The shaft by which Sandwich Sam had dropped into the Padre’s cellar
could not be very deep, but we saw no bottom. It struck me that
something might be gained by excluding the daylight, which principally
entered by the newly-made hole in the gable-end of the shed. Against
this hole, therefore, I placed the three soldiers, to keep out as much
light as possible; and now the Sergeant and I, on looking down into the
shaft, were able to discern a glimmer which, feeble as it was, sufficed
to show us that, assisted by others, a person might descend with no
great difficulty. I, therefore, descended first; the Sergeant followed;
then came the men.
We found ourselves in an arched tunnel constructed of stone, and leading
from under the outhouse, with which in former days it had doubtless
communicated, right into the cellar, which we entered—cautiously, you
may suppose, but without difficulty. Now, M. le Tisanier! Once in the
cellar, we no longer had need to grope our way. There was no window, but
light came in from various crannies. I listened. There were footsteps
above. So! we were under the kitchen. How effect an entrance?
Close to the wall of the cellar, and immediately to the left of the
opening by which we had entered from the recess, stood a dilapidated
flight of steps, say an old ladder. Doubtless there was a trap-door at
its summit. I mounted, and gently pressed against the ceiling above. It
gave signs of yielding. The way into the fortress, then, lay open before
us. Turning to Sergeant Pegden, I desired him in a whisper to remain
with the three soldiers where he was, but to hold them in readiness to
come forth on my first summons.
Then, using a little more force, I gradually raised the trap-door, which
was kind enough not to creak, and emerged into the kitchen. There stood
M. le Tisanier, _solus_. Profoundly intent on some culinary operation,
which with his accustomed sedulity he was conducting at the stove, he
awhile remained utterly unconscious of my presence. I let down the
trap-door into its frame, and so concealed the manner of my entrance.
From scanty materials he was preparing dinner for the garrison. On a
dresser I noticed—1, A very moderate supply of bread for a party of
five; 2, Some lard; 3, Certain wild herbs, roots, and champignons, such
as he had been accustomed to cull in his rambles; 4, The bones remaining
from former meals, specially those of a hare, a goose, and a hind
quarter of mutton; 5, The giblets of the said goose, set apart with the
head and pluck of the said hare, as if designed for some signal triumph
of a scanty cuisine. I coughed. He turned.
Startled at first, he recovered in an instant his usual self-possession
and urbanity.
“Ah,” said he, “good morning, M. le Capitaine. I am not at present
exactly aware how you found your way in, but I am not the less happy to
see you. In entering without noise you have acted wisely. Considering
the state of things outside, you could not have adopted a more discreet
or a safer mode of presenting yourself before me, with the view of
surrendering yourself a prisoner. Good. You will do me the honour of
dining with me. Thus will you escape the inconvenience of losing, even
for a single day, the benefit of my matchless skill as a culinary
amateur.”
“I see you are preparing dinner,” said I, “without having availed
yourself of the Padre’s stores.”
“Bah!” he exclaimed; “cookery, in its higher operations, is independent
of materials. When there is nothing for dinner, then it is that the true
artist develops his professional resources. To tell you the truth,
Monsieur, the Padre’s chief store is his cellar, into which he never
permitted me to enter. I therefore, with that delicacy which always
distinguishes men of elevated sentiments like myself, felt it right, now
that I am in military possession, to abstain from purveying in that
direction.”
This was all the better for the Padre’s Lamego hams, and also the
enterprise by which we had effected a lodgment. For, had M. le Tisanier
once made acquaintance with the cellar, he was not the man to have left
that way of approach unguarded.
“How is it,” I asked, “that your garrison keeps so bad a look-out? Here
am I, come to beat up your quarters, without having received a single
challenge.”
“Pooh, pooh,” he replied; “no doubt they let you in on purpose. As you
have presented yourself here without showing a flag of truce, of course
I must regard you as my prisoner.”
“Excuse me,” said I, “if I take the opposite view. Monsieur, you are my
prisoner. Probably you are not aware that my forces have effected a
lodgment, and at this moment occupy your position.”
“Is it possible?” he exclaimed seriously, setting down a saucepan.
“Monsieur,” I replied, “I give you my word that the soldiers under my
command now occupy these premises in force. And by the same entrance
through which they came in, I could, if I pleased, bring in not only my
reserve, but all the Spaniards in the village. You know what would be
the consequences. Yesterday you expressed a benevolent wish to prevent
the needless effusion of blood. Now, therefore, give me credit for being
actuated on my part by a similar motive of humanity, in politely
soliciting your instant surrender. In case of further resistance on your
part, although I can control my own men, I could not answer for the
Padre and his people, who are very much exasperated. Therefore determine
what you will do; but, remember, your own life, and the lives of your
unfortunate and gallant countrymen, depend on your decision.”
_He._ “Have the kindness to put it on their lives only, not on mine.
Then I can treat without compromising my sense of honour. By further
resistance, you say, their lives would be imperilled. In case of my
condescending to accept terms of capitulation, would their lives be
safe?”
_I._ “That I have already arranged with the Padre. He promises, in case
of your coming to terms without delay, to be answerable for the personal
security of your whole party till you are safe in the hands of the
English at Vittoria. He also promises that he will remain in the village
as a check on his own countrymen till the transfer takes place.”
_He._ “It appears then that, by accepting terms, I may now secure that
safety for my comrades which I sought by resistance. Very well, M. le
Capitaine. In occupying and holding this position, I discharged a duty.
In surrendering it, I discharge another.”
_I._ “Very good. Then all is settled.”
“Excuse me,” said M. le Tisanier, assuming an air of considerable
gravity. “There is one little matter which we have not settled yet.”