"IT IS WAR TIME! IF IT MUST BE, IT MUST."
We were English gentlemen furnished with passports to enable us to
travel through Spain--which might not be difficult, since there were
likely to be as many English troops in that country as there were
French, while one-half of the inhabitants wavered in their espousals
of either us and Austria or Louis and Philip.
That, at least, was what we _meant to give_ out if anyone in
Portugal--and in Viana especially--should make it their business to
ask us any questions, which, however, was not very likely to be the
case; for, in this miserable hole--and miserable it was beyond all
thought--there were none who could have any possible right to so ask
us of our affairs, there being no consul of any country whatever in
the place--and, for the rest, we were English. That was enough; we
were English, come ashore from that great fleet whose deeds of the
last few weeks had spread consternation for leagues around and on
either side of Vigo, and whose topmasts were now very plainly visible
a mile or so out from the shore; topsails, too, which would be
conspicuous enough to all in Viana for another day or so, until the
scouts returned with their news; and before this fleet had disappeared
we should be gone, too--on our road to Spain, to France, to Flanders.
That road was already decided on--we were poring over the chart now
upstairs in the sleeping room Juan had secured for me, he having
another one for himself on the opposite side of the corridor--poring
over it by the light of an oil lamp and the flames cast by a bright
cork-wood fire which we had caused to be lit, since 'twas already very
cold, it being now November.
We had resolved, however, that the great high road to France would not
be the very best, perhaps, for our purpose--the road which, passing
through Portugal into Spain at Miranda and Tuy, runs through
Valladolid and Burgos up to Bayonne and France, for these towns were
in the kingdoms of Leon and Castile, and here all were, we learnt, for
Philip and France; but we knew also that with other parts of Spain it
was no so. Away on the eastern shores, Catalonia and Valencia had
declared for Charles of Austria and the allies. Nearer to where we
were, namely, in Galicia, above Portugal, they wavered. Yet 'twas said
now that they inclined toward us, perhaps because Vigo is in Galicia
and, therefore, they had had a taste of how we could be either good
friend or fateful foe. Certainly we had shown we could well be the
latter!
"Yes," I said to Juan, my finger on the chart; "this way will be our
road. Across the frontier where the Minho divides the two countries,
then up its banks to Lugo, and so through the Asturias to Biscay and
Bayonne. That is our way, and, after all, 'tis not much farther than
t'other. And safer, too. If Galicia leans to us, so may the Asturians.
If not, we shall be no worse off than if we traversed Leon, Castile
and Navarre."
"_Vogue la galère!_" cried the boy, who generally varied his
exclamations from Spanish to French and French to English--whichever
came uppermost--"I care nothing. We shall be together, _mio amigo_;
that's enough for me."
"Together for a time," I put in; "for a time. Remember, once we reach
Flanders--if we ever do--which is more than doubtful--my service
claims me. 'Tis war there, hard knocks and buffets for me--for you the
first sloop or vessel of any sort that will run you over to the
English coast."
"Oh, la, la!" said Juan, "'tis not come yet. We have a month, at
least, together, and perhaps even then we will not part. This great
soldier, this fierce captain you speak of, this English lord who
contends with France--perhaps he will let me fight too. Give me--what
is it you call it?--a pair of colours. Then we could fight side by
side, Mervan, could we not?"
I nodded and muttered: "Perhaps," though in truth I thought nothing
was more unlikely. In some way I had come to have none too great an
opinion of the youth's courage or capacity for fighting, remembering
how he had paled, nay, almost shuddered, at the sight of those poor
dead ones floating in Vigo harbour; while for the "pair of
colours"--well, there was plenty of interest being made on all sides
by those of influence in England to obtain such things for their own
kith and kin. There would be mighty little chance for this young
stripling to be received into any regiment. Therefore I went on with
our plans, saying, as I still glanced at the chart:
"That must be the road. And from Lugo across the mountains to Baos,
then to Elcampo, and so to Bilbao up to Bayonne. That is the way."
"To Lugo," he repeated, meditatively. "To Lugo. Humph! To Lugo. That
is the way they went, you know--Chateaurenault and his captains--when
they fled from you."
Now I started when he said this, for I had, indeed, forgotten the
slight rumour I had heard to that effect--forgotten it amidst all the
excitement of the stirring times that had followed the battle and the
taking of the galleons. Yet now the fact was recalled to my mind, I
did not let it alter my determination, and after a moment's
reflection, I said:
"Still it matters not. They will not have gone that way for the same
reason that we shall go it. On their road to France! Chateaurenault
will not stay there, but rather push on to Paris to give an account of
his defeat--make the best excuses he can to his master. Nor will he
come back--an he does, he will find nothing here. His ships are sunk
or being carried to England, and 'tis so with the galleons that are
not themselves at the bottom of the ocean. 'Tis very well. To-morrow
we set out for Lugo, take the first step on our road."
And on the morrow we did set out--amidst, perhaps, as disagreeable
circumstances as could be the case.
For when we rose early the snow was falling in thick flakes; also
'twas driven into our faces by a stiff northeasterly wind which
brought it down from the Cantabrian mountains, and soon our breasts
were covered with a layer of it which we had much ado to prevent from
freezing on them, and could only accomplish by frequent buffets. Yet
we were not cold, neither, since our horses were still able to trot
beneath it--for as yet it lay not upon the roads, and we could thus
keep ourselves warm. Yet, withal, we made some ten leagues that
day--the animals under us proving far better than might with reason
have been expected, judging by their lean and sorry appearance--and
arrived ere nightfall at a small village--yet walled and fortified,
because it lies close on to the Spanish frontier--called Valenza. And
here we rested for the night, finding, however, at first great
difficulty in being permitted to get into it, and, next, an equal
trouble in obtaining lodgings in the one inn of the place.
Also we learnt that it behooved us to be very careful when we set out
next day, or we might find it impossible to enter Spain, which now lay
close at hand, and separated only by the Minho from this place; or,
being in, might find it hard to go forward.
"For," said the host, a filthy, unkempt creature who looked as though
he were more accustomed to attending to cattle in their sheds than to
human beings, but who by great good fortune was able to speak broken
French, "at Tuy, where you must pass into Spain, they are rigourous
now as to papers, letting none enter who are not properly provided.
_Basto!_ 'tis not a week ago that one went forward who was passed
through with difficulty. And a Spaniard, too, though from the Indies."
"From the Indies!" exclaimed Juan, with impetuosity. "From the Indies!
Why, so am I and--and this señor," looking at me, "both from the
Indies. Therefore, we can pass also, I should suppose."
"Oh, for that," answered the man, "I know not. Yet this old man went
through, somehow. He had come up from the south--from Cadiz, as I
think, or Cartagena, or the Sierras--in a great coach and four,
travelled as a prince, had good provisions with him, and ho!--he gave
me to taste of it!--some strong waters that made me feel like a
prince, too, though the good God knows I am none!" and he cast his
eyes round the filthy room into which we had been shown. "Also, he had
his papers all regular; also," and here he gave a glance at us of
unspeakable cunning, "he was generous and open-handed. That spared him
much trouble."
"Perhaps 'twill spare us, too!" again exclaimed Juan. "We can also be
generous and open-handed."
"It will do much. Yet the papers! The papers! Have you the papers?"
Now, we had no papers whatsoever that would stand us in such stead;
therefore, when we were alone together in the room which was to be
ours, and in which there were two miserable, dirty-looking beds, side
by side, covered with sheepskins for coverlets--and perhaps for
blankets, too!--we fell to discussing what must be done; for it was at
once plain and easy to see that at Tuy we should never get through. I
had no papers nor passports whatever, while Juan bore about him only
those which proved that he was a subject of England.
"Yet," said he, "they knew not that on board _La Sacra Familia_, and,
because I could speak Spanish as well as they, deemed me a Spaniard. I
wonder if I could get through that way."
"_You_ might, possibly," I replied. "I am sure I never should. The
Spanish which I know is scarce good enough for that."
"'Tis true," he said, reflectively--"true enough. Yet, you have the
French. See, Mervan, here is an idea. I am a Spaniard and you are a
Frenchman, for the moment. Both countries are sworn friends now as
regards their government, if not their people. Why should not we be
travelling together as natives of those lands?"
"An we were," I answered, "we should not be without passports.
Remember, we come to them from Portugal; therefore, to have gotten
into Portugal as either Spanish man or Frenchman, we should have
wanted papers; and we have none. Consequently, the first question
asked us will be, How got we into Portugal? Then what reply shall we
make? That we came from the English fleet, which has just destroyed
their galleons? That will scarce do, Juan, for our purpose, I think."
Acknowledging such to be the case, Juan sat himself down on the dirty
bed and began to ponder.
"At least we will not be whipped," he muttered, "and at the
outset, too. Mervan, we must find another road somehow, or, better
still--there must be some part of the frontier which runs the northern
length of this miserable land, and which is unguarded. Can we not get
across without any road? Up one side of a mountain and down another,
and so--into Spain!"
"'Tis that I have thought of. Yet there are the horses--also a river
to cross. And, as luck will have it, the mountains hereabouts are none
too high nor dense with woods, nor do they run from east to west, but
rather south and north. Such as there are, you can see from this
window," and I pointed in the swift, on-coming darkness of the
November evening to where they could be seen across the river, their
summits low, and over them a rusty rime-blurred moon rising.
Then I went on:
"Juan, we must tempt the landlord with some of that _largesse_ which
the old man who came in the coach seems to have distributed so
lavishly--only, he has bestowed it on the Spanish side--ours must
begin here. Come, let us go and see what can be done with him."
"But what to do?" the boy said, looking at me with his strange eyes
full of intelligence and perhaps anxiety.
"This: there must be some way of traversing the river when there is no
town on either side--if the worst came to the worst we could swim it
on our horses at night."
"On such a night as this!" exclaimed Juan, shuddering and glancing out
through the uncurtained window at the flakes of snow which still fell.
"It would be death," he whispered, shuddering again.
"You are easily appalled," I said, speaking coldly to him for the
first time since our acquaintance. "Yet, remember, I warned you of
what you might expect in such an expedition as this. You would have
done better to accept the admiral's offer. A cabin in the _Pembroke_
would have been a lady's withdrawing room in contrast to what we may
have to encounter."
"Forgive me. Forgive," he hastened to say pleadingly. "Indeed, indeed,
Mervan, I am bold and no coward--but, remember, I am of the tropic
south, and 'tis the cold of the river that appalls me--not fear for my
life. Like many of our clime, I can sooner face death than
discomfort."
"There will be enough facing of both ere we have done--that is, if we
ever get farther than here," I said, almost contemptuously.
"So be it," he exclaimed, springing to his feet and evidently bitterly
hurt by my tone. Indeed, 'twas very evident he was, since the tears
stood in his eyes. "So be it. We face it! Now," and he rapped the
table between us as though to emphasise his words, "continue your
plans, make your suggestions, bid me swim rivers, cross mountains,
plunge into icy streams or burning houses, and see if I flinch or draw
back again. Only--only," and his voice sank to its usual soft tones,
"do not be angry with me."
That it was impossible to be angry with him long I felt, nor, for some
unexplained reason, could I despise him for his evident objection to
discomfort--the discomfort which would arise from so trifling a
thing--to me, a cuirassier--as swimming one's horse across a river on
a winter night. And, as my contempt, such as it was, vanished at once
at his plea to me not to be angry with him, I exclaimed:
"At worst it shall be made as light for you as may be, since you are
only a boy after all! And if that worst comes," I continued, in a good
natured, bantering way, which caused the tears to disappear and the
smiles to return, which brought back to my mind a song my good old
father used to sing about "Sunshine after Rain"--"if that worst comes,
why, I will swim the river with you on my back, and your jennet shall
swim by my horse's side. Now, for the landlord!"
We found that unclean personage a-sitting over a fair good fire, which
roared cheerfully up a vast open chimney from the stone floor upon
which the logs were, with, by his side, a woman who was blind, as we
saw very quickly when she turned eyes on us which were naught but
white balls with no pupils to them. And, because we at once perceived
that there was no power of sight in those dreadful orbs, I made no
more to do, but, slipping of my finger into my waistcoat pocket,
pulled out two great gold doubloons--worth more than our guineas--and
held them up before him. Then I said in French, and speaking low,
because I knew not whether that stricken one might understand or not:
"See, this will pay our addition and more. Now listen. You may equally
as well have them as the _guarda frontéra_ at Tuy. Will you?"
He nodded, grasping the pieces--I noticed that he kept them from
clinking against each other, perhaps because he wanted not his wife to
know that he had gotten them--then put each into a different pocket,
and said: "She understands not the French. Speak."
"We have no papers. Listen; we are English! We must cross into Spain,
Tell us some other road; put us in the way, and--see--to-morrow
morning, these are for you also."
And I took forth two more of the golden coins.
He looked at us a moment, then said: "You--hate--Spain?" Again I
nodded.
"So all of us here at Valenza," he went on. "A fierce, cruel neighbor,
would trample on us because we are weak. Will seize us yet an England
helps not. Crush them--and France--the world's plague! Listen!"
Then, as we bent our heads, he went on: "From here there is a bye-road
leads to the river bank; it crosses by a wooden bridge into Spain, a
league this side of Melagasso. I will put you in the way in the
morning. Once over that bridge, there is a road cut from the rock that
mounts two hundred paces. There at the summit is the _guarda
frontéra_. Two men are there, an old and a young one. Kill them, and
you are through, leaving no trace behind. Afterward, there is no sign
of life for three leagues."
"Kill them!" I exclaimed. "Must that be done?"
"Ay--or silence them. But--killing is best. And--and--the cliff is
high, the river runs deep beneath. Cast them in, and you are safe."
"They may see us passing the bridge--kill _us_ ere we can mount the
road."
"Do it in the night," the fellow whispered. "In the night, when all is
dark. And 'twill be almost nightfall ere you are there. Do it then."
"There is no other way, no other entrance to Spain?"
"None--without papers."
"Good. It is war time! If it must be, it must."