow up the head of the French gallery
leading below the Casa Tobar, which he had been unable
to do hitherto for fear of destroying his own men, and then
withdraw his troops to their original position.  In face of the
large French reinforcements coming up, it would be as much
as he could do to hold his own even there.  Springing down
the staircase, three steps at a time, one of them breaking
through and falling with a crash behind him, he hastened
back to his men.  He called up a little musketeer belonging
to the Murcian tiradores—one of the few survivors of
that regiment—

"Hombre, run back to the Casa Alvarez; tell Pablo
Quintanar to leave a gap in the Vega wall wide enough to
allow the passage of men in single file.  Understand, in
single file."

"Sí, Señor," said the man, and bounded off.

Now Jack prepared with all possible speed to evacuate
his advanced position.  He was delayed by the necessity of
removing his wounded; for all this time the French had
been firing into the houses, and, though their aim was bad,
several shots took effect owing to the Spaniards' almost
reckless exposure of themselves.  Before he actually gave
the order to evacuate, the French, unaware of the
reinforcements hastening to their support, gathered themselves
together for another charge.  They came gallantly almost
to the very muzzles of the Spanish muskets; then they
recoiled before a terrible volley, and fell back in confusion.
Seizing the moment, Jack ordered his men to retire towards
the Casa Vega.

.. _`Jack has a Narrow Escape`:

.. figure:: images/img-271.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Jack has a Narrow Escape

   Jack has a Narrow Escape

"Leave the gap in the wall open for me," he said to one
of the regulars; "I shall not be long behind you."

Then, catching up a burning rope, he hastened to the end
of the French gallery, where his men had laid a train of
gunpowder connecting with a heavy charge.  He had just
time to set light to the train before a group of three or four
French soldiers dashed towards him through the ruins.
His perilous task was done; he turned to follow his men,
the enemy, not waiting to fire, close behind him.  As he
was crossing the lane dividing the Casas Vega and Tobar
there was a loud explosion; the gallery had blown up, and
with it the head of the French column immediately behind
his pursuers.  Only two men were now on his track.  He
glanced over his shoulder, and judged that there was time
to reach the gap in the wall before he could be overtaken.
At this moment his foot slipped on a loose heap of fallen
masonry; he fell headlong, and before he could recover
himself, the foremost pursuer was upon him.  Wriggling
over instantly on his side, he drew his pistol, and managed
to snap it at the man when the point of his bayonet was
within a foot of him.  The ball hit the man full on the
forehead, and he dropped like a log.

Springing to his feet, Jack drew his sword in the nick of
time to meet the attack of the second pursuer.  It was
sword against bayonet, and if the latter had been in the
hands of a British soldier, Jack, in spite of his skill as a
swordsman, might have stood a poor chance.  But the
bayonet, as wielded by a Continental soldier, was not the
same formidable weapon, and it happened that his attacker
was a Pole—one of Colonel Chlopiski's Vistula regiment,
which, as Jack had already learnt, had proved the most
troublesome of all the French troops since the capture of
Santa Engracia.  Jack had more than once shown himself
to be a swordsman of exceptional resource, and at this
critical moment the old French émigré who had been his
fencing master in London, if he could have seen the duel,
would have beamed with satisfaction.  After a few passes
Jack gave the Pole an opportunity to lunge; he eagerly
seized it; his thrust was lightly parried, and the next
moment Jack was in beneath his guard.

As he hurried away, even in that breathless moment Jack
could not help feeling some pity for his two gallant foemen
who would see the Vistula no more.  It was in the hope of
freeing their country from the bondage of Russia that the
Poles had allied themselves with Napoleon.  They were
now purchasing their own freedom by assisting to enslave
others.

Hastening across the ruins adjoining the Casa Vega,
Jack saw terrible signs of the havoc wrought by his mine.
The attacking French force had been a large one.  It had
perished to a man.  But there was no time for anything but
escape from the horde of French now rapidly approaching
him.  Scrambling over charred beams, shattered brickwork,
fragments of household furniture, and the dead
bodies of the fallen enemy, he drew near to the spot
where the explosion of the French mine had blown a large
hole in the party-wall.  It was here that Jack expected to
find the gap through which his men had preceded him into
safety.  But there was no gap.  The hole was completely
closed up, and the obstruction was too strong to be won
through, too high to clamber over.  Nonplussed for the
moment, Jack turned to look for another means of escape,
aware, as he did so, of loud voices in altercation on the
other side of the barricade.

Bullets were now pattering on the brickwork, and the
sound of scrambling feet in the adjoining ruins showed
that he had been seen by the French, and that they were
making towards him.  There was not an instant to lose.
To his left, as he faced the French quarter, the ruins were
open and exposed to fire from several directions; escape
was impossible that way.  But on his right there still
stood the remnant of what had been a lath-and-plaster
wall between two rooms.  He caught at this chance of even
temporary concealment.  Bending low, he dodged along
behind its precarious shelter till he came to a ruined
window within a few feet of the barricade defended by
Don Cristobal.  The rattle of musketry could now be
heard on all hands.  Jack felt sure that his appearance
at the window would be the signal for a hail of bullets from
the opposite side of the street, at the angle nearer the Coso
where the French had obtained a lodgment.  But it was
now or never, and he was just wrenching away a broken
iron bar, to squeeze his way through, when his ears were
assailed by unexpected shouts from the street.  To his
amazement, he saw Don Cristobal's men come swarming
over the barricade and rushing along the street towards the
French.  But it was not Don Cristobal who led them; the
leader was a tall figure who rushed forward, sword in hand,
with long robe tucked up, and bare arms, from which the
sleeves had been flung back over the shoulders.  He was
shouting in frenzied tones.  Jack recognized Latin phrases
mingled with Spanish.  It was the patriot priest, Santiago
Sass.

Wondering what had happened, Jack jumped into the
street, safe now, for the French were occupied with the
rush of the headlong Spaniards.  There they were, cutting
their way through a large body of French troops, heedless
of the pelting bullets from the surrounding houses, yelling,
slashing, and, alas! many of them falling.

"What imbecile folly!" exclaimed Jack in his anger.
The rash charge was useless, hopeless.  All that he could
do was to cover the inevitable retreat.  Clambering over
the barricade, Jack ran towards the Casa Alvarez,
overtaking on the way Don Cristobal, who had hastened
thither on the same errand as himself.

"Men of the reserve," cried Jack, "follow me!"

Pablo Quintanar, their leader, was, strangely, not with
them.  They dashed after Jack and Don Cristobal, and
reached the barricade just in time.  The Spaniards, all
that were left of them, were streaming over it, broken
and disheartened, pursued by bullets from the French.
Last of them all came Santiago Sass, splashed with blood
from head to foot, blood streaming from a wound on his
brow.

"In te, Domine, speravi!" he cried breathlessly as he
staggered over the barricade.

Catching him by the arm, Jack dragged the exhausted
priest out of harm's way, and then, ordering his men to
hold the barricade, enquired of Don Cristobal what was
the meaning of the recent extraordinary movement.  He
learnt that Santiago Sass, who was ever where danger
was thickest, had been passing the quarter, and, attracted
by the noise of the explosions, had hastened, full of
burning zeal, to the nearest barricade.  There, finding
Don Cristobal's force, as he thought, culpably inactive,
and hearing musketry on all sides, he had jumped to the
conclusion that the Spaniards were skulking, and,
refusing to listen to Don Cristobal's explanation, had
poured out upon them a torrent of invective and
exhortation, called on them to follow him, and led them
furiously over the barricade.  Such was his influence
that not a man refused to obey his call.

Meanwhile the hot fire maintained by the reserve had
driven the French back.  But they showed some
disposition to come on in greater strength and attempt the
capture of the barricade.  Santiago Sass, furious at the
failure of his ill-timed sortie, and still more with Jack
for forcibly removing him from the scene, began to vent
his wrath upon him.

"Do not stay me!" he cried.  "Cursed be any that
flinches!  Dominus vir pugnator!  Let us haste—"

"Señor Padre," interrupted Jack quietly, "you led a
most gallant charge, but look—it has cost me some
twenty good men."

He pointed to the corpse-strewn street.  The priest
looked, and was evidently impressed.  Gathering his skirts
about him he sped away towards the Coso in search of
more forlorn hopes to lead, the sound of his wild and
whirling words being scarcely drowned by the noise of
the battle.

For the rest of that day French and Spaniards continued
to occupy their respective positions.  The former
made no attempt at organized attack; they clearly dreaded
the discovery of more mines.  The Spaniards were not
strong enough to expel the enemy altogether.  Thus,
when nightfall again put an end to the fighting, the
situation was essentially the same as it had been in the
morning.

Reckoning up the results, Jack was able to congratulate
himself on having accomplished all that he had hoped to
do.  The two French galleries towards the Casas Tobar
and Vallejo were destroyed; the French had suffered
very heavy loss in men.  The explosion of their mine in
the Casa Vega had not furthered their advance, and their
work for three days past was rendered null.  But their
failure, Jack knew, would only nerve them to redoubled
energy; he must be prepared for an even more strenuous
attack on his position.  All that he could do was to ensure
that if the houses must be captured it should be with a
maximum of delay and loss to the French.

As he went the round of his district, before proceeding
to convey his nightly report to Palafox, Pablo Quintanar,
the guerrilla leader, came up and made a complaint against
his subordinate Antonio.  He had been attacked, he said,
and nearly murdered by Antonio for refusing to reopen
the barricade thrown across the gap in the wall of the
Casa Vega.

"Did you not receive my order?" demanded Jack.

"Your order was to hold the barricade, Señor."

"But you opened a gap to let in my men.  I sent the
order by one of the Murcian tiradores."

"Yes, indeed, and the men came through one by one,
and when the last was through I closed the barricade."

"And shut me out!"

Jack looked sharply at the man, but as usual was unable
to catch his eye.

"I waited for the Señor," he protested, "five, ten,
twenty minutes; but he did not come.  What was I to
think but that he was dead?  If I had known—"

"You would have acted otherwise.  Well, as you did
make so unfortunate a—mistake, perhaps the less you
say about Antonio's attempt to mend it the better.  Buenas
noches, hombre!"

Jack turned on his heel, and, wondering what conceivable
motive Pablo Quintanar could have for doing him
a hurt, set off for the Castle Aljafferia.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`"A bon Chat, bon Rat"`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXIV


.. class:: center large bold

   "A bon Chat, bon Rat"

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Under a Cloud—The Door—Padre Consolacion—A Daughter
   of Spain—The House in the Lane—An Unexpected Visitor—A
   Gambit—In the Shadow—The Worm Turns—A Blue Paper—The
   Simple Way

.. vspace:: 2

As he made his way through the throng of people filling
the corridors and halls of the palace, Jack could not but
observe that the looks he met were rather of suspicion
than friendliness.  He was known by sight to many of
the habitués of the castle.  Tio Jorge had never tired
of praising his exploits and acclaiming him as a staunch
friend of Spain; and yet many now scowled on him,
whispered to each other as he passed; one or two even
fingered their knives.

Surprised at this change of attitude, he was still more
surprised to find it reflected in the bearing of Palafox
and Don Basilio and other members of the Junta who
were present when he made his report.  Palafox listened
to him coldly, spoke a few words of the faintest praise,
and dismissed him without a sign of real approval or
encouragement.

Tio Jorge met him as he was re-entering the town by
the Porta Portillo, and Jack felt a sense of relief when
he saw that the big peasant's greeting was cordial as
ever.  After an exchange of news Tio Jorge, who had
scanned his face anxiously, said bluntly:

"I am a plain man, Señor.  You will answer me a
plain question."

"Certainly, anything in reason," said Jack in surprise.

"They're saying—I could not believe it—but they are
all saying that you wish to surrender; at least, that you
do not think we can hold out.  Now, whatever we may
think, we do not talk of these things; it is not good for
the people to hear such things.  If any man says them, he
does not live to say them twice.  Tell me plainly, Señor,
have you spoken of surrender?"

"My good friend," said Jack with a smile, "when you
yourself hear an Englishman talk of surrender, then you
may believe it; till then—"

"Then it is false?" asked Tio Jorge.

"Absolutely."

"I knew it.  And that proves," added Tio Jorge after
a moment, "what I thought from the first: you have an
enemy in Saragossa, Señor."

And then he explained.  The despatch brought by Don
Miguel Priego had been in several points so different from,
so much less discouraging than, that previously brought
by Jack, that the Saragossans' first flush of enthusiasm for
the English had soon disappeared.  The undoubted retreat
of Sir John Moore, and the subsequent departure of his
army from the shores of Spain, were twisted to mean a
desertion of the Spanish cause.  There was at first no
personal feeling against Jack, though his country was
regarded with bitterness, but it had lately been rumoured,
on the authority of Don Miguel's servant, that he had
been overheard, in the Cafe Arcos, expressing a despondent
view of the chances of holding the city, and hinting
that it would be wise to make terms with the French.
Only the energetic and successful work Jack had been
doing in the Santa Engracia district, and the strong
support of Tio Jorge himself, had given pause to those who
wished to treat him as all who counselled surrender were
treated—to gibbet him in the Coso.

Jack recognized at once that Don Miguel's malignity
was not to be ignored.  The bare suspicion of disloyalty
had been sufficient to bring a full tale of victims to the
gallows, and the fact that he was an Englishman would
not preserve him if the feelings of the populace were once
thoroughly roused.  Fortunately Tio Jorge was his friend;
and Tio Jorge was a host in himself.  Jack had seen no
more of Miguel or his man since their remarkable
apparition on the ramparts.  He resolved to keep a good
look-out; though, after all, it was wily, underhand
machinations rather than open violence he had to fear from them.

He had determined to see Juanita and advise her to
remove immediately to a safer part of the city.  He
therefore took leave of Tio Jorge at the door of the house in
the Coso where she was staying.  The same old duenna
admitted him.

"The Señora is very ill," she said.  "The Señorita
receives.  There is a visitor with her now."

"I will wait, then."

"Not so, Señor.  The Señorita gave orders that the
Señor was always to be shown up if he called."

Entering the sala, he saw a tall cloaked figure between
him and Juanita.

"Ah!" said Juanita, coming forward eagerly with
outstretched hand; "how do you do, Jack?  You are just in
time to show Don Miguel to the door."

"With pleasure," said Jack, returning at once to the
door and holding it wide open.

Miguel had faced round, and stood swinging his hat
in the middle of the room.  A fierce scowl darkened his
face as he looked from one to the other.  Juanita reseated
herself, turned her back on him, and resumed some needle-work
for the wounded on which she had been engaged.
Jack stood in an attitude of polite expectancy at the door.

"I protest—" began Don Miguel; but Jack cut him
short.  Speaking in a quiet, even tone, he said:

"You have taken leave, Don Miguel?"

The Spaniard stood for a moment irresolute; then,
flinging on his hat, he strode across the room, made no
response to Jack's bow, and disappeared.  The moment
the door was shut Juanita sprang up, ran towards Jack,
and took him by both hands.

"Oh, Jack, Jack," she said, "you don't know how
glad I am to see you!"

"Has that hound been bullying you?"

"Bullying!  He dare not.  I am not a child!  But
listen, amigo mio; he came to ask me to marry him.
He did!  He had the audacity!  You should have seen
him—heard him—his nasty oily voice; oh, he seemed to
be quite sure that he had only to ask!  'And you think
of marriage at this fearful time!' I said.  And he wanted
me to believe that he was thinking only of my safety.
When the town falls, he said, I shall want a protector.
'And you, one of Palafox's hussars, how can you protect
me?'  And then he smiled, and spoke in dark hints of
some special power he will have, and I grew angry, and
asked whether he meant to turn afrancesado, and then—and
then you came, Jack, and I wondered what he would
do; and—and he went, and I couldn't help remembering
the time when you and I were so terribly afraid of him,
and—oh, Jack, it was magnificent—it was indeed!"

Juanita laughed, and Jack himself smiled at the
recollection of Miguel's undignified exit.

"But, Juanita," he said, "I came to warn you."

"Against him?"

"No; against the danger you run in staying here.  The
French are coming nearer every hour; almost at any
moment they may reach the Coso.  They are driving their
mines steadily towards the centre of the city.  You must
find a place—I can't call it a home—elsewhere."

"But, Jack, that is arranged already.  Padre
Consolacion is going to take us to a house near the Porta
Portillo to-morrow.  What do you think?—the padre
came to see me only a minute or two after you left the
other day."

"Was that the Padre Consolacion?  I saw a
benevolent-looking priest enter as I went out."

"Yes.  And, only think, he wanted me to marry Miguel!"

"The padre?"

Juanita nodded.

"Of course I told him it was impossible—quite
impossible.  He sat down and crossed his white plump
hands on his hat and began to talk.  Miguel must have
won him with his plausible manner.  I love the padre,
but I couldn't listen to him; could I, Jack?  He asked
me why I was so opposed to what he thought was an
excellent match, and one that my father had so much
desired; and then I told him that it was all lies, lies;
my father had never wished anything of the sort.  And
the poor old dear was puzzled, and kept tapping his
thumbs together and looked at me so sorrowfully, and
then he was called away to attend to a dying officer.
And—Jack, tell me, will this siege ever end?  Can we
hold out any longer?  Are there big armies mustering to
relieve us, as they all say?"

She bent forward with clasped hands.  Jack hesitated
for a moment.

"Juanita," he said, "I won't disguise my real belief.
I don't believe in the big armies.  Saragossa will
fall—unless one of two things happens."

"And they?"

"Unless General Palafox sends out a large sortie and
defeats the French, or unless their ammunition gives out.
Neither is probable."

"Then what will become of us?  How long will General
Palafox resist?  Cannot someone plead with him?  Think
of the thousands who have died, and the thousands who
are dying—the poor women and children in their horrible
cellars!  Oh, Jack, what a terrible thing war is!  Does
Napoleon know, can he know, of all the horrors he has
brought upon us?  Has he any heart at all?  Jack, my
poor aunt is dying, I fear.  I can do nothing.  Every
morning when I go out to carry food and water to the
brave soldiers—"

"You do that, Juanita?"

"Why, yes; every girl in Saragossa does that or
something else to help; and every morning I go fearing that
I shall never again see Tia Teresa alive.  And if she
dies, I shall be quite alone in the world.  Father gone,
José gone—  Ah! but I have you, Jack, and the good
padre, and if the worst comes you will look after me,
won't you?—take me to England, perhaps—I used to like
your mother,—and Napoleon will never conquer England,
will he, Jack?"

"Not he," said Jack with a laugh.  He saw that the
events of the past few days had wrought her nerves to
a high pitch of excitement, and tactfully turned the
conversation into a quieter channel.  He asked for the name
of the house to which she was going on the morrow,
assured her that, when the inevitable capitulation came,
the French would allow generous terms to such brave
defenders, and at length took his leave, promising to visit
her whenever he could snatch an opportunity.

"And will you be able to save the old house?" she
asked, as he was going out at the door.

"I shall do my best, for the sake of old times, be sure
of that."

"I know you will.  Vaya usted con Dios, Jack!"

Before he reached the foot of the stairs, Jack saw, in
the dim light of the small hanging lamp, a portly figure
ascending.  He crossed to the other side and waited to
allow the visitor to pass.

"Buenas noches, Señor!" said Padre Consolacion,
sweeping off his large shovel hat; then he stopped as
he recognized the same youth whom he had seen earlier
in the week.

"Padre mio," cried Juanita from the top, "come along;
I want to speak to you."

"Buenas noches, Padre!" said Jack; and the priest,
after a moment's hesitation, went up slowly.

.. vspace:: 2

Hard by the Casa Alvarez a narrow tortuous lane of
mean houses, dirty in appearance and evil in repute, ran
almost due east from the ramparts.  It was not a district
in which, before the siege, any person worth robbing
would choose to be abroad after nightfall.  But when,
towards dusk on this fifth of February, a well-dressed man
passed rapidly down the street and disappeared into one
of the least reputable of the houses, the few denizens who
observed him did so without a thought of their knives,
almost without a sense of curiosity.  To such a height
of abnegation had the public danger brought the
professional lawbreakers of Saragossa.

It was a house of three stories, and the stranger,
threading his way gingerly through the gloomy entrance
and up the narrow stairway, gathered from the evidence
of all his senses that every story was fully occupied.  In
hardly another street in this part of Saragossa could a
house have been found where its whole population was
not herded in cellars below-ground.  But here the lane
was so narrow, and so closely surrounded by buildings,
that the inhabitants were in no danger from the French
bombardment, and lived in a security which few of their
fellow-citizens enjoyed.

As the visitor passed room after room on his upward
way, the sounds of coarse laughter, the oaths of men, the
shrill expostulation of women, and the querulous cry of
children came to him through closed or half-closed doors,
and he drew his cloak around him with an instinctive
movement of disgust.  Treading almost noiselessly he
reached the attic floor, where the doors of three rooms
opened on to a narrow landing.  Although evidently a
stranger to the house he showed little hesitation.  With
infinite caution he tiptoed across the landing to the
farthermost door, and put his eye to a crack in the panel,
through which a narrow beam of light fell on the
dirt-encrusted wall behind him.

The room into which he looked was in keeping with the
rest of the house.  The fitful light of a tallow candle
showed a man bending over a crazy table, two truckle-beds
ranged at right angles to each other in the far
corner, and a few articles of clothing hanging from hooks
on the wall.  The man was intently studying a blue paper
spread out on the table, spelling out the words with
difficulty, and repeating them under his breath with a
growl of impatience that accentuated the unpleasing effect
of a countenance by nature unprepossessing.

For some minutes the man beyond the door, drawing
shallow breath, watched him closely as he struggled with
the intricacies of the document.  There was apparently
a passage in it that completely baffled him.  He turned
the paper this way and that, examined it even upside
down, but without success, and at last, in a burst of
anger, dashed it down on to the table with an audible
oath.

The visitor took this as his cue for entry, and tapped
gently at the door.

"Adelante!" was the answer, after a distinct pause.

He turned the handle and went in.  The man had faced
round towards the door, and the dim light of the candle
disclosed the narrow features, low receding forehead, thin
lips, and shifty eyes of Pablo Quintanar.  The blue paper
had disappeared.

There was a momentary silence.  The host was
evidently waiting for his visitor to introduce himself.

"Buenas noches, hombre!" said the stranger suavely,
with a conciliatory bow.  "I trust I don't come at an
unseasonable hour."

The guerrillero scanned him from head to foot with
a quick suspicious glance.

"That depends, Señor, upon your business, who you
are, and what you want with me."

"As to who I am, hombre—may I take a chair? thank
you!—my name is Miguel Priego.  As to my business,
that is not so simply stated; we must improve our
acquaintance first."

The man started at the mention of his visitor's name;
and the latter duly noted the fact.  But as the guerrillero
merely stood in an attitude of expectancy, Don Miguel,
loosening his cloak and placing his hat on the table,
continued:

"I have been, my friend, as you may perhaps have
heard, four days in Saragossa.  During these four days
I have been searching for you."

The man's hand went like a flash to his knife, and
Miguel, quickening his measured tones, hastened to add:

"No, my friend, not in that way, or, as you can
imagine, I should not have come alone.  I have been
searching for you because I think we are both of one mind
regarding, let us say, the policy of our brave commandant
General Palafox."

"Say what you have to say, and have done with it.
I don't understand your fine phrases."

Don Miguel smiled indulgently.  It was clear to him
that his host fully grasped his meaning.

"Well, to put the matter quite plainly, you—that is,
you and I—regard all this," waving his hand in the
direction of a cannon-shot from the ramparts, "as useless
waste of life—sheer obstinacy; a noble enthusiasm, but
misguided.  Is it not so?  Now, acting upon our convictions
we—that is, you—have already done our little best
to bring this distressing conflict to an end.  We—that is,
you—have endeavoured—unsuccessfully endeavoured—to
relieve our commandant of certain plans which, if placed
in proper hands might—I say might—"

At this point the guerrillero, who had been standing
facing his visitor, sank into a chair, his face blanched,
his mouth twitching.  On the blank wall before him his
imagination was casting the grim shadow of a gibbet.

Don Miguel smiled faintly, and waved his hand reassuringly.

"There is no need, my friend, for emotion.  If we were
not of the same mind you might, of course, have some
ground for uneasiness; but fortunately we understand one
another.  Is it not so?"

"Sí, Señor," the man replied, recovering himself with
an effort.  "Sí, Señor, we understand one another."

"That is well.  Now we can proceed.  You can
understand that our good friends out yonder, who also
wish to end this terrible siege, are grieved by your
ill-success.  They are saying hard things about you.  They
even went the length of giving me your name, which, if
I were less discreet, might well have been awkward for
you.  I don't disguise that if they capture Saragossa
while you are still in their debt—one thousand pesetas,
is it not?—they may treat you somewhat harshly.  But,
fortunately, you have a chance of retrieving yourself."

Don Miguel paused.  His host had now to some extent
recovered his composure.

"And what is that?" he asked sullenly.

"I happen to know, hombre, where our noble commandant
has placed the papers you failed to find.  If
you can deliver those papers to me I will see that our
friends outside do not forget you."

The man smiled cunningly.

"Thank you, Señor!  If I run the risk it would suit me
better to claim the reward myself."

"As you please, my friend.  But remember that without
my assistance you can do nothing.  A few more days
will end the siege, and then—"  He smiled, then added
reflectively: "They say it is an easy death."

Pablo Quintanar winced.  He felt himself in the toils,
and had some difficulty in resisting the impulse to throw
himself upon his visitor and end the interview with a
knife-thrust.  But he felt that Don Miguel, with all his languid
urbanity, was fully on his guard, and choking down his
animosity he replied:

"What does the Señor wish me to do?"

Don Miguel's voice throughout the interview had been
carefully modulated to defeat any eavesdropping.  He
now rose quietly, and, rapidly opening the door, peered
out on to the landing.  There was no one in view.  He
stretched himself over the balustrade and saw, on the
flight below, what appeared to be a tall figure lurking in
the shadow.  He seemed satisfied.  Quietly re-entering
the room, he closed the door.

Then began a long colloquy between the two men,
Miguel giving precise directions as to the whereabouts
of a certain box, and the means whereby it could be
secured.

"I think, my friend, there is nothing more to say,"
he remarked in conclusion.  "The matter now rests with you."

"One moment, Señor," said Quintanar, motioning him
to be seated.  He had listened deferentially to what
Miguel had been saying, and had obediently fallen in
with every proposition; but there was now a vindictive
look in his eyes that caused Miguel a strange uneasiness.

"Certainly," he replied, "but I have little time to spare."

"I will not detain you long—not longer, Señor, than
you wish, though I think that when you have heard what
I have to say, you may not be in such a hurry.  The point
is this.  If—mind, I say 'if'—I knew the whereabouts
of a letter in which your name is mentioned in connection
with a little affair on the Barcelona road—you remember?—a
couple of years ago?—if, I say, I had such a letter,
that is, if I knew where such a letter was to be found,
would it be worth anything to you, Don Miguel?"

Pablo Quintanar grinned maliciously.  He had been
the victim for the past half-hour; it was now his turn.
Miguel had done his best to dissemble his start of
surprise and anxiety; but the man's searching gaze was
upon him, and though he replied with a show of
confidence he felt that it was not convincing.

"My name has no doubt been mentioned in a good
many letters, my friend; but I am quite indifferent
whether I am well or ill spoken of.  Hard words break
no bones."

"That may be, Señor, but they sometimes break
reputations, and you are dancing on a thin rope.  But if
I tell you that this letter also has a message about a sum
of money hidden by the writer, how does that alter the
case?"

"I can tell you better if you inform me what the
message is, and what the name of the writer is."

"Well, I can tell you the name of the writer; it is the
late Señor Alvarez."

"Ah!  I heard that a letter had been lost—that, then,
was what you found instead of the plan.  Do you know,
my friend, that this places you in a very awkward position?
You will do well to hand the letter over to me.  The
slightest whisper of suspicion—"

The man glared viciously at the speaker, then snapped
out:

"You may be quite sure that as you are the only man
who knows anything about it, I shall take care that you
swing on the same gallows."

Don Miguel shifted his feet uneasily.

"You need not fear, my friend; I am not the man to
betray you.  I merely thought it would be safer for you
if this letter were in my possession."

"Oh, no doubt! but, Señor," added Quintanar with a
harsh laugh, "I couldn't allow you to take the risk—especially
as the letter is of no value to you.  I need not
detain you, Señor."

Miguel considered a moment, tapping the floor lightly
with his foot.

"What do you want for the paper?"

"Well, Señor, I am not unreasonable.  Let us say one
thousand pesetas down and a quarter of the treasure when
you find it."

Miguel laughed softly.

"Thank you, my friend!  Before I pay a thousand
pesetas I should like to know what I am paying it for."

Quintanar, hesitating for a moment, slowly drew out
a blue paper from beneath his jacket, and said:

"What do you think of this?

.. vspace:: 2

'I am convinced that Miguel Priego was at the bottom of this
dastardly outrage.  Unfortunately, we have no proof at present
that would satisfy a judge, but if any of the men who assisted
him can be found and induced to give evidence it is still possible
that he may be brought to book.'

.. vspace:: 2

What do you think of that, Don Miguel?  Ah!  I thought
I should interest you."

Miguel forced a smile, and, waving his hand airily, said:

"If that is all the letter contains I would not offer a
maravedi for it."

"Oh, there is more, a good deal more!  I need not
read it all, but listen to this:

.. vspace:: 2

"The sum saved from Miguel's brigands, together with a
large amount in jewels and bullion, I have thought it best to
secrete until more settled times.  You will find appended to
this letter instructions which, taken together with a
communication I have made to your son Jack, will enable you or him,
or such other person as you may be so good as to depute, to
find them in the event of anything happening to my servant
José Pinzon, who is fully acquainted with all my dispositions."

.. vspace:: 2

Don Miguel, greed written in every lineament, leaned
forward on his chair, listening eagerly.

"Well," he said impatiently, as the man concluded,
"what are the instructions?"

"Those, Señor, I cannot read.  They are in some
strange tongue; but no doubt you, having education,
will be able to make them out.  That is to say, if you
make it worth my while to hand you the letter.  You
know my price."

Carefully refolding the letter, Quintanar replaced it in
a pocket inside his jacket.  In doing so he took his eyes
for a moment off Miguel, whom he had been watching
with the utmost vigilance, to assure himself that the
document was safely stowed away.

The other, his face aflame with rage and cupidity,
instantly seized the opportunity.  Drawing his feet quietly
beneath him, he sprang from his chair and bore the
guerrillero to the ground.  But the man, although taken
unawares, recovered himself with surprising agility.
Before Miguel had time to draw his knife he had clutched
him by the throat, and with a dexterous turn had reversed
their positions, Miguel now being on the ground,
Quintanar above him, his long knife uplifted to strike.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Pepito finds a Clue`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXV


.. class:: center large bold

   Pepito finds a Clue

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Morning Light—Bombarded—An Afrancesado—From the Roofs—In
   the Casa Vallejo—A Fight at Daybreak—Anticipated—The
   Jesus Convent—New Barricades—Repulsed—Borrowing a
   Gun—Round-Shot and Grape—Out of Action—Odds and Evens

.. vspace:: 2

Jack was awakened next morning by the sounds of altercation
outside the small room on the ground floor of the
Casa Alvarez that he had reserved for himself.

"You shall not!" he heard Pepito cry in his shrill voice.
"The Señor sleeps; you—shall—not—"

Then his voice was stifled by the noise of scuffling.
A heavy thud shook the door, as though some massive
body had been driven against it.  Springing from his bed,
on which he had lain down in all his clothes save his boots,
Jack went to the door, opened it, and saw Antonio, the
guerrillero, raining blow after blow on the small form of
Pepito, who had twisted himself about one of the big
man's legs and held on grimly, though he must have
suffered not a little.

"Come, come!" said Jack; "what is it, Antonio?
Pepito, let him go!"

Pepito sprang away instantly.

"The Busno wanted to wake the Señor," he piped,
with a fierce look at Antonio.

"You waked me between you.  Well, Antonio?"

"Señor, I was on night duty; I was to be relieved at
two o'clock, so it was arranged by Don Cristobal; the
chief was to relieve me.  He did not come.  I waited, one
hour, two hours; he did not come.  The Señor knows I
would not leave my post.  At five came Don Cristobal on
his round of the posts.  I told him; he put a man in
my place and I went home tired as a dog, and there, in
the top room I share with the chief, there, Señor, I saw
him, Pablo Quintanar, on the floor, still, dead, and blood
all round him."

Jack looked sharply at the man.  There was every sign
of amazement and agitation in his face, but Jack remembered
that he had quarrelled with his chief on the previous
day, and could not but suspect there had been a repetition
of the dispute when the men met in their lodging, and that,
possibly by accident, it was Antonio's knife that had done
the fatal work.  Antonio appeared to guess what was
passing in his captain's mind.

"I swear I did not do it, Señor.  I knew nothing of
it till I saw him there on the floor.  We quarrelled; yes,
the Señor knows that, but I keep my knife for the French;
I would not—"

"Take me to the place," interrupted Jack coldly.
Staying only to pull on his boots, he accompanied the
man to the dirty lane and into the dingy house from
which Miguel had stealthily issued some six hours before.
Pepito was at his heels as he climbed the filthy staircase;
the gipsy sniffed and snorted at the foul odours his nostrils
encountered, and put his hand on his knife as he passed
each doorway.

They entered the attic.  The gray light of a dull
morning coming through a narrow skylight barely illuminated
the sordid room.  On the floor, stretched on his face, with
arms extended towards the door, lay the figure of the
guerrillero.  This was no death in fair fight, face to face
with his enemy; but the base, stealthy thrust of an
assassin.

"That is how I found him, Señor," said Antonio.

"Yes; it is the Spanish way."

He had noticed that the dead man's hand clasped a
knife.  Stooping, he removed it from his grasp; the steel
was bright and clear, as though it had never been used for
any but innocent purposes.  Jack, as he held the weapon,
reflected.  The man had drawn his knife.  It must have
been for attack or for self-defence against an enemy in
front of him; therefore the blow from behind that killed
him must have been dealt by a second person.  Antonio
was scarcely likely to have brought another man into his
personal quarrel; Jack was inclined to believe that he was
guiltless, as he said.  He looked around the room; there
were few signs of a scuffle.  It was useless to institute
an enquiry among the other people in the house, and
the sound of musketry and cannon-shots without already
called him to his duties.

"Bury the poor wretch," he said, "and then come to me."

"The Señor believes I did not do it?"

"Yes, yes; we have no time for enquiries.  There is
work for us who are left alive."

He hurried away.  There had been something sinister
about the guerrillero, something that Jack could not
fathom; perhaps it was resentment at a stranger being
brought in and placed above him; but Jack could not
help feeling a passing pity for the Spaniard who had met
his death by the hands presumably of one of his own
countrymen, instead of in heroic combat with the enemy.

He returned to his post.  The situation as it had been
left on the previous evening had now been complicated.
The cannon-shots he had heard in the attic had been fired
from two pieces mounted by the French at the angle of
the street.  An epaulement of sand-bags and gabions had
been thrown across between the ruined blocks, and from
that point of vantage the French gunners were pointing
their cannon so that their shots fell plump upon the walls
of the Casas Vega and Tobar.  These, it was clear, would
before long be a heap of ruins.  Jack sent men to the end
of his subterranean galleries to listen whether mining
operations had been resumed by the French.  When they
returned, reporting that no sound could be heard, he
concluded that the signal failure of their last mines had been
enough for the enemy, and that in future they would
probably trust entirely to cannonade, followed by attacks
in force.  He could not reply to their artillery; all that lay
in his power was to hold his men in readiness to repel
a charge, and to fire his long Y-shaped mines when the
French attack was being pressed home.

Some two hours later he was consulting with Don
Cristobal on the possibilities of capturing the French
guns in a night attack, when Pepito came up, looking
even more than usually mysterious.  He stood before Jack
with his hands behind him, waiting until his master, now
deeply engrossed in conversation, should notice him.

"I should dearly like to make the attempt," Jack was
saying, "but your arguments are, I am afraid, conclusive.
We can't afford to lose any of our men unless we can
be sure of success, and after their recent warnings I
don't think we shall catch the French napping.  We
must give up the idea, I suppose, but you will see that
our men keep a keen watch on the epaulement,
Señor—  Well, what is it, Pepito?"

Pepito came forward carelessly.

"I found these, Señor," he said, handing two papers
to Jack, who took them carelessly.  Without unfolding
them, he asked:

"Where did you get these?"

"In the tall house, Señor."

"Which tall house?"

"Where the Señor went just now."

"Where the man was murdered?"

"Sí, Señor.  The big Antonio took him away.  I was
there.  In a minute, two men came in.  'Now we get a
bed,' they say.  They pull the dirty quilt off the bed.  One
man carries it; the other pulls off the mattress.  There,
on the boards, I see two papers.  I snatch them, and
say: 'I take these to the Señor Capitan'.  The man laughs;
and here they are, Señor."

Jack unfolded the papers and glanced at them curiously.
Suddenly he started, and keenly scrutinized one of
them.

"It is explained now, Señor," he said to Don Cristobal,
at the same time laying the papers before him.
"Quintanar was a spy."

"An afrancesado!" ejaculated the Spaniard.

"Unhappily.  One of the papers, you see, is a pass
through the French lines; the other a rough plan of our
defences.  See, the miserable fellow had begun to dot in
our mines under the houses opposite.  Someone must
have discovered his treachery, and killed him without
remorse."

"So perish all traitors!" said Don Cristobal.

At this moment a man rushed in with the news that
a small breach had been made in the wall of the Casa
Tobar.

"We must do something to check them," said Jack,
rising.  "A few good marksmen on the top of this house
might pick off their gunners; let us go and see."

They went up the staircase towards the roof, Pepito,
left alone, put his hand into his pocket, and drew out a
small silver buckle, such as Spanish burghers and officers
wore on their shoes.

"Señor has the papers," he muttered.  "Ca!  I have
the buckle.  The buckle is better than the papers."

He swung it round his forefinger, humming under his
breath, and was still toying with it when Jack came
downstairs again.  Then he hurriedly thrust it into his pocket,
and stood unconcernedly as though waiting for orders.

A moment's glance had shown Jack that his plan of
placing marksmen on the roof would be useless.  The
Casas Vega and Tobar, though much lower than the
Casa Alvarez, were not low enough to allow an effective
fire over them.  But what could not be done from the
Casa Alvarez might be done from the lower roofs nearer
the guns.  Jack lost no time in making his way to the
flat roof of the Casa Tobar.  Carefully crawling along
and peeping over, he saw that the angle of depression
was just sharp enough to allow a good marksman to take
aim at the gunners' heads.  It would be dangerous work,
for the French would instantly perceive the source of
the shots, and would bring a concentrated fire to bear
in return.  There was no parapet to the roof, but a
parapet could perhaps be extemporized with sand-bags,
between which the Spaniards' muskets might be placed.

Returning to the ground, Jack explained what he had
in his mind, and Antonio at once volunteered to make the
attempt.  With some of his men he climbed to the roof,
where they pushed sand-bags along until they came to the
edge.  Then one of the men tried a shot.  He missed.  But
Antonio took more deliberate aim, through the interstice
between two sand-bags, and hit one of the French gunners
in the arm.

Three Frenchmen had been hit before the enemy
discovered whence came these disconcerting shots.  Then
bullets began to patter on the walls and roof.  But the
Spaniards were too well protected by their extemporized
parapet to be in much fear, and continued their firing
without suffering serious loss.  Before the day was out
the French found it the part of discretion to withdraw
their gunners, and for the time being the cannon were
useless.

Jack was not surprised next morning to learn that
the French mining work had been renewed.  This time
the sounds were heard in the Casa Vallejo.  The French
had evidently seen that their only chance of carrying the
position was by reverting to the slow burrowing which
had been successful in earlier days.  Jack went himself
to the attacked house.  The sounds through the wall were
very faint, but there could be no doubt that the enemy
were engaged in repairing the gallery destroyed in the
sortie, though they were as yet thirty or forty feet away.
It was probable that they had resumed, or would soon
resume, operations in the Casas Vega and Tobar also, and
dispositions must be made to meet them.

It was Jack's practice every morning to call the roll of
the men under his charge.  Every day the force dwindled,
and the physical weakness of the survivors had patently
increased.  Wishing to spare them as much as possible,
he had been indisposed to set them to the arduous work
of mining until he felt sure that he was seriously
threatened.  The fact that the French had resumed their
tunnelling showed that there was now no time to be lost, and the
morning was but little advanced when men were busily
engaged in clearing out the galleries, in Vega and Tobar,
that had been tamped and fired, so that they might be
recharged.  But while the sounds of mining grew clearer
in front of Vallejo, hours passed without the Spaniards
detecting any signs of activity towards the other two
houses.  Leaving men to keep watch there, and report
if any change took place, Jack returned to Vallejo, where
it seemed evident that the only present danger was to
be apprehended.

He stood with Don Cristobal near the end of the short
gallery beneath Vallejo and the ruined house beyond.
About eleven o'clock he was struck by a difference in the
sounds, which up to the present had been fitfully
interrupted.

"Listen, Señor!" he said to Don Cristobal.  "I fancy
the French are making several tunnels this time.  Don't
you think so?  There is no break in the sound now, as
there would be if they were driving only one or two; and
yet there is a slight difference in the quality of the sound
at successive moments.  Do you hear?  There; that was
a deeper sound than the one before it."

"You are right, Señor," returned the Spaniard.  "We
can do little on our side, I fear."

"No.  You see what a piece of arrant folly that rush
of Santiago Sass was.  Several of our best miners were
killed; and what with the necessity of defending the
barricades, and maintaining constant garrisons in the houses,
we simply can't hope to match the French underground.
All we can do is to wait till the right moment comes, and
then explode our little mine first.  If we let the French
anticipate us, the explosion of several mines at once will
blow ours up or make it useless, and all our work will
be thrown away."

"How many galleries do you think the enemy are cutting?"

"If we listen carefully we can tell."

They were silent, and after about a quarter of an hour
Jack declared that he had counted four separate operations.
He sent for one of the more experienced miners, and asked
him to count independently.  The man confirmed his
opinion, adding that he thought there would be no danger
of explosions from the French side for a day or two.

The rest of that day passed quietly.  But early next
morning the necessity of maintaining adequate guards at
the exposed points of his position was brought home to
Jack.  During the night a large number of French had
been silently posted in the ruined house at the end of the
lane to the north of the Casa Vega.  Issuing from these
ruins, almost as soon as day dawned, they rushed towards
the barricade, bearing fascines and scaling-ladders.  But
Don Cristobal, who was in command at this point, proved
equal to the occasion.  He sent off a messenger to Jack
in the Casa Alvarez as soon as he saw signs of the French
movement, and with the thirty resolute men of his
command he held the enemy off, showing much coolness in
awaiting their onset and ordering his men to fire at the
right moment.  When Jack came up at the head of a
considerable reinforcement, the French were decisively
driven off, leaving more than a score of dead behind them.
They retired in confusion, some going into the ruins from
which the attack had been made, others retreating down
the street until they found protection from the Spaniards'
musketry at the sharp bend in the roadway.

Hastening then to the Casa Vallejo, Jack found that
the sounds of miners at work had been steadily growing
more distinct.  It was clearly time to prepare his own
mine.  The gallery extended some six feet beneath the
floor of the ruined house adjoining.  A heavy charge was
laid in it; then the mine was tamped as quickly as possible.
All was now in readiness.  Through that day Jack scarcely
left the place for a moment.  It was of the utmost
importance that the time for exploding the mine should be well
chosen.  He dared not run the risk of allowing the French
to drive the heads of their tunnels past his own, for indeed
they might not pass it, but come clean upon it, in which
case they would either explode it themselves, or more
probably withdraw the charge.  His object was to allow
them to approach as near as seemed safe, and then to fire
the train.  After an anxious day he retired to rest,
convinced that a sharp conflict could no longer be much
delayed.

At ten o'clock next morning, the 8th of February, he
judged that the French miners could only be a few feet
distant.  Withdrawing all his men from the Casa Vallejo
to the Casa Hontanon, next door, he waited tensely for
a few minutes, then himself fired the train.  There was a
thunderous explosion, the walls of the room in which he
was seemed to rock, then came the crash of falling beams,
followed by a death-like silence.  The mine had done its
terrible work effectually; for the rest of the day there was
no further sound of the French.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Ebro the French
were gradually preparing for a grand assault.  The part
of the city along the river bank had been hitherto little
damaged, for it was protected by the transpontine suburb
of San Lazaro, and to some extent by a few gun-boats
moored near the bridge.  The key to the position was
the Jesus Convent, a building of bricks, with a ditch on
the French side of it.  The French batteries had made
large breaches in its masonry, but in order to carry it
by storm it was first necessary for the enemy to trench
their way towards it by slow degrees, every step having
to be taken under fire from the walls.  Their work was
delayed for a time by a sudden rise of the river
inundating their trenches and driving them back for several
hundred yards—a flood hailed with joy by the defenders,
who regarded it as another miraculous interposition on
the part of Our Lady of the Pillar.

Their condition was becoming pitiful in the extreme.
All fresh meat and vegetables were exhausted; they had
nothing now to subsist on but fish and salt meat.  The
few chickens that could be got each sold for a sum
equivalent to an English pound.  The French had seized
all the water-mills along the banks of the river, so that
the corn, of which the Spaniards yet possessed large stores,
could not be ground, and they were forced to make a
rough unwholesome bread of grain merely crushed or
bruised.  Fever, bred in the damp vaults in which most
of the people lived, was carrying off hundreds every day;
yet the emaciated survivors scarcely murmured, and the
faintest suggestion of surrender was still sufficient to carry
a man to the gibbet.  Cheered by their brave untiring
priests, they hoped against hope that relief would come.

But the floods subsided, and there was no sign of the
long-expected succour.  On the morning of February
8th, twenty-two French guns opened fire on the convent.
Within a few hours the outer walls were battered down;
then Marshal Lannes in person ordered the place to be
carried by assault.  Five hundred men instantly sprang
from the trenches.  The Spaniards in the convent, mingled
regulars and monks, made what resistance they could,
but they were unnerved by the preceding cannonade, and
before the furious rush of the French grenadiers they
fled and left the convent to its fate.  Within the walls
the French found hundreds of wounded and sick, and in
the courtyard there were some two hundred corpses, men,
women, and children, piled up awaiting burial.  Even
the French were sick at heart when they saw on these
pale cold faces the terrible signs of fasting and disease.
They themselves had suffered in their trenches.  Among
them too men fell fast; and even in their ranks there
were heard murmurs against the long waiting of this
cruel siege.

But though they had gained possession of the convent,
their capture of the whole suburb was to be delayed for
yet a few days.  News was brought in to the French
marshal, from his outlying positions, that a Spanish army
was marching towards the city.  The captain-general's
brother, Francisco Palafox, had succeeded in raising a
small force of 4000 men, and was now but twenty miles
away.  The attack could not be pressed in this quarter
until the exact strength of the new enemy was ascertained.
Marshal Lannes himself, therefore, drew off with 12,000
men, and once more the hopes of the dwindling garrison
within the walls flickered up into the semblance of a
flame.

Meanwhile Jack, in his little district, had become
convinced that the defence could not be maintained for many
more days.  But he was determined to hold his own
to the very end.  After his explosion beyond the Casa
Vallejo there had been a prolonged silence on the French
side, but in the evening renewed sounds of mining in two
quarters showed that though two of the four French
galleries had been injured, the other two were still workable.
It was only a matter of hours before the wall must fall.
All that Jack could do was to ensure that the house should
be held as long as possible after the explosion of the
French mines, and that this should cause his men the
minimum of loss.  During the night of the 8th he built
a fresh barricade between Vallejo and Tobar, some yards
in the rear of the first one, leaving a means of ingress
into the threatened house.  On the roof of Tobar he
stationed men, just before dawn, to give notice of any
French movements in the ruins at the farther end of the
block.  Meanwhile the garrison of Vallejo were
withdrawn behind the barricade, with orders to rush in and
reoccupy the house as soon as the explosion had taken
place.

At seven o'clock on the morning of the 9th a deep
rumbling noise, as of a miniature earthquake, shook
the quarter.  Volumes of pungent smoke rolled along
the lanes, and the crashing sounds proclaimed that the
party-wall of Vallejo had fallen in.

"Into the house!" shouted Jack.

The men burst into the building.  Taking advantage
of the cover afforded by heaps of shattered masonry,
woodwork, and furniture, they stood firm to meet the
attack of the French, who, as soon as the dust and smoke
began to clear, charged furiously up to the ruined wall.
Their front ranks were mowed down by the withering
fire of the Spaniards, but the gaps were instantly filled,
and the undaunted enemy pressed on again.  The volumes
of smoke and the heaped wreckage of the house made
it difficult sometimes for the combatants to see one
another.  For the moment the advantage was with the
Spaniards.  Nothing could dislodge them from behind
their barricades of brickwork, furniture, even piles of
books.  But the French were swarming in at the other
end of the block of buildings, and some, mounting on
heaps of débris, were able to fire over the heads of the
men in front of them into the Spanish position.  Jack
saw that with the fall of the party-wall of Vallejo the
remains of the roof and front wall of the house beyond
had also come down.  Profiting by this circumstance, he
sent a number of men on to the roof of Tobar, whence
they were able to enfilade the French marksmen.  They
were assisted by a strong fire from the front barricade,
where Antonio, now the leader of the guerrilleros, was
doing yeoman service.  Finding that after repeated charges
no impression had been made on the Spanish defences,
the French drew back disheartened, and, unwilling to
face the risk of meeting again such heavy losses, made
no further serious attempt during the morning to carry
the position.  The action degenerated into a fitful
exchange of musket-shots, whenever a Frenchman or a
Spaniard incautiously exposed himself.

"Well done, hombres!" said Jack, who had gone
from point to point cheering them on, reinforcing weak
spots, narrowly escaping the enemy's bullets as he moved
at times across the line of fire.  He had been quick to
mark instances of special bravery or skill, and the few
words of praise he spoke nerved the ardent Spaniards
to still more strenuous exertions.

In the afternoon, as he was resting in the Casa Alvarez,
news was brought that the French had been seen clearing
away parts of the débris in the ruins at the farther end
of the Vallejo block.

"What does that mean?" he exclaimed, starting up.
"They will only expose themselves to direct fire from
the roofs and the barricade."

Hastening with Don Cristobal to the roof of the Casa
Tobar, he sought for an explanation of the new movement.
Suddenly it occurred to him: the French were about to
bring the gun, which had been driven away from the
angle of the street, to a position whence it would bear
upon Vallejo, and the work they were doing was for the
purpose of clearing away anything that might intercept
its fire.

"We can't hold Vallejo against a bombardment," he
remarked.  "Stay!  Perhaps Don Casimir would lend
us a gun from his ramparts.  Things have been pretty
quiet with him lately.  Antonio, run off with twenty men
and ask Don Casimir to let you have an eight-pounder,
with grape and round-shot.  If we can get a gun to bear,
Señor, the work the French are doing will assist us as
much as themselves."

"Can we mount the gun?" asked Don Cristobal,
descending with Jack.

"We can but try.  'Where there's a will there's a way',
as we say in England."

Twenty minutes later Antonio returned with his men,
hauling the eight-pounder briskly along towards the
barricade.  It was easily taken into the patio of the Casa
Vallejo, but to move it thence into a position facing the
French would necessitate the breaking of the wall of one
of the ground-floor rooms.

It was approaching nightfall when, from his post of
observation on the roof of Tobar, Jack saw that the
French had completed their work.  He could just perceive
the muzzle of their gun, carefully blinded with beams,
protruding from a sort of screen in the ruins of the second
house from Vallejo.  He was confident that they would
not begin their bombardment until the following morning,
and he hoped to use the hours of darkness to place his
own gun.  Before darkness fell, with Don Cristobal's
help he took, from several points, careful observations of
the position of the French gun, and on the stone floor
of the room opening on to the patio in Vallejo he drew
chalk lines indicating what appeared to be a suitable
position for his eight-pounder.

As soon as it was dark he set two men to break a way
with picks through the wall of the patio, at a spot where
there was a window.  The work was carried out with the
aid of dark lanterns, large pieces of cloth being hung over
every gap to conceal any glimmer of light from the French.
The gun was then hauled through the hole and laid by the
chalk lines; it was screened with bags of earth, and then,
after it had been loaded with ball, a horse-blanket was
hung over the muzzle, which alone was in sight of the enemy.

"Now we can get some sleep, Señor," said Jack.
"We've had a hard day's work.  I confess I'm longing
for the morning, to see whether we can once more get in
first.  You have arranged the sentries for the night?"

"Yes.  Nothing has been neglected."

"A special guard for the gun?"

"Antonio and two of his guerrilleros will take turns
through the night."

"We haven't any better men.  I can hardly keep my
eyes open.  Come along."

There was but a faint glimmer of light beyond the Ebro
when Jack again took his place beside the gun.

"I'm not a gunner," he remarked to Don Cristobal,
"but I fancy I can manage to lay and fire it myself; it's
point-blank range, you see; I can hardly miss.  Now,
hombres," he said, turning to the eight men with him,
"everything depends on our shooting first, so keep as
mum as door-mats."

Waiting till the increasing light showed him clearly the
muzzle of the enemy's gun, he carefully pointed his own
piece.  He aimed at a beam covering the gun at a point
which, as nearly as he could judge, corresponded with the
trunnion.  Don Cristobal watched him anxiously as he
lit the match.  What would be the result of the shot?
One moment of suspense, then Jack applied the match;
there was a flash and a roar, followed immediately by
the crashing of timber.

It was impossible to see the effect of the shot through
the cloud of smoke that hung between the buildings; but,
whatever it was, Jack knew that it would awake the
enemy to feverish activity.  Running his piece in, he had
it rapidly sponged and then reloaded with grape.  While
this was being done, he sent orders to the garrison to
open fire on the French position, to which there would
certainly be a rush.  As soon as the smoke cleared he
saw that the French gun had also been run in.  Before
it could be loaded, however, Jack applied his second
match; his canister of grape searched every square foot of
the area around the French gun, and the men serving it
were annihilated.  Before another complement of gunners
could be brought up, Jack had his piece cleaned and
charged again, this time with round-shot.  He saw now
that the first shot had broken and splintered the beam;
the third shivered it to fragments.  A great cheer arose
from the garrison when they saw the damage already
done.  A second charge of grape, together with sharp
musketry-fire from every point occupied by the Spaniards,
scattered the French reinforcements who were now
attempting frantically to withdraw the gun out of range.
Again Jack loaded with shot, and a fierce shout of
exultation broke from the Spaniards on the roof-tops as they
saw the enemy's gun completely dismounted, and the
remnant of the French fly in all haste to the rear.

This spirited defence had the effect of keeping the
French quiet in that quarter for the rest of the day.  Jack
maintained his vigilance unrelaxed, but there was no
movement from the enemy's direction either above or
below ground.

"Another day saved!" said Jack to Don Casimir, who,
having heard of what had happened, had come to
congratulate him on his successful manipulation of the gun.

"Yes, one more day.  But how long can we still hold
out?" replied Don Casimir.  "Surely, Señor Lumsden,
you are not among the credulous people who think that
we shall save the city?"

"Since you ask me plainly, Don Casimir, I am not.
But what does that matter?  We have to hold our
quarters, and I confess that I sha'n't be satisfied unless I
can say, when the end comes, that here at all events we
are still unbeaten.—Do look at that odd little gipsy boy of
mine.  He is a strange child.  When the fighting is going
on he is never to be found; he hasn't any courage of that
sort; but he always turns up when it is over, and looks as
proud as though he had fought with the best.  What has
the brat got now?"

Pepito approached jauntily, twirling a small silver buckle
round on his finger.

"Well, what is the mischief now?" asked Jack with a smile.

"That is for Señor to say," replied Pepito gravely.

"You found that buckle, I suppose.  Well, it looks a
very good silver buckle; what is there to explain?"

"I found it in the tall house.  It was under the dead
man.  I saw it when they took him away."

"Yes.  What then?"

Pepito put his hand into his pocket and produced a
second buckle, the exact fellow of the first.

"Now I have two," he said.

"So I see.  One isn't much use without the other.  I
suppose you will want them sewn on your shoes now.
You found that too, eh?"

"No, I cut it off.  Señor thinks they are the buckles a
poor Busno would wear?"

"Well, no; they are a little unusual for a guerrillero,
certainly.  But he may have been a bandit first."

"No, no.  They were not his.  Señor, listen as I tell.
I find in the room one buckle; I think I know it.  I put it
in my pocket.  I go out at once into the streets to look.
What do I see?  I see a man walk; one shoe has a
buckle, the other shoe has not.  I open my eyes wide; I say
to myself: 'Ho! ho!  That is what I thought!'  But I was
not sure.  I wait.  A time comes.  I see the one-buckle
Señor go into the Café Arcos.  I follow; big Jorge Arcos
knows me now.  I keep much in the dark; Señor One-buckle
must not see me.  But I see him; I see his foot; I
am under the table.  I put buckle one next to buckle two;
they are brothers.  I take my knife and cut off buckle two.
It is Señor No-buckle now!  Señor knows?"

Jack had been impressed, not so much by the gipsy's
story as by the solemnity of his manner of telling it.

"You have something more to tell me.  What is it?"

"Señor One-buckle, Señor No-buckle—who is it?  One-buckle,
I find it under the dead man in the tall house;
two-buckle, I cut it from the shoe of—of the master of
Señor One-eye."

"Señor Priego?"

"Sí, Señor!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Wanted: Don Miguel Priego`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXVI


.. class:: center large bold

   Wanted: Don Miguel Priego

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Circumstantial Evidence—A Council of War—Miguel's
   Despatch—A Statement of Facts—The Inevitable
   Inference—Shambles—In the Belfry—Without Guile—The
   People's Curse

.. vspace:: 2

Jack had had so many evidences of Pepito's sagacity that
he could not doubt the accuracy of the boy's report.  The
shoe buckles almost certainly belonged to Don Miguel.
From this one seed of fact sprang a whole sheaf of
problems.  Miguel had been in the room when the
guerrillero was murdered; he may not have dealt the blow
himself, but certainly he was there.  Then why was
he there?  Had he learnt that the man was an afrancesado
and gone personally to serve him as every good
Spaniard would wish to serve a traitor?  That was
improbable, for the murder had been committed in secret,
no report had been made of it, and Miguel was not the
man to let slip the chance of adding to his popularity
by ridding the city of a domestic foe.  No, he had not
gone to the house as an enemy; could he have gone to it
as a friend?  What bond of union could there be between
Don Miguel Priego, in civil life a well-to-do merchant and
now also major in Palafox's hussars, and a poor obscure
peasant who had no standing whatever as a citizen or
a soldier?

Suddenly the idea came to him: could Miguel have
visited the man because he was an afrancesado?  The
suggestion was like the letting out of a flood.  Jack
recalled the suspicious entry of Miguel and his man into
Saragossa; the strange tale about an overpowered sentry;
the curious reappearance of a sentinel in the French
trenches almost immediately afterwards.  Had Miguel got
in, not in spite of the French, but with their connivance?
His rapid journey across country from Seville: how could
that be accounted for unless he had been helped through
the districts in French occupation, and provided with
relays of post-horses at every stage?  The inevitable
conclusion was that Miguel was himself an afrancesado, and
had come into the city on some traitorous errand.
Knowing that the guerrillero was of the same kidney, he had
visited him for some purpose of his own.  A quarrel had
arisen; during the struggle one of his buckles had been
wrenched off, and it lay unnoticed on the floor.  It was
improbable that Miguel himself had dealt Quintanar the
fatal blow; but, remembering Perez, the one-eyed man,
Jack was in little doubt where to look for the assassin.

There was only one thing wanted to complete his assurance
of Miguel's treachery.  Miguel had certainly brought
to Palafox a despatch from the Supreme Junta at Seville.
If he were a true Spaniard, and had really gained admittance
to the city by a hazardous feat of arms, the despatch
must have been intact when Palafox received it.  On the
other hand, if Miguel was a spy, in the pay of the French,
it was little likely that they would have allowed a despatch
to pass through their lines without mastering its contents.
In that case they must have found means to open and read
it, without leaving anything to arouse suspicion in the
mind of Palafox when he received it.  How was that
possible?  Palafox would certainly have remarked any sign
of tampering with the seal; the despatch could not have
been opened without tampering with the seal, and
that—  Stay!  Jack vaguely remembered having read somewhere
that a seal could be removed by dexterously slipping a
thin hot blade between it and the paper.  Had that been
done with Miguel's despatch?  The question had no sooner
formed itself in Jack's mind than conviction flashed upon
him; he felt absolutely sure that the man he had always so
much disliked on personal grounds was a renegade and a
traitor.

Next morning he rose from his bed unrefreshed, but with
a plan of action formed.  He made his dispositions for the
continued defence of his district with keenness and care.
Then, somewhat after one o'clock, he left the work in
charge of Don Cristobal, and made his way by narrow
lanes towards the other end of the city.  The streets were
almost entirely deserted now; only a few brave women
and ministering priests went about fearlessly on errands
of mercy.  All the men were engaged on the ramparts
or in the houses, striving with dogged energy to hinder
the creeping advance of the French.  He had crossed the
part of the city most in danger from bombardment or
mines when he met Tio Jorge, whom he had not seen for
a few days.

"Tio," he said, "can you come with me?  I am going
to see the general, and I should like you to be with me."

"Assuredly, Señor.  And in truth, I think it well you
should have a friend with you, for the murmurs against
you are growing stronger.  It is whispered that an
afrancesado was lately slain in your quarter, and men
are saying that he was not the only one there.  They
are puzzled, for if you are an afrancesado, as some
think, why are you fighting the French so desperately
every day?  I only tell you what they think and say,
Señor; it is well I am your friend."

Jack set his lips; he traced this to Miguel's inveterate
malice.  Hurrying along with the big peasant, he arrived
at the Aljafferia Castle, and was admitted after some delay
to Palafox's room.  The general had now taken to his
bed; the fever had gained a terrible hold upon him, and
but for his indomitable spirit he would probably ere this
have died.  He was surrounded by a group of his
advisers, among them Don Basilio, Santiago Sass, Padre
Consolacion, and General San March, who, having failed
to hold the Monte Torrero against the French in the early
days of the siege, had since been under a cloud.  The
priests scowled at Jack as he approached; the lean
Santiago Sass and the rotund Padre Consolacion looked at
him with equal distrust.

"Come, Tio Jorge," said General San March, "you are
in time to support me.  I have been asking the captain-general
to allow me to lead a sortie across the Ebro, now
that the French are weakened there by the withdrawal of
so many men."

"Useless, useless!" cried Palafox from his bed.

"Useless, Señores!" echoed Tio Jorge.  "What men
have we now for sorties?  Three weeks ago, yes; but
now—most of our men can hardly stagger under the weight of
their muskets.  The time for sorties is past; but let us
hope the French are withdrawn from San Lazaro by news
of our brothers coming to aid us—"

"And we will never give in, never give in!" cried
Santiago Sass.  "No, not even though traitors within our
walls give the gates to the enemy."

Tio Jorge was on the point of resenting, on Jack's
behalf, the glare with which the priest accompanied these
words; but Jack laid his hand on the man's arm, and,
advancing to the bedside, spoke to the worn figure lying
there.

"You remember, Señor, the despatch that was brought
to you from the Supreme Junta, little more than a week
ago, by one of your officers who made his way by night
through the French lines?"

"I remember it."

"You have that despatch still?"

"I have.  Why do you ask?"

"Pardon me, Señor, you will see in a few moments.
You observed nothing unusual about the seal?"

"Nothing."

"It was the usual seal of the Junta," put in Don Basilio.
"I have the despatch."

"Will you allow me to look at it?"

The chaplain hesitated; he appeared to be about to ask
a question, but Tio Jorge interposed.

"The despatch, Señor Padre!  The Señor has a reason;
I know it not, but he fought with me by the Casa Ximenez,
and what he says, por Dios! there is sense in it."

"Produce the despatch, Padre," said Palafox.

Don Basilio went to a cabinet, and after a little search
found the despatch and handed it to Jack.  The seal was
broken across the middle.  Jack examined the edges
carefully, lifting the wax slightly with his thumb nail.  He
looked up.

"It is as I thought," he said.  "Will Don Basilio look?"

The priest took the paper and looked at it with an air
of puzzlement and surprise.

"I see red wax and paper," he said coldly.  "What of that?"

"Do you not see, Señor Padre, a slight browning of the
paper beneath, as though it had been scorched?"

The chaplain scrutinized the seal again.  The other
priests watched him in silence; Palafox kept his burning
eyes fixed on Jack; and Tio Jorge stood with his lips
parted as though wondering what deep mystery was
concerned here.

"I do see a faint coloration," said Don Basilio at
length; "a light tinge at the edge of the wax, becoming
a little darker beneath the seal.  What then?"

"This, Señor.  The paper, I suggest, was scorched
by the passage of a hot keen blade beneath the seal."

There was a painful silence.  Then Tio Jorge cried,
"Por Dios! that explains everything.  It is all clear.
The man that brought it is a villain, an afrancesado,
Señores!  And 'tis he who has sought to harm the brave
English Señor here!  Death to all traitors!  Death to
Don Miguel Priego!"

"Stay, stay!" said Padre Consolacion, his round face
wearing a look of concern.  "This is a terrible charge to
bring against a reputable citizen of Saragossa."

"One of my own hussars," murmured Palafox.

"He was my pupil," continued the padre.  "I have
known him since he was an infant.  I knew his father,
an estimable man; he cannot be a traitor.  If the despatch
was opened, it must have been without his knowledge.
Of that I am sure."

"The evidence is not sufficient—not sufficient," said
Palafox.  "You must be mistaken, Señor Lumsden."

"I am sorry, Señores," returned Jack; "but will you
bear with me while I put certain facts before you?  You
remember how strangely Don Miguel made his entrance
into the city some days ago?  He had overcome a
sentinel, he and his man, and came by night across the
Huerba, scaling our ramparts by the aid of muskets held
out to him by two of Don Casimir's men.  I was present,
Señores, at the time.  I had just gone to take over the
command with which the Señor Capitan-general honoured
me, and was walking along the ramparts with Don Casimir
Ulloa, who told me how amazed he was to see no sentinel
in the French trenches, where for many nights before a
sentinel had never failed to be.  Even as he spoke we saw
two figures creep down the slope and approach the walls.
They, as you know, were Don Miguel Priego and his
man.  They forded the river, clambered up the slope on
our side, and were assisted over our ramparts, and we
heard from Don Miguel's lips the story he told the general
afterwards."

"It was a bold feat," interjected Padre Consolacion.
"Don Miguel was ever a man of daring."

"But, Señores," continued Jack, "no sooner was Don
Miguel safely within our walls than, in the French lines
opposite, a sentinel suddenly reappeared.  Had the
Frenchman, slain by Don Miguel, come to life again?  Why had
Don Casimir heard no sound?  Would the discovery of
their dead sentinel have been regarded by the French as
an ordinary accident, of no more account than the finding
of a dead rat?  And now we find that the despatch brought
by Don Miguel had been opened.  Is it not natural to
conclude that it was opened by the French, and that the
temporary absence of the sentinel was part of an arrangement
between them and Don Miguel to give colour to his story?"

"Surmise!  All baseless surmise!" said Padre Consolacion.

"One thing more," went on Jack quietly.  "The
other night a man was murdered in my quarter of the
city.  He was assassinated in his room at the top of a
lofty house.  In that room was found this pass through
the French lines, and this drawing of our defences."

Everyone started as Jack produced the papers.

"Besides these, there was found this shoe-buckle, that
had been torn off in the man's scuffle with his assailant.
Two days afterwards the fellow-buckle was brought to
me, and Don Miguel Priego was seen in the streets with
shoes which had both lost their buckles.  It was this that
convinced me.  Had Don Miguel reason to dispute with
an afrancesado unless—"

"Enough!" cried Santiago Sass.  "It is clear he is a
proved villain!  To the gallows with him!  Where is he?
With my own hand will I hang him in the midst of the
Coso!  To the gallows!  To the gallows!"

And, gathering his cassock about him, the priest rushed
madly from the room.  Almost before the door was closed
behind him a tremendous explosion set the whole building
vibrating, and caused Palafox almost to jump from his bed.

"My convent!" cried Padre Consolacion.  "It is my
convent at last!  Tio Jorge, come; they will have need
of us."

"And of me!" cried Palafox, springing up.

"Stay, José," said Don Basilio, "you are not fit to go
out."

"Do not stay me, Padre," answered Palafox, clasping
his cloak, and with trembling fingers buckling on his
sword.  "I must go; I must share the dangers of my
people."

The chaplain made no further protest, and soon Palafox,
accompanied by San March, Tio Jorge, and Jack, was
hastening towards the scene of one of the most awful
catastrophes that ever befell a beleaguered city.  The
French, undetected by the defenders, had driven a mine
beneath the great Franciscan convent, and charged it with
3000 pounds of powder.  The convent was at the moment
full of fighting-men; the cellars were occupied by many
families of citizens; and one part of the building was
crammed with 400 workpeople, men and women, who
were there engaged in making clothes for the soldiers.
All these perished when the mine was fired; and when
Palafox arrived on the scene, the whole district for many
yards around was strewn not merely with broken masonry,
but with mutilated human remains.

All thought of Don Miguel's treason was for the moment
banished by the hideous spectacle.  Yet, awful as the
damage was, the Spaniards had not awaited the arrival of
their leaders before attempting reprisals.  A wide opening
had been made by the explosion, in the wall near the porch;
the pavement of the church of San Francisco had been
torn up; altars, pulpits, columns, arches, lay in shattered
fragments; but Spaniards had rushed in from the streets,
and, barricading themselves behind the ruins, were
showering bullets upon the incoming French.  Some had climbed
into the galleries; others had mounted by a narrow spiral
staircase into the belfry, which had strangely withstood
the shock; and from these elevated positions they poured
murderous volleys upon the invaders.  As the rays of
sunlight streamed through the broken stained-glass windows,
they fell upon groups of furious combatants, imparting
varied tints to the clouds of smoke and dust that rolled
through the shattered nave, and glinting on the bayonets
of the French infantry as they pressed desperately forward.
The Spaniards fought with the fury of despair.  Inspirited
by the presence of their idolized general, by the heroic
efforts of Tio Jorge, and the fiery exhortations of Padre
Consolacion and Santiago Sass, who had soon appeared
on the scene, they defended every nook and corner with
obstinate tenacity, and when night put an end to the
terrible conflict, had succeeded, at a huge cost, in driving
the French from a portion of the building.

Jack had climbed into the belfry along with a body of
peasants under the command of a French émigré, the
Comte de Fleury.  He was almost overcome by the
sickening sight.  All around, the roofs of the neighbouring
houses were covered with dismembered limbs; the gutters,
through which for eight centuries nothing but rain had
streamed, now ran red with blood, that poured into the
street as if from the mouths of the dragons, vultures, and
winged monsters that decorated the Gothic walls.  He
could not help exclaiming at the folly of maintaining a
resistance against such heavy odds.  It was terrible
enough that soldiers, whose duty brought them face to
face with sudden death, should fall by hundreds to the
French arms; but innocent and helpless citizens, young
boys and girls, were all included in this late carnage,
and Jack shuddered at the dire results of what he could
now only regard as sheer obstinacy and blind rage.

Creeping down when the din was over, and French and
Spaniards alike were resting from the fray, he found that
Palafox, in a complete state of collapse, was being carried
back to his bed.  Along with Tio Jorge, Jack accompanied
the sad group.  The halls of the Aljafferia Castle
were thronged with some of the more substantial merchants
who were yet left alive.  They had come to plead
with the general to ask for terms from the French.  But
at the first suggestion there arose such an outcry from
the peasants and the poorer citizens, incited by their
priests, that the merchants were in danger of being torn
limb from limb.  No voice was louder than that of
Santiago Sass in demanding that the defence should be still
continued.  The French who had withdrawn from the
eastern suburbs had not yet reappeared, and the priest
vehemently declared that the catastrophe at the
Franciscan convent was the turning-point of the siege, and
that from that moment the hand of Our Lady of the Pillar
would work wonders on behalf of her city.  Backed up
by him, the people clamoured for a proclamation to be
issued, enjoining still more strenuous resistance, and not
till this had been drawn up by Don Basilio, and Palafox
had affixed his tremulous signature, did the crowd disperse.

Jack remained for some time in the castle.  He wished
he was older and more experienced.  He then might have
pointed out to some of the bitterest of the Junta what
fearful hardship they were bringing on the city by their
insensate resistance.  But he saw that they were in no
temper to listen to expostulations from anyone, and he
dared not speak his thoughts even to his friend Tio Jorge.
He was about to return to his own district when he saw
Padre Consolacion enter with a brisker step than was
usual with him.  The priest came straight towards him.

"Señor, Señor," he said, with a mingled look of regret
and indignation, "he that backbiteth not with his tongue,
nor endureth a reproach against his neighbour, he shall
never be moved.  I knew it could not be true; I knew the
boy I taught at my knee could not be a traitor; I knew—"

"Señor Padre," interrupted Jack, "you don't mean to
say you have told him?"

"Indeed, and what more natural?  Is it right to
condemn unheard?  Should I not ask of the man himself
what—"

"Come to the general!" shouted Tio Jorge, catching
the priest by the arm.  "Come to the general!  He must
know of what you have done."

They made their way to Palafox's room, where none but
Don Basilio remained with him.

"Don José needs sleep," said the chaplain, meeting
them at the door.  "What do you want with him?"

"Caramba, Padre!" cried Tio Jorge, "he must know
whether the man be a traitor or not.  Listen to Padre
Consolacion!"

The priest seemed amazed at the fuss Tio Jorge was
making.

"I went, Señores, to find Don Miguel Priego, to ask
him, on his honour, whether there was a word of truth
in the English Señor's story.  He was indignant, as I
knew he would be.  He demanded to know why he, a
loyal son of Spain, should be suspected on such flimsy
grounds.  He scoffed when I spoke of the scorched paper,
and—"

"You told him that, Padre?" said Palafox, raising
himself on his elbow.

"I did, of course, and he flew into a passion, and said
that with morning light he would come and meet his
accuser and give him the lie to his face."

"Send for him now; bring him here instantly.  Shall
there be treason in our midst?  Tio Jorge, do you go and
command Don Miguel Priego instantly to my presence."

It was an hour before Tio Jorge returned.

"Proof!  Proof of treason!" he cried furiously.  "He
is gone; he and his man.  See what your meddling did,
Señor Padre!  No sooner was your back turned than the
accursed afrancesado fled."

"Fled!" echoed the priest in consternation.

"'Meet his accuser—give him the lie to his face', you
said," exclaimed Tio Jorge with bitter mockery, "'with
morning light'!  He is gone, and even now, I doubt not,
is making merry with the French who have hired him.
A curse light on him!  May he die by a traitor's hand,
even as he is a traitor!"

"Write, Don Basilio," said Palafox, "write a proclamation!
Proclaim Miguel Priego to all men a traitor,
and call upon all true men to seize upon him and bring
him before us to suffer the penalty of his crime.  My
unhappy country!  Let me die, let me die!"

He turned his face to the wall.  The stern chaplain
wrote a proclamation; within an hour printed copies were
distributed throughout the town, and the name of Miguel
Priego, hitherto lauded to the skies, was now hissed with
venomous hate by every loyal citizen of Saragossa.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Eleventh Hour`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXVII


.. class:: center large bold

   The Eleventh Hour

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Tantaene Irae?—Taking thought—Pepito's Charge—Horrors
   of the Siege—Beyond the River—A Ring of Steel—Unconquered
   Still—Patriots All

.. vspace:: 2

With morning light the French completed their capture of
the Franciscan convent.  By a series of desperate charges
they cleared the vast ruins of the Spaniards who had held
their position during the night, the brave Comte de Fleury
and his men were bayoneted on the narrow stairway of the
bell-tower, and with one final rush the French pursued the
fleeing remnant of the defenders to the very edge of the
Coso.

Not long afterwards the French outposts beyond the
Aljafferia Castle were surprised to see a strange and
motley procession issue from the Portillo Gate.  A mob
of peasants—for the most part women and children—ragged,
famished, fever-stricken, almost mad, rushed
pell-mell towards the French lines, preferring to die by
the hands of the enemy rather than endure longer the
terrors of the beleaguered city.  Reaching the outposts,
they begged to be allowed to pass through towards their
village homes; this being refused, they implored the
French to kill them, not to drive them back.  But the
marshal would not forgo this opportunity of teaching
the obstinate defenders a lesson.  He ordered the poor
creatures to be fed, and then sent back to the city, hoping
thereby to impress the Spaniards both with his humanity
and with the abundance of his stores.

When news of this incident was brought to Jack, he
read it at once as a sign that the inevitable end could
not now be long delayed.  Heroic as the defence had been,
the strain upon poor human nature was too heavy to be
borne, and though the priests and the mob-leaders were
still vehemently opposed to surrender, it was clear that
only surrender would save the city from the most horrible
of fates.  Not even the most violent fanatic would have
the heart to prolong the struggle for more than a few days.

Things being still quiet in his own quarter, Jack
determined to see Juanita, and advise her upon her course
when the city fell.  He left Don Cristobal in charge,
and made his tortuous way around the captured part
of the town towards the northern end of the city.  Pepito
accompanied him.

Juanita was looking pale and worn.  Her aunt was
seriously ill, and the girl had spent sleepless nights in
watching her.

"Oh, Jack, Jack," she cried, "surely the end must
come now!  It is wicked of our Junta to hold out longer.
The people are dying like flies.  Two were carried out of
this very house yesterday.  Are we all to die?"

"General Palafox must capitulate soon," said Jack,
"and that is what I wanted to see you about.  Have
you thought of what you will do when the capitulation
takes place?"

"Why, you will be with me; you will look after my
poor aunt and me."

"No, I shall be a prisoner."

"A prisoner!  Oh, but you must escape!  It will be
easy to escape in the confusion.  What shall we do if you
are a prisoner, Jack?"

"I can't run away.  I have to defend my quarter till
the last.  And then—well, it's the fortune of war—the
French will make sure of all the officers, you may depend
on that.  But about yourself, Juanita; you won't be in any
danger—except from Miguel."

"Why from Miguel?  Won't he be a prisoner too?"

Jack laughed grimly.

"Miguel has taken care of that.  Last night he
disappeared from Saragossa—just in time to escape being
gibbeted as an afrancesado, a traitor, and a spy."

Juanita's eyes blazed, her cheeks flamed with the hot
Spanish blood.

"Kill him!  Kill him, Jack!" she cried.  "He was a
traitor to my father; he is a traitor to Spain!  Oh, if I
were a man!"

Jack was amazed at the girl's fury.

"I don't think I'd like to soil my hands with him," he
said quietly.  "Besides, he will keep out of my way.
But don't you see, Juanita, that he will come in with the
French, and then—I'm afraid he might bother you, you
know."

Juanita drew herself up with a proud air.

"I could borrow a knife!" she said.  "A Spanish girl
is not afraid to die."

"Don't talk like that.  What need is there for you
to die?  I shall have to give you orders, as I give my
men.  Señorita Juanita Alvarez, you are to make your
way, after the capitulation, to some place of safety, where
I will find you—

"You, a prisoner?"

"Oh, I don't mean to remain a prisoner!  I shall say
good-bye to my captors at the earliest possible moment,
and then find you, and we will steal our way to the coast,
and find a ship and sail for England.  Mother will be glad
to see you."

"I have always wanted to see England," said Juanita
musingly.  "But what about my property—that all this
mystery is about?"

"We don't know where it is; but, you remember, a
duplicate letter was sent to father in London, and we can
find out all about it there.  And then, when the war is
over, no doubt father will come back with you and put
everything straight.  And then—"

"Well, Señor?" said Juanita archly.

"Oh, then I suppose you'll marry a Don—of some sort—"

"How dare you, Señor Lumsden!" she cried with
flashing eyes.

Jack looked astonished at her sudden anger.

"But never mind that," he went on.  "The question
is, is there anywhere that you can go to when the city
falls?"

"Ay de mí!  Our old country house near Morata was
shut up months ago; only one old man remains in charge.
The garden must now be a waste.  But I have friends
at Calatayud, some miles farther away, and I could stay
with them.  It is quite sixty miles distant.  Could I get
there safely?"

"I think so.  After the siege many peasants will be
returning to their homes.  I will enquire if any are going
in that direction, and will let you know if I find some
respectable people with whom you might travel.  Your
old duenna would, of course, go with you.  And then I
thought of lending you a special friend of my own, who
has done me many a good turn; he is outside now—a
young gipsy boy who—

"Pepito!  Oh, he and I are good friends!"

"You know him, then?"

"Of course I do.  He comes to see me every day, and
talks about you all the time.  Strange to say, he thinks
a great deal of you, Jack."

"Poor little chap!  I owe him a good deal.  Well, he
shall go with you, and you will make your way to Calatayud,
and I will come to you there in—let me see, under
a week.  I shall have had enough of the Frenchmen in
a week."

"But suppose you can't escape, Jack?"

"Never fear," said Jack with a smile.  "That is all
arranged, then?"

"Yes, I suppose so," replied Juanita doubtfully.  "You
will be sure to find me, Jack?"

"Unless you hide away—like your treasure."

Returning to his quarter he found that the French had
still made no further attempt upon it.  The situation
indeed, remained unchanged for several days.  They were
so fully occupied in pushing the advantage they had
gained in the direction of the Coso that they could afford
to leave Jack's little block of buildings for the present.
They continued to occupy the ruins facing the Casa
Vallejo, and Jack discovered, by observations made from the
roofs of the Casas Tobar and Alvarez, that a considerable
body of troops was held ready in Santa Engracia to
reinforce any point that should be threatened by the
Spaniards.

Though his own position was thus left unmolested,
every few hours brought news of the steady progress the
enemy were making elsewhere.  One after another the
blocks of buildings adjacent to the Franciscan convent
fell into their hands.  Jack saw that, even if he could hold
his own in front, the French were gradually creeping
around his flank, and that in the course of a few days
he would be attacked from the east as well as the north.
On February 12th Don Casimir sent for the gun he had
lent.  An urgent message had come from Palafox asking
for all artillery that could be spared.  It was needed for
the defence of the Coso.  The French had established two
batteries among the ruins of the convent, one of which
raked the Coso, while the other commanded the street
leading to the bridge across the river.  Jack had already
withdrawn Don Casimir's gun from the direct view of the
French, and he trusted that its total disappearance from
his defences would remain for some time undiscovered.

But although he was not seriously pressed, he was
alarmed to see how his small force had dwindled and was
still dwindling in numbers.  A few fell by the musket-shots
of the French; far more dropped out through sickness,
and of these almost none recovered.  A form of
typhus fever had broken out in the city, attacking
especially the guerrilleros from the country and wounded
soldiers who had no fixed homes.  The Countess Bureta was
dead; many of the other ladies who had nobly done their
best in nursing the sick and wounded had perished; the
stock of medicines was exhausted.  Many invalids lay
untended on the stone pavements of the courtyards, with
nothing but a little straw for their beds.  In the intervals
of fighting the worn survivors were to be seen sitting on
stone benches, shivering in spite of their cloaks, their
hands scarcely able to hold their weapons.  So weak were
they that the slightest wound proved fatal.  Jack was
sick at heart as he saw his ranks depleted day by day
through the loss of some stalwart guerrillero or seasoned
tirador who had succumbed to an enemy more terrible than
the French.

Once or twice he thought of finding relief in leading
a desperate sortie on the enemy's entrenchments.  But
consideration showed him the futility of any such move.
He might inflict some loss on the French, but even if he
drove them from their advanced position, he could not
hope to retain the ground he might thus win.  His efforts
must be confined to defensive work; he must hold his
own, as he had hitherto succeeded in doing.  He had now
been for a fortnight in command of the Casa Alvarez
district, and during that period the French had not made
any real progress.  Indeed, they had lost very heavily in
men, and had suffered so many disasters from the Spanish
mines that they appeared for the present to have
suspended all mining operations in Jack's quarter.

As the days passed by without any serious demonstration
against his position, Jack inferred that the French,
like the Spaniards, were suffering from the long-continued
strain.  The force under Marshal Lannes' command was
evidently not sufficient to maintain a simultaneous attack
on all the points at which they had effected an entrance
into the city.  On the 13th the corps sent out to drive
away the army collected by Francisco Palafox returned to
the siege; their mere appearance had been sufficient to
scatter the relieving army of which the Saragossans had
expected so much.  It was at once apparent that the
interrupted attack on the San Lazaro suburb was to be
actively pressed.  The French entrenchments were pushed
closer to the river; heavy siege-guns were brought into
position, and epaulements were constructed across all the
roads by which the Spaniards holding the suburb could
escape.

On February 18th a vigorous bombardment was
commenced.  No fewer than fifty-two guns opened fire at
daybreak, the main point of attack being the San Lazaro
convent, which commanded the bridge across the Ebro,
the sole link between the city and the suburb.  The effect
of the bombardment was stupendous.  Roofs crashed in
beneath the bursting bombs, the crackle of flames was
mingled with the clang of alarm-bells from every belfry,
the whole city shook as with an earthquake.  The
Spanish batteries responded vigorously.  The Spaniards
fought for every inch of ground in the streets, but they
were steadily beaten back.  A breach was made in the
convent wall; the French rushed in, massacring the monks
who dauntlessly opposed them, cutting down without
mercy crowds of men, women, and children who had
sought a refuge in the church itself.  The yells of the
combatants were mingled with the screams of the wounded
and dying, and not till every one of the occupants of the
convent was slain did the hideous clamour cease.

Retreat to the city was now cut off, and scattered bands
of Spaniards wandered frantically about, seeking a means
of escape and finding none.  Three hundred, led by a bold
fellow named Fernando Gonzalez, succeeded in running
the gauntlet of the French fusillade and forcing their way
across the bridge into Saragossa.  Many who sought to
escape by the river were drowned, and 3000 who tried to
make their way along the bank towards the country were
headed off by a regiment of French cavalry and compelled
to lay down their arms.  Palafox himself, though so ill
that he could scarcely stand, came at the head of his
troops to the succour of the suburb, but his efforts were
vain.  The French remained masters of the position, and
were now able to place their guns so as to command the
northern part of the city, which hitherto had been almost
untouched.

While this terrible struggle had been in progress, the
Spaniards had suffered a serious disaster elsewhere.  At
three in the afternoon three huge mines, charged with more
than two tons of powder, were exploded beneath the
University, which was carried with a rush.  With it fell several
buildings in its neighbourhood, and in the evening the
French penetrated to the Coso, where they gained several
houses, among them one which had repulsed no fewer than
ten previous assaults.  The Spaniards lost ground also
near the Trinity convent, and the district known as the
Tanneries began to suffer severely from the new French
works thrown up in the captured suburb of San Lazaro.

That night Jack held a serious consultation with Don
Cristobal and several of his more trusty men.  The
successes won by the French in other parts of the town
would no doubt encourage them to make a renewed attack
on the only quarter along its outer rim which had yet
withstood them.

"I am not going to give it up without a tussle," said
Jack resolutely.  "If they bring artillery to bear, our
barricades must fall; but we still have the houses
opposite.  The Y mines in Tobar and Vega will do enormous
damage if the French get in there.  I rather suspect
they will fight shy of the houses and try to rush in from
the streets.  All that we can do with our little force is
to man the windows and roofs of the houses and delay
them as long as possible."

It was a pathetic sight to see the unquenched eagerness
of the haggard crowd.  Not one faltered; all were as
resolute as though it were the first day of the siege.
Jack arranged with them for their respective posts on
the morrow, and waited anxiously for daylight.

.. vspace:: 2

About twelve o'clock on February 20th Tio Jorge and
Jorge Arcos were staying their hunger in the latter's café
with a mess of boiled rice and half-baked corn-meal.  Their
begrimed, black-bearded faces wore a look of savage
gloom.  No one was with them.  Outside, in the Coso,
not a living person was to be seen.

"By all the saints, I vow I will not surrender!" Tio
Jorge was saying.

"Nor I!" replied his friend.  "Nor would the general
himself, but that he is ill.  Had he been well, no one could
have persuaded him to beg for terms from the French dog.
When I heard it last night I could not believe the news.
For two months we have fought; shall we yield now?  I
for one will not yield; I will die rather!"

"And we could have told the general it would be of no
use.  We have killed too many of the accursed French
for them to let us march away.  I could have laughed
when Señor Casseillas came back after his journey to the
French camp, and said that we must lay down our arms
without conditions.  And the general is dying!  God have
his soul!  He has given the command to San March.  Ay,
'twas San March who lost the Monte Torrero—curse him!
But the Junta!—the saints be praised our brave padres are
members of the Junta, and will not let the others yield.
Traitors, por Dios!  I myself will shoot any man, high
or low, who counsels surrender.  But Don Basilio, and
Padre Consolacion, and Padre Santiago Sass—ah, they
will never yield!  The priests of Spain are men, mi
amigo!"

"Yes; they will fight and—"

A shattering explosion from the other side of the Coso
interrupted him.

"Where is that?" cried Tio Jorge, starting up.  Running
to the door he saw, beyond the Franciscan convent, a
cascade of dust and stones darkening the air.  "'Tis towards
the Casa Alvarez," he cried, "where the English Señor
still holds out.  The dogs are attacking there.  Come,
Jorge Arcos, we can do nothing elsewhere; come, and
let us help the brave Englishman!"

Together they left the café.  The crash of the explosion
had drawn others to the street, and as the two leaders
hurried along, past the barricades, up narrow by-ways,
pursuing a roundabout course towards the Huerba, they
were joined by ones and twos and threes, who came in
answer to their hail.  At the corner of a lane near the
Seminary thirty men who had escaped with Fernando
Gonzalez from San Lazaro swelled their numbers.

"To the Casa Alvarez!" shouted Tio Jorge.

A second explosion made him hasten still more eagerly.

"To the Casa Alvarez!" he repeated.  "War to the knife!"





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.. _`The Last Fight in Saragossa`:

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   CHAPTER XXVIII


.. class:: center large bold

   The Last Fight in Saragossa

.. vspace:: 2

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   The Last Muster—The Fougasse—A Forlorn Hope—Spiking
   the Guns—A Race with Death—A Sally—Solicitude—Jorge
   Arcos Volunteers—To the Bitter End—A Bolt from the
   Blue—The Last Sacrifice—The Courage of Despair—Truce

.. vspace:: 2

At the Casa Alvarez a stern fight was in progress.  On the
preceding day what Jack had foreseen had at length come
to pass: the French had once more brought guns to bear
on his position.  Warned by their previous experience,
they blinded their batteries in such a way that their
gunners were protected from the muskets of the Spaniards
on the roofs.  They cleared a space at the end of the
ruined block of which the Casa Vallejo formed a part,
and there placed two guns; another was mounted at the
end of the street between that house and the Casa Tobar;
a fourth at the end of the street in which the Vega
barricade was erected.  It was clear to Jack that he could
not hope to prevent the enemy from gaining a footing in
the houses; all that he could do for the present was to
await developments, and act as the need of the moment
dictated.

But, to be prepared for emergencies, he rapidly constructed,
beneath the floor of the Casa Vallejo, a fougasse—a
shallow mine in the form of a truncated cone, with its
axis inclined towards the point of attack.  Over this he
piled some tons of brickwork and stones which, in the
explosion, would be hurled many yards to the front and
flanks.  With this, and the as yet unexploded Y-shaped
mines beneath the Casas Tobar and Vega, he hoped to
destroy the French who would rush the houses when the
bombardment ceased, and thus to enable his men to retake
the positions they must lose.

He had only 200 men now with him, and many of these
were on their last legs.  But when the rumour spread
through the quarter that the French were preparing to
make a serious attack, some fifty poor wretches, scarcely
able to crawl, staggered from their squalid lodgings, and
begged to be allowed to take part in the defence.  They
were a pitiful sight, gaunt and haggard, with ague-stricken
limbs and fever-lit eyes.  They were incapable of hand-to-hand
fighting; many of them were too weak even to lift
their muskets to their shoulders; but they could fire
muskets rested on window-sills and through loopholes,
and Jack, gladly as he would have spared them, was too
hard-pressed to reject any aid, however slight.  A score of
women came forward, offering to load muskets for the men,
and thus save time.  Among them Jack recognized the
lady he had seen as he came with Tio Jorge to take over
his command.  He remembered her attitude of frenzied
grief; he recalled the fierce command she had laid upon her
little boy.  The child was no longer with her; the little
fellow had died of fever a few days before.  The poor
creature had now lost father, brothers, husband, and son,
and had come with the wild fury of a mad woman to
wreak vengeance on the enemy.

About ten o'clock in the morning the French opened
fire with all their guns upon the Casa Vallejo and the
barricades.  Jack made what reply he could from the
roofs and windows, but the batteries were so well screened
that the fire of his men was almost wholly ineffectual.
Great gaps were soon made in the wall of the house and
in the barricades, and seeing that the attempt to hold
the latter in the face of the bombardment would entail
a useless loss of life, Jack withdrew his men behind the
Casas Vega and Tobar, and held them in readiness to
rush into the houses when his mines had exploded.  After
two hours' bombardment the four guns ceased fire.
Immediately afterwards three parties of French dashed
forward in headlong charge.  The Spaniards, who, on
the cessation of the bombardment, had sped back to
their posts, met the enemy with dauntless front.  The
Frenchmen in the streets fell rapidly under a hot fire from
the roof and windows of the Casa Tobar and from the
advanced barricades, but, seeing the hopelessness of
continued resistance to the overwhelming numbers opposed
to him, Jack withdrew his forces again, and sent word
to the men stationed at the mines to light their matches
in readiness for firing the trains.  With exultant shouts
the enemy, for the most part Poles and voltigeurs, swarmed
into the houses.  Jack gave the word first at Vallejo.
The fougasse exploded with a terrific crash.  It was this
explosion which had interrupted Tio Jorge's conversation
in the café.  But though not a Frenchman was left alive
in the house, the places of the dead were instantly filled
by their furious comrades, who were only kept from
rushing across the street towards the Casa Alvarez by
the concentrated fire of the Spaniards there posted.

A few minutes later the French in Tobar and Vega
met with a like fate.  Jack had exploded in each case
one of the arms of his Y-shaped mines, and for the time
both houses were cleared of the enemy.

But Jack had long since seen that, unless he could deal
them a harder blow than any he had recently been able
to strike, he must inevitably be swamped by superior
numbers.  Even though the explosions should slay a
hundred of the French to every ten of his own men, the
former could be continually replaced, while a loss to him
was irreparable.  He could hold the enemy in check for
the moment, but a time must come when his gallant
little force must be overwhelmed and annihilated—unless
he could effect some diversion.

His greatest danger came from these formidable batteries,
to which he could make no effective reply.  Under cover
of their fire the French could at any time repeat the rush
across the street by which they had carried Tobar.  Was
there no way by which the guns could be silenced?

During the two hours' bombardment Jack had spent
many anxious minutes in thinking out this problem.  What
were the chances?  The explosion of the fougasse,
followed by that of the Y mines, would not only deal
immense destruction, but would also, he hoped, have a
tremendous moral effect.  Could he not make a rush for
the guns while the French were demoralized and at sixes
and sevens?  Would there be time to spike them?
Ought he to diminish his little force even by the minimum
number of men necessary to perform the feat?  He now
had no more than 180 men all told.  The French, he
computed, had numbered nearly 700 at the beginning of the
day.  Could he, with, say, 50 men, hope to penetrate
their ranks and return in safety?

"It must be tried," he said to himself, and from that
moment bent all his energies to ensure the success of
his daring scheme.  Before firing the Y mines he collected
his whole disposable force, and, amid a breathless silence,
addressed them.

"Hombres," he said, "there is one thing for us to do.
The French guns must be spiked.  I will lead the way.  I
want fifty men to follow me.  It will be dangerous, perhaps
fatal work.  Who will volunteer, for Saragossa and Spain?"

Every man held out his hand.  Jack felt proud of the
unswerving patriotism and courage of his troops.  The
trouble was, not to accept, but to refuse their offers.
He quickly selected fifty of the strongest.  Ten of these
he sent to find long nails and hammers, and they soon
returned, bearing tools of all sizes and shapes.  The
rest were armed with muskets and bayonets.  Jack gave
as many as he could pistols in addition.

"Now, hombres," he said, "when the mines explode,
the French in the houses will be destroyed, and those
behind them dismayed.  We must seize that very moment
to rush into the Casa Vega.  I shall go first.  You must
follow close upon me as rapidly as you can.  I intend
to make for the guns.  We shall spike them.  We shall
then rush back through the ruins and the houses beyond
the Casa Vallejo and take the French there in the rear.
Don Cristobal will still defend his barricade.  Antonio
here will hold the rest of you in readiness to sweep upon
the French in Vallejo and the street.  If I am overcome,
and you cannot hold the second barricades, retreat to
the Casa Alvarez and fight to the death."

The Spaniards were eager to start, and almost too
impatient to wait for the explosion.  When that occurred,
the larger débris hurled into the air had scarcely reached
the ground before Jack, followed by his devoted fifty,
dashed through the dust that was swirling in vast eddies
from the ruins.  Entering the Casa Vega by a low side
doorway, almost suffocated by the pungent fumes and
the clouds of dust, they scrambled through the ruins,
springing over stones and beams, broken furniture,
burning draperies, every man taking his own course and
trying to avoid impeding his comrades.  A few seconds
brought them to what had been the party-wall of the house.
Bearing to the left, Jack dashed into the charred ruins of
the adjoining house, through the midst of a few
Frenchmen who, injured but not killed by the explosion, were
crawling painfully away.  A glance to the right!—he saw
that the next clearing was still held by the force
supporting those who had rushed the houses; but they were in
no sort of order, having scattered to seek shelter from the
beams and stones that had descended upon them as from
the crater of a volcano.  A glance in front!—across the
narrow street, in the wrecked house nearest the gun,
Jack saw in an instant that he had a more formidable
foe to reckon with.  The French there, some 150 in
number, had not been affected materially by the explosion;
but it had taken them by surprise, and for the moment
they were at a loss what they should do.  Before they
could realize what was happening, a band of fifty fierce
yelling Spaniards, led by a young officer with sword
in one hand and pistol in the other, was among them.
A score fell at the first onset; the rest scattered to right
and left of the Spaniards, and by the time they had
collected their wits, and perceived how small was the
party engaged in this desperate sortie, Jack and the first
of his men were already engaged with the gunners.  The
onslaught was so sudden, and Jack was so intent on the
work in hand, that he was scarcely conscious of what
happened until afterwards.  One of the gunners, in the
urgency of the moment, picked up a linstock and raised
it as a kind of club.  Jack sprang straight at him, toppled
him over by the mere force of his impact, and came upon
another gunner, whose smoking musket showed that he
had just fired.  Him Jack cut down; the others
meanwhile fell to the bayonets of the Spaniards.  The gun
was reached.  Jack sped past, while a burly Catalan, with
two strokes of his huge mallet, drove a nail into the vent.
Then the whole party, diminished by half a dozen who had
fallen, swept on across the street towards the spot where
stood the two guns that commanded the Casa Vallejo.

.. _`Jack Leads a Forlorn Hope`:

.. figure:: images/img-326.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Jack Leads a Forlorn Hope

   Jack Leads a Forlorn Hope

The few seconds occupied by the tussle about the first
gun had given the gunners at the other two time to form
up.  At the same time the French behind Jack had
recovered from their surprise and were swarming upon
his track.  Would he have time to complete his work?
A few bullets pattered on the jagged remnants of walls
still standing; but the French were too much afraid of
hitting their own men to fire volleys, and those who did
shoot were too flustered to take good aim.  Amid a din
of shouting, Jack dashed into the ruins on the far side
of the street.  Some two-score men were there drawn
up ready to receive him.  Fortunately they were on the
French side of the epaulement that had been thrown across
the ruins.  Had they occupied the other side they could
have held their assailants at bay long enough for the
reserves to come up from the direction of Santa Engracia
and take them in the rear.

In a moment the two bands met.  The French were
outnumbered, but for a few seconds they held their own
around the guns.  Then the Spaniards closed about them,
and with their backs to the epaulement the valiant gunners
fell, to the last man.

The first gun was quickly spiked.  At the other a gallant
pair of Frenchmen caused a momentary delay by their
desperate defence.  But they were in turn overpowered,
and fell covered with wounds.  A nail was driven home,
and the hazardous exploit was complete.

But the peril was only just beginning.  The sortie had
been so sudden and impetuous that even if the French
had been thrice as numerous the chances were on the
side of the assailants.  But they had now had time to rally.
Sixty yards of ruins lay between the breathless Spaniards
and the Casa Vallejo, which was strongly held by the
French.  Jack hoped that the diversion from the Casa
Alvarez would keep these sufficiently employed; it was
a race between him and the French who were now coming
up from the rear of their position.  For an instant he
thought of retaining a few of his men and attempting to
check the pursuit while the remainder ran on and stormed
the French in Vallejo.  But he saw in a flash that this
exposed him to the danger of being headed off by the
enemy, who would make greater speed along the
comparatively clear street than he could make through the
ruins.  Without a moment's hesitation he bade his men
run for their lives.  That he was right was proved at
once.  Stalwart Poles and little voltigeurs were
swarming along the roadway; Jack could see them through the
gaps in the ruined walls, and hear them as they dashed
along out of sight parallel with his own men.  Would
they outrun him?  Would they succeed in joining hands
with their countrymen in Vallejo, and meet him in such
force that his own gallant band, now diminished by half,
would fall a helpless prey to them?

There broke out at this instant, ahead of him, a
pandemonium of cries, which seemed too great to proceed even
from the mingled horde of French and Spanish in Vallejo.
The foremost of his men were now at grips there with
the enemy.  He dashed into the house, and found a
desperate combat in progress there, but was surprised to see
no Frenchmen upon his flank.  He had expected to find
those who had rushed along the road now pouring into the
house through the gap in the walls.  But the French in
the house were engaged on two sides; on one side by
Jack's own party, on the other by the second sortie-party,
under Antonio's command.  That was not all.  Amid the
din Jack heard the stentorian voice of Jorge Arcos
shouting words of encouragement to his men and of obloquy
to the French; immediately afterwards the bellow of Tio
Jorge echoed through the ruins.  Jack understood now
what had so suddenly checked the French in the street.
How the great mob-leaders had come upon the scene he
knew not; it was sufficient that they had come in the nick
of time.  They had evidently manned the nearest barricade,
and, battered as that had been, it was good enough yet
to afford a strong defence.  With a sense of relief Jack
threw himself into the midst of the fray; in a few moments
the French in Vallejo were accounted for.  Emerging into
the street, Jack saw his bulky friend chasing the French
back towards the spiked gun.  The sudden sally over the
barricade, when they least expected it, and when their ranks
were in the disorder of pursuit, had been too much for the
enemy.  They gave way before Tio Jorge's impetuous
rush; then, as Jack, with a feeling of elation that once
more the enemy were foiled, arrived at the barricade, he
heard Jorge Arcos shout to his men to retire, and they
came pelting back, followed by a few wild shots from the
discomfited French.

"Viva la España!  Viva Saragossa!  Viva el Señor
Ingles!  Viva Tio Jorge!"

The air rang with the jubilant shouts of the Spaniards,
panting, dishevelled, many of them utterly exhausted.  A
strange calm succeeded the turmoil.  Scarcely a live
Frenchman was now to be seen; the ground was strewn
with dead, and with wounded whom Jack did not dare
to remove.  He knew that the lull could only be temporary;
the French would undoubtedly send for reinforcements.
After their successive checks they would not be
content until they could bring absolutely crushing force
to bear upon the obstinate defenders.  The crisis was still
to come, and Jack, after warmly congratulating Tio Jorge
and Jorge Arcos, as well as Antonio, on the brilliant
success they had done so much to bring about, returned
to the Casa Alvarez to concert means of meeting the most
formidable attack of all.

Before he reached the house he saw a girl flying towards
him, her mantilla streaming behind.

"Oh, Jack, Jack," she cried, "I thought you would be
killed!"

"Juanita!" he exclaimed.  "But you should not be
here.  It is no place for you.  You ought not to have
run into danger.  Come back with me at once."

"I came to help.  I will help!  Tia Teresa died last
night; I have no one now.  I can do something.  And
you—you are hurt!  Oh, Jack, you are covered with blood!
Come, come, at once, let me do something for you."

"I didn't know it," said Jack simply.  He brushed his
hand across his brow; it was smeared with blood.  Looking
at his coat he saw blood trickling through a rent in
the sleeve.  "It's nothing," he said.  "I don't feel a
scratch.  If you must help, Juanita—and it is brave of
you,—why, there are many others who need attention
more than I."

"You first, Jack.  Come at once; I insist!  How can
you lead your men if you are blinded with blood?  Jack,
you are doing grandly; it is splendid!"

"You are right, Señorita," put in Tio Jorge, who had
come up with them.  "All the men say the English Señor
is a hero, and, por Dios! the French will never get the
better of him."

By this time they had reached the house, where Juanita
insisted on bathing and binding up Jack's wounds before
she attended to any of the others.  Jorge Arcos had been
slightly wounded in the dash across the barricade, and
afterwards Jack remembered, with a strange glow, the
roughly-expressed gratitude of the savage innkeeper as
Juanita tenderly assisted him.

While she went about on her errand of mercy, Jack
consulted with his lieutenants.  The new-comers recognized
him unhesitatingly as their leader, and declared that they
would remain with him and support him to the utmost of
their power.  None doubted that the next fight would be
the most terrible of all; it was only a question how long
an interval would elapse before it came.  The Spaniards
had lost some forty men since the morning; they were
all on the verge of collapse; only Don Cristobal's men,
who had been unmolested at the Vega barricade, were
for the moment fit for active work.

To ascertain the movements of the French, Jack went
with Tio Jorge and Jorge Arcos to the roof of the Casa
Hontanon, that adjoined the empty shell of Vallejo.  From
that coign of vantage they could overlook the whole
district.  After a time they saw in the distance a compact
body of some 200 men approaching through the ruins from
the direction of the Franciscan convent.  With great
difficulty they were dragging a gun over the heaps of obstacles.
It must have been taken from one of the batteries now
mounted near the Coso.  Slowly they approached; nearly
an hour elapsed between their first appearance and the
placing of the gun at the end of the street facing the
Tobar barricade, on the same spot whence the spiked gun
had been withdrawn.

As soon as the gun was fairly in position, a renewal of
the bombardment of the barricade was commenced, and
the sound of heavy shots showed that an attack was being
simultaneously made on the Vega barricade.

"We can't hold Vallejo any longer," said Jack.  "We
shall be cut off from support."

"Not so, Señor," said Arcos at once.  "I will hold it
with twenty men.  If the French capture it, our flank will
be at their mercy."

"But if the French attack in force you cannot escape."

"Caramba, Señor!  What does that matter?  A man
must die, and I vow I'd rather die fighting for Saragossa
than of fever in the cellars—or of rage in a French prison."

"You are a true son of Spain, hombre," exclaimed Jack,
and the gleam in Arcos's eyes showed that he wished for
no higher praise.  "The barricades, now—it is useless to
attempt to repair them?"

"Sí, Señor," replied Tio Jorge, "but we can fill up the
breaches with sacks and baskets of earth, if we push them
out from the sides of the street."

"Very well.  Will you see that that is done?"

Tio Jorge instantly departed on his errand.  Arcos had
already gone to select his twenty men for the perilous post
in the ruins of Vallejo.

At half-past three in the afternoon the French cannonade
suddenly ceased.  Jack had placed his men in position,
but as he saw that nearly a thousand men were being
launched against scarcely more than two hundred, he felt
that even the desperate valour of his patriotic troops could
not prevail against such odds.  But it never occurred to
him, or to a single member of his gallant force, that there
was any alternative to the one simple course—to hold on
to the end.  Palafox had entrusted him with the defence
of that quarter; he would defend it to the last gasp, and
he knew that no British officer in the same situation would
have come to any other conclusion.

The attack had begun.  In the two streets the French
were rushing ten abreast at the barricades.  In the ruins
approaching Vega and Vallejo their formation was
necessarily broken, but they swept forward with a dash and
a courage which Jack, remembering their former failures,
could not but regard as magnificent.  The front ranks
seemed to melt away under the fire of the defenders, who,
well disciplined by their long experience, fired calmly and
with deadly accuracy, wasting no powder, and watching
the French advance in seeming unconcern.  But though the
enemy fell by scores, there was no halting now.  They
swarmed up to and through the breached barricades, and
ran a race with death towards the grim skeletons of the
shattered houses.  For a few seconds there was a tense
silence; the majority of the defenders had discharged their
pieces and were either reloading or preparing to repel with
the bayonet.  Then the opposing forces met; there was a
sudden babel of noise, steel clashing against steel, pistols
cracking, men shouting fiercely in their several tongues,
and some crying out in the agony of death.  The street
was narrow; for a time the French could make but little
impression on the unbroken front opposed to them, but
Jack, from his post on the roof of Hontanon, saw that it
was now a question of the most desperate close fighting.
As soon as the head of the attacking column was lost to
view beneath him, he hurried down to take his part in the
tremendous struggle.

It was as he had feared.  As soon as the French
swarmed over the Vallejo barricade, the Casa Vallejo
and its garrison became completely isolated.  At the
moment of his arrival a furious fight was proceeding at
the inner barricade.  The French charge, led by a gigantic
Polish officer, had driven the Spaniards behind their last
defence and threatened to dislodge them from that.  Jack
at once summoned twenty men from the reserve stationed
at the Casa Alvarez, and with them threw himself into the
breach, where, amid fragments of beams, displaced sacks
and baskets of earth, and the débris of part of the wall
of Vallejo thrown down by the explosion of the fougasse,
a stern hand-to-hand fight was being waged.  It was
almost impossible, in the turmoil and rush, to distinguish
friends from foes, but in the centre of the human whirlpool
the huge form of the Polish officer was conspicuous.  He
was wielding a large bar of iron, which he had picked up
among the ruins, and even at that moment Jack marvelled
at the man's immense strength.  Disdaining the blows
aimed at him by men who looked mere pigmies beside
him, he was step by step forcing a way through the
barricade towards the open space fronting the Casa Alvarez.
Jack, with his reinforcements, had arrived not a moment
too soon.  As he pushed through towards the spot where
the deadly iron, wielded with as much ease as though
it had been a malacca cane, rose and fell with fatal
regularity, the onward rush of the French was stayed for a
moment.  Another second would have brought the two
leaders together; but Jack was not yet to cross weapons
with the Pole.  At the very instant when they came within
striking distance there was a terrible crash; Pole and
Englishman started instinctively.  A huge mass of masonry
had fallen from Vallejo upon the outer barricade, into the
midst of the crowded ranks of the Frenchmen, of whom a
score at least were buried beneath the ruins.  Even above
the clash of weapons, the shouts of the combatants, and
the groans of the wounded, a shrill mocking voice could
be heard exulting in the deadly effect of the avalanche, and
raining frantic curses upon the French.  In the moment of
surprise the enemy gave way.  Glancing up, Jack saw the
figure of the madwoman, the demented Doña Mercedes
Ortega, giddily poised upon a jagged corner of masonry
that threatened every instant to follow the rest into the
street below.  The poor creature had seen from the Casa
Alvarez that the outer wall of Vallejo had been so breached
that a push would precipitate it into the street upon
the barricade.  Escaping from Juanita's detaining hand,
as Jack afterwards learnt, she had crept from the roof
of the Casa Hontanon on to the wall of Vallejo; had
leapt from point to point of the uneven summit, reached
the corner overlooking the street, and with the strength
of frenzy had pushed the masonry down, working more
havoc among the enemy than had been wrought by many
an elaborately-prepared mine.

While she stood on her precarious eminence, wildly
gesticulating in her insane triumph, there was the report
of a musket from down the street.  She swayed for a
brief moment upon the crumbling wall, uttered one
heart-rending shriek of "Juanino!" and fell lifeless upon the
ruins below.

The interruption was but momentary.  At the instant
when the hapless Doña Mercedes fell, Jorge Arcos,
desperately wounded, struggled from the ruins of Vallejo,
followed by half a dozen of his men, all showing terrible
signs of the struggle they had made to hold the position.
While a portion of Jack's force continued their gallant
attempt to repel the French from the barricade, the rest
swarmed into the house, only to be driven out again with
heavy loss by the enemy, who, backed by a large force
in the ruins, had now an overwhelming superiority in
numbers.  In the street the gigantic Pole, swept away
from before Jack, returned to the attack at the head
of a compact band of his compatriots, and the Spaniards,
still fighting furiously, were driven back inch by inch
through the gap in the barricade, their retirement being
hastened by shots from the walls of the Casa Tobar,
which, together with its neighbour, the ruined Casa
Vega, had fallen into French hands.  Save for the Casa
Alvarez and the surrounding streets, the whole of the
quarter towards Santa Engracia had now been captured,
and Jack, extricating himself from the mêlée, saw that
it was time to play his last card.

"Señor," said Antonio, running up at this moment,
"Don Cristobal sends me to say that he still holds his
barricade, but that he will not be able to do so for more
than a few minutes longer."

"You are the man I want, Antonio," replied Jack.
"Run to the Casa Alvarez, send every man of the reserve
to me, and go into the cellars and fire the last of our
mines.  Don't wait; do it at once."

Antonio, who was almost unrecognizable from his
wounds, at once returned to the house.  Immediately
afterwards the remnant of the reserve dashed out, and
threw themselves into the fray with a vigour which for
a moment checked the enemy's advance.  A few seconds
later there came the deafening crash which Jack expected.
Huge fragments of the walls of the houses were projected
into the street, injuring a few of the Spaniards who were
still tenaciously defending the extremities of the inner
Vallejo barricade, but working fearful havoc among the
French between the two barricades and in the street
beyond.  Volumes of blinding smoke poured from the
shattered houses, into which, at Jack's order, Antonio
rushed with a party of men.  He himself, calling on the
rest of his troops to follow him, sprang through the
barricade, leading an impetuous charge against the distraught
enemy.  Even as he did so he heard the strident voice of
Santiago Sass behind him, urging on the men, and
shouting Latin words of denunciation and triumph.  Dismayed
by their repeated failures, appalled at the apparent
inexhaustibility of the defenders' resources, the French were
now giving way like sheep, in spite of all the exertions,
example, and admonition of their officers.  The big Pole,
carried away in the rush towards the outer barricade,
there turned and lifted his iron bar to deliver a crushing
blow at Jack, who was just behind him.  The fraction of
a second occupied by his wheeling round cost him his life.
Before the blow could fall, Jack closed with him and ran
him through the body.

Meanwhile the French in Vallejo, some of whom had
been hurt by portions of the flying masonry, had caught the
infection of panic, evacuated the position, and fled
helter-skelter across the ruins.  Jack saw the danger of allowing
his men to become widely scattered in pursuit.  Stopping
at the outer barricade, he ordered his men to withdraw, in
spite of the frenzied imprecations of Santiago Sass, who
would have thrown himself single-handed against a host.
The Spaniards retired slowly; they were clearly indisposed
to relinquish the pursuit, though all were well-nigh spent,
and some, indeed, when the excitement had subsided,
dropped their weapons and fell beside them on the ground.
At length the whole of the force was withdrawn behind the
inner barricade.

Jack stood there panting, wondering how long respite
he would have before the French came on again, when
he heard his name called from behind, and, turning, saw
Juanita running towards him.

"Go back!" he cried; "for God's sake, go back,
Juanita!  This is no place for you."

"A white flag, Jack!  a white flag!"

"What do you mean?"

"A man is coming round the corner of the street with
a white flag.  I saw him from a window."

"What!  Another regiment coming to attack us!"

"No, it is not a regiment.  It is one man carrying a
small white flag, and another, an officer, walking by his
side.  Oh, it must be a flag of truce, Jack!  See, there
he is, turning the corner of the street."

It was as she said.  Above the epaulement protecting
the French gun at the end of the street a white flag was
held aloft.  A moment afterwards the Frenchman bearing
it stepped into the street, and, accompanied by an officer,
began to approach Jack's position, picking his way among
the débris and the bodies of the slain.

"I must go to meet him," said Jack.  "Have you
anything to match his flag, Juanita?  I've nothing fit to
be seen."

Juanita handed him her handkerchief.  Tying this to
a musket, Jack gave his extemporized flag to one of his
men, and walked down the street to meet the Frenchman.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`French Leave`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXIX


.. class:: center large bold

   French Leave

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Overtures—Capitulation—Prisoners of War—Colonel
   de Ferrusat—In Tudela—Personally Conducted—Adding
   Insult to Injury—Quos ego—Before a Fall—Out of Bondage

.. vspace:: 2

Meeting midway down the street, the officers courteously
saluted each other.

"I come with a flag of truce, Señor," said the Frenchman
in very bad Spanish.

"I understand French, monsieur," replied Jack with a
slight smile, which the other returned.  The Frenchman
continued, speaking now in French:

"Marshal Lannes has given the order to cease fire, and
has sent an aide-de-camp into the town to discuss terms
of capitulation."

It was impossible not to feel an unutterable sense of
relief.  But Jack gave no sign of it to the Frenchman.

"Can you give me any particulars?" he said.

"Yes, monsieur, certainly.  Last night General Palafox
sent his aide-de-camp to ask our marshal for a three days'
truce, and asking impossible terms.  These, of course, were
refused, and the fighting was resumed.  But your people
seem now to be more amenable to reason, and, to tell you
the truth, monsieur, I have great hopes that this very
afternoon the end of this most lamentable siege will come.
It is, of course, impossible and useless for your people
to continue the struggle."

"That, monsieur, is a matter for our general to determine."

"Allons, allons, monsieur!  You have made a brave
defence, but you are being driven in at all points, and
it can only be a matter of a few hours before we capture
your whole city."

"I can only speak for myself, monsieur," said Jack
quietly; "but it is now nearly three weeks since I had
the honour to be appointed to this quarter.  I am now,
monsieur, where I was then."

The French officer smiled, and bowing, half-ceremoniously,
half-humorously, said:

"Pardon my oversight.  Permit me, monsieur, to offer
my congratulations to a so gallant foe."

After an exchange of courtesies, Jack returned to his
men, who had watched the scene with mingled excitement
and distrust.

"Hombres," he said, "a truce is proclaimed.  There
will be no more fighting for the present."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Juanita.  "That means that
we shall capitulate at last."

"Capitulate!" cried Santiago Sass.  "Never, hombres!
To the Aljafferia palace with me!  Never will we
surrender—never! never!"

But none followed him save Tio Jorge.  No sooner had
he gone than a tremendous explosion occurred near the
University.  Some French engineer officers, who had not
heard of the cessation of hostilities, exploded a mine,
and the jet of stones ascended to such a height that it
was visible to the whole town.  Crowds of people rushed
towards the Aljafferia palace, crying for vengeance on the
treacherous French, and demanding that the French envoy,
at that moment in consultation with the Junta, should be
instantly put to death.  He was only saved from being
torn in pieces, by the intervention of some Spanish officers
with drawn swords, and by a message from the French
marshal expressing regret for the unfortunate accident.
Marshal Lannes' message to the Junta was peremptory.
He allowed two hours for deputies to be sent him with
full powers to arrange a capitulation.  The news was
brought to Jack by Tio Jorge, whose weather-beaten face
was expressive of the deepest dejection.

The interval was spent in anxious suspense.  Juanita
went from one to another of Jack's wounded men, doing
all that was possible to ease their sufferings.  It was
her tender ministry that soothed the last moments of big
Jorge Arcos, who was past recovery, and who died
breathing words of thankfulness.

Later in the evening Jack learnt the result of the
negotiations.  The Spanish deputies had again tried to extort
impossible terms from Marshal Lannes, but his most
effective reply was to unroll before them a plan of his
mines, from which they saw that the centre of the city
was in imminent danger of being blown to atoms.  After
this the discussion was short.  Jack had to inform his
gallant but exhausted men that the garrison was to march
out next morning and deliver up their arms.  All who
would not take the oath of allegiance to King Joseph were
to be sent as prisoners to France.  He pointed out that
the terms were on the whole lenient.  The French knew
how to respect a brave enemy.  And he did not fail to
impress upon the men that, so far as they personally were
concerned, they could always remember that nowhere else
throughout the city had the defence been more stoutly
maintained or more successful.  This recollection would
sweeten whatever was bitter in the surrender.

When the men had accepted the inevitable, and the
quarter had settled down, Jack found time for a serious
consultation with Juanita.  Now that her aunt was dead,
there was nothing to fetter her movements.  Jack had
found a number of respectable farming people who would
return, after the capitulation, to their homes in the
direction of Calatayud, and had arranged that Juanita should
accompany them.  He explained to Pepito what was
required of him—that he should go with the Señorita, and
never leave her except at her own command.  Once more
he assured Juanita that within a week, by hook or by
crook, he would rejoin her.  Then, late at night, he
accompanied her back to her lodging, and took leave of
her in a spirit of unbounded hopefulness.

Next morning the last scene of this great siege was
enacted.  At daybreak all the posts around the city were
occupied by the French.  At noon the French troops were
drawn up in order of battle on the Aragon road, holding
lighted matches in readiness to prevent any attempt of
the Spaniards to break loose.  Then the garrison marched
out.  Jack never forgot the sad and touching spectacle.
With Don Cristobal and other officers he stood, under
guard of a detachment of the 5th Léger regiment, near
the Portillo Gate, and witnessed the whole scene as the
mixed column, soldiers and peasants, defiled past.  It
was a motley crowd.  There were young and old, some
in uniform, others in peasant rags.  Even the most ragged
had tried to smarten up their appearance by tying
bright-coloured sashes round their waists.  Their large round
hats, surmounted with feathers, and their brown ponchos
flung over their shoulders, made their very tatters
picturesque.  Their pale emaciated features were scorched,
and scarred with wounds.  Many had long black matted
beards.  All had been so much weakened by disease
and privation that they could scarcely stagger along
under the weight of their weapons.  Some were smoking
cigarillos, and affecting an air of proud indifference to
their fate; others took no pains to conceal their rage, but
ground their teeth and glared out of their gleaming
haggard eyes at the enemy they had withstood so long.
Women and children were mingled with them, and these
wept bitterly, and, flinging themselves on their knees
before the effigy of Our Lady in the gate, prayed for
solace in their affliction.  The whole population numbered
but 15,000 souls; nearly four times that number had
perished during the two months of the siege.

The scene was closed by the warriors delivering up
their arms and flags, many of them then being unable to
refrain from tears and violent cries of rage and despair.
Within the city the victorious French had now begun to
plunder the houses and churches of all the valuables left
in them.  At the Aljafferia Castle, Palafox, ill as he was,
had been brutally treated by a French colonel, appointed
temporary governor of Saragossa.  Jack learnt long
afterwards that even before the brave captain-general had
recovered from his illness he was carried off to France,
where Napoleon, instead of treating him as a prisoner of
war, with the generosity due to a chivalrous foe, chose
to regard him as a traitor, and kept him for several
years a captive in the gloomy keep of the Chateau of
Vincennes.

Jack himself was more fortunate.  Along with Don
Cristobal and other officers he fell at first into the more
kindly hands of the captain who had brought him the
flag of truce.  He remained in the French camp for two
days after the capitulation, and was able to assure himself
that Juanita had got safely away.  Meanwhile the main
body of the garrison had already been put in motion for
France.  On the 23rd Jack's own turn came.  He took
a friendly farewell of the French captain who had been
responsible for him, and who was in entire ignorance that
he had an Englishman, not a Spaniard, to deal with.
His last sight of Saragossa was made terrible by a scene
he witnessed as he set out among a large company of
officers and men, defenceless prisoners.  They passed a
spot where two Spaniards in priests' robes stood upright
against a wall, opposite a firing-party of French.  As the
volley rang out, Jack recognized the victims of this act
of cold-blooded murder; they were Don Basilio Bogiero
and Santiago Sass.

.. vspace:: 2

Monsieur le Colonel Hilaire Maxime Lucien de Ferussat,
of the 121st regiment of the line, felt pardonably annoyed
when he found that his corps, or what remained of it, had
been selected, with another of Morlot's regiments, to escort
the Spanish prisoners to Bayonne.  The duty involved
hard marching, and brought no glory, and Glory, as he
was never tired of declaiming at his mess-table, was the
sole object for which every true Frenchman should live
and die.  He had not distinguished himself very greatly
in the operations of the siege; indeed it was whispered
among his fellow-officers, who did not love him, that his
selection for the escort duty was by no means a mark of
Marshal Lannes' favour.  He himself, however, seemed
quite unconscious of everything except that he had a
grievance in being thus shunted for some weeks off the
highroad to fame, and, as was only to be expected, the
wretched prisoners in his charge bore the brunt of his
displeasure.  They were physically incapable of prolonged
marches, but that was nothing to monsieur le colonel.
He was determined to reach Bayonne as soon as possible.
He played the drover with the unfortunate Spaniards, and
many of them succumbed to fatigue and illness on the
road.  The men of his escort, adopting his attitude, and
themselves resenting the rapidity of the march after all
their hardships, were in no mood to spare the wretches
committed to their charge, and many a prod with the
butt-end of a musket, or the more lethal bayonet,
quickened the steps of laggards until they could endure
no longer, but dropped and died.

Mounted on a fine Andalusian charger, Colonel de
Ferussat rode up and down the line, roundly abusing
the non-commissioned officers of his party whenever he
saw any tendency to straggling among the prisoners.

"Peste!" he said to one sergeant, in charge of a herd
of some 200 miserable skeletons; "if you value your
chevrons you will step out more briskly.  No more of this
lagging, or, saprelotte!  I'll reduce you."  A moment or
two later he turned to the captain of a company: "How
long, monsieur le capitaine," he cried, "how long do you
propose to spend in herding these pigs of Spaniards?
Your men are dawdling as if they were sweethearting in
the Bois."

Such remarks caused a quickening all along the column
until the lost ground was made up.  With such a
commander it was not surprising that the men took short
measures to save themselves trouble.  Many a prisoner who
found the pace too fast, and sank down with a groan, was
spared further suffering.  One bullet was usually enough.

Late in the afternoon of the second day after leaving
Saragossa, Colonel de Ferussat's column wound its way
into Tudela, a place held in bitter memory by those of
the prisoners who had formed part of Castaños' army on
the fatal 23rd of November.  The scared inhabitants
sullenly submitted to having the prisoners, with their guards,
quartered upon them.  Every building of any pretensions
was occupied; but the smaller houses were left, for
monsieur le colonel had a wholesome dread of scattering his
men too widely.

Colonel de Ferussat took up his quarters in the Plaza
de Toros.  His chagrin was somewhat mollified when
he found that under the same roof was lodged no less
a personage than General Chabot, who was on his way
southward to rejoin his division, operating under General
Gouvion de Saint-Cyr in Catalonia.  The colonel thought
a good deal of generals, for did he not expect to be a
general himself some day?  When, therefore, on entering
the house, he found General Chabot himself lolling at ease,
his coat thrown open and his jack-boots unlaced, he saluted
with an air of unction, and prepared to make himself
amiable.

"Bonsoir, monsieur le général!" he said, sweeping his
plumed hat at a radius of a yard.

"Bonsoir, colonel!" responded the general.  "En route
for France, I presume?"

"Yes, monsieur le general, and with the most paltry
set of prisoners a French officer ever had.  As scarecrows
they'd disgrace any farmer's field in La Beauce."

"Ah!  I had heard from some of your predecessors on
the road about the end of the siege.  I wonder at such a
rabble being able to hold out so long."

"Rabble indeed, monsieur le général.  But there! what
are Spaniards but rabble!  If you had only seen them
three months ago, when the marshal whipped them at this
very spot!"

"You were at the battle, colonel?"

"Ma foi!" ejaculated the colonel, "I was indeed present
on that amusing day."

"I shall be glad to hear something of the fight—if
you can spare time, colonel."

"You honour me by the request.  Would you care to
ride over the field with me?  We have time before it is
dark."

"Certainly; I shall understand the details so much the
more clearly if I see the actual site."

In a few minutes the two officers were riding side by
side over the battle-field, on which many grim tokens of
the struggle lay scattered.  Striking into the road that
led from the village in a south-westerly direction, between
olive groves and stone fences, they passed the hill of Santa
Quiteria, where the Spanish centre, under San March and
O'Neill, had been so cleverly outflanked by Maurice
Mathieu, and arrived at length at Cascante, the extreme
left of the Spanish position, where La Pena, with
characteristic stupidity, had remained inactive throughout the
fight.  Then, retracing their course, they turned to the left,
and rode past the spot where Colbert had held his cavalry
until the pursuit began.  Leaving Tudela on their right,
they came within sight of the Cerro de Santa Barbara,
where Roca had been so brilliantly outmanoeuvred by
General Morlot.

General Chabot had been so eager to obtain a
comprehensive view of the whole scene of action that he had
set a quick pace, which the colonel found rather
discommoding to his rotundity.  But he bore it all without a
murmur, for he was deeply imbued with the importance
of paying becoming deference to the higher powers.  He
was, however, somewhat blown and heated when he pulled
up at a large house near the Ebro, commanding an
excellent view of the Cerro de Santa Barbara and the country
whence Morlot had delivered his attack.  Round two sides
of the house ran a veranda, the roof being supported by
light pillars resting on a low balustrade.  Beneath the
veranda stood a group of Spanish officers.  They had just
marched in, and were awaiting the preparation of the
interior of the building, which was being got ready for
them.  A sentry with fixed bayonet was stationed at the
corner of the veranda, and a squad of some twenty men
had piled arms in the open plaza beyond.  An equal number
of Frenchmen were inside the house.

"A capital horse of yours, colonel!" said the general
admiringly, as they reined up just outside the balustrade.
"Mine is wheezing a little, you observe, while yours is
hardly breathed."

"It is an excellent beast indeed," panted De Ferussat,
with a gratified smile.  "I got it from a ridiculous old
Spanish nobleman at Pamplona, months ago—at a low
figure, I assure you; hi! hi!  But look, monsieur le
général, it was out there"—he pointed towards the
Ebro—"that we first came in touch with these cowardly curs
of Spaniards."

He made no attempt to moderate his voice.  Every word
was clearly audible to the gaunt group in the veranda, and
some of them looked with a glare of impotent rage at the
ill-mannered officer.  As if to obtain a clearer view of the
field he edged his horse up to the balustrade, and continued
his narrative.

"There were about 50,000 of them, but we had at least
half that number, so that there was not much doubt of
the issue.  The more Spaniards in the field, monsieur le
général, the more there are to run away.  Hi! hi!"

He laughed, a harsh grating cackle of satisfaction that
made several of the Spaniards behind him turn livid with
wrath.  General Chabot, to whom his remarks were
ostensibly addressed, seemed ill at ease.  Like most of
Napoleon's lieutenants, he was a rough-and-ready soldier,
but he at any rate had a genuine Frenchman's respect
for a gallant foe, and he was reluctant to connive, even
tacitly, at De Ferussat's gross insult to helpless prisoners.
But, all unconscious of the contempt with which his
superior officer was beginning to regard him, the colonel
continued:

"Our division, you observe, was posted behind the
Cerro de Santa Barbara yonder.  There were thousands
of Spaniards on the summit.  Behold how steep the slope!
Imagine their marvellous bravery!  Ma foi, monsieur, but
courage is indeed magnificent at the top of a hill!  Hi! hi!
They plumed themselves that we could not get at them.
But mark, monsieur le général, that was a mistake—oh! trifling,
but a mistake all the same.  Why?  There were
French at the bottom.  I was there, monsieur.  To me
turns General Morlot, and says: 'De Ferussat, mon ami,
your battalion will take that hill.'  A word—parbleu! and
at a word the thing is done.  Do you see, monsieur le
general, that narrow cleft on the hillside?  Voila!  That
is where we climbed up, I and my men."  The general
glanced somewhat incredulously at the protuberant figure
beside him.  "It was unguarded, and before the Spaniards
knew what was happening, behold! we are upon them.  A
few minutes, then pouf!—General Roca's division is
pouring past the spot where we are now standing, squeezing
through the streets of the city on to the Saragossa road.
Farther to the left yonder, General Lefebvre-Desnouettes—alas
that he is now a prisoner!—broke the enemy's
centre with his cavalry; and presto! the other Spanish
generals were kissing the heels of Roca's braves, off to
Saragossa.  Tredame! how these Spaniards can run when
there is a French bayonet behind them!  It was laughable,
truly a comedy, a farce.  I laugh always when I think
of it.  Hi! hi!"

Colonel de Ferussat's recollections had once more
overcome his gravity; but the first strident notes of his
cackle had barely had time to lacerate the ears of the
prisoners when there was a slight commotion behind
him.  Even while his mouth was agape he felt a powerful
grip upon his collar, and in a twinkling he was turning
a complete somersault from the saddle to the balustrade,
and thence to the floor of the veranda.  While he had been
delivering himself of his double-edged reminiscences a
young Spanish officer, unobtrusively detaching himself
from the group, had moved quietly to within striking
distance of the sentry on guard, who was listening with
open-mouthed appreciation.  Disposing of him with a
single knock-down blow, the officer had leapt upon the
balustrade and hurled the fat colonel from his seat.

As De Ferussat rebounded from the balustrade, his
steed, naturally nervous at this unusual experience, started
aside, and the reins were jerked from the Frenchman's
grip.  In an instant the young officer threw himself into
the vacant saddle, and as the horse, now thoroughly
alarmed, dashed madly forward, its new rider just
succeeded in grasping the reins short at the neck, and clung
to his seat by the sheer muscular grip of his knees.

The whole incident had passed rapidly, but General
Chabot, with the readiness of an old campaigner, bent
forward to clutch the near rein of the maddened horse.
His own horse swerving at the critical moment, he missed
his grip and himself almost overbalanced, and though he
at once spurred his charger into a gallop, endeavouring
to unbutton the holsters containing his pistols, the
fugitive had gained at least twenty yards before the pursuer's
horse settled into its stride.

Jack almost shouted with glee as he lay forward on his
horse's neck and got his feet into the stirrups, expecting
every moment that a hail of bullets would come flying
after him.  But, hearing the clatter of the general's horse
behind, he lifted himself and laughed, and began to hum
a song he remembered Shirley was fond of:

   |  "Oh, who will o'er the downs so free,
   |  Oh, who will with me ride,
   |  Oh, who will up and follow me—"

The general was up and following him, but he cared
nothing for that.  Not a shade of misgiving crossed his
exultation.  While the general pursued him he was safe.
The group of French soldiers in the square had rushed to
their arms, but were unable to fire, for General Chabot
was between them and the fugitive.  Colonel de Ferussat,
purple to the verge of apoplexy, was spluttering with
rage and pain, intensified by the evident delight of the
Spanish officers, who, forgetting that they were in the
man's power, were openly laughing at him.  In the street,
meanwhile, soldiers and civilians alike cleared out of the
way of the dashing horsemen, not realizing at first what
had happened.  When they did understand, Jack was
beyond their reach.  He could not stop to choose his
course.  He urged his steed straight along the road, out
at the north gate of the town, into the country of vineyard
and olive grove, gaining on his pursuer, even steadying
his horse somewhat when he found that the beautiful and
spirited animal had the heels of the general's charger.
Chabot must have recognized this, but with dogged
pertinacity he held on for nearly two miles, only desisting
from the chase when he found that his horse was failing.
Then he discharged his pistol; the shot flew wide.  Jack
turned on the saddle and swept off his sombrero in ironical
salutation; and as the Frenchman drew rein, Jack jogged
the heaving flanks of his steed with his spurless boots,
and cantered gaily off into the dusk.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Whip Hand`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXX


.. class:: center large bold

   The Whip Hand

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   No Thoroughfare—A Mountain Inn—A Night with
   Guerrilleros—The Parting Guest—A Little
   Dinner—Antonio in Command—A Night Surprise—On
   the Latch—Mars and Bacchus—The Festive Board—Monsieur
   Taberne off Duty—A Toast—The Score—Crowded
   Moments—A Fight in the Glade—Quietus

.. vspace:: 2

Nothing ever gave Jack more pleasure to remember than
that ride from Tudela.  The scent of spring was in the
air, birds were twittering ere they tucked themselves up
for the night, and under him was a beautiful horse, whose
easy swinging motion was a double joy after so many
weeks of hardship and confinement.

"It is good to be alive," he thought, as he rode on,
humming gaily.  "And now what am I to do?"

He had only the vaguest idea of the country.  He was
riding north-west from Tudela.  The red glow of sunset
was fading on his left hand.  Calatayud, where he hoped
to find Juanita, was far to the south-west.  Now that he
was quite clear of pursuit, his best plan, he thought, would
be to double on his track, and, while avoiding Tudela, and
any other place likely to hold a French garrison, to make
his way back again towards Saragossa, keeping somewhat
west of the highway until he struck the road between that
city and Calatayud.

"But it will not do to go too far west," he thought,
"or I shall get among the mountains, and then goodness
knows when I'll find my way out again."

Cautiously enquiring his way at cottages along the road,
he arrived in about three hours at the outskirts of the
township of Agreda.  It was necessary to pass through
the place.  He thought it more than likely that the French
would have a garrison there, for the mountain ranges
beyond were the haunt of several guerrilla bands which
the enemy were making spirited but ineffectual efforts to
keep in check.  He therefore rode in, with one pistol
cocked in his right hand, and the holster of the other
unbuttoned, in readiness for any emergency.

The moon was rising, and Jack, as he passed through
the principal street, noticed that narrow lanes led out from
it on both sides, presumably towards the vineyards with
which the surrounding valley was covered.  His horse
trod silently on the roadway, owing to a thick bed of last
year's leaves placed upon it by the people, for the purpose
of making manure.  There was no light in any of the
houses; everybody appeared to have retired to rest, and
Jack was congratulating himself on having reached the
last house, when he came suddenly upon five mounted
French carabineers, with drawn swords, blocking the
street.  They had apparently just come into the town from
the other end, on a reconnoitring expedition.  They saw him
at the same moment, and with a shout dashed forward.
With only his two pistols to rely on, Jack chose the
discreet part, and instantly wheeled his horse round to
the right into one of the lanes, in which there was no
more than space for one rider to pass.  It was a steep
ascent, and his horse, gallantly breasting the hill, showed
signs of fatigue natural after the long distance already
travelled.  Something must be done to check the pursuit,
for if the Frenchmen had fresh horses they were bound
to run him down as soon as they drew out of the lane
Springing from his horse where the path opened into the
vineyards, he fired at the leading man, who was within
a few yards of him, and then, with some compunction,
discharged his second pistol at the trooper's horse.  It
fell.  There was a cry, followed by confused shouts.
Jack quietly remounted, and threaded his way through
the vineyards, bearing to the left until he struck a road
that appeared to lead in the direction he wished to go.
He looked cautiously about, in case his recent assailants
had belonged to a scattered party.  Finding no trace
of an enemy, he sped on his way.

The road was rocky and uneven, winding among the
hills, which showed bare and ghostly in the increasing
moonlight.  After riding on for some six or seven miles,
wondering where he was going and how long his horse
would hold out, he was passing by the brink of a ravine
overhung by a dark wall of rock, when in a narrow cleft
to the right he fancied he saw a glimmer of artificial light.
At once dismounting, he led his horse towards it, carefully
picking his way over the rough ground.  At the end of the
narrow defile he came to a venta of rough-hewn stone, with
large casements, all of which were closed with wooden
shutters.  The light he had seen proceeded from a round
knot-hole in the shutter of one of the rooms on the
ground-floor.  The hole was higher than his head.  Remounting,
he drew his horse sideways to the house, and, stooping,
put his eye to the peep-hole.  He saw a spacious room,
part kitchen, part dining-room, and part dormitory, to
judge from the dirty mattresses spread here and there on
the floor.  In the centre of the wall to the right was an
immense chimney-piece, where a pile of pine-logs were
crackling and blazing merrily.  Over the fire two huge
black kettles were suspended, and in front a long iron
spit, garnished with fowls and goats'-flesh, was turned by
a miserable-looking dog, which, perched against the wall
in a wooden barrel, must have suffered both from the heat
and from the tread-mill work it was forced to do.

Opposite the fire, at a more comfortable distance, Jack
saw a large table, around which, seated on benches,
crippled chairs, and upturned casks, a score or more of
men were beguiling the time, till supper should be ready,
by frequent applications to the wine-jug.  A glance at
their dress was sufficient to inform Jack of their condition.
They wore short tight-fitting jackets, low-crowned black
hats with the brim looped up on one side, breeches fastened
at the knee with coloured ribbons, and long leather gaiters.
From pegs on the wall hung long brown cloaks, and in the
corners lay heaps of sabres, pistols, and long carbines.

"Guerrilleros, for a ducat!" said Jack to himself, "and
a desperate set.  They have not even troubled to post
a sentry.  I'm afraid they'll have to be my bed-fellows
to-night, at any rate."

Without hesitation he rapped smartly on the door with
the butt of a pistol.  There was a sound of movement
within, heavy steps approached the door, and a gruff voice
demanded:

"Quien vive?"

"España!" said Jack, giving the usual countersign,
then by a happy inspiration adding: "Amigo de Antonio
el valiente guerrillero."

With an exclamation of delight the man inside drew the
bolts and threw open the door.  The light from a lamp
streamed out, and Jack, bending his head, asked whether
he could be put up at the inn for the night.

"Verdaderamente, Señor," replied the guerrillero,
recognizing from Jack's tone that he had a caballero to deal
with.  In a few minutes the horse was stabled, and Jack
was seated at the table, partaking of the savoury stew
poured bubbling from the chaldron, and answering the
men's eager questions about the end of the siege of
Saragossa.  They belonged to the band of which Pablo
Quintanar and Antonio had been the leaders, and were
burning with anxiety as to the fate of those sturdy
guerrilleros.  Many a deep growl of rage and indignation
burst from them when they learnt of Quintanar's treason,
many a sigh of satisfaction when they heard of his fate;
and when they knew that Antonio had come safely
through the siege, they were all confident that somehow
or other he would escape from the French, and hasten to
rejoin them in their mountain fastnesses.

Jack in his turn asked for information, which the men
were not very ready to give.  All that he learnt of their
movements was that they had recently left Soria and were
going southward by easy stages, hoping to meet members
of their band escaping from Saragossa.  He spent a
comfortless night in the dirty inn, and departed next morning
early, glad to have got off from such rough companions
without the loss of his horse, on which they had cast
longing eyes.

All that day he travelled by devious paths among the
mountains, asking his way of the few people he met,
putting up at night in a ruined cabin, and arriving late on
the following evening in the neighbourhood of Morata.
Remembering that the Alvarez country house was near
at hand, he found on enquiry that it lay a few miles to the
north, and was at present in charge of one old man, who
had been a gardener on the estate.  Suspecting that
Morata itself might be garrisoned by the French, he
decided to turn off before reaching the town, and to seek
shelter for the night at the Alvarez villa.

Spring had set in unusually early this year, and as Jack
rode through the lanes he rejoiced in the bright sunshine
and the scent of lavender and rosemary, violets and
narcissus, that filled the warm air.  He reached the villa at
dusk.  It stood half-way up a hill, in a walled garden,
amid luxuriant foliage of laurels.  On three sides the
garden wall was approached by the young growth of
olive plantations.  The house itself was a long low
building of white stone, mellowed by age and weather.  A
broad oak balcony ran round, sheltering the ground-floor
rooms from the sun's rays; and amid its massive columns
creeping plants, already in full leaf, pushed their way
towards the roof.  As Jack rode up, the odours of honeysuckle
and clematis greeted his nostrils, and he noted the
small white stars of the jessamine glittering among their
narrow dark-green leaves.

The caretaker, a bent old man, received Jack somewhat
mistrustfully, but thawed when he was assured of his
friendship for the Alvarez family, and volubly deplored the
ruin which had fallen upon it.  He conducted the visitor
over the house and round the immense garden, shaking
his head at the wildness of its untended state; all the
rose-trees wanted trimming, the fruit-trees pruning, and the
strawberries, already ripe, were rotting in their beds.  He
did what he could, but what was one gardener for such
an immense garden?  He made up a bed for Jack in one
of the upper rooms, and promised to provide as good a
breakfast as possible in the morning.

Shortly after six Jack was urgently aroused by the old man.

"Señor, Señor," he said, "there are cavalry approaching
up the hill.  They are French—I am sure they are; it
is not safe to stay longer."

Jack was up in a trice.  Hurrying to the stable he quickly
saddled his horse, stuffed some bread into his pocket, and
made off by a side gate leading out of the garden just as
the horsemen drew rein in front of the house.  Fortunately
the wall hid him from too curious eyes as he led his horse
rapidly away.  Gaining an olive plantation a quarter of a
mile up the hill, he decided to wait there for a while, in
the hope of discovering something about the horsemen
whose advent had broken his sleep.  After about half an
hour, peeping over a stone fence, he saw them leave the
casa, and strike off in a north-easterly direction among
the foot-hills.  Only the tops of their helmets were visible
as they trotted past, a shoulder of the hillside hiding the
rest of them from view.  He counted forty-two.  As soon
as they had disappeared he returned on foot to the house,
taking his chance of any Frenchman remaining there.  He
found the old gardener in a frenzy of rage and agitation.

"The cursed Frenchmen!" he cried.  "Gone—yes, they
are all gone, but they are coming back—this evening.
They are foraging, and among them is a dastardly
Spaniard, an afrancesado, Señor.  He asked me
questions; he wanted to know where José Pinzon, old Don
Fernan's servant, is.  As if I would answer him, even it
I knew!—a traitor, who knows the country and is guiding
the French to spoil his countrymen.  He told them that
the casa would give them good lodging when their work
is done, and ordered me—yes, the dog of an afrancesado
ordered me—to have ready a good dinner for them—for
him and three officers, and nearly forty men—by the time
they return.  They come from Calatayud; would to God
they'd break their necks in the hills and never return
alive!"

Jack was sympathetic with the old man, but after all
much less concerned with his troubles than with the
possibilities of a scheme that had flashed upon him.  The
guerrilleros he had lately left were marching in that
direction from a point somewhat to the west of the line taken
by the French.  There was little chance of their falling in
with the foraging-party, but it was at least possible that,
if they could be found, they might be able to arrange a
little surprise for the French when they returned.  Were
they still in the neighbourhood?  Jack thought it worth
while to spend a few hours in discovering this, and
decided to return to the plantation where he had left his
horse, and ride off.  Before going he asked the old
Spaniard to leave unbolted a door he had noticed at the
back of the house; it was evidently little used, and now
almost hidden by tangled masses of creepers.

"I may want to get in to-night," he said.

His horse, refreshed by a good night's rest, covered the
ground at a rapid pace.  Jack eagerly scanned the bare
hills for signs whether of friend or foe; it was always
possible that the French had turned off in his direction
after visiting this or that farm or country house.  But he
saw nothing for nearly two hours, when, having ridden, as
he estimated, some twenty miles, he suddenly heard a voice,
from a rocky ridge at his left hand, calling him to halt
He reined up instantly, and shouted back in Spanish:

"Who are you?  I am a friend."

"Get off your horse and put down your pistol then."

It was a peremptory order, which Jack at any other
moment might have resented; but there was no time to
spare, and he decided immediately to risk compliance.
The speaker then emerged from behind his rock, and
stood revealed in the rough yet gaudy costume of a
guerrillero.

"Hombre, take me to your captain," said Jack, stepping
towards him.  "I must speak with him instantly."

The man pointed out a narrow path between the rocks,
just wide enough to admit a horse, and a few minutes
later Jack was led into the presence of his stalwart friend
Antonio.  Explanations were soon exchanged.  Antonio,
having become an inoffensive civilian on the fall of
Saragossa, had had no difficulty in making his way to the
mountains.  Falling in with a portion of his old band that
had been raiding French convoys along the Saragossa-Tudela
road, he had, only a short time before Jack's
arrival, effected a junction with the smaller band whom
Jack had met in the inn.  He was now the leader of a
total force of over a hundred men, among whom Jack
recognized with pleasure several of his sturdiest fighters
during the siege.

When Antonio had explained to the others who Jack
was, their enthusiasm knew no bounds.  The Saragossa
veterans had already told them what their English leader
had accomplished during the siege; how theirs had been
the only quarter in the city in which the French had made
no progress during the last three weeks.  Antonio now
waxed eloquent on the same theme, and wound up by
commanding his men to serve the Señor as they would
their own captain.

If anything had been wanting to complete his welcome
it would have been supplied by the news he brought.
Antonio no sooner heard that a French foraging-party
was in the neighbourhood than he decided to cut it off.
He was anxious to start immediately and ambush it on
its way back to the house, but Jack suggested a better
plan.  The country around the house, being, though hilly,
fairly open, presented little opportunity for a successful
ambuscade, and in the event of the guerrilla troop being
discovered, there would be great likelihood of the majority
of the enemy escaping.  It would be better, Jack
suggested, to surround the house at night; not a Frenchman
should then escape.  Antonio at once agreed.  He said
that he would leave the planning entirely to the Señor,
which, Jack thought, was as it should be; for Antonio,
though a brave and dashing leader of a storming-party,
had little claim but that of bull-dog courage to his position
as captain.

At four o'clock the band, well-mounted and eager, set
out on their march.  The road followed led by a circuitous
course to the foot of the hill on which the Casa Alvarez
stood.  It was past seven when, as they wheeled round to
the left, they saw the twinkling lights of the house more
than a mile above them.

"They are very bold," remarked Jack to Antonio.
"There must be a considerable force of French in
Calatayud, perhaps at Morata also, or these foragers would
have made some attempt to conceal their movements."

"Few or many, Señor," declared Antonio, "we'll
capture these dogs and hang them up in a string."

"No, no; but we needn't talk about what we'll do with
them till we have them.  I've been thinking out a plan
of attack as we rode along.  It will be best to leave our
horses some distance from the house.  If one of them
began to neigh it would at once put the French on the
alert.  We must attack on foot in any case.  There is
a hollow a little farther on where we can leave the horses
under guard."

"Very well, Señor."

"Now we don't want to lose any lives if we can help
it, so I think it will be best for us to get an idea of the
enemy's arrangements.  I know the house, and I propose
to go forward alone and see what I can find out.  The
old gardener will have left the back-door unlocked on the
chance of my returning.  If when I get there I see a good
chance of your succeeding in a rush over the walls up to
the house, I'll give you a signal—a shrill whistle, say; one
of your men can cut me a reed."

"No need, Señor; I have a whistle here."

He produced a big steel whistle, which he handed to Jack.

"That's well.  If you don't hear anything from me in
the course of an hour after I leave you, you may
conclude that I am captured.  You had better then rush the
sentries, who will no doubt be posted at the front gate.
At the same time your men will scale the wall.  One
body should be sent to cut off egress from the stables,
and another to enter by the back-door.  I leave the rest
to you."

Half a mile farther on they came to the wooded hollow
of which Jack had spoken.  The horses were left there as
arranged, and the guerrilleros, headed by Jack and
Antonio, advanced cautiously up the hill to within three
hundred yards of the house.  By the light of the rising moon
two sentinels could be seen standing at the front gate,
between which and the house lay fifty feet of flower-garden.
Jack wondered whether sentries had been placed on the
other sides, but judged from the evident carelessness of
the French that that precaution had not improbably been
neglected.  There was no cover for the attacking force
beyond about two hundred and fifty yards from the gates,
but at both sides the plantations would conceal them.
The guerrilleros stole into the shade of the trees; the
main body remained at the corner of the wall ready to
attack in front; smaller parties worked round the sides,
until the whole enclosure was practically surrounded.

Jack accompanied the party which had gone to the wall
facing the rear of the house.  Under cover of the
overhanging branches of a chestnut he climbed over the wall,
which was about eight feet high.  No sentry was posted
at the back of the house.  In a few minutes Jack had
run up the garden and come to the back-door.  Already
he had heard sounds of merriment proceeding from the
house.  He placed his ear against the door, listening for
footsteps within.  Hearing nothing in the vicinity, he
lifted the latch and slipped inside, finding himself in a
large square stone-floored room, which had evidently been
used as a storehouse for the gardener's tools.  At the far
side of the room was a door leading, as he knew, to the
corridor surrounding the patio.  As he cautiously opened
this door his ears were saluted by a deafening babel from
a room on the right, opening on to the corridor.  To
judge by the sounds, a large party of French troopers were
there enjoying their evening meal.  Shouts of laughter
were mingled with bursts of song and the clatter of knives
and crockery.  The patio was pitch dark save where a
beam of light fell across it from a window of the room on
the right, and another from the kitchen on the opposite
side.  Hugging the rear wall of the patio, Jack made his
way cautiously across its tiled floor to the window of the
kitchen.  A door opened into the kitchen from the corridor,
opposite to the middle one of the three arches in the
colonnade of the patio.  Keeping well in the shadow, Jack saw
several Frenchmen leave the kitchen carrying dishes and
flagons, and cross the patio to the room whence the
boisterous sounds were proceeding.  He saw also another
man, a tall fellow, whom in the half-light he seemed to
recognize, carry a dish into a room at the farther end of
the corridor, and close the door behind him.  While the
door was open Jack heard a burst of song from within.
Evidently some of the Frenchmen were also regaling
themselves there.

Peeping in at the kitchen window, he saw the gardener,
now alone.  He tapped.  The Spaniard looked startled
for a moment.  Then a light of recollection came into
his eyes.  He made hurriedly for the door, and in
another moment was with Jack.

"I've a hundred men outside," whispered the latter.
"Where are the officers?"

"In the room at the end, Señor."

At this moment the door of that very room opened
again, and the tall servant came out, and turned down the
corridor at the farther end of the patio.

"He is going to the cellar under the stairs for wine,"
whispered the old man.  "Curse them!  They are
drinking my old master's store of Valdepenas."

The man had left the door open, and from within the
room came the sound of a mellow baritone voice trolling
out a sentimental ditty:

   |  "J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,
   |          Un bouquet blanc;
   |      J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,
   |      Dedans mon bouquet blanc.
   |    Comm' nous partions, v'là qu'elle cri-i-e:
   |          'Oh! reviens t'en.'
   |      'Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.
   |      Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.
   |  J'ai mis mon coeur, j'ai mis mon coeur dedans,
   |      Dedans mon bouquet blanc."
   |

Shouts of applause followed the last words.  Immediately
afterwards the tall servant returned with a huge
flagon, re-entered the room, and shut the door.

"Hombre," said Jack in a whisper, "you must go into
that room."

"But, Señor, I'm afraid for my life.  There's a big hound
of a Frenchman there whose very voice makes me shiver."

"You must go in.  I caught sight of a screen as that
man entered just now.  All I want you to do is to go in
and show yourself—ask if they are fully supplied—and
give me time to slip in behind you; then wait outside the
door till I call."

The old man hesitated for a moment, then plucked up
his courage and walked along the corridor, Jack following.
The Spaniard opened the door, and was instantly ordered
to go about his business.  He moved back at once, but
meanwhile Jack had slipped inside the room, and found
that in an angle of the four-leaved screen he could conceal
himself, not only from the persons in the room, but from
anyone passing through the door.  He quietly slit a hole
in the screen with his penknife, and peeped through.

Around a ponderous old table of black oak, illuminated
by a dozen wax candles and covered with dishes and
flagons and glasses, sat four men.  At the head, with
his braided scarlet coat open from the neck, sat a fat,
red-faced, big-moustachioed officer, whom Jack recognized
at once as the blusterous commissary from whom he had
coaxed such valuable information at Olmedo.  At the foot
sat a French captain, who was already half-drunk; on the
other side was a young lieutenant, with pink cheeks.  With
his back to the door there was a man in Spanish dress,
who at that moment beckoned forward the tall servant to
fill the captain's empty glass.  As the man moved round
the table, Jack caught the glitter of Perez' one eye, and at
the same instant recognized the seated Spaniard as Miguel
Priego himself.

Listening, Jack was amused to find that Commissary
Gustave Taberne had lost nothing of his braggadocio.

"Parbleu, Señor Don What-do-you-call-yourself, this is
wine of the right sort.  Nothing in this world is so
soul-satisfying as good Valdepenas after a hard day's work.
Mind you, I say 'after'.  I'm not like Captain Horace
Marie Etienne d'Echaubroignes yonder, who'll drink in
bed, on horseback, or in a pig-stye—it's all one to him.
No; the emperor would call me a pig if I got drunk before
my work was over.  I can drink a gallon without staggering,
and have a bottle at my hand without touching it; but
when my duty is done—ah ça!  then I can fill my skin
in comfort, and sing a song with any man."

The long-named captain scowled at the reference to
himself, bent forward over the table, and stuttered:

"Monsieur l'inten—l'intendant, do you mean that for
a—a reflection?"

"Not at all, not at all, monsieur le capitaine.  It was a
compliment—to your versatility and your—h'm!—capacity."

"Eh bien!" rejoined the captain, lifting his glass
unsteadily, "if you mean it that way—"

The commissary winked at Miguel.

   |  "J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,
   |        Un bouquet blanc,"

he hummed.  "Tiens!  Songs like that suit a gay young
bachelor like you better than a man of my age, with a wife
and family.  Come, Señor Don Something-or-other, sing
us one of your Spanish songs—a serenade such as your
gallants sing by night under their lady's window.
Tol-lol-di-rol!  Come now—sing up."

"Really, monsieur, after hearing your excellent voice, I
do not feel able to enter into competition with you," said
Miguel stiffly.

"Ah bah!  Allons! you are still in our debt.  You did
us a good service to-day, in truth; but remember, we found
your lady-love for you yesterday.  Ohé! her eyes, her
cheeks, parbleu!  I envy you the lovely—how does she
call herself—la belle Juanita?  Tol-lol-di-rol!  Chantez,
mon ami."

"We Spaniards are not accustomed to discuss such
matters in mixed company," said Miguel, still more
irritably.

"We Spaniards!  Par exemple!  I'm not a Spaniard;
nor are you, my friend, to judge by your reception in the
Spaniards' houses to-day."

His tone was decidedly nettled, and the young lieutenant
looked uncomfortable, and seemed about to hazard a
remark.  The captain was solemnly drinking.

"Eh bien!" said the commissary, changing his tone.
"There's no need for us to quarrel.  The lovely Juanita
is to be your bride; that is settled.  We'll see what we
can do with King Joseph to hasten matters.  And so,
without more words, let us drink a health to her!"

"Perez, another bottle," said Miguel.

The one-eyed servant came across the room, and Jack
slipped out of sight between two leaves of the screen.
The commissary sang on:—

   |      "J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,
   |      Dedans mon bouquet blanc.
   |  Comm' nous pardons, v'là qu'elle crie:
   |            'Oh! reviens t'en.'

Voila qu'il en revient!" (as Perez re-entered).

"You can go and get your own supper," said Miguel
when the cork was drawn.

Perez left the room.  As soon as he had gone, Jack,
relying on the commissary being engrossed with the bottle,
opened the door an inch, and beckoned the old Spaniard
in.

"Now, Señor Don What's-your-name," said the commissary,
"we Frenchmen will drink a bumper to the fair
Spaniard, the black-eyed beauty.  Messieurs, aux beaux
yeux de la belle Ju—an—i—"

He had lifted his brimming glass half-way to his lips,
and turned with a fat smile towards Miguel, when he
paused, his hand stayed in mid-air, and he broke off in
the middle of Juanita's name.  Advancing towards him
from behind the screen he saw a young Spaniard, with
a drawn sword in his right hand, and in his left a pistol,
cocked and pointed.

"You will excuse me, messieurs," said Jack quietly,
"intruding upon you thus unceremoniously—pray keep
your seats," he added, as the lieutenant pushed back his
chair, and the fuddled captain half rose.  "In fact, I shall
take it so ill if you move but a hair's breadth that I cannot
answer for my nerves!"

For all its banter, Jack's tone had in it so much of
deadly earnestness that the officers sank limply back into
their seats, the instinctive movement towards sword and
pistol arrested as if by a sudden palsy.  Miguel had
remained on his chair without moving a muscle.  With
him the French were four to one, for as a combatant
the old man did not count; but each of the four knew
that the first among them to take up the gage would
fall instantly to Jack's pistol, and the knowledge dulled
the edge of their courage.

"Hombre," continued Jack, addressing the old gardener,
"bolt the door."

The man was trembling in every limb, but hastened
to obey the order.

"That is right.  Now, feel in my left-hand pocket.  You
will find a whistle.  You have it?  Then open yonder
window and blow three times."

The man went to the window behind the commissary,
opened one of its leaves, and blew three shrill blasts.
While this was going on, the four sat helplessly in the
same position in which Jack had surprised them.  The
lieutenant's pink cheeks had paled; the commissary's
rubicund features had become like mottled soap; the
captain was red with sottish indignation; Miguel had
never moved.  Jack could only see his back.

"With your permission, messieurs," Jack went on,
"this good man will make a little collection.  Hombre,
relieve that gentleman at the head of the table of his sword
and pistol.  No, no; not this side of him.  You may get
hurt if you come between us, and we cannot spare a good
Spaniard—can we, Don Miguel?  Go round him.  That's
right.  Now bring the weapons and put them on the floor
behind me.  So.  Now, go round in the same way and get
the next gentleman's arms."

Before the man reached the lieutenant, a confused
hubbub came into the room from the front of the house
through the open window—the clash of steel, the report of
firearms.  Almost at the same moment loud sounds of the
same kind came from the direction of the patio.  The old
servant hesitated, stood still, his fingers working nervously.

"Go on, hombre," said Jack sternly, his pistol still
pointed.

While the uproar on both sides gathered strength, the
Spaniard tottered towards the lieutenant, and with shaking
hands disengaged his sword and pistol, which he placed
alongside of the commissary's on the floor behind Jack.
He was just repeating the process of disarmament with the
captain when loud shouts were heard at the door, followed
by heavy blows from the butts of muskets.  Apparently the
French troopers had been driven across the patio, and were
seeking their officers in the inner room.  Jack did not move
a muscle, but he devoutly hoped that the door would stand
the strain; otherwise the window was his only chance,
though in any case he could not desert the old man.

The noise outside provided a strange contrast to the
quietness within.  Almost silently the Spaniard had
disarmed three of the four feasters.  It was now Miguel's
turn.  In advancing towards him the old man, alarmed
by the tremendous thunderings on the door behind him,
and by a bullet that crashed through one of the panels,
incautiously stepped between Miguel and Jack.  In an
instant, with an extraordinary muscular effort for so
slightly built a man—an effort nerved doubtless by the
knowledge of what his fate would be if he fell into the
hands of his countrymen,—Miguel seized the man by the
middle, and, swinging him round so as to make of him
a screen between himself and Jack, dashed towards a
curtain of arras that apparently overhung a doorway on
the opposite side of the room.  At the same moment a
number of Spaniards, headed by Antonio, came headlong
through the open window.

"Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, springing
after Miguel.  He could not fire.  When he reached the
curtain he stumbled over the old Spaniard, whom Miguel
flung back at his pursuer as he dashed through the door
into the dark anteroom beyond.  Jack recovered himself
in an instant, but Miguel had disappeared, and when Jack
had followed him into the darkness he heard him stumbling
over furniture on the other side of the room.  Then
began a desperate chase.  As is common in Spanish
houses, room opened into room, and Jack pursued the
traitor through door after door, occasionally catching a
fleeting glimpse of him by the moonlight filtering through
the windows of rooms on the outer wall, but losing him
again in the darkness before there was time to fire.  At
last Miguel, gaining a slight lead, was able to open a
window at the back of the house, and sprang out into the
garden, flinging the leaf of the window back almost in
Jack's face.  Outside he fell sprawling on the ground, but
was up in an instant, and rushed madly down the path
cutting the garden in two.

Jack leapt through the window after him, stumbled,
recovered himself, and was off after the fugitive.  Tearing
through the bushes that had overspread the path, he flew
along, saving his breath, setting his lips, fiercely
determined to bring the wretched man to book at last.  Miguel
had reached the wall; with the agility of despair he sprang
at it, and was over.  Jack was a better runner; he made
as little difficulty of the wall; pursuer and pursued were
now in full career through the olive plantation.  Miguel's
breath was failing; he knew that he could not escape.
Stopping suddenly in an open glade, he turned round,
and a bullet whistled past Jack's head as he closed with
his quarry.  The headlong rush had spoiled Miguel's aim.

Disdaining to use his pistol, Jack at once engaged
Miguel with his sword.  The Spaniard stood fiercely at
bay, panting with his exertions, his face showing livid
with fear in the pale moonlight.  There were a few rapid
passes; then with a groan he dropped his sword, his
forearm gashed from wrist to elbow.

"Hold!" he gasped.  "I am at your mercy.  Spare me!"

Jack dropped the point of his sword.

"What—are—you—going—to—do—with—me?" panted Miguel.

"Do with you?  There is only one thing for me to do:
deliver you to your fellow-countrymen.  They shall judge
you."

"Not that, for the love of God!" was the agonized
reply, whispered rather than spoken.  "You know what
that means!  Spare me that!  Rather finish what you
have begun.  For old time's sake you would not throw me
to those wolves.  Ah! their fiendish tortures!  See! have
done with it; strike here!"

.. _`Miguel Escapes from the Garden`:

.. figure:: images/img-362.jpg
   :align: center
   :alt: Miguel Escapes from the Garden

   Miguel Escapes from the Garden

He tore open his shirt and bared his bosom to the
sword.  It was well acted, but Jack was not for a moment
deceived.  Miguel, he knew, had not the slightest
expectation of being taken at his word.  Yet the alternative!
When once the guerrilleros had him in their power there
would be no torture too horrible for the renegade and
traitor.  Jack remembered with a shudder the tales he
had heard—even those told him by Miguel himself in
Salamanca.  Could he deliver the wretch, vile though he
was, to so awful a fate?  Could he allow the traitor to go
free?  It was a painful dilemma.

So they stood while a man might count ten.

There was a crackle in the undergrowth, the sound of a
light footfall, and, lifting his sword, Jack half-turned.  As
he did so a heavy form struck against him.  He felt a
scorching pain between the shoulders, and pitching heavily
forward sank unconscious to the ground.  The dilemma
had solved itself.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Doctor Grampus and a French Cook`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXI


.. class:: center large bold

   Doctor Grampus and a French Cook

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   An Amateur—Pantomime—At Cross Purposes—Miguel's
   Pocket-book—Links—In Cipher—Potatoes—Monsieur Taberne
   on Duty—The Compelling Onion

.. vspace:: 2

When Jack came to himself it seemed to him that he was
in a shaded room by an open window, for the air gently
fanned his temples, and he saw a wide stretch of blue sky.
He turned his aching head.

"Hullo!" said a voice in English.

"Hullo!" murmured Jack in reply, automatically, not
knowing what he said.  He looked with puzzlement at the
speaker, a tall, stout young fellow in guerrilla costume.

"There, I wagered you wouldn't know me in this rig.
Don't you remember Dugdale, at Salamanca—Percy
Dugdale, don't you know?"

"The Grampus!" whispered Jack.

"The very same.  I might have bet you'd know Grampus
better than my good old respectable honoured ugly
name.  Here, drink this."

He held a cup to Jack's lips.  After drinking, Jack
closed his eyes and fell asleep.

"Where am I?" he asked, waking an hour later.

"Feel better?  That's grand.  Where are you?  High
up among the hills, in a sort of cave, lying on a pile of
blankets, with a splendid outlook over—well, nowhere in
particular."

"In the hills!" repeated Jack feebly.  "How did I get
there?  I can't remember.  Is anything wrong with me?
I don't seem to be able to move.  I don't feel right."

"There's gratitude!  Why, you're as right as a trivet.
You're really doing splendidly!  Now, you're not to talk.
Doctor's orders."

"Oh!"

Jack was silent for a moment, and dozed away again.

When he woke, Dugdale came towards him from the
entrance of the cave.

"What's the matter with me?  How do you come
here?  I can't remember anything."

"I said you were not to talk.  Doctor's orders."

"Tell the doctor I want to see him."

Dugdale chuckled.

"Bet it'd be no go.  Truth is, I'm the doctor.  I've
pulled you through, and when I get home I'm going to
demand a diploma from the doctors' college or whatever it
is gives a man a licence to be a sawbones."

"I must know all about it.  I can't remember.  How
long have I been ill?"

"Nearly three weeks.  Now, if you'll promise not to
get excited, I'll tell you what happened.  You know a
man named Antonio?"

"Yes, of course; he helped me in Saragossa."

"Well, if he weren't a friend of yours I'd punch his
head.  He is the leader of this band of ruffians that
scooped me up, two months ago, when I was riding over
the hills to see the fun at Saragossa.  Antonio wasn't
with them then.  I couldn't understand a word they said.
They couldn't understand a word I said.  I roared
'Inglese!  Inglese!' till I was sick.  No good.  They
kept me with them and made me get into this outrageous
toggery, and with them I've been ever since, like a canary
in a cage."

"But—"

"You mustn't talk.  Doctor's orders.  Lucky for you
I was here, or they'd have sent you to kingdom come.
With their nasty messes!—ugh!"

"Where did you get your medicines, then?"

"Silence!  Don't believe in medicine.  Bet Antonio
three to one in Frenchmen—only he couldn't understand—that
I'd pull you through on cold water; and I've done
it,—thank God!"

The sudden change to earnestness in Dugdale's tone
was almost comic.

"And you were pretty bad, I can tell you.  Raved like
one o'clock.  All about Pomeroy and Pepito, and some
chap whose name rhymed with ass, and Mig Prig—most
about Mig Prig,—and you laughed and shouted 'Fire the
mine!' and 'Pommy, I'll punch your head,' and all sorts
of funny things."

"But what made me ill?"

"A villainous stab in the back.  By gum! if I had the
beast here I'd trounce him, I bet I would.  You and
Antonio had captured a foraging-party of French at a
country-house down there; you tackled the officers
single-handed; dashed plucky of you, begad!  and you sprang out
after a scoundrelly Spaniard who escaped, a fellow in
French pay; and afterwards you were found among the
olives with a hole in your back and your sword covered
with blood."

"I remember now," cried Jack.  "I must get up.  I
must save Juanita."

He tried to rise, but found that he had no power.

"Juanita be hanged, whoever he may be.  Lie still, and
don't talk.  I haven't finished yet.  Wish I'd been with
you, but these confounded brigands won't let me stir from
head-quarters.  I've had the most disgusting luck.  I
came out to see the fun, and hanged if I've seen any at all.
Well, they found you with a hole in your back and brought
you here, and they were in a deuce of a way about you.
They had a score or more of French prisoners with them,
including officers, one of them a fat, red-faced fellow—"

"I remember it all now.  That's my friend the commissary."

"Well, he's peeling onions at this moment.  A little
change for him, but all in the same line of business.  It
was he told me what had happened; lucky I can make out
two French words out of ten.  By Jove! what bloodthirsty
ruffians these Spaniards are!  If it hadn't been for me all
the prisoners would have been garroted or roasted before
slow fires, or something.  When I saw what was in the
wind my blood boiled.  I couldn't stand that; no
Englishman could; so I made 'em a speech.  Lord!  I never knew
I could rattle it off so; I must go into Parliament.  Of
course they couldn't understand what I said, but I threw
my arms about, and pointed to my neck, and shook my
head, and generally played the goat, as I've seen 'em do
at the hustings; and they made out what I meant, and so
the prisoners are here still,—except the captain, who died
of over-drinking."

At this moment Antonio came quietly into the cave; he
had been in and out during Jack's periods of unconsciousness,
and now showed every mark of delight at his impending
recovery.

"The saints be praised, Señor!" he said.  "We feared
you would die.  We should have grieved."

Jack was touched by his simple sincerity.

"I am not gone yet," he said, smiling, "thanks, I
understand, to my friend Señor Dugdale here."

"He is a clever doctor, Señor," said Antonio.

"He tells me that you have the Frenchmen we captured
at Morata."

"Sí, Señor, and another lot too."

"Indeed!  It is well that he managed to persuade you
to do them no harm."

"What does the Señor mean?"

"My friend Señor Dugdale tells me that you were going
to torture the prisoners, and he made a speech and—"

"Oh, that!" exclaimed Antonio, with a wave of the
hand.  "We didn't understand.  We thought the Señor
wanted us to cut all their throats; but I knew you would
not like that."

Jack became almost hysterical with laughter at this
explanation, and Dugdale bundled Antonio out of the
cave, and told Jack he must go to sleep again.  He
allowed no more talk on that day, but the patient was
so much better next morning that he made no objection
when Jack asked to see the guerrillero again.

"I want to hear what has happened," said Jack to him.
"I am anxious."

"I know, Señor; but there is no need.  The day after
we got back with the prisoners, the gitano Pepito came
and said the Señorita Juanita had been captured by the
French and was living with a colonel's lady in Morata.  I
got my men together and we went down at once, and
in the night surprised the French, killed a great many,
and captured the rest.  But the Señorita was not among
them.  We found the colonel's lady; she told us that the
Señorita had escaped."

"Where is she?" asked Jack anxiously.

"We do not know, Señor.  The boy Pepito was frantic;
he said you would punish him for losing the lady,
and he went away to find her.  He has never come back."

"Did he say anything about Señor Priego—the man
who was in Saragossa, you remember?"

"He said that Señor Priego was with the French who
captured the Señorita, but no more."

"And you did not capture him at the house?  It was
he I was fighting in the olive-grove."

"Por Dios, Señor, if I had known that!  When we
found you lying on the ground we let a few minutes slip.
We thought you were dead, Señor.  Then we searched
all around, but we could find no one.  Was it the cursed
afrancesado that wounded you, Señor?"

"No.  It was someone who came behind my back; his
servant, I have no doubt.  He has twice attempted my
life."

Antonio swore a hearty oath, and vowed a terrible
vengeance should either Priego or his servant fall into
his hands.  Jack was much perturbed.  He hoped that
Juanita in escaping from the French had escaped also
from Miguel, but the latter had much to gain by not
letting her slip through his hands.

"There is one thing, Señor, yet to be told," added
Antonio.  "In the morning, when we were bringing away
the prisoners, one of my men found this at the back of
the house, lying on the grass."

He produced a leather pocket-book, which he handed
to Jack.

"I can't have this," said Dugdale, entering at this
moment.  "You're not well enough yet to be bothered
with business."

"You will do me more good by letting me get to the
bottom of things.  My hand's all wobbles.  Take the
pocket-book, old fellow, and tell me what is in it."

Dugdale opened the case, and, taking out a number
of papers, unfolded them one by one.

"All in foreign lingos," he said ruefully.  "Can't read
one of them."

"Let me see them," said Jack.

Dugdale handed him one of the papers.  It was a pass
through the French lines, signed by Marshal Lannes.  At
the first glance Jack understood.  The pocket-book must
have been jerked from Miguel's pocket when he fell on
escaping from the house.  Jack examined the papers
eagerly.  The second was a note from the marshal's
aide-de-camp Saint-Marc: "In consideration of Monsieur
Priego's services to the Government of His Majesty King
Joseph, his excellency will use his influence with the
commandant at Bayonne to facilitate the interview sought
by Monsieur Priego".  The third was a memorandum
evidently relating to private business.  The fourth was
a long blue paper, on unfolding which Dugdale cried:

"By George, Lumsden, this is curious!  Hanged if
there isn't your name here!"

Jack took the paper with still more eagerness.  He saw
at once that it was in the same handwriting as the letter
he had received from Don Fernan Alvarez at Salamanca.
It was in Spanish, addressed to Mr. Lumsden, and Jack
had only to read a few words to be assured that this
was the very letter entrusted to the charge of General
Palafox—the letter whose disappearance had so much
perplexed him.  Before he had read more than two or
three lines, however, Antonio broke in:

"Señor, I know that paper.  I saw it often in the hands
of Pablo Quintanar in Saragossa.  He used to take it out
of his pocket every night and read it, and always when
he came to a certain place he stopped, and frowned, and
cursed.  I am sure it is the same."

In a flash the mystery of Quintanar's assassination
was made plain to Jack.  Miguel must have discovered
in some way that the letter was in the possession of
the guerrillero, and the wretched man had been slain
from behind by one-eyed Perez while Miguel tried to
wrest the paper from him.  Jack was aghast at this
additional proof of Miguel's villainy; his heart misgave
him as he thought of what might be Juanita's fate.

He read the letter.  It gave a clear narrative of the
events of which Juanita had told him—Don Fernan's
making up of the accounts of the business, the journey
from Barcelona to Saragossa, the ambush on the road,
the suspected treachery of Miguel Priego.  Then followed
a declaration of the old merchant's intentions in regard to
his property.  In the last sentence he stated that the
place where the treasure had been concealed was known
only to his servant José, but that the secret was contained
in a short postscript, which could only be read in the
light of a private communication made to Jack himself
in Salamanca.

Jack looked eagerly at the postscript.  He uttered an
exclamation of joy as he realized that Miguel must have
found the letter useless to him.  For the postscript
consisted of a single line of sprawling uneven capital letters,
set close together, not divided into words, and conveying
to the uninitiated absolutely no meaning.

"What do you make of that?" said Jack, handing the
letter to Dugdale.

"No good.  Don't know a word of Spanish except pan,
agua, cebolla, which I hear every day, and a
few—interjections, I think they call 'em in grammar."

"I don't mean the letter, I mean the postscript."

"The postscript!"  He held the paper at arm's-length,
shut one eye, and frowned.  "H'm!  Looks like a cat's
swearing, or Welsh.  Too bad even for Spanish.  Some
infant set to practise his capitals, eh?"

Jack smiled.

"I'm as much in the dark as you are.  Perhaps you
wouldn't mind making a copy of the letters, in case the
original goes astray?"

"Very well.  Bet you I'll make a dozen mistakes.  It
dazzles my eyes.  You'd better call 'em out one by one."

Accordingly Jack read the twenty-nine letters off separately,
and Dugdale, whose inaptitude with the pencil was
clearly shown by the frequency with which he licked his
lips, made laborious strokes on a sheet of paper taken
from Miguel's note-book.

"There," he said, when the task was finished.  "Looks
a deal prettier than the original, don't it?"

In big boyish capitals Jack saw the following puzzling
sentence:—

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   S E O S F L S A E O A P E J E J P J J F J P J X P A P P F

.. vspace:: 2

"It's all right, Grampus," he said, after comparing it
with the original.  "How long shall I be on my back
here?"

"Can't say.  Why?"

"Because I've something to do when we've discovered
the cipher.  You and I must do that, and, by all
appearance, it will take time."

"No good asking me.  Never answered a riddle in my
life.  Blinks of Merton tried me just before I came down.
Strolled into my room one morning—Blinks always dawdles,—threw
his leg over a chair, and piped up: 'Grampus, my
dear, would you like to answer a question?'  'Well?' says
I.  'Tell me,' says he: 'Why do birds in their little nests
agree?'  'Bet you they don't always,' says I.  He was
put out; I could see it.  He don't like a chap to be serious,
you know.  Yet he's a good sort; so to please him I said:
'Why do they, then?'  'Because if they didn't they'd fall
out,' says he, and strolled away quite happy.  I call that
mighty clever, don't you?"

Jack made a rapid recovery.  The fresh air, the good
simple food, the unremitting care of Dugdale and Antonio,
and perhaps, more than all, his own strong determination,
soon set him upon his feet.  When he was first allowed
by the Grampus to leave the cave, he was much amused
at the sight of Commissary Taberne sitting on an upturned
pail, peeling potatoes, and singing as blithely as a bird:

   |          "Ma mie,
   |          Ma douce amie,
   |      Réponds à mes amours;
   |          Fidèle
   |          A cette belle,
   |      Je l'aimerai toujours.
   |
   |      Si j'avais cent coeurs,
   |  Ils ne seraient remplis que d'elle;
   |      Si j'avais cent—"
   |

"Bravo, monsieur, et bonjour!" said Jack,

"Ha!  Qui est-ce que j'ai l'honneur de voir?"

The commissary sprang off his perch, catching at the
bowl of potatoes just in time to prevent a cataclysm.  He
presented a queer figure as he stood there, in Spanish
vest and pantaloons, with bare arms and legs, for it was a
hot day.  Laying his hand on his portly middle, he made
a bow as low as he conveniently could.

"I congratulate you, monsieur," he said.  "I am
pleased to see you once more in health.  Ah ça! but you
have the courage, you English!  It was magnificent—to
come into the room alone and face me, Gustave Taberne,
single-handed.  Parbleu! you took me by surprise,
or—Ah! and I congratulate myself that it was not my sword
that wounded so admirable a warrior.  Nom d'un tonnerre! that
wretch, that scamp, that renegade, that Don Miguel
What's-his-name—if I could catch him!  Gr-r-r-r!"

"I hope you have been well treated, monsieur," said
Jack politely.

The commissary shrugged.

"Me voici!" he said.  "Here am I, a commissary-general
of the emperor's, accustomed to feed huge armies,
the winner of innumerable victories that others have the
credit of,—and behold me, peeling potatoes for a herd of
unwashed, thieving, villainous, abomin—"

"Stay, stay!" interrupted Jack.  "I really cannot hear
my friends abused."

"Pardon, monsieur.  I for one moment forgot myself.
I have feelings, I am sentimental, I am upset; I see myself
on the road to glory; then, vlan! the vision dissolves; it
is a mirage!"

"The marquisate is a little farther off, you mean, monsieur?"

"Hé quoi?"

Monsieur Taberne looked puzzled.

"Do you remember, monsieur," asked Jack, "a little
inn at Olmedo, where one day last November you made
your first acquaintance with the puchero, and honoured
with your conversation a young Spaniard, about my
own age, who happened to be able to speak a little French?"

"H'm! h'm!  I have a slight recollection of the incident.
I got a good deal of information out of the young cockerel,
if I'm not mistaken."

Jack smiled.

"You were looking forward then, monsieur, to being
made a peer of France, like Marshal Lefebvre, Duke of
Dantzig.  I am sorry that this little check has happened
in your career.  You promised then, you remember, to
join me some day in drinking a bottle of Valdepenas—none
of your tarred vinegar of Toro, you know—when
your duty was done.  You have one more potato to peel,
monsieur.  While you are doing that, no doubt my good
friend Antonio will produce a bottle of Valdepenas from
his store."

During this speech the commissary had stared at Jack
in amazement.

"Par le sambleu!" he ejaculated, "it is the very same!"

He dropped down on his tub, his mouth agape, and
mechanically took up his last potato, which he began to
pare with the dexterity of long practice.  He was evidently
casting back to that November day, and racking his
memory to recover the details of his conversation.  Jack's
eyes twinkled.  The commissary caught his look, and,
flinging the newly-peeled potato into the bowl, uttered a
huge guffaw.

"Zut!" he cried, "I see twice, monsieur, that you
are a dangerous person to meet.  One needs to be of
the greatest discretion.  It is not only your sword that
is formidable.  Tenez: voici le Valdepenas!  I had hoped
you would have been my guest.  N'importe; Valdepenas
is Valdepenas.  The fortune of war is now to you;
perhaps on another occasion—"

"No, thank you," said Jack, laughing, "unless our two
nations are at peace.  Let me say, monsieur, how glad
I am that you take your little mischance with so much
philosophy.  I am not in command here, of course, but
if there is anything I can do—"

"Morbleu, monsieur, you can do me an infinite favour.
The potatoes—they are nothing; but the onions!—sapristi! when
one weeps for sentiment, it is noble, it is French;
but when one weeps for onions, it is a degradation.  Bien
sûr! precisement ça! allez!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`The Prisoner at Bayonne`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXII


.. class:: center large bold

   The Prisoner at Bayonne

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Running the Gauntlet—A Bait—Figments—Prophecy—Judas—At
   Large

.. vspace:: 2

"You will excuse a little delay, monsieur le colonel.
The letter from Monsieur le Maréchal Lannes is
somewhat—indeed I may say very—unusual.  We must assure
ourselves that everything is en règle—a mere formality,
but in official business we live by rule and regulation.
Monsieur will understand."

The lieutenant-general in command of the port of
Bayonne leaned back in his chair and smiled deprecatingly,
at the same time eying his visitor with no little keenness.
The stranger was a Spanish officer in the French service,
and as such to be distrusted; and although his manner
lacked nothing in ease and assurance, there was
something in his bearing and expression that added to the
Frenchman's instinctive suspicion.  But from motives of
prudence he forbore to explain that he was detaining his
visitor until an aide-de-camp had ransacked the archives
for an undoubted autograph of Marshal Lannes with which
the letter brought by the Spaniard could be compared.
For nearly half an hour the two chatted on indifferent
subjects, the Spaniard growing more and more impatient, the
Frenchman more and more apologetic.  At last the
aide-de-camp entered, and handed a document to the general,
which the latter keenly scrutinized.

"I am glad to say, monsieur," he said, rising, "that
I find his excellency's letter perfectly in order.  I am
delighted to make the acquaintance of one who, as the
marshal informs me, has done good service to the emperor
and to France, and, let us hope, to Spain.  Captain
Broussier will see that you are granted the most complete
facilities for a private interview with the man José Pinzon.
I understand that he is at present delirious—fever,
monsieur, carries off too many of our prisoners,—but he has
lucid intervals.  For any service I may be able to render
you, command me."

Captain Broussier led the way from the general's quarters
near the Place d'Armes, across the St. Esprit bridge that
spanned the Adour, to the grim citadel in which some
hundreds of prisoners, Spanish, Portuguese, and English, were
immured.  Passing under the massive archway, they entered
the great courtyard in which the unhappy captives were
allowed to take exercise; some were sitting, the picture of
dejection; others maintaining the semblance of cheerfulness;
many endeavouring to add, by basket-weaving and
similar light occupations possible within prison walls, to
the wretched subsistence allowance doled out to French
prisoners of war.  A group of Spaniards, looking up as
the two officers passed through the courtyard, caught sight
of the afrancesado, and as they did so their attitude
underwent an instant and extraordinary change.  Listlessness
gave place to the most intense interest; every man showed,
each in his own way, the most passionate hatred of the
new-comer.  But for the presence of the two French
sentries in the courtyard, and half a dozen more in the
guard-house beyond the gate, they would have thrown
themselves upon him as he passed.  He caught the look
of murder in their eyes and paled visibly, shrinking as if
for protection closer to his companion, who noted the
action and its cause, and smiled questioningly.

"Some men of—the opposite party—in Saragossa.
Misguided, but dangerous; they bear me no good-will."

"If appearances go for anything, monsieur, those
basket knives of theirs would have some pretty work to
do but for the bayonets of our men yonder."

The Spaniard winced.  He was clearly relieved when
they passed from the courtyard into a long corridor
leading to the room used as a hospital for the prisoners.
There were several occupants, many in the last stage of
disease, and the captain, having directed that a screen
should be placed round the bed of the patient whom the
visitor had come to see, left hastily.  A visit to the
hospital of the citadel was not without its dangers, for prison
fever was no respecter of persons.

Upon a low truckle-bed in one corner of the room a
man, shrunken to a skeleton, lay stretched, apparently at
the point of death.  He was conscious, for the light in
his eyes was clear although dim, but so weak was his
breathing, so wasted his figure, that at any moment it
seemed the wan flame of life might flicker out.  He turned
his gaze slowly upon the stranger as he approached; then
there came into his eyes the same look of inextinguishable
hatred that had transfigured the wretched prisoners in the
courtyard.

"Traidor!"

It was a mere movement of the lips, from which no
sound issued; but the visitor, already unnerved, started as
if stung; his face flushed, bringing into relief the livid
scar across his brow.  Then, collecting himself with an
effort, he said, ignoring the unspoken insult:

"It pains me, my good José, to find you thus—sick and
a prisoner.  I have come a long way to see you, to bring
you freedom—for the sake of old times.  Fortunately I am
not too late.  A few more days in this place would have
killed you; but we shall soon see what liberty and good
nursing will do, eh, my friend?"

An eager light came into the sick man's eyes.  In his
feeble state he was unable to grasp the full import of what
his visitor was saying.  He was only capable of mastering
one idea at a time.  The word "liberty" had sent a
sudden flash of colour into his cheek.  The mere prospect
of freedom, dim though it was, had banished for a brief
moment his mortal antipathy to the man beside him.  The
walls of his prison-house fell asunder; he saw himself once
again among his own people, the trusted servant of a
beloved mistress whom he had sworn to serve, and whom
his capture had left unprotected, exposed to all the
dangers of a besieged city.  The other, watching him keenly,
was quick to note the changed expression of his face;
and without giving the weakened intelligence time for
ordered thought, he continued in the same tone of kindly
interest:

"But I must first give you news of the señorita.  I
know, my good José, you care nothing for yourself.  It
is of her you think.  I honour your fidelity; it is because
of that that I am here."

"What of her?  Tell me!" whispered the sick man.
The voice was scarcely audible, but the eyes showed an
agony of doubt and apprehension; he had wholly forgotten
his distrust.  He moved as if to raise himself; but he was
unable to lift his head from the pillow.

"Make your mind easy; she is well, quite well.  I left
her with the wife of the old porter.  She is a worthy
woman, and devoted to the señorita.  My influence with
the government of King Joseph ensured the safety of your
mistress after the fall of the city.  She sends you the
kindest messages.  When you did not return from that
brave sortie, she feared you were dead, and she grieved.
But I learnt that you were a prisoner, and when I told
her she clasped her hands and cried for joy, and bade me
come at once to find you.  'Tell my good José that I
shall know no peace until I am assured of his safety.
I pray for him.  He is much in my thoughts.'"

The sick man's eyes filled with tears.  He would have
lifted his hand to dash them away, but his strength was
unequal to the effort.  The visitor continued, his accent
carefully modulated, gentle, persuasive:

"But, alas! my good friend, she is poor, very poor.
The house in Saragossa is destroyed, burned during the
siege.  The house at Morata is pillaged by brigands.
There is no rent from the estate; the people are all
dispersed; and the good aunt is dead.  The worthy porter
and his wife have scarcely enough to keep themselves.
It is terrible, this war; would that all good Spaniards
thought with me that it is best to make peace with the
king!"

The speaker bent forward, intently watching the effect
of these words.  As he had expected, a look of keen
distress crossed the prisoner's face.  Again he strove to
rise, as if by raising himself he could shake off his
intolerable weakness.  He was suffering acutely.  The visitor
was silent for a while, giving the imagination of the sick
man full play.  Then he continued:

"I, alas! can do little to help.  I am poor, my good
José, miserably poor.  I have sacrificed all—you will know
how.  I would willingly share my last crust with the
señorita, but in this fatal war so many things may happen.
I begged her to take shelter in a convent, but she would
not; brave girl, she would stay to help her people!  'José,'
she said, 'could assist us if only he were free.  He alone
knows what my poor father has done to provide for me.
Go to him, Miguel; tell him of our distress; he will find a
means of helping us.'"

"What would you wish me to do?"

The visitor, bending low, caught the whispered words.
The man's clear eyes were upon him, and he checked the
involuntary expression of satisfaction that crossed his face.
But, instantaneous though it was, the sick man, strangely
sensitive to shades of tone and manner, seemed to be
instinctively aware of it, and the other was clearly ill at
ease under his searching gaze.

"Well, my good José," he said hesitatingly, "your
illness places us in a difficulty.  I have here an order
for your release" (he drew from his pocket a blue paper
which might or might not be what he described); "I
hoped that we should have been able to return to Spain
together.  You could have then placed the señorita
beyond the reach of want; for from what she told me it
is clear that your master left a large sum in your charge.
But, alas! you are not at present able to travel.  The best
plan that I can think of is that you send the señorita
instructions where she can find her property—you can
either write her a letter or give me the message,—and
I will see that you are released and nursed back to health.
You can return to Spain when you are fit to travel."

The sick man feebly shook his head, whispering:

"I must not tell—anything.  I swore it."

"Yes, you swore it, and you have kept your oath.  But
it was never Don Fernan's wish that the señorita should
be allowed to—to starve while her fortune remained
hidden.  It is your duty to be guided by
circumstances—by common sense."

The other winced, but still replied: "I cannot; I swore
it.  Not till the war is over."

Then, a ripple of impatience showing above his suave
manner, the visitor said hastily:

"Certainly, but the war is over; the fall of Saragossa
finished the war.  Joseph is again king in Madrid."

"You are mistaken, Señor.  If what you say is true,
the war is only just beginning."  There was a light in
the man's eyes, a fierce energy in his whispered words,
that seemed first to embarrass, then to anger his visitor.

"Well, my friend, if you will not listen to reason, if you
prefer to allow your mistress to starve, I can do nothing
more.  I will give her your message."  He rose from his
seat.  "And I shall at least have the satisfaction of being
able to add that such an ungrateful rascal is dead; for
in this hole you won't live another week, and you can't
expect me to do anything for your release."

"Stay!"

The afrancesado caught the word and halted expectantly
as he was turning away.  With a supreme effort the sick
man had raised himself on his elbow, and, struggling hard
for breath, gasped out:

"Liar!  Traitor!  Spy!  Do you think—I do not—do not
see you—for what you are?  Go back—go back, accursed
afrancesado, to those who have—bought you.  Out of my
sight!  The price of blood!—Judas!—the doom of
Judas—awaits you—the doom—of—Judas!"

The afrancesado recoiled as at the stroke of a lash;
then an ugly look crossed his face, and his hand sought
the hilt of his knife.  But even as it did so the man sank
back half insensible, the gleam of fierce rage faded from
his face, and while Miguel was hesitating whether to stay
or go, the prisoner began to talk in a low but distinct
voice, as repeating a lesson he had learned by heart.

"Yes, Señor, dear master, I swear it.  I will watch
over the señorita as long as I have life; I swear it.  None
shall ever know except the señor Ingles.  In the
garden—the old—"

His voice was dying away again into a whisper; the
afrancesado bent eagerly over him to catch the feeble
tones, and when he rose a look of mingled greed and
malignant triumph shone in his eyes.  He waited for a
while longer, while the sick man continued to babble in
the same strain, his voice occasionally rising so that it
could plainly be heard by the sufferers in the neighbouring
beds.  Murmurs arose, and, helpless as they were, their
mutterings struck the heart of the afrancesado with a cold
chill of dread.  Rising, and throwing one hurried
backward glance at the now silent figure on the bed, he
hastened from the room, pursued by the vengeful glance
of all who were conscious enough to recognize him.

An hour later the sick man opened his eyes and looked
around, as though fearing to meet once more the traitor's
malign glance.

"What is that you were saying about a promise, and a
garden, and a señorita?" whispered the prisoner in the
next bed.

"Saying!  When?" he asked with a note of mortal anguish.

"Just now, when the vile afrancesado was with you.
Have you forgotten?"

The man waited a moment, expecting a reply.  None
came; the man had fainted.

.. vspace:: 2

The afrancesado did not leave Bayonne that night as
he intended.  Stricken with the prison fever, he took to
his bed, and there lay for several weeks, tended with
unstinted care by his one-eyed servant.  When he
recovered from his delirium he was eager to set out, as
soon as his strength permitted, on his return journey to
Spain, and was amazed to hear from the French
commandant that he must consider himself a prisoner.

"Nonsense!" he said; "la prisoner!  What have you
against me?"

"The prisoner you talked with in the sick ward, monsieur—"

"Is he dead?" asked Miguel eagerly.

"He may be, but his body has not been recovered.
His health rapidly mended from the day of your
interview with him, and ten days ago he escaped by swimming
the Adour—a marvellous feat for a man in his condition."

"Escaped!" screamed Miguel, starting up.  "I must
go, I must go at once, before it is too late!"

"Then you did not arrange the escape, monsieur?" said
the Frenchman, surprised at the other's violence.

"Arrange it!  Am I a fool?  Am I mad?  Arrange the
escape of my worst enemy!  I must go!  He has gone to
rob me; he will ruin me; I must go, before it is too late!"

His agitation was so sincere that, after a consultation
among the French officers, the afrancesado was permitted,
a few days later, to depart with his servant, and they
rode southward out of Bayonne at a furious pace, the
stones clattering, the dust flying behind, and all who
saw them staring after them in amazement.





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Palafox the Name`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXIII


.. class:: center large bold

   Palafox the Name

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Nonplussed—In the Convent—A Warning—The Key—Permutations
   and Combinations—Light Ahead—Don Fernan's Message

.. vspace:: 2

One day the guerrilla camp in the mountains was thrown
into some excitement by the sudden reappearance of
Pepito.  All the guerrilleros by this time knew something
of the strange complications in which the English señor
was involved.  They had been constantly on the look-out
for the gipsy boy whom he was so anxious to see; and
when, on this sunny morning, the boy was seen bounding
up the hillside, they flocked to him in a crowd, crying
"Qué hay de nuevo?  Qué hay de nuevo?"  Pepito made
them no answer.  He had already caught sight of his
master sitting some yards above him, and rushed forward
with a piercing cry of delight.

"Found, Señor!" he shouted.  "Found!"

Jack needed no telling who was found.

"Where is she?" he asked.

"Glad Señor is well, glad Señor is well!" shouted the
little fellow.  "The Señorita will be glad too.  Oh, she
will!  When I told the Señorita—"

"Where is she?" repeated Jack impatiently.

"When I told the Señorita that Señor was ill, she
jumped up; said she must come; but the old Busna
looked ugly; said no; and I come to fetch Señor."

"Pepito, tell me at once where she is."

"Safe, at a convent near Cariñena, Señor, all among
the trees and flowers.  Señor can go, now he is well,
and I know who will be pleased.  Yes, I know!"

"You're a good boy, Pepito."  He turned to Dugdale.
"Grampus, when shall I be fit to ride?"

"Good heavens!  Not for a long time.  Look here,
Lumsden, I'm not going to have my cure spoilt and my
career ruined by you going raiding before you're fit.
Don't laugh.  I'm in dead earnest.  I'm sick and tired of
playing the fool at Oxford.  As soon as I get home I'm
going to be a doctor.  New idea, you know; fresh air and
cold water.  The pater will laugh himself into a fit when I
tell him; but don't you see, if you back me up, and I can
show you as my first case—why, bet you the old boy
comes round and doubles my allowance, to encourage me.  See?"

"All right!" said Jack, laughing.  "But you must
finish my cure quickly, for the instant I can manage it
I'm going to ride over to Cariñena."

"What for?  What is there special about Cariñena?"

"Well, I've a—a friend there I want specially to see."

"H'm!  A friend?  Bet you my first year's fees it's
a girl.  Now look here, Lumsden, don't be a fool.  An
Englishman oughtn't to marry till he's thirty at least.
I've got ten years yet, and it won't be too much.  It takes
time to be able to face a girl without flinching, and for
my part I'd rather learn Greek verbs than—"

"Oh, shut up!" exclaimed Jack.  "Who said anything
about marrying?  Juanita—"

"Oho!  Juanita!  Sorry for you, my boy; no cure for
that complaint.  Well, I'll take care of you, but it'll be
a long time yet before you can ride."

Nearly a month passed away before Jack, after a few
experiments, was pronounced fit to undertake the ride to
Cariñena.  The period of waiting was diversified by one
or two expeditions against French convoys, in which
Antonio achieved brilliant successes.  Jack chafed at
being obliged to remain inactive, and to share in these
raids merely in imagination.  He spent hour after hour in
attempting to decipher the postscript of Don Fernan's
letter, always without success.  Remembering the
enigmatical phrase in the letter he himself had received in
Salamanca, "Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name", he
believed that the key must be contained in that; but
though he tried to fit it to the ciphered message, and
made considerable demands on Dugdale's patience, he
drew no nearer to solving the puzzle, and finally gave it
up in disgust.

At length the day arrived when, feeling well and strong,
he set off on his ride to the convent.  Pepito had several
times conveyed verbal messages between him and Juanita,
but nothing had been committed to paper for fear lest it
should fall into the hands of the French.  Guided by the
boy, who rode before him, he reached the convent in the
afternoon of a beautiful April day, and was at once
admitted to the presence of Juanita, with whom he found
the old duenna he had seen in Saragossa.

Though Juanita greeted him with as much cordiality
as ever, he was conscious of a slight difference in her
manner; there was not quite the same frank comradeship
she had shown in Saragossa.

"I am very glad to see you looking so well, Jack," she
said.  "Will you take a cup of chocolate?"

"Thanks!" replied Jack briefly.  He sipped it for a
brief interval without speaking, then said suddenly: "I
say, Juanita, I am mighty glad you escaped, you know.
It was good of Padre Consolacion to help you—after
trying to persuade you to marry Miguel, too.  Tell me
about it."

Without her usual animation Juanita recounted how
she had been captured as she neared Morata by a party
of troopers, among whom she had recognized Perez,
Miguel's one-eyed man.  She had been treated kindly
enough by the wife of a colonel of chasseurs, who, however,
irritated her beyond endurance by constant reference
to her approaching marriage.  Miguel himself had only
seen her once.  He had asked what had become of her
father's old servant José, and shown some annoyance
when she refused to answer.  But she had had another
and a more frequent visitor.  After the capitulation, Padre
Consolacion had been surprised to find that, though he
had been as consistent an opponent as Don Basilio and
Santiago Sass, he had not met with the same fate at the
hands of the French.  He could only conclude that he
owed his security to the good offices of Miguel, whom,
however, he now held in utter abhorrence.  Making his
escape from the city, he had gone into hiding at Morata,
where he soon learnt of what had befallen Juanita.  It
was not difficult for him, with the assistance of the people
of the house, to obtain secret interviews with her.  On
the day before Miguel went with Commissary Taberne on
the foraging expedition, Juanita learnt from the colonel's
wife that pressure was to be brought to bear in high
quarters for the purpose of bringing about her marriage
with Don Miguel.  She sent a message by a secret channel
to Padre Consolacion, informing him of this alarming news.
On the next evening, almost at the moment when Jack
was surprising the commissary, she had slipped out of the
house in the dress of one of the Spanish maid-servants,
fled to where the priest was awaiting her, and by him was
escorted to the convent, where she was joined in a few
days by the duenna, after the sudden swoop of Antonio
had cleared the place of French.

"The padre is a trump," said Jack.  "I confess I
didn't like him in Saragossa; but then, of course, he hadn't
found Miguel out.  I thought he must be either stupid or
something worse.  I shall do him more justice in future."

He would not perhaps have been so cordial if he had
known that it was to Padre Consolacion he owed the
strange alteration in Juanita's manner which had puzzled
him.  When he left her in the convent, the padre's last
words had been: "Now, querida mia, though I have
helped you to escape a marriage with a traitor and a
villain, remember I shall not approve, I shall forbid, your
marriage with a heretic.  You will understand me."

All unconscious of this, Jack waxed eloquent in praise
of the padre, and went on: "Well now, I've something to
tell you besides what you have heard from Pepito.  You
remember that a letter left with General Palafox for my
father disappeared—a letter about your property?"

"Yes.  I hate the sound of the word 'property'."

"I have the letter.  It was—perhaps you guess—in the
possession of Miguel."

He proceeded to tell the whole story.  Juanita listened
with growing interest, and when it was concluded every
trace of her stiffness had passed away.

"Ah, Jack!" she cried, "now we can get this wretched
treasure that has nearly cost your life—for but for it you
would never have come to Saragossa—and then—oh! do
you think we can get away to England?"

"I'm very sorry, Juanita.  I was just going to tell you
that I'm afraid we can't get the treasure."

"Why not?  You said the letter was about it."

"So it is.  But, unfortunately, the secret of its whereabouts
is locked up in a postscript—a single line of capital
letters, which I can't read.  It is in cipher."

"Show it to me.  You have it with you?"

Jack took out the paper, and unfolded it before her.
She read over the postscript letter by letter:

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

   S E O S F L S A E O A P E J E J P J J F J P J X P A P P F

.. vspace:: 2

"Certainly a most curious-looking sentence," said
Juanita.  "And have you no clue at all?"

"None whatever.  I thought I had.  I made sure I
had, but when I tried to work it out in the cipher it
proved useless."

"What was it?"

"Well, I had never told anyone.  Your father said I was
to burn the letter as soon as I received it, and I did so; but
now that things have altogether changed, there can be no
harm in telling you all about it.  In the letter I received at
Salamanca, Don Fernan said that I was to remember the
phrase, 'Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name'.  It occurred
to me, of course, that the clue to the cipher might be found
in that phrase; but, try it as I might, I couldn't make
anything of it.  You see, the cipher message contains all the
letters of the word Palafox, but there are a number of J's
and other letters that have nothing to do with it."

"And you gave it up!" exclaimed Juanita, with some
scorn.  "Just like a boy!"

"Really, Juanita—" began Jack, but she interrupted him.

"Don't talk.  Let me see if I've a little more perseverance.
I count six P's, three A'S, one L, three F's, two O's,
and one X; that accounts for PALAFOX.  Why are there so
many P's?  Besides, there are four E'S, six J's, and three
S's.  What can EJS stand for?  EJS, ESJ, JES, JSE—I see it!
Take an O out of PALAFOX and you have JOSÉ.  That is the
name of our old servant, and of the Captain-General too.
Now, do you see, Señor Don Juan?—the key to the cipher
is JOSÉ PALAFOX."

"What an ass I am!" said Jack.  "It never struck me
that Palafox's Christian name might be included.  But
what then?  The only ciphering I ever did was in money
sums, and weights and measures.  How do you work out
the thing now?"

"Why, it's clear that my father's message is made up of
the words JOSÉ PALAFOX, which have only nine different
letters.  It's not likely that the message contains only nine
letters; therefore one letter of the cipher probably stands
for several, and I shouldn't wonder if all the letters of the
alphabet were represented by those nine.  Suppose we
put down the letters of the alphabet and the other letters
underneath, and see what can be made of it then."

"We don't know what language it is in."

"Probably Spanish, like the letter itself.  Let us try."

She wrote down the twenty-seven letters of the Spanish
alphabet, and under each the corresponding letter of the
key words:—

::

      a b c ch d e f g h i j l ll m n ñ o p q r s t u v x y z
      J O S  E P A L A F O X J  O S E P A L A F O X J O S E P

.. vspace:: 2

"There you are, Jack.  Now look.  The first letter of
the cipher, s, may stand for either *c* or *m* or *x*; we can't
tell which of the three until we get a little further."

"It's a pretty puzzle," said Jack.  "The next letter
is E; that may be either *ch* or *n* or *y*, and if we put either
of them after *c*, *m*, or *x*, we sha'n't begin to make any
Spanish word that I know of."

"No," agreed Juanita, putting her pencil to her lips.
"It looks as if the sentence can't be Spanish."

"Don Fernan wrote to me in English.  Let us try that.
I'll do it this time."

Jack wrote down the letters of the English alphabet,
placing the key-words below as before:—

::

      a b c d e f g h i j k l m n o p q r s t u v w x y z
      J O S E P A L A F O X J O S E P A L A F O X J O S E

.. vspace:: 2

"S is either *c*, *n*, or *y* this time, and E is either *d*, *o*, or *a*.
We can drop *d* and *e*, because they can't follow any of the
first three; that leaves *co*, *no*, and *yo*.  This is getting
interesting, Juanita."

"Yes, I am getting quite excited.  Now for the next
letter, O.  That can stand for *b*, *j*, *m*, *u*, *x*.  I'll write
down all the combinations, and see how they look."

They were fifteen, as follows:—

::

      cob nob yob
      coj noj yoj
      com nom yom
      cou nou you
      cox nox yox

.. vspace:: 2

"Some of these are too comical for anything," said Jack;
"but we've one complete word, *you*.  Let us see what the
next comes to.  S again; that's *c*, *n*, or *y*.  Then F; that's
*i* or *t*.  No English word begins with *ct*, *nt*, or *yt*, so *t* goes
out.  Now for L; that's *g* or *r*; and the combinations now
are:—

::

      cig   nig   yig
      cir   nir   yir

I say, your father wouldn't begin by addressing me as 'you
nigger', would he?  The next letter is S; *c*, *n*, or *y* again.
Not a single one of them helps to make a word.  We are
on the wrong track, Juanita."

"Perhaps the first word is not *you* at all."

"Well, let's go back and see how many of the fifteen
combinations of the first three letters will fit on to the
fourth.  It's quite clear that you can't make a word by
putting c or y after any of them; there's only n left, and
all we can make is *coun* and *noun*.  Don Fernan wouldn't
go in for grammar, would he?  If we drop *noun* we've only
coun, and that looks most unlikely."

"Be quick with the next letter, Jack.  Why do you
talk so much?  I could jump with excitement."

"Don't be in a hurry; perhaps the whole thing will
come to grief again.  The next letter is F; that stands
for *i* or *t*; *i* won't do, but *t* will, and we get *count*;
that's a word at any rate.  I wonder what we're to count.
Now for L; that's *g* or *r*; and S again; that's *c*, *n*, or
*y*.  And unless I'm a Dutchman, that makes the word
*country*."

Juanita clapped her hands and laughed.

"You *are* getting clever!" she said.

The irony escaped Jack, who was busy working out the
next word.  In a few minutes he had made out *house*.

"Country house!" exclaimed Juanita.  "Oh, you are
slow, Jack; do be quick!  What about the country
house?"

But the same process had to be gone through with
every letter, and it was quite half an hour before the whole
message was deciphered.  The excitement of Juanita and
himself increased with every fresh discovery, and when
the task was finished, and the simple English words
were written down, each gave a gasp of relief.  The
message consisted of but six words:—

.. vspace:: 1

.. class:: noindent

   *Country house old well twelve feet*.

.. vspace:: 2

"I see it!  I see it all!" exclaimed Juanita.  "Oh, Jack,
we shall get it after all!  I don't care for the treasure itself
one bit really, not one bit; but I could dance with joy at
defeating that wretch Miguel, and I should like to have
some money to give to the poor people ruined in
Saragossa.  You must go, Jack.  The well is in the garden
behind the house, near the wall.  It has not been used
for many years; we got water from a new well by the
kitchen.  Only to think that all is coming right after
all!"

"Yes," said Jack; "Pepito and I will go to-morrow.
How deep is the well, Juanita?"

"I don't know.  It doesn't matter.  Twelve feet means
something.  You will find out what, Jack.  And then—"

"Then, Juanita, for England!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Dead Men Tell no Tales`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXIV


.. class:: center large bold

   Dead Men Tell no Tales

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   The Old Well—A Voice—Visions—Infimis

.. vspace:: 2

"It is locked, Señor."

Pepito had dismounted at the gate of the Casa Alvarez
on the hillside.

"Shout, Pepito," replied Jack from the saddle of his
mule.  "Perhaps the old man will hear us from the
house."

The gipsy put his hands to his mouth, and called
shrilly.  There was no answer, no sound save the hum
of bees and the song of birds.

"We must climb the wall, then," said Jack, springing
to the ground.

"See, Señor, a face in the bush!" cried Pepito, pointing
through the iron railings into the garden.

Looking, Jack saw, framed in the foliage of a dense
laurel, the face of the old gardener.

"Adelante, hombre!" he said.

Instantly the face vanished.  Jack called again; no voice
answered, no footstep was heard.  The two riders tied
their steeds to trees in the plantation on the right, then
scaled the wall and hastened towards the house.

Nearly two months had elapsed since Jack's night adventure.
He was struck by the alteration in the place.  It had
looked untidy, ill-cared-for, then; it was now a wilderness.
Flowers and shrubs bloomed in unchecked luxuriance;
hollyhocks drooped their heavy heads, sprays of
woodbine twined in and out among the laurels, unpruned
vines crept over the weedy paths, the sweltering air was
sickly with mingled perfumes.  The house stood white
and brown in the glowing sunlight; lush creepers almost
hid the door; the dry wood-work was blistered, the lattices
falling away; all was decay, silence, and desolation.

It was high noon of a sultry summer day, yet Jack
shivered.  He rapped at the door.  There was no response
save an echo.  He walked round the house; every window
was shuttered, every door barred.  He went on down the
garden at the back, following the directions given him by
Juanita, and Pepito crept along behind him, his big eyes
wide with awe.  A vulture flew up in front, and clattered
away on creaking wings.  He stepped from the path, and
pushed his way through tangled shrubs and matted
undergrowth towards a broad chestnut in the angle of the wall.
Tendrils of convolvulus clung around his feet, the scent of
thyme came in gusts with the cloying odour of gardenias.
Suddenly the rank vegetation ceased, and before him, in
a clear space, he saw the circular covering of the old well.

Frame and winch had been removed.  A broken moss-grown
bucket lay hard by; near it was a long bar of wood.
Around the well was a broad patch of soft black earth.
As Jack approached to remove the wooden cover from
the well-mouth, Pepito touched him on the arm.

"Marks, Señor!" he said under his breath; "footsteps,
and marks of a mule's hoofs; fresh, Señor; made to-day."

Jack started.  A green lizard, sunning itself at the edge
of the well, disappeared in a flash.  He saw the hoof-marks
in the soil; his heart sank with a sudden misgiving.  The
well-cover seemed to have been clumsily replaced.

"Help me lift it," said Jack.

They removed the heavy cover.  The well opened black
before them.  Pepito peered over the edge; he saw nothing;
there was neither rope nor ladder.

"How can we get down?" said Jack.

Looking around, he saw what appeared to be the end of
a ladder projecting from beneath a bush.  He dragged it
out; a snake dropped from it and vanished in the grass; it
was a ladder some sixteen feet long.

"It will not reach the bottom of the well," said Jack.
His eye caught the bar of wood.

"Bring me that, Pepito."

He laid it across the well-mouth; on its mossy side there
was a dull splash of red.  The bar stretched across the
opening.  Lifting it again, Jack gave it to Pepito, and,
taking the ladder, lowered this into the well till only the
topmost rungs were above the brickwork.

"Put the wood through," he said.

Thus the ladder hung dangling on its support, fifteen
feet into the well.  Pepito looked at his master enquiringly.

"Yes, you are to climb down.  Stay!" he added, as the
boy prepared to step down on to the swinging ladder.

He took some papers from his pocket, twisted them into
a loose mass, and wound about them the end of a long
vine tendril.  Then he kindled them from his tinder-box,
and let the flaming mass down quickly into the well.  It
burned until it was consumed.

"There is air enough.  Go down, Pepito."

He steadied the ladder as the boy descended step by
step.  Jack counted twelve rungs, then ordered the boy
to stop.

"Do you see anything, Pepito?"

A few moments passed.  The gipsy's eyes were adjusting
themselves to the gloom.

"A hole, Señor, a big hole in the wall."

"Can you get into it?"

"No, Señor, it is on the other side, too far away."

Bidding the boy ascend, Jack shifted the ladder across
the bar.  Pepito went down again, and soon Jack heard
his muffled voice exclaim that he was in the hole.

"Do you find anything there?  Search thoroughly."

A minute passed.  Jack was crouched at the brink,
holding the joists of the ladder firmly with both hands.

"There is nothing, Señor; all emptiness."

"Come up again."

He stepped out on to the brickwork, and Jack rose to
his feet.

"Dead! dead! dead!" said a quavering voice behind him.

He turned with a nervous start.  While he had been
engaged at the well, a figure had been slowly approaching
from a thicket of laurel, furtively, with hesitation,
stopping for a moment, then taking another unsteady step and
stopping again.  Jack recognized the old gardener, but
how altered!  His limbs shook as with a palsy; his lips
mumbled without sound; his eyes were wild.

"What is it, hombre?" said Jack quietly without moving.

The old man stood as if listening.  Then, raising his
shaking right hand, the long fingers working convulsively,
he murmured:

"I saw it! ... Dead!"

Then he smiled, a thin wan smile, and tottering forward
pointed waveringly to the well.  Jack recoiled.  The old
man's smile was more awful than a sob of agony.

"They came through the gate;" he pointed across the
garden to the farther wall.  "There were two; I was
hidden in the copse; I watched them.  I watched them.
They brought a mule; it was a fine mule, with gay
trappings,—a fine mule..."  The old man passed his hand
across his brow.  "What was I saying?  I have forgotten."

"They brought a mule," said Jack.

"Yes, they brought a mule.  They led it across the
garden, trampling down the poor flowers—my flowers!  I
saw them!  There were two.  One was in front—the
cursed afrancesado; I knew him; yes, did I not serve him
at my master's table? the afrancesado!  He was in front;
behind him a man, a long thin man, a one-eyed man, with
the mule.  They crushed the flowers—my flowers ... what
was I saying?"

"They came across the garden," said Jack.

"They came across the garden.  They came here,
here! where we are standing.  The man, the one-eyed man,
fastened the mule to yonder tree; then they stooped down
and lifted the cover.  It was heavy...I watched them.
They peered down into the well, into the deep well, but
they could see nothing.  Then the tall man, the man with
the one eye, went away; the other, the afrancesado, the
cursed afrancesado, waited, and while he waited he cast
pebbles into the well ... horrible! horrible!"  He covered
his eyes with his hand, as if to shut out some dreadful
thing.  "What was I saying?"

"The tall man came back," said Jack.

"The tall man came back; he brought a ladder; he
fetched a beam, that beam, and they let down the ladder
into the well, the deep well ... I watched them.  'Twelve
steps,' said the afrancesado, the cursed afrancesado, and
the tall man, the man with the one eye, went down
... Twelve steps! ... The other, the afrancesado, bent over;
there was a noise below; the afrancesado said 'Bien!'—I
heard him.  Then the man, the long man, the man with
the one eye, came up, slowly; there was a box, a heavy
box; the other took it, and the man, the one-eyed man,
went down, ... twelve steps ... He came up again; there
was another box, a small box.  I knew it; it was the
master's.  Then he went down again, ... twelve steps,
... and the other, the afrancesado, the accursed afrancesado,
drew his knife, silently; it flashed in the sun; I watched
him..."  The old man stared fixedly before him.  "What
was I saying?" he whispered.

"He drew his knife," said Jack.

"He drew his knife," said the old man, still in a
whisper.  "The other, the long man, the man with one
eye, came slowly, slowly, up.  He stretched his left hand
for the box, he raised the arm with the knife.  He was
behind him.  He leant forward; I saw him—him, and the
long man, the man with one eye—he drove it between his
shoulders..."

The old man made as if to brush a cobweb from before
his eyes.

"Horrible! horrible! ... down! down! down! ...  What
was I saying?"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Doom`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXV


.. class:: center large bold

   Doom

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Outcast—Spectres—Conscience—Tracked—Vanity—Scylla—
   Charybdis—José—Faithful unto Death

.. vspace:: 2

Within a few miles of Calatayud, a narrow path, little
more than a foot-track, leads down from the hills on to
the highroad to Saragossa.  Just before joining the
highway, the path winds between two low bluffs that screen
it from the sight of wayfarers below.  Indeed, any
muleteer or arriero unacquainted with the country might almost
pass unawares the spot where road and hill-path meet,
so completely is it hidden by the ash-gray contours of the
hills.

About the time when Jack dismounted at the gate of
the Casa Alvarez, a man was making his way downward
along this narrow track, urging a heavily-laden mule with
low cries to hasten its flagging pace.  He was a young
man, in the costume of a muleteer; his cheeks were pale
and sunken, his eyes unnaturally bright.  Every now and
again he would throw an anxious backward glance over
his shoulder, not consciously, as if he feared pursuit, but
as though in obedience to some impulse of which he was
hardly aware.

When he approached the point where the track joined
the road he stepped to the mule's head and brought the
animal to a stand-still, looking from left to right as if in
doubt.  After a moment's hesitation he tied the mule to
one of the rare saplings that grew at the side of the track,
and advanced warily towards the highway, pausing at
short intervals, and bending his head forward to listen.
There was no sound save the silver trill of a lark far
above, and the soughing of a light breeze as it lapped the
edges of the hills.  The man moved forward again, still
more cautiously; rounding a knoll, he came to the road,
that stretched in gentle undulations for several hundreds
of yards in a straight line east and west.  No one was
in sight.  The man gave a sigh of relief, followed by one
of those quick uneasy backward glances that seemed to
be habitual with him.  Rapidly scanning the road once
more, he returned to the mule, released the bridle from
the tree, and slowly led the laden animal down the path.

He was within a dozen paces of the dusty highway when
he halted suddenly, dragging heavily upon the reins.  His
dusky, olive-hued features paled, the hand that grasped
the bridle trembled nervously; his whole attitude was
one of dire apprehension.  For a moment he stood intently
listening, his eyes fixed in a wide stare; then, wheeling the
mule sharply round and prodding the weary beast
desperately with the knife he drew from his belt, he raced
back along the track.  For a full quarter of a mile he
continued his upward course; then he stopped, and again
turned his head towards the road in the attitude of
listening.  At first he could hear nothing but the throbbing of
his heart and the quick breathing of the mule by his side;
but gradually the clatter of many hoofs on the hard road
became more and more audible through the clear air,
though the horsemen were hidden from view by the
obstructing hills.  They arrived at what he judged to be
the place he had just left.  He heard "Halt!" in a rough
stentorian tone.  The voice was Spanish, and its effect on
the anxious listening man was as that of a galvanic shock.
With a smothered cry he dashed forward, dragging the
unwilling mule, which he goaded with alternate stabs of
the knife and whispered words half of menace half of
entreaty.

There was no halting now.  For mile after mile they
continued their flight, until, when both mule and man were
exhausted, they at length stopped at the edge of a wild
gorge high up in the mountains.  There, for the first time
since he fled the voice, the man looked carefully around.
The place was evidently new to him.  In his flight he had
diverged at the first opportunity from the track, along
which he had come, not then alone, earlier in the day.
The new path was more difficult than the old; it wound
away from his obvious destination; it led, indeed, almost
due north into the heart of the mountain country—the
Sierra de Moncayo, the precipitous granite range where
King Æolus had his mythic throne.  But the fugitive
knew not, cared not, whither he went, so long as it was
away from the voice of his countrymen.  And he avoided,
with the shrinking of dread, the track he knew.

One thing was remarkable during his late impetuous
flight.  He seemed to have forgotten his strange trick of
glancing backward over his shoulder.  Many times he
turned half round to see if he was followed, but
consciously, less abjectly, for all his panic fear.

When he had rested for a few minutes, he rose and
carefully scanned the surrounding country, debating with
himself what course to follow.  His view was circumscribed
by the irregular masses of bare rock and sparsely
wooded slopes that formed the horizon.  But he appeared
at last to have made up his mind, for, pulling the mule
slowly round on the narrow track, he took a few steps
as if to return in the direction from which he had come.
But his bearing was timid, uncertain, vacillating, and
when a mountain eagle swept from its eyry, and screamed
just above his head, he started as if struck, hauled his poor
beast feverishly across the track, and once more pressed in
hot haste towards the north.

For some time he marched on rapidly.  Then the fatigue
of travelling over the steep uneven track again made
itself felt; his pace slackened; he moved along behind the
mule as if mechanically, while mechanically he still urged
it forward with his knife.  For minutes at a stretch he
seemed as in a dream, immersed in dark thought.  Again
he glanced fearfully backward, not as though seeking a
visible object of menace, not at the frowning hills, but
with eyes that attempted to pierce the infinite for a
something beyond.  At moments he started from his waking
nightmare to a full consciousness of his position among
these bleak inhospitable hills.  The phantoms dogging
his thoughts then vanished, giving place to real
cares—physical pain, a sense of desolation.  At such times he
searched anxiously for a path to the west, whereby making
a circuit he might reach his goal, avoiding the highroad,
where he had so narrowly escaped the hands of his
countrymen the guerrilleros.  But the track wound on,
swerving sometimes to right or left, yet leading remorselessly
northward, no by-path branching towards Calatayud.  He
dared not turn back.  The danger of the road, had he
known it, was past; but the awful risk of capture made
him sick with fear.  He plodded on, sunk more and more
in dark imaginings, until at last, when the red sun was
sinking below the distant purple peaks on his left, the
mule suddenly stopped, and, breathing heavily, dropped
upon its knees.  The poor brute was spent.  The man
awoke with a start from his reverie.  He was on the edge
of a deep gully; giant rocks hemmed him in on either
side; the path—there was no path!  For the first time he
realized that the granite hills held him in their grip.

He looked at the mule, that lay with lolling tongue and
starting eyes.  The animal was famished.  He had no
food for it, none for himself; only now was he conscious
of his own gnawing hunger.  He loosened the girths, and,
removing the heavy panniers from the mule's back,
enabled it to rise.  There was nothing to tie it to.  Sinking
down on a flat rock, he held the bridle and peered into
the deepening gloom.  He dared not move forward; one
careless step in this wild place might hurl them both into
an abyss.  There he sat, and the darkness gathered, and
the chill of night wrapped him round.

What were his thoughts as he waited and endured?
Who shall say?  Human justice may falter, may be long
upon the road; Eternal Justice is instant, relentless,
inevitable.  The sense of doom was upon this man, as he
held sombre vigil with the cold accusing stars.

.. vspace:: 2

It was an unkempt, haggard, agued figure that rose
stiffly and dizzily from his hard couch as soon as the pale
dawn came creeping through the narrow gully among the
hills.  He could just see the mule standing motionless a
few yards away.  He shuddered as his eye fell upon the
brass-clamped coffers at its feet.  Then he moved as if
to pass away, leaving behind him both mule and treasure,
the visible links that bound him to the past.  But after
a few staggering steps he hesitated, set his teeth in
desperate resolve, and returning, painfully lifted the boxes on
to the panniers, the mule standing with drooped ears, and
shivering in the raw air.  In the half-light he led the
famished beast away from the ravine, searching the rocky
ground narrowly for marks of its track.  Here and there
appeared a stone covered with gray lichen; at these the
mule halted and licked a scanty, bitter meal.  At one
point a silver rivulet poured from a fissure and fell
clattering upon the rocks far down the steep.  There
Miguel dropped to his knees and drank with the animal,
then went on again.

It was nearly two hours before he saw, on the far side
of a deep ravine, a foot-path winding about a wall of rock.
Was it the path he had left?  He did not know.  Only
the guerrilleros he feared to meet could have told him that
but one other path led across these barren heights.
Leading the mule cautiously down one face of the ravine, he
hauled it with infinite difficulty up the other.  The poor
beast, faint with hunger, had scarcely strength to crawl
when at last it scrambled with its burden on to the track.
But for the constant goad it would have fallen by the way.
The path ran north and south; Miguel hesitated which
direction to take.  Northward he would have to scale
steeper heights, but would increase his distance from the
garden of his fear; southward, he might reach Calatayud
and safety with the French, but who knew what danger
might lie between?  As the question beat this way and
that in his tortured brain, his eyes lit upon a long, thin,
jagged rock in which, in the gloom of the preceding
evening, he had marked with a shudder a grotesque
resemblance to a human form he would have given worlds to
forget.  Then he knew that he was upon the track from
which he had wandered; he would persevere in the attempt
to find a cross-path to the west.  Surely there must be
one that would lead, by however long a circuit, to his
goal?

He turned wearily towards the north and instinctively
glanced back across the hills, now variously tinted by the
ascending sun.  As he did so his eyes dilated, and for
some moments he stood as if rooted to the ground.  In
the clear distance two figures mounted on mules were
coming towards him.  Even while he looked he saw
one, the smaller of the two, pointing in his direction.
The other drew rein for an instant, then both urged their
mules to a trot.  A bend in the path hid them from view,
and Miguel leapt round, knowing that he was in very
truth a hunted man.  For nearly a day he had been
pursued by the phantom of his crime.  He had run from
the shadow of a sound, fled from the perils his own
imagination had created.  Terror of he knew not what had
left him all unstrung.  But now that vengeance dogged
him in real bodily form his mind braced itself to meet
it.  Only for a moment did his heart quail with misgiving;
he reeled slightly, and clutched at the mule's bridle for
support; then, recovering himself instantly, he struck the
jaded beast, and with a fierce cry drove it before him up
the path.

Suddenly the track bent eastward, it ceased to rise,
he seemed to be on the northern slope of the watershed
up which he had toiled during the previous day.  He
topped the crest.  The path stretched downwards before
him; and, scattering the loose stones to right and left,
Miguel raced on with the mule until at a turn in the
track a vast and brilliant panorama opened before his
yearning eyes.  Below him, at the edge of the long slope,
stretched a rolling wooded country intersected by numerous
watercourses shining in the morning sun.  Far away on
the horizon a silver streak wound and doubled on itself.
It must be the river Ebro.  Could he but gain the rich
champaign below, he hoped that, for a time at least, he
would be safe.  In some copse or covert, vineyard or
olive-ground, even in the byways of some hamlet, he might
find a temporary refuge.  But with the thought itself its
utter hopelessness was borne in upon him.  His pursuers
must be closing in fast, although the windings of the track
hid them from him when at intervals he turned to see.
Panting himself, he dragged his panting beast with reckless
haste, though in his inmost consciousness sure that the
road was too long, the time too short.  One solitary hope
remained to him.  If he left the mule with its retarding
load, abandoned the prize for which he had staked his all,
he might perhaps even yet find some rocky defile, some
favouring grove, wherein to hide and baffle pursuit.  But
no, the renunciation was too great for his blighted soul.
For the treasure he had schemed and sinned; he could
not, dared not, let it go.

Scrambling on down the mountain track, he spied at
length, some hundreds of feet below him, a narrow
hillroad to which his headlong course must lead him by and
by.  Its farther side bordered a ravine.  The road seemed
near at hand, but as he continued his flight he found that
the downward track zigzagged on the face of the slope,
so that sometimes two or three of its coils lay immediately
beneath him.  There was no shorter way.  Approaching the
end of the last of these windings, he was warned by
the clatter of dislodged stones that his pursuers were
now hard upon his heels.  He threw a quick glance
upward; there, two hundred feet above him, the riders
crossed his sight, following at headlong speed the first
winding of the track.  Without pause he raced
staggeringly along.

All unknowing, he had himself been watched for some
time from below.  At the edge of the hill-road, hidden
from him by a jutting mass of rock, a man was resting,
seated on a boulder, eating a frugal meal from a wallet
hung at his neck.  He was a gaunt, hollow-eyed man,
with wasted cheeks; thin, unkempt locks straggled from
beneath his cap; his long tangled beard was snowy white.
His attitude was of one in pain.  At first he watched the
impetuous muleteer dully, without attention; then he
started, paused in lifting a piece of bread, and stared long
with quickening breath.  As the mule turned the last of
the zigzags a sunbeam flashed on the brass of one of the
boxes.  The seated man rose; his eyes, opened to their
fullest width, now fixed themselves with a glare of the
intensest hatred upon the fugitive approaching, until once
more he was hidden from sight.

Then with the stealthy movement of a cat the worn,
panting wayfarer glided from the brink of the ravine to the
opposite side of the road, and crouched down under cover
of the rocks that had hidden him from the man above.
Almost ceasing to breathe, he drew his knife, and waited.
His movements suggested that he expected the muleteer
to emerge into the road between himself and the animal.
But not thus was the event ordered.  Rounding the last
turn of the path, Miguel, to avoid a projecting rock, had
changed sides; thus when, after a few seconds, he reached
the junction of path and road, the mule was between him
and the man who lay there waiting, ready to strike.  The
anticipated moment was come.  But Miguel was snatched
from human vengeance; for him was reserved another
fate.  With an inarticulate cry of baffled rage the
ambuscader sprang forward as if to overtake the mule, but,
under the impetus gained during the last few yards of the
hill-path, the beast was still moving quickly in an oblique
direction across the road.  Miguel at one and the same
moment heard the cry and saw the flash of the knife.  Till
then he was unaware of his enemy's presence, so absorbed
was his attention with the path ahead and the progress
of the pursuers behind.  At the cry he gave a startled
side-long glance at the wild menacing features glaring at him
across the mule's neck.  In that dark look he read his doom.

It fell more quickly than any of the four persons—the
actors themselves, the spectators above—could have
thought possible.  The two riders on the steep hill-path
had now come within full sight of the scene passing on the
road.  As they gazed, holding their breath, they saw the
mule between the two men staggering across the road.
Startled by the sudden flash of the uplifted blade, the
poor beast swerved towards the ravine, driving Miguel,
all unconscious, on to the brink.  He had already slipped
towards the almost perpendicular descent before he realized
his peril; then he clutched wildly at the slackened bridle,
dragging the mule after him.  It stumbled at the edge;
burdened with its treasure-laden panniers it could not
recover its footing, and in a moment man and beast, with
one mingled scream of terror, disappeared into the
yawning gulf.

The spectators above had halted, transfixed by the
appalling tragedy.  Then they hastened downward
impetuously.  The older man had fallen forward on the very
edge of the ravine.  Jack feared that he would follow
Miguel Priego to destruction.  But when, reaching the
road, he threw himself from his mule and stooped to the
prone figure, he found that the man had fainted, overcome
by his fierce passion and the agitation of the last tense
moments.  Then for the first time Jack was aware of the
thunderous roar of a torrent, and looking into the ravine
he saw a white flood swirling over the rocks hundreds of
feet below.

"Pepito," he said in a strained voice, "clamber down
carefully.  See what has become of Don Miguel—if
anything can be done for him."

While the boy was gone on his perilous errand Jack
loosened the clothing of the prostrate man, fetched water
from a mountain-rill, and bathed his head.  He opened
his eyes, but there was no speculation in them.  They
wandered vacantly and closed again.  Jack looked at him
pityingly, and, as he looked, felt vaguely that the worn
features were familiar to him.  They reminded him of
someone he had known as a child in Barcelona, a man who had
mended his toys for him, and carried him on his back
when tired; who had petted him and scolded him by
turns, and whom he had alternately plagued and
domineered over.  Was it José Pinzon?  Jack could scarcely
believe it.  The José he had known was a man touching
his prime, strong, stalwart, bright-eyed, raven-haired; the
man lying before him was bent and aged, wasted, hoary,
decrepit.  Yet the likeness to the old José was remarkable.
Was it possible that the faithful servant had not been
killed in Galindo's sortie, as Juanita had believed?

It was three-quarters of an hour before Pepito returned
from his descent of the precipice.  Nothing living could
have survived so terrible a fall; Miguel must instantaneously
have gone to his account.  Fragments of the boxes,
but for which the mule might have regained its footing,
lay scattered on the rocks, and out of the ruin Pepito had
recovered but one relic—one gold pendant,—which he
handed to his master; all else had been swept away by the
torrent.  Then he helped him lift the poor wayfarer to
the back of his mule, and together they bore him to a
muleteer's cabin in the hills.

For three days the man lingered there, unconscious for
the most part, and in intervals of consciousness talking at
random of people and things that were quite strange to
his hearers.  Jack nursed him with every care; but it was
evident from the first that his days were numbered.  On
the third evening, when the sun was near setting and
the cicalas had commenced their chant, the man opened
his eyes wide and looked amazedly about him.  He made
an effort to rise, but fell back upon the rough blanket that
formed his bed.  He seemed to be listening.  Jack, watching
him, saw for the first time a glimmer of intelligence in
his eyes.  Through the open door came the sound of hoofs
rapidly approaching.  There was a strange eagerness in
the man's upward gaze.  The sound ceased; Pepito came
into the hut, followed by a young lady and a priest fetched
in hot haste from Cariñena.  The former bent over the
bed and looked hard at the pallid face; the latter fell on
his knees and began to recite the prayers for the dying.

"José!  José!" whispered Juanita; "you know me, my
dear friend?"

"My mistress!" he murmured faintly.

She clasped his hand; a look of glad content shone
for a brief moment in the sick man's eyes.  There was a
silence; then, as the light faded, came the solemn voice of
Padre Consolacion:

"Domine, in manus tuas animam suam commendamus!"





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`Sergeant Wilkes wants to know`:

.. class:: center large bold

   CHAPTER XXXVI


.. class:: center large bold

   Sergeant Wilkes wants to know

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent small

   Mr. Lumsden and Me—Me and Mr. Lumsden—A Lady in the
   Case—The Pleasure of your Company—O'Hare and the
   Ladies—The Grampus takes Cover—The Eve of Parting—The
   Age Limit—Poor Mr. Dugdale!—The Question


"Want to know about the fight at Corunna, do you?
Hanged if you ain't always wanting to know something.
Well, attention! dress by the right! and stand easy while
I endeavour to reconstruct the situation."

The scene was the quay at Lisbon; the speaker was
Sergeant Wilkes; the audience was a knot of green-coated
recruits who, to judge by their docility, regarded the
sergeant with admiration and awe.  Since he had won the
three stripes Wilkes had lost nothing of his loquacity, and
had, indeed, cultivated a vocabulary of words long enough
to match his new importance.

"Here you are, then; that there stands for the
formidable French battery at the summit of the eminence"—he
placed a jack-knife on the wall before him,—"this here
stands for General Disney's brigade"—he put a plug of
black tobacco at a distance from the knife,—"this here
stands for the Reserve of that exemplary and notorious
general Ted Paget"—he ranged two pebbles to the right
of the tobacco,—"and this here," taking up one of the
pebbles, "is Captain O'Hare's company.  Look at him
well, 'cos 'twas Captain O'Hare's company, and me in
it, that won the battle on that most fatal and obstrepolous
day.  We was a-going up the hill towards that there
battery, when blowed if we didn't get variegated with
a lot of French dragoons in among the farmyards.
Then up comes Mr. Lumsden, and says to me, 'Corp'ril
Wilkes,' he says—I was only a corp'ril then, you
understand—'Corp'ril Wilkes,' he says, 'we've got to shove
down that there wall and drive the mounseers out.  You
an' me can do it if we puts our backs into it,' says he.
'Right you are, sir,' says I, 'we'll fustigate the mounseers
and extipulate them to the last individual.'  Them were
the words I used.  Well—"

"I say, sargint," said Corporal Bates, strolling across
the road, "that's a smart little craft a-spanking up the
river there.  Looks like a despatch-boat, eh?"

"Don't interjeculate," said Wilkes irritably.  "You
always must put your spoke in.  I was just telling the
young 'uns how Mr. Lumsden and me won the fight at
Corunna; who cares for a despatch-boat?—which it ain't,
but only a common sloop."

"Go on, sargint, if you please," said one of the men.

"Well, as I was saying, Mr. Lumsden and me was
just a-going to shove down the wall what was
intermediate between us and the mounseers when—"

"Hold hard a bit, sargint," put in Bates; "ain't that
there little chap on the boat there rather like the gipsy
brat what Mr. Lumsden took up with?"

"Corp'ril Bates, if you keep on interrupting your
superior orficer I shall rejuce you.  Gipsy brats is neither
here nor there; what the young 'uns want to know is how
me and Mr. Lumsden licked the French at Corunna."

"That's him; that's Pepito!" cried Bates, heedless of
Wilkes' increasing irritation.  "P'r'aps he'll be able to tell
us what's become of his master."

Bates sheered off, and Wilkes resumed his much-interrupted
narrative.  He was in the middle of a very vivid
description of how Mr. Lumsden and himself fought eight
Frenchmen at the wall, when he became aware of a
commotion at some distance along the quay.  Chagrined to
find the attention of his audience wandering, he stood
up, exclaiming:

"What are the rampaging Vamooses at now?—hang them!"

But he saw, not Portuguese, but a number of men in
the well-known green of the 95th Rifles, marching up
the street, cheering vigorously.  Among them, in the
middle of the causeway, strode two young Spaniards, the
one slim and lissom, the other broad and bulky.  Both
walked buoyantly, and seemed in high good-humour.
Behind them, over their heads, could be seen the antic
figure of Pepito, perched on Bates's shoulders, and looking
as proud as a peacock.  Wilkes stared at the procession
as it approached, wondering to see two Spaniards with
the unprecedented escort of British Riflemen.  All at once
he drew himself up, struck his feet together, and, just
as the head of the procession reached him, brought his
hand to his eyebrow in the stiff military salute.  His
face was a study in its successive expressions of
perplexity, vexation, and pleasure.

The recruits were taken too much aback to be able
to make their salute before the procession had passed.

"Who's that ragged Don you're saluting, sargint?"
asked one of them.

"Who's that, you dough-faced clod-hopping chaw-bacon,
you!" cried Wilkes, seizing the opportunity of
venting his feelings.  "Why, that's Lieutenant Jack
Lumsden, him what helped me to lick the mounseers at
Corunna.  And I'll make it warm for Charley Bates," he
muttered, "stealing a march on me like that.  Why
didn't I perpetrate the disguise?  That's what I want
to know."

Meanwhile Jack and the Grampus had continued their
progress until they arrived at the head-quarters of the
95th.  There, two or three subalterns were seated at an
open window, to catch a breath of air from the sea,
grateful on that hot June day.

"Hullo!" said Pomeroy, catching sight of the
procession, "what are the rascals up to now?"

"Some mischief, you may be sure," said Smith, looking
over his shoulder.  "I shall be glad when we get marching
orders to join Sir Arthur.  The men will get horribly
loose if we're here long."

"By George!" said Pomeroy, "they appear to have got
two Spaniards among them.  Why—what—look here,
Shirley, isn't that Lumsden's boy Pepito grinning like a
monkey on Bates's shoulder?"

"Eh!  What?  Where?" said Smith, pushing his head
out.  "Jehoshaphat!  That fat Spaniard—ha! ha!—don't
you see, you fellows?—ha! ha!—he's the Grampus, bigger
than ever.  Gad!  I shall die of this!  The Grampus in
Spanish toggery!"

"And the other fellow's Jack himself!" shouted
Pomeroy excitedly.  "Hurray! hurray!"

"'Sound the trumpets, beat the drums!'" quoted
Shirley.  "Hurray!  Three cheers for Lumsden!  But
what am I to do with my epitaph?"

"What's all this pandemonium about?" cried a loud
voice from the door of the room.  "I wish you
gentlemen would behave less like a pack of schoolb—"

"Lumsden's back, sir," said Smith.  "The men are
escorting him up the street."

"Good gad!" ejaculated Colonel Beckwith.  Then,
without more ado, he caught up Smith's cap from the
table, stuck it on his head, and ran downstairs buttoning
up his jacket on the way.  He reached the door just in
time to meet Jack before he entered.

"'Pon my honour—how d'e do?—glad to see you, hang
it!  You're not dead, then, after all?"

"Not a bit, sir," said Jack, heartily returning his
handgrip.  "Come to report myself, sir."

"Good gad!  What a—what a villainous brigand you
look!  But we'll soon put that right.  'Pon my honour,
I am deuced glad to see you."

The colonel shook hands again, and for some minutes
Jack's arm was going up and down like a pump handle as
he returned the greetings of his old friends, who meanwhile
volleyed questions at him with clamorous excitement.

"Uncommonly kind of you fellows," he panted, "but if
you'll excuse me—"

"Not a bit of it," cried Smith.  "Excuse you, indeed!"

"No, begad," said the colonel.  "You'll come in and
let us drink your health—three times three.  Come along."

"Most happy, sir, if you'll just allow me five or six
minutes.  The fact is, there's a lady on board, and—"

"Good gad!  A lady!"

"And I came to get a coach to fetch her."

"Of course.  A lady!  My barouche is at your service.
Here, Ogbourne, bring the barouche round in two minutes,
for Mr. Lumsden.—Used to be your man, I think; a
useful fellow.—Hang me!  I must go and find Captain
O'Hare."

Not many minutes later the subalterns at the window
were as much surprised as interested to see the colonel's
heavy rumbling chariot draw up at a house almost exactly
opposite.

"I say, you fellows," cried Smith, "get out of sight.
We don't want the lady to think we're a lot of peeping Toms."

"She's probably as old as your grandmother," said
Pomeroy, "and long past blushing.  Still—"

Consequently, when Juanita and her old duenna stepped
out of the coach and entered the opposite house, there
were no spectators of the scene.  But when Jack returned
to head-quarters he was instantly the mark of a running
fire of questions.  His fellow-officers, from the colonel
downwards, were consumed with curiosity to know
whether she was young or old, tall or short, dark or fair;
where he had found her; what was her name.  Shirley
eagerly asked whether she was the famous Maid of
Saragossa; Pomeroy was boiling with impatience because the
Grampus had absolutely refused to give any information.

"Gentlemen, gentlemen," cried Jack, "I can't attend
to you all at once.  The lady is the Señorita Juanita
Alvarez, daughter of my father's old partner, on her way
to England, and the friend with whom she is staying has
invited the officers of my company to dinner to-morrow, so
that if you care to go I'll introduce you en bloc."

"Bedad now," said Captain O'Hare, "that's mighty
perlite.  I must practise my best bow, and get my hair
cut.  'Tis a powerful pity pigtails are just gone out of
fashion, for sure I always looked killing in a pigtail.  Ah
well!"

"Come, Mr. Lumsden," said the colonel, "the Señorita
has driven you out of our heads.  What have you been
doing with yourself?  We learnt when Mr. Frere came
home that you had gone to Saragossa, and not a man of
us expected to see you again.  Ogbourne, get some
tumblers, and we'll do the honours."

It was late before the meeting broke up, and then not
one of the company was satisfied.  Jack had given them,
indeed, a full and interesting account of the siege of
Saragossa in general, but he appeared to be woefully lacking
in detailed information about his own part in it.  He was
not so affectedly modest as to conceal the facts that
Palafox had entrusted him with the defence of a certain
district, and that the district was still in Spanish hands
when the siege ended; but of the weeks of ceaseless work,
unresting vigilance and anxious thought which had
purchased his success he said never a word.  Colonel
Beckwith watched him closely as he told his story, and at its
conclusion made a brief comment which gave him a thrill
of pleasure.

"Gentlemen," he said, rising, "I speak for you all when
I say that we're glad to have Lumsden back at the mess.
There are big gaps in his story which somebody has to
fill; but we don't want 'em filled to know that he's been an
honour to the British army, and a credit to the Rifles.  I
give you Mr. Lumsden!"

When the cheers that followed the toast had died away,
Jack on his side was eager to learn what had brought his
old friends back to the Peninsula.  Hearing that a new
campaign was opening under Sir Arthur Wellesley, his
face clouded for a moment.

"Sure an' ye've done enough for glory," said Captain
O'Hare, noticing the expression, "and there's never a
doubt the colonel will let ye go home to your sorrowing
mother,—not to speak of escorting the colleen."

Jack blushed.

"Thank 'ee!" he said, "but I'm not going to run away
from the regiment.  Have you got a uniform to spare?"

"What, aren't ye in love then?  Sure an' when I was
your age I was desp'rately in love with half a dozen at
once—the milkmaid, and the doctor's daughter, and the
girl in the haberdasher's in Sackville Street, and a lot
more."

   |  "'I could not love thee, dear, so much,
   |      Loved I not honour more,'"

quoted Shirley lugubriously.

"Honour, bedad!  That's what I said to Patsy
O'Dowd when she taxed me with making eyes at Honour
O'Grady, and she boxed my ears,—and Patsy had a powerful
heavy hand, begore.  And if ye're not afraid of someone
cutting you out—Mr. Dugdale, for instance ... By the
way, is he going home too?"

"Not a doubt of that, sir," said the Grampus himself.
"Amateuring isn't such fun as you'd think; why, I had to
peel the onions till the Frenchman came!  I'm sick of it;
and I'm going home to practise doctoring on a new plan."

"What's that about onions?" called Colonel Beckwith
from the head of the table.

The Grampus proceeded to relate his capture by the
guerrilleros, and to expatiate on various little grievances
incident to his state of bondage, which the company
appeared to find vastly entertaining.  This want of sympathy
with his misadventures nettled even the good-natured
Grampus, who became more and more red and indignant,
until at length he burst out:

"Well, at any rate I did some good, and that was no
laughing matter.  If it hadn't been for me they'd have
tortured some scores of poor devils of Frenchmen that
Lumsden bagged—so there!"

"Story! story!" was shouted round the table.

"You must get Lumsden to tell you that.  He caught
'em; but 'twas a speech I made saved 'em from being fried
or boiled or something."

"Now, Lumsden, fill up that gap," said the colonel.

Seeing that there was no help for it, Jack gave a brief
account of his adventure with the commissary's party at
Morata, awarding a due meed of praise to Antonio the
guerrilla captain.

"He was a good sort," he added, "quite mild-mannered
for a Spaniard.  None of them knew a word of English,
and he complained that his men had been roused to fury
against the prisoners by the violent harangue of the
English senior.  He could hardly hold them."

"Oh, come now!" expostulated Dugdale.  "I didn't
know Spanish, but I made myself clear enough."

"Exactly," said Jack; "when you pointed to your throat
and then to the fire, the poor simple guerrilleros were only
in doubt as to whether you meant roasting or garrotting."

A roar of laughter completed the Grampus's discomfiture.

"Bet you—" he began in desperation; but finding himself
unable to state a wager that would meet the case, he
buried his face in a tankard, from which it took a
considerable time to emerge.

Next day it was a quiet and subdued group that crossed
to the house opposite.  Captain O'Hare was unmistakeably
nervous, Pomeroy self-consciously gorgeous, and
Shirley pale with sitting up late the previous night over
a Spanish grammar, conjugating the verb Amor in all its
moods and tenses.  The Grampus took his revenge in
chaffing them, and they all grunted approval when Captain
O'Hare exclaimed:

"Bedad, if 'twas on Shannon's shore 'tis meself that
would be at home, but 'tis a mighty different thing meeting
a Spanish lady on the banks of the Taygus without a
word of the lingo to turn a compliment."

But they were agreeably surprised when, after being
welcomed in broken English by their portly and amiable
Portuguese hostess, they were greeted in the same tongue,
spoken with the prettiest accent imaginable, by a
charming young señorita.  Her beauty made an instant and
visible impression on Captain O'Hare's susceptible soul.

The dinner was long remembered and talked of by the
officers of O'Hare's company.  There was a numerous
party, Spanish, Portuguese, and English.  Jack was
unwillingly the hero of the evening, and the flattering
attentions paid him would have been still more embarrassing
had he not been so preoccupied in watching Juanita, who
appeared to him in a quite unaccustomed light.  He had
admired her courage during the dark days of the siege; he
had got an inkling even then of the essential brightness
of her temperament; but he was hardly prepared for her
perfect ease and self-possession, the vivacity of her
conversation, and her social tact.  He felt an inexplicable
sinking at the heart; Juanita seemed to be farther away
from him than at any time since he had first met her in
Saragossa.  They had been frank comrades during the
hazardous journey across country to the coast, and the
delightful voyage that had just closed their adventures,
and under stress of circumstances Jack had for so long
taken the lead that it was a sort of awakening to find
that she was now independent of his counsel and
protection.  Moreover, she was going to England.  He had
intended to go with her, but the return of his regiment
had altered all that.  Till this moment he had not realized
what a separation might really mean.  He felt that they
were at the parting of the ways.

It was from Juanita's lips that his brother officers heard
the full story of his work in Saragossa, and after.  Simply,
without exaggeration, yet glowingly, she described how,
with unfailing resource, he had met and frustrated all the
attacks of the French on his little garrison and kept the
flag flying to the last.  Captain O'Hare followed her story
with unwavering interest.  He was not the man to praise
lightly.  Indeed, it was not the custom in that age of hard
fighters to scatter vain compliments; his subalterns were
therefore the more deeply impressed when, in a pause, he
turned to Juanita and said in a tone vibrant with earnestness:

"By my faith, Señorita, yours is a story of which every
soldier, British or Spanish, may be proud.  I honour your
countrymen and countrywomen for their glorious defence
of Saragossa—there is nothing finer that I know in all
history.  And we British officers are proud to think that
one of ours, one of the 95th, is among the heroes of the
siege.  We all try to do our duty; few of us get the
chance, like my friend Lumsden, of doing so much more
than our mere duty; and by my soul, if we do get the
chance, I only hope we'll make as good a use of it."

Jack, who had spent a most uncomfortable half-hour,
was greatly relieved when the ladies withdrew.  But his
troubles were not over, for Captain O'Hare, resuming
the brogue which had disappeared during his late
outburst, said with a chuckle:

"By Vanus and all the Graces, 'tis a lucky thing for
you, you young scamp, that Peter O'Hare is not fifteen
years younger.  'Tis meself would have tried a fall wid
ye—ay, and come in at a canter.  Indeed an' I'm not sure
'tis too late even now.  She was mighty civil to me at
dinner, indeed she was."

The worthy captain laughed heartily, and turned to
make himself agreeable, in halting French, to a colonel
of Portuguese artillery.

"Hang it, Lumsden," said Pomeroy, "I call it a crying
shame, that merely because a man happens to patter a
little Spanish he should not only be shoved over the heads
of better men than himself, but cut out more presentable
ones with the jolliest girl I've seen this end of the Bay."

Jack smiled and held his peace.

"I say, you fellows," said Shirley, "give me a rhyme for
Saragossa, someone.  I've just knocked off a little gem of
a thing—'Lines to J——a A——z', but hang me if I can
tag the last of 'em."

"A good job too!" said Smith.  "The whole company
seems to be moonstruck.  'Pon my word, I believe I'm the
only one of you that can keep his head."

"Ah," said the Grampus with a capacious sigh, "'tisn't
the head, it's the heart!"  There was a general laugh at
his lugubrious accent; whereupon, with a sudden return to
everyday life, he cried: "And I'll bet you, Harry George
Wakelyn Smith, you're one of the first to find it out."

Smith snorted scornfully.  He little imagined that long
before the war was over he would himself meet the lovely
Spanish damsel in distress who was to become Lady
Smith of Aliwal and give her name to a certain little town,
the Saragossa of South Africa.

Jack, who had taken his comrades' good-humoured
banter with unfailing cheerfulness, now slipped away to
join the ladies in the sala.  When he entered the room,
he noticed at once a deeper flush than usual on Juanita's
cheeks, and felt that something was amiss.  It was some
little time before he could escape the renewed attentions of
the circle.  Then, seating himself beside Juanita, he said
anxiously:

"Is anything wrong, Juanita?"

"Wrong!  No, of course not.  Why should anything
be wrong?"

She turned her head away, and tapped her hand
impatiently with her fan.  Jack, noting the flush on her
cheek, felt uneasily that her manner belied her words.

"I don't know," he said.  "I was afraid there was
something.  I wanted to tell you, Juanita, that—that—well,
things have changed, you know.  There is to be
another campaign; I shall have to march with the regiment.
There's no help for it.  I can't go back to England—not
yet."

"I knew; I was told it—by somebody else."

There was that in her tone which made Jack wish that
he had told her earlier of what his unexpected meeting
with his old comrades must inevitably involve.  He had
shrunk from the explanation—he did not quite know why.

After a moment's silence she added slowly: "I am
sorry for Mr. Dugdale; he will have a lonely journey, I
fear, and he's so very fond of company."

"Lonely!  But you get on very well together."

"Oh yes!  I like Mr. Dugdale very much, but you
see—I shall not be there.  I have made up my mind, quite
decided, not to go after all.  England is a cold, foggy,
horrid country, and I'm sure I shouldn't like the English.
I ought never to have come so far."  She rose from her
seat.  "I will go back to the dear Sisters at Cariñena."

As she moved towards the balcony at the far end of the
room, Jack caught the sparkle of tears in her eyes.  He
felt that he must be in fault; how or why he could not tell,
and he was too much perturbed at Juanita's distress to
think the matter out.  He merely followed her.  When
they reached the balcony they stood for a few moments
silent in the twilight, looking with unseeing eyes at the
dim plaza below.  There was a murmur of voices from
the dusk, at first vague and indistinct, the words
gradually stealing upon their consciousness with clearer and
clearer meaning.

"There he was, poor little beggar, crying his eyes out.
'Ogbourne,' says I, 'what's amiss with Pepito?'  'Oh!'
says he, 'crying for the moon.  He wants to go with the
Spanish señorita and stay with Mr. Lumsden at the same
time; which ain't possible.'  'Well,' says I, 'I ain't so
sure o' that.  They do say he rescued her from old Boney
himself and from a rascally Don too—yes, and they say
she's main fond of him, which is only natural—considering.'"

Even in the dusk Jack, stealing a look at Juanita, saw
that she had flushed hotly.  As she half-turned to re-enter
the room, he imprisoned the little hand that lay on the
balustrade.  She did not draw it away.

"But," continued the insistent voice, "what I want to
know is, when's it to be?—that's what I want to know."





.. vspace:: 4

.. _`*Glossary of Spanish Words*`:

.. class:: center large bold

   Glossary of Spanish Words

.. vspace:: 2

.. class:: noindent white-space-pre-line

*adelante*, forward! come in!
*adios*, adieu.
*afrancesado*, a Spaniard who had accepted the French domination.
*agua*, water.
*alcalde*, mayor, chief magistrate.
*alguazil*, constable, guard.
*amigo*, friend.
*arriero*, muleteer, carrier.
*ay de mí*, alas! woe is me!
*azucarillo*, a confection of paste, sugar, and rose-water.
*bergantin*, brig.
*bien*, well.
*bueno*, good: *buenos dias*, good-morning; *buenas noches*,
\    good-night; *buenas tardes*, good-afternoon.
*caballero*, rider, gentleman, cavalier.
*calle*, street.
*caramba*, an exclamation.
*casa*, house.
*cebolla*, onion.
*cerro*, hill.
*choriso*, spiced sausage.
*cigarillo*, a small cigar, whiff.
*con*, with.
*contessa*, countess.
*contrabandista*, smuggler.
*copa*, cup, goblet.
*coso*, wide thoroughfare.
*cuchillo*, knife.
*cura*, parish priest, parson.
*dia*, day: *buenos dias*, good-morning.
*Dios*, God: *Vaya usted con Dios* (lit. go with God), good-bye.
*don*, a title, equivalent to esquire.
*doña*, a title, equivalent to madam.
*el*, la*, the.
*España*, Spain.
*fonda*, inn.
*garbanzo*, a species of bean.
*gaspacho*, a compound of vegetables and condiments.
*gitano*, gipsy.
*gracias*, thanks.
*guerrillero*, an irregular warrior, member of a guerrilla band.
*hidalgo*, nobleman.
*hombre*, man, a common mode of address to inferiors.
*javaneja*, an old-fashioned dance.
*junta*, council.
*manaña*, to-morrow.
*Maragato, one of a race of mingled Gothic and Moorish
\    blood, inhabiting a district in N. W. Spain.
*maravedi*, the smallest Spanish coin.
*marchesa*, marchioness.
*mareamiento*, sea-sickness.
*mi*, *mio*, *mia*, my.
*muchas*, many.
*noche*, night: *buenas noches*, good-night.
*nuestra*, our.
*padre*, father.
*pan*, bread.
*patio*, courtyard, characteristic of the better Spanish houses.
*patron*, landlord.
*peseta*, silver coin worth about tenpence.
*plaza*, square, open space: *Plaza Mayor*, great square.
*par*, by.
*porta*, gate.
*posada*, tavern, inn.
*puchero*, a sort of hot-pot.
*qué hay de nuevo?* what news?
*querida*, darling.
*quien*, who: *quien vive?* who goes there?
*regidor*, alderman.
*sala*, hall, drawing-room.
*san*, *santo*, *santa*, saint.
*señor*, sir, a title used in addressing equals or superiors.
*señora*, madam, lady.
*señorita*, miss, young lady.
*sí*, yes.
*silencio*, hush! silence!
*tarde*, afternoon.
*tia*, aunt.
*tio*, uncle.
*tirador*, sharpshooter.
*usted*, you.
*valiente*, brave, valiant.
*vamos*, come along!
*vaya*, go: *vaya usted con Dios* (lit. go with God), good-bye.
*venta*, small wayside inn.
*verdaderamente*, verily, indeed.
*viva*, hurrah! long live!
*vive*: *quien vive?* who goes there?

.. vspace:: 6

.. pgfooter::
