FORLORNEST HOPES
But Rollo himself, our firebrand from the slopes of the Fife
Lothians--what of him? The foxes that Samson sent among the cornfields
of Philistia, with the fire at their tails, ran not more swiftly than
his burning thoughts.
We have followed his career long enough to know that he is not of those
who sit long with his head upon his hands. Even as we look we feel
assured that while he grasps it between his palms, plans, ideas,
possibilities, are passing and repassing within that brain, coming up
for judgment, being set aside for reconsideration, kicked into the limbo
of the finally rejected, jerked sharply back by the collar for another
look over, or brayed in a mortar and mixed into new compounds--all
finally settling down within him into a series of determinations and
alternatives as definite as Euclid and more certain of being carried
into practice than most Acts of Parliament.
After a long time Rollo raised his head. With supremest indifference he
heard about him the first hubbub of the hue-and-cry after Concha. So
heavy was his heart within him that (to his shame be it writ!) he had
never even missed her as she went up the mountain. Yet she would have
missed him had fifty queens and princesses been in danger of their
lives--aye, and her own honour and that of her race at stake throughout
all their generations.
Rollo, however, gave no heed, but following his intent, stalked slowly
and steadily to the General's quarters.
"No one is allowed to enter," called out an officer, whose only mark of
rank was a small golden badge with "C. V." upon it, pinned upon the
collar of his blue shirt. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass,
mending the hood of his cloak with a packing needle.
"I am Colonel Rollo Blair," said the young man; "I brought hither the
royal party, and I must see General Cabrera!"
"Young man," said the other, in good English, "I am a countryman of
yours--in so far, that is, as a poor Southern may be, whose ancestors
fought on the wrong side at Bannockburn. But for your own sake I advise
you not to disturb the General at this hour. The occupation cannot be
recommended on the score of health."
"I thank you, sir," said Rollo, "but I have my duty to do and my risks
to run as well as you. And if you, an Englishman, desire to be art and
part in the shooting of a Queen-Mother and her little royal daughter,
well--I wish you joy of your conscience and your birthright of
Englishman!"
The other shrugged his shoulders as he answered.
"I have nothing to do with the matter. Colonel Rollo Blair brings the
party hither, and General Cabrera shoots them. You two can divide the
responsibility between you as you please!"
"That is just what I mean to do," quoth Rollo, and lifted the flap of
the tent door.
"General Cabrera," he said, "I would speak to you!"
An inarticulate growl alone replied, and though there was more of wild
beast wrath than permission to enter in the tone, Rollo put aside the
flap and entered.
Cabrera was lying on a camp bed, his face a deathly white, from which a
pair of small bloodshot eyes peered out with startling effect. He had
bound a red handkerchief about his black hair, and altogether his
appearance was more that of an engorged tiger roused from the enjoyment
of his kill, than that of a leading General in the service of the most
Christian and Catholic of Pretenders.
"Your Excellency," said Rollo, "I have come to urge you to reconsider
your intentions with regard to Queen Maria Cristina, widow of the late
King, and the child her daughter, and that for several reasons."
"Let me hear them--and as briefly as may be, senor," thundered Cabrera.
"I shall then make up my mind whether it would not make for the King's
peace that such a firebrand adventurer as you should not be shot along
with them. And, I can tell you this, that if all the pretty girls in the
peninsula were to come with a whole herd of Papal Bulls, they would not
save you a second time!"
As he spoke Cabrera reared himself on his elbow and glared at Rollo, who
stood still holding the tent flap in his hand.
"These are my reasons for this request, General," said Rollo, without
taking the least notice of the threat. "First, such an act would
alienate the sympathy of the whole civilised world from the cause of Don
Carlos."
"For that I do not give the snap of my finger," cried Cabrera. "I bite
my thumb at the civilised world. What has it done for us or for Don
Carlos either? Next!"
"Secondly, I appeal to your pity, as a man with the heart of a man
within his breast. This lady hath never done you any wrong. Her daughter
is little more than a babe. Spare them, and if an example must be made,
be satisfied with executing Senor Munoz and myself. I shall right
willingly stand up by his side, if the shedding of my blood will save
the Queen and the little Princess!"
"And the fair maid Dona Concha?" said Cabrera, mockingly. "What would
she say to such an act of self-sacrifice?"
"She would rejoice to see me do my duty, General!" said Rollo, with
confidence.
Cabrera laughed long, loud, and scornfully.
"Not by a thousand leagues!" he cried, "not if I know a maiden of
Spain--to save another woman! No, no; go out of this tent in safety, Don
Rollo. I like a man who has no fear. And indeed great need have you of
the fear of God, for, when a man dares thus to beard Ramon Cabrera, the
fear of man is not in him. Go out, I say, and give thanks to any god you
heathen Scots may worship. But do not come hither a second time to prate
of mercy and innocence, and 'those who never did me any harm.' See here,
_hombre_----"
Rollo was about to speak, but Cabrera suddenly rose to his feet,
steadied himself a moment upon the tent pole, and lifted from a stool a
small tin case like a much battered despatch box. Opening it, he
revealed another casket within. He unlocked that, and drawing out a long
grey tress of woman's hair he put it to his lips.
"The hatred of men has been mine," he cried fiercely, "aye, ever since I
was twelve years old has my knife kept my head. But through all one
woman has loved me--and only one. See that! 'Tis my mother's hair, which
the butcher officers of the woman Cristina sent me in mockery, warm and
clotted from the shambles of the Barbican. Touch it, cold man of the
north! Aye, let it stream through your fingers like a love token, and
say--what would you do to those who sent you that?"
Again he kissed the long grey tresses passionately, ere he laid them in
Rollo's hand.
"Your mother's hair, wet with your mother's blood!" he cried, "a pretty
talisman to make a man merciful! '_Never harmed me_,' did I hear you
say? Answer me now! What harm had my poor mother done them? Answer me!
Answer me, I say. You Scots know the law. They say you read the Bible.
'An eye for an eye, and a tooth for a tooth!' So I have heard the
clerics yelp. Is it not true? Well, for each hair you hold in your hand
will I exact a life, queen or consort, maid or babe, what care I? Have
you any more to say? No? Then give it back to me!"
With these final words he raised his voice to a shout, and threw himself
on the bed in a passion of tears, with the tress of long grey hair
pressed to his face.
And Rollo went out, having indeed no words wherewith to reply.
* * * * *
But though worsted at the General's tent, the young adventurer was by no
means defeated. None knew better how to fall back that he might the
further leap. He had failed utterly with Cabrera, and as he came out
the camp was still humming with the scandal concerning Concha. The
Englishman, having finished repairing the cape of his military cloak,
had been awaiting events within the tent with the greatest interest. In
fact, he had been undisguisedly listening.
As Rollo came out he congratulated him in a low tone.
"Every moment since you entered," he said, "I have been expecting to
hear the guard summoned and orders given to have you shot forthwith.
Ramon Cabrera does not wait a second time to assure himself of his
prisoners, I can tell you. You have come off very well. Only take my
advice and don't try it again!"
"I will not!" said Rollo, whose thoughts were elsewhere. "I am obliged
to you, sir!"
"By the way," continued the other, with a pertinacity which offended
Rollo in his present state of mind, "there is great news in the camp.
That girl who came with you proved to be a spark among our tinder. These
Spaniards can resist nothing in the shape of a petticoat, you know. And
gad, sir, I don't know why in this case they should. For I will say that
a handsomer girl I never set eyes upon, and demmy, sir, Colonel Frank
Merry has seen some high steppers in his time, I can tell you!"
"If you refer to the Senorita Concha Cabezos," said Rollo, haughtily,
"she is betrothed in marriage to me, and such remarks are highly
offensive!"
"No offence--no offence--deuced sorry, I'm sure," said Colonel Frank,
whose name as well as his jolly proportions indicated the utmost
good-humour. "But the fact is, I heard--mind, I only say I _heard_--that
the young lady has gone off with a good-looking young Vitorian trooper
of the Estella regiment, one Adrian Zumaya. He removed his horse from
the lines on pretext of grooming it, and the pair have gone off
together!"
"If you will favour me with the name of your informant," answered Rollo,
"I shall have the pleasure of running him through the body!"
The Falstaffian Colonel Don Francisco Merry waved his hand and smiled
blandly.
"In that case, I fear, you must decimate the entire command," he said;
"the boys down there are all on the shout on account of Master Adrian's
good fortune. But I should advise that ingenious young gentleman to make
the best of his time, for if he comes across his old comrades and their
General, he will get singularly short shrift!"
"You are at liberty to contradict the story," said Rollo, serenely,
passing, as his nature was, instantly from anger to indifference.
"Listen--the Senorita Concha may have left the camp. Your Vitorian
friend may have left the camp. Only, these two did not go together--note
that well. If any man affirm otherwise, let him come to me. I will
convince him of his error!"
And having spoken these words, Master Rollo dismissed the matter from
his mind and marched off towards his companions' camp-fire, revolving
his new alternative plan for the saving of the royal party.
The bivouac of the little group of friends and allies was close beside
the white house where were bestowed the Queen, her husband, and her
little daughter. But sentinels paced vigilantly to and fro before it,
and besides the soldiers in the courtyard, there was a Carlist post upon
a rocky eminence equipped with a field-gun, which commanded the whole
position. So that for the present at least there was no hope of doing
anything to deliver the prisoners.
Rollo called his council together cautiously. They could talk without
suspicion during supper, which in old friendly Spanish (and Scottish)
fashion was served up in the pot in which it had been cooked. Thus they
clustered round and discussed both plans and pottage as they dipped
their spoons into the steaming _olla_.
One of the leader's most serious difficulties had been to decide whether
or not he could afford to trust the Sergeant; a little thought, however,
soon assured Rollo that he could not do without Jose Maria, so that
there remained no choice. The Sergeant had openly attached himself to
their party. They could discuss nothing and undertake nothing without
exciting his suspicion. Certainly he had been in Cabrera's command. He
had joined them thence, but--Concha vouched for him, and La Giralda
swore by him. He was a gipsy, and therefore his own interests were his
only politics.
So to the company about the steaming _olla_-pot on the hillside, as the
twilight deepened, Rollo related the story of his interview with
Cabrera. There was no hope in that quarter. So much was certain. If the
Queen-Regent and her little daughter could not be delivered before the
morning, they would assuredly be murdered.
"You have a plan, I can see that," said the Sergeant, shrewdly,
polishing upon a piece of wash-leather the silver spoon which he
habitually carried.
"You will aid me in carrying it out if I have?" Thus with equal
swiftness came Rollo's cross-question.
A curious smile slowly overspread the gipsy's leathern visage.
"I think," he said slowly, "that all of us here have most to gain by
keeping the two queens alive. But I confess I would not be sorry to make
the General a present of my gentleman of the dressing-gown!"
Then Rollo, reassured by the Sergeant's words, went on to develop his
plans.
"We must obtain sufficient horses to mount the royal party, and one of
us must guide the Queen and the others on their way to General Elio's
camp. For the horses we will look to you, Sergeant."
"I have done as much under the eyes of an army in broad daylight, let
alone at night and on a mountain-side," replied the man of Ronda,
calmly, lighting another of his eternal cigarettes.
"Then," continued the young leader, "next we must secure some means of
communicating with the prisoners within the house. La Giralda will
afford us that. The sentries must first be drawn off, then secured, and
with one of us to accompany and guide the party, we must start off the
great folk for the camp of General Elio at Vera, where, at least, their
persons will be safe, and they will be treated honourably as prisoners
of war."
"And who is to accompany them?" inquired the Sergeant, his face like a
mask. For he hated the thought that Munoz should escape a half-dozen
Carlist bullets. Jose Maria the brigand, El Sarria the outlaw--even
Cabrera the butcher of Tortosa were in the scheme of things, but this
Munoz--pah!
"This is what I propose," said Rollo. "Let no more than three horses be
brought. So many can easily be hidden in the side gullies of the
barranco. That will allow one for the Queen, one for Munoz, and
whichever of us is chosen to accompany them can carry the little
Princess before him as a guarantee for the good behaviour of the other
two."
"But which may that be?" persisted the Sergeant, with his usual
determination to have his question answered.
Rollo made a little sign with his hand as if he would say, "All in good
time, my friend!"
"Those of us who stay behind," he went on, "will take up such a position
that we may stay the pursuit till the fugitives are out of reach. One
thing is in our favour. You have heard the silly cackle of the camp
about the escape of Concha. If I know her, she is on her way to warn
Elio of the disgrace to the cause intended by Cabrera. In that case, we
may, if we can hold out so long, hope to be rescued by an expeditionary
party. Moreover, Elio will come himself, knowing full well that nothing
but his presence as representative of Don Carlos will have power to move
Cabrera from his purpose--that, or the menace of a superior force."
"And who is to go with the Queen?" asked the Sergeant, for the third
time.
Rollo waited a moment, his glance slowly travelling round the group
about the little camp-fire.
"Let us see first who cannot go--that is the logical method," he
answered, weighing his words with unaccustomed gravity. "For myself
obviously I cannot. The post of danger is here, and I alone am
responsible. Don Juan there and the Count are also barred. Etienne does
not know the way, nor Mortimer the language. La Giralda is an old woman
and weak. Sergeant Cardono and El Sarria--you two alone remain. What say
you? It lies between you."
"Go or stay--it is the same to me," said the Sergeant. "Only let me
know."
"I say the same!" echoed El Sarria.
"Then we will settle it this way," said the young man. "Sergeant, whom
have you in the world depending solely on you for love or daily bread?"
A gleam, like lightning seaming a black cloud irregularly, for a moment
transfigured the face of the ex-brigand of Ronda.
"Thank God," he said, "there is now no one!"
"Then," said Rollo, with a mightily relieved brow, "it is yours to go,
El Sarria! For not one alone, but two, await you--two who depend upon
you for very life."
Ramon Garcia did not reply, but an expression, grim and sardonic,
overspread the features of the Sergeant.
"For other reasons also it is perhaps as well," he said; "for had I been
chosen, an accident might have happened to a grandee of Spain!"