"The mightiest of all peoples under Heaven!"
"I tell you, you stupid, blundering blockheads, that he _is_ my brother;
and we _are_ Englishmen, and we know nothing whatever of your Carlist
brigands, or whoever they are! We are British subjects, and you had
better let us go, or the British Government will know the reason why,"
thundered Jack Lester, in exceedingly bad Spanish, interspersed with
English epithets, at the top of his voice.
"Gentlemen, it is true; our passports are at Ronda; conduct us thither,
if you will. We are travelling for pleasure only, and have no concern
with any political matters at all," said Alvar, in far more courteous
accents.
The scene was the mountain side, the time evening, and Alvar and Jack
were just beginning their descent, when they were confronted by an
official, and surrounded by a small troop of soldiers in the government
uniform. They had been suddenly encountered and stopped, and desired to
produce their passports, and, these not being forthcoming, their account
of themselves was met with civil incredulity, and they were desired to
consider themselves under arrest.
"But--but don't you see that you're making an utter fool of yourself,"
shouted Jack, in a fury. "I tell you this gentleman _is_ my brother,
and we are the sons of Mr Lester, of Oakby Hall, Westmoreland, and have
nothing to do with your confounded Carlists. I'll knock the first
fellow down--"
"Hush, Jack! Keep your temper," whispered Alvar, in English. "Senor, I
am the grandson of Senor Don Guzman de la Rosa, of Seville, well known
as a friend to the government, and this is my half-brother from
England."
"One of the De la Rosas, senor, is exactly what we know you to be; but
as for this extraordinary falsehood by which you call yourself an
Englishman--and the brother of this gentleman--why, you make matters
worse for yourselves for attempting it."
"Ask the guide," said Alvar.
"Ah, doubtless; the fellow was known as having been engaged in the late
war. Come, senores, you may as well accompany me in silence."
"Will you send a message by the direct route to Ronda, asking for our
passports, and informing our friends of our safety?" said Alvar.
No, informing their friends was the last thing wished for. In the
morning they would see.
"Do not resist, Jack," said Alvar; "it is quite useless; we must come."
"Don't you _hear_ he is talking English to me?" said Jack, as a last
appeal, and, of course, a vain one.
"I am sure they haven't got a magistrate's warrant," said Jack, as his
alpenstock was taken away from him, and, closely guarded, he was made to
precede Alvar down the hill, in a state of offended dignity and
incredulous indignation. He was very angry, but not at all frightened;
it was incredible that any Spanish officials should hurt _him_. Indeed,
as he cooled down a little, the adventure might have been a good joke,
but for the certainty that Cherry would be imagining them at the bottom
of a precipice.
After walking for some way along a different road from the one they had
come by, they stopped at a little wayside tavern, where they were given
to understand that they were to pass the night.
"But it's impossible; they _can't_ keep us here," cried Jack. "Isn't
there a parish priest, or a magistrate, or a policeman, or some one to
appeal to?"
"No one who could help us," answered Alvar. "I do not think there is
anything to be afraid of for ourselves; we can easily prove that we are
English when we get to some town; it is of Cherry that I think--he will
be so frightened."
"You don't think they'll go and take him up?"
"Oh, no; I hope they will send to Ronda for our passports in the
morning. But, Jack, do not fly in a passion. We must be very civil,
and say we are quite willing to be detained in the service of the
government."
"I'm hanged if I say anything of the sort," muttered Jack, whose
prominent sensation was rage at the idea that he, an Englishman, a
gentleman, a man with an address, and a card--though he had unluckily
left it at home--should be subjected to such an indignity, stopped in
his proceedings by a dozen trumpery Spaniards!
Alvar was not so full of a sense of the liberty of the subject; he felt
sure that he was mistaken for Manoel, and more than suspected that the
government might have been justified in detaining his cousin. He did
not, however, wish to confide this to Jack, of whose prudence he was
doubtful, and knew that if the worst came to the worst, his grandfather
could get them out of the scrape.
There might be no danger, but it was very uncomfortable, and provisions
being scarce in the emergency, the captain--who looked much more like a
bandit than an officer--gave his prisoners no supper but a bit of bread.
Alvar was Spaniard enough to endure the fasting, but Jack, after his
day of mountain climbing, was ready to eat his fingers off with hunger;
and as the hours wore on, began really to feel sick, wretched, and
low-spirited, and though he preserved an unmoved demeanour, to wonder
inwardly what his father would say if he knew where he was, and to
remember that the Spaniards were a cruel people and invented the
Inquisition! And then he wondered if Gipsy was thinking of him.
Moreover, it was very cold, and they were of course tired to begin with,
so that, when at length the morning dawned, Alvar was startled to see
how like Jack looked to Cheriton after a bad night, and made such
representations to the captain that Englishmen could not bear cold and
hunger, that he obtained a fair share of bread and a couple of onions--
provisions which Jack enjoyed more than he would have done had he
guessed what Alvar had said to procure them.
"I'm up to anything now," he said. "If they would only let us put a
note in the post for Cherry, it would be rather a lark after all."
"I do not know where you will find a post-office," said Alvar
disconsolately, as they were marched off in an opposite direction to
Ronda. "If Cherry only does not climb that mountain to look for us!"
"I should like to set this country to rights a little," said Jack.
"That," said Alvar dryly, "is what many have tried to do, but they have
not succeeded."
The prisoners were very well guarded, and though Alvar made more than
one attempt to converse with the captain, he got scarcely any answer.
Still, from the exceedingly curious glances with which he regarded them,
Alvar suspected that he was not quite clear in his own mind as to their
identity. After a long day's march they struck down on a small
Moorish-looking town, called Zahara, built beside a wide, quick-rushing
river.
And now Alvar's hopes rose, as here resided an acquaintance of his
grandfather, a noted breeder of bulls, who knew him well, and had once
seen Cheriton at Seville. Besides, the authorities of Zahara might be
amenable to reason.
However, they could get no hearing that night, and were shut up in what
Jack called the station-house, but which was really a round Moorish
tower with horseshoe arches. Here Alvar obtained a piece of paper, and
they concocted a full description of themselves, their travelling
companions, and their destination, which Alvar signed with his full
name,--
"Alvaro Guzman Lester, of Westmoreland, England," and directed to El
Senor Don Luis Pavieco, Zahara, and this he desired might be given to
the local authorities. He also tried hard, but in vain, to get a note
sent to Ronda.
They hoped that the early morning might produce Don Luis, but they saw
nothing of any one but the soldier who brought them their food, which
was still of the poorest.
Alvar's patience began to give way at last; he walked up and down the
room.
"Oh, I am mad when I think of my brother!" he exclaimed. "My poor
Cheriton. What he will suffer!"
"Don't you think they'll let us out soon?" said Jack, who had subsided
into a sort of glum despair.
"Oh, they will wait--and delay--and linger. It drives me mad!" he
repeated vehemently, and throwing himself into a seat he hid his face in
his arms on the table.
"Well," said Jack, "it's dogged as does it. I wish I hadn't used up all
my tobacco though."
Early the next morning their door was opened at an unusual hour, and
they were summoned into a sort of hall, where they found "el Capitano,"
another officer in a respectable uniform, and, to Alvar's joy, Don Luis
Pavieco himself.
The thing was ended with ludicrous ease. Don Luis bowed to Alvar, and
turning to the officer declared that Don Alvar Lester was perfectly well
known to him, and that the other gentleman was certainly his
half-brother and an Englishman. The officer bowed also, smiled, hoped
that they had not been incommoded; it was a slight mistake.
"Mistake!" exclaimed Jack; "and pray, Alvar, what's the Spanish for
apology--damages?"
Alvar turned a deaf ear, and bowed and smiled with equal politeness.
"He had been sure that in due time the slight mistake would be
rectified. Were they now free to go?"
"Yes;" and Don Luis interposed, begging them to come and get some
breakfast with him while their horses could be got ready. Their
guide?--oh, he was still detained on suspicion.
"Well," ejaculated Jack, "they are the coolest hands. Incommoded! I
should think we have been incommoded indeed!"
In the meantime no hint of how matters had really gone reached the
anxious hearts at Ronda. The authorities had scouted the idea of
brigands, and had revealed the existence of a dangerous ravine, some
short distance from the mountain path. Doubtless the darkness had
overtaken them, and they had been lost. The guides declared that
nothing was more unlikely, as it was hardly possible to reach the ravine
from the path, the rocks were so steep. A search was however made by
some of the most active, it need not be said, in vain. Cheriton,
afterwards, never could bear a reference to those days and nights of
suspense--suspense lasting long enough to change the hope of good
tidings into the dread of evil tidings, till he feared rather than
longed for the sounds for which his whole being seemed to watch.
Nothing could exceed Mr Stanforth's kindness to him, and he held up at
first bravely, and submitted to his friend's care. On the third morning
they resolved that Don Guzman should be written to, and Cherry, who had
been wandering about in an access of restless misery, tried to begin the
letter; but he put down the pen, turning faint and dizzy, and unable to
frame a sentence.
"I cannot," he said faintly. "I cannot see."
"You must lie down, my dear boy; you have had no rest. I will do it."
"My father, too," Cheriton said, with a painful effort at self-control.
"I think--there's no chance. I must try to do it; but--oh--Jack--Jack!"
He buried his face on his arms with a sob that seemed as if it would
tear him to pieces.
"You must not write yet to your father," said Mr Stanforth. "I do not
give up hope. Courage, my boy!"
Suddenly a loud scream rang through the house, and an outburst of
voices, and one raised joyously,--
"My brother--my brother--are you here?--we are safe!" and as Cherry
started to his feet Alvar, followed by Jack, rushed into the room, and
clasped him in his arms.
"Safe! yes, the abominable, idiotic brutes of soldiers! But we're all
right, Cherry. You mustn't mind now."
"Yes, we are here, and it is over."
"Thank Heaven for His great mercy!" cried Mr Stanforth, almost bursting
into tears as he grasped Alvar's hand.
"Bandits, bandits?" cried half-a-dozen voices.
But Cherry could not speak a word; he only put out his hand and caught
Jack's, as if to feel sure of his presence also.
"_Mi querido_," said Alvar in his gentle, natural tones, "all the terror
is over--now you can rest. I think you had better go, Jack. I will
take care of him," he added.
"Yes," said Mr Stanforth; "this has been far too much. Come, Jack--
come and tell us all that has chanced."