MY DEAR FRIEND JACK,

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, Senores 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

Your old friend,

FERNAN ALVAREZ.

_P.S._--Remember always: Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name.

"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 Castanos 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

Castanos, 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 Tome. 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."

"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".

*CHAPTER IV*

*A Delicate Mission*

Sir John Moore--In the Dark--A Roving Commission--Maps and Plans--Camp

Critics--An Hidalgo--Mystification--Exasperation--Pepito again--A

Bargain--Force majeure

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

Castanos 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 Castanos' 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 Penaranda 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

Senor 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, Senor, 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, Senor, 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, Senor, 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, Senor," said the hidalgo, as he handed him the

note, "that my dear friend General Castanos 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, Senor!" 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 Senor," 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 Senor," 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, Senor," 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 Senor'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.

*CHAPTER V*

*A Roadside Adventure*

A Spanish By-Road--Negotiations--A Rupture--A Village Inn--Family

History--Antonio the Brave--A Near Thing--The Other

Cheek--Explanations--Recruits--Quits

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,

Senor?"

"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 Senor 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."

"Si, 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, Senor 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, Senores. 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, Senor, all our soldiers are already with General Castanos 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,

Senor, 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, Senor," 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.

"Senores, Senores," 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, Senores," 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, Senores, 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,

Senores, 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

Espana!"

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, Senor?"

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

"But, Senor, 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

Senor hidalgo, or than Antonio, eh?"

"The French, Senor! I hate them. Every good Spaniard hates them. We

are all caballeros, Senor, 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, Senor; 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, Senor. 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, Senor, 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--"

"Senor," 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, Senor, 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, Senor--if the lads

are willing to go."

They at once professed their readiness to serve the Senor 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, Senor."

"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, Senor. 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, Senor," 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, Senor, it was like a true caballero

not to remember what had happened on the road; and I say, Senor, 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.

*CHAPTER VI*

*Monsieur Taberne*

Westphalian Light Horse--Mine Host--Two Menus--Feeding a

Commissary--Practice in French--Another Bottle--A Sum in

Arithmetic--Inferences--A Cold Prospect

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, Senor, 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.

"Ohe, landlord!" he shouted. "Palsambleu! Where has the hog hidden

himself? Ohe! 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, Senor," 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--"

"Senor, Senor," 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."

[Illustration: 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.

"Hola!" 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 Senor 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. Ohe, landlord, bring the next course."

The landlord brought in a number of dishes.

"Senor 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, Massena, 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.

"Ohe, 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.

"Ohe, 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."

*CHAPTER VII*

*Pepito intervenes*

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

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, Senor," 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, Senor. The Gitano is more than a match for the Busne.

Ride, Senor, 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 tute 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 senor 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 senor 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 Castanos--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.