Jack saw that the room was connected by folding-doors, which were now

thrown open, with a large salon lighted by numerous candles. It was

crowded with a brilliant assembly. Along the walls sat many ladies in

elegant mantillas, each gracefully wielding the indispensable fan. Among

them was a sprinkling of priests and sad-eyed students of the

university. The centre of the room was occupied by the younger society

of the city--Spanish officers and lawyers, with young ladies in festal

array, engaged in dancing the javaneja to the music of a band of

guitarists stationed at the farther end of the room. It was the first

time that Jack had seen this characteristically Spanish dance since he

had left Barcelona six years before, and his feet itched to join in it.

He watched the couples as they made their graceful rhythmic movements,

each holding a coloured kerchief in one hand, the other curved over the

head. It formed an interesting spectacle against the bright background

formed by the red coats of British officers of all ranks, who stood

silent spectators, each no doubt privately wishing that the unfamiliar

dance would come to an end, and that an opportunity might be given them

of teaching the senoritas the quadrilles which were then all the rage in

England, or country-dances, in which they were still more at home.

Nearly all the men, except those who were dancing, were smoking

cigarettes. Every lady, young or old, had a flower in her hair.

The javaneja at length ceased, and the Spaniards gave place with evident

reluctance to the British officers, who immediately set partners for a

quadrille, and began their task of tuition, to the great hilarity of the

ladies. Jack was becoming impatient. He had not caught sight of Sir

John Moore, and wondered how long he was to be kept waiting in this dim

ante-chamber. He looked around. There were two or three tables set

with refreshments; but there was no tea, no ices, no punch; nothing but

urns of chocolate, small glasses of sugared water, and a plate of

azucarillos.

Jack wondered how the English section of the company, among whom he had

now recognized his friends Pomeroy and Smith and several other of his

acquaintance, would be satisfied with this plain and simple fare, so

different from that provided at the luxurious entertainments at home.

Two or three solemn servants moved quickly about between the rooms,

carrying glasses of sugared water to the ladies. As they passed Jack

they eyed him curiously, but with Spanish stolidity made no remarks.

Keeping in the shadow, he looked on at the animated throng with

ever-increasing impatience, wondering whether the major-domo had

forgotten him altogether. By and by he saw Pomeroy lead his partner to

a seat, and come towards the ante-room with the manifest intention of

seeking refreshment for her himself. Jack stepped back as Pomeroy

crossed from room to room, and the subaltern, throwing a curious glance

at the strange cloaked figure that stood there in the shadow, looked for

a moment as though he would like to question his right to be there. But

the moment passed, and almost immediately afterwards Sir John Moore

emerged from a curtained doorway behind the band, and crossed rapidly to

where Jack stood awaiting him.

"I am sorry to have kept you waiting, Senor," he said in Spanish, with

his unvarying courtesy, "but I have had to listen for half an hour to a

countryman of yours who brought me news which, after all, happened to be

a trifle stale. You have an important message for me, I understand?"

"I am Lumsden of the 95th," said Jack in English, in a low tone which

none but the general's ear could catch. Sir John started, and glanced

keenly at Jack; then a smile passed over his face.

"Capital! capital!" he said. "I shouldn't have known you from Adam.

Come into the farther corner, away from these noisy dancers, and tell me

your news. You'd rather be kicking your heels among them, eh?" he added

with a twinkle.

"Not till you have done with me, sir," replied Jack as he accompanied

the general out of earshot. There, in a dim corner of the room, he gave

Sir John a succinct account of his movements, assuring him that the

French were beyond doubt making for Madrid, ignorant of, and not even

suspecting, the proximity of the British column at Salamanca.

"You have come very pat to the occasion," said Moore, who had listened

to Jack's story without interrupting it. "You confirm what I already

suspected from a previous messenger. No, not the messenger who came

just now from General Castanos, and whom the good people here have

already elevated into a hero; his news was three days behind time. But

to-day the Spanish generals Bueno and Escalente reached me from the

Junta at Madrid, and made a strong, and, I must say, insolent, protest

against my intended retreat, assuring me that General San Juan, with

20,000 men, has fortified the pass of Somosierra and effectually blocked

the way to Madrid, and urging me to march towards him. They would have

talked a cow's hind-leg off, Mr. Lumsden, but I effectually shut the

mouths of my informants by confronting them with Colonel Graham, who has

just come in from Talavera, where San Juan is the prisoner of the

villainous runagates from Castanos' beaten army. If the Spaniards

depend on him to defend the Somosierra pass their hope is a poor one.

However, what you tell me proves that the French are not coming towards

me, and for the present at any rate I am perfectly safe here. Now, you

have been so successful that I am going to tax you still further. You

are very tired, no doubt?"

"A good supper and a night's rest will cure that, sir."

"Then you'll be prepared to set off again to-morrow?"

"Certainly. I am very glad to be of use."

"You have been of the greatest use; I shall act upon your information,

and at once. And, by the bye, I must congratulate you on your

messengers. Your two Spanish lads brought me your messages, and gave me

great hopes that I had not misjudged you--hopes amply justified. I have

despatches to write, so I will take leave of my hostess and accompany

you to the door."

In a few minutes Sir John Moore, cloaked and hatted, was striding down

the corridor with Jack by his side. They came to the outer door, where

by the light of a huge torch a tall Spanish officer in brilliant uniform

was taking leave of two ladies with what struck Jack as somewhat

affected gallantry. He glanced up as the Englishmen passed, saluted Sir

John Moore with much condescension, and then, as his eye fell on Jack,

started with an air of bewilderment. He looked again with still keener

scrutiny at the shorter of the two figures, whom he followed slowly. At

the porch Sir John bade Jack a cordial good-bye. The latter turned to

the left, towards Don Pedro's house, but had only walked a few yards

when he felt a touch on his arm. Glancing over his shoulder without

checking his pace, he saw that he had been followed by the tall Spaniard

whom he had passed at the door. The next moment a voice that was oddly

familiar addressed him in smooth suave tones that struck him with a

curious sense of discomfort.

"Surely the Senor will spare a minute to an old friend."

*CHAPTER VIII*

*Don Miguel Priego*

Memories--A Self-confessed Patriot--Confidences--Plain

Speaking--Reflections--A Public Departure

Jack stopped now, and faced round at the speaker, who still had a hand

on his arm.

"I recognized you at once," the man continued, "though your disguise is

good, very good. I have not seen you for a good many years, Jackino,

but I never forget any face I have once seen, still less one that I have

lived with in the days of childhood. Don't you remember your old

friend--"

"Why, you're Miguel Priego," interrupted Jack, with no great cordiality

of tone. "How you've grown! Who would have thought you would have

topped me by a couple of inches! And what a swell, too!"

"Yes, I have changed more than you, amigo," said Don Miguel with a

complacency that irritated Jack, already annoyed that his disguise had

been penetrated. "Ah! and there have been other changes, great changes,

since I last saw you, Jackino. You are an English officer, and I might

perhaps not have recognized you so easily if you had been dressed in

your uniform like your friends; but the hat and cloak--oh! Miguel

Priego would have been a fool indeed if he had not known the dear

companion of his boyhood."

"You're rather more affectionate than you were when we parted, Miguel,"

said Jack bluntly.

"Don't say that. We were always good friends, Jackino; is it not true?

You and I and Juanita--ah! what fun we had in the old house at

Barcelona. Do you remember the times when Don Fernan came from

Saragossa and brought Juanita on a visit to your father and mine, and

how we shared the presents he gave us?"

"Your share usually happened to be the biggest, if my memory doesn't

play me false."

"Well, I was the eldest of the three; I am three years older than you,

amigo mio, and four years older than Juanita."

"How is Juanita?" asked Jack.

"In fair health, but paler than I should like to see her. But her grief

will wear away in time, and when she becomes my--"

"Her grief! What do you mean, Miguel?"

"You do not know, then? I am forgetting; of course you do not get news

very well here. I myself rode in only to-day from Saragossa, at the

risk of my neck, Jackino, with tidings of the unfortunate misadventure

at Tudela, and--"

"Come, Miguel," said Jack, "we can't stand here. Where are you staying?

While I'm in this rig-out it will be better for me to go with you than

for you to come with me."

"That is true. Come, then; I am staying at the Fonda de Suizo in the

Calle de Zamora. We can talk there at ease, and I shall be glad on my

part to hear again of my old friends your father and mother, and to tell

you of the sad changes that have taken place, and the bright changes

also, dear friend."

Jack was very tired, and in no mood to make himself amiable to a man for

whom he had an intense aversion. But he was so anxious to learn the

meaning of Miguel's hints and half-statements that he put his feelings

in his pocket and trudged along. Ever since he could remember, he had

disliked Miguel, the only son of his father's second partner, Don

Esteban Priego. They had grown up together in Barcelona, and almost his

earliest recollections were connected with the petty meannesses and

cruelties of Miguel. Three years older than Jack, Miguel had played the

bully with the younger boy until he grew strong enough to defend

himself; and then, not daring to molest him openly, he had shown great

ingenuity in devising petty annoyances which were even harder to bear

than his former brutalities. He was cruel to children and animals

smaller than himself. Jack remembered how Miguel had once lamed a

spaniel of his in wanton mischief, and how, whenever Juanita, the only

daughter of Don Fernan the senior partner, had been brought to Barcelona

on a visit, she had often run to Jack's house in tears to seek

protection from the boy's bullying and domineering. The tone in which

Miguel had referred to Don Fernan and Juanita gave Jack vague

uneasiness, and he paid scant heed to Miguel's talk by the way, and

scarcely answered him.

Don Miguel, however, was quite content to do all the talking. He was a

patriot, he said, and high in favour with General Palafox. He had early

volunteered in defence of his country, and had won rapid promotion,

being now indeed, though but twenty years of age, a major in Palafox's

Hussars. When the news of Castanos' defeat arrived in Saragossa,

Palafox had sent him off with the news to General Moore, and he boasted

largely of his readiness to undertake, with only one servant, so

perilous a ride. Not, he thought, that his servant would have been of

much use had they come across the French; he would have had to trust to

his own skill and courage, for the poor man had unfortunately lost an

eye; still, he was a faithful fellow and a good forager.

Jack caught himself wondering what service the man could have rendered

the master. It was scarcely in Miguel's character to allow a mere

question of sentiment to outweigh the loss of an eye. Jack recalled his

passion for display; he could not imagine him willingly accepting a

one-eyed follower. This thought passed like a flash through Jack's mind

while Miguel was proceeding to dilate complacently on the scenes of

butchery and torture he had witnessed as he came through the country of

the guerrilleros, who had no mercy on the stray Frenchmen they succeeded

in ambushing. Jack at last gave utterance to an exclamation of disgust.

"Ah!" sneered Miguel, "that is your English squeamishness. You English

have no nerves. What is the good of your coming out here? We will show

you how to deal with these accursed Frenchmen, and if your stomach turns

against it, well, go home to your nurses in little England, and play

with your tin soldiers and toy guns, for you are no good in Spain."

Their arrival at the inn checked the reply that rose to Jack's lips.

Don Miguel, in the same oily, languid tone that was causing Jack more

and more irritation, ordered the landlord to make himself scarce, as he

had important business to discuss with his friend, and in a few moments

the two were left alone in the room. The Spaniard flung off his cloak,

revealing the resplendent uniform of Palafox's Hussars, and as he

removed his hat Jack noticed a long, livid scar running from his brow to

his left eye, disfiguring what was otherwise a well-looking countenance

so far as features were concerned.

"And how is your excellent father?" asked Miguel as he lolled in the

only easy-chair in the room. "He is lucky, truly, for the stock in

London is a good one, and he will do a good business, whereas with us

these troubles have brought trade to a stand-still, and we are obliged

to suspend all operations. But things will improve. Don Fernan, with

his shrewd head for business, foresaw what would happen, and took steps

to realize what he could on the stock before the outbreak of war, which

was a very lucky thing for my father and myself and Juanita. And he

could not have chosen a more convenient moment for dying, for--"

"For dying! Is Don Fernan dead?" cried Jack.

"Dead as a door-post, poor man! I thought you would be surprised to

hear it. He had been ailing ever since his exertions in the siege of

Saragossa last summer--there was something wrong with his heart, I

think,--and when the news came that General Castanos had met with a

mishap at Tudela, he held up his hands and cried: 'Oh my country! my

poor country!' then fell forward and died. He was an old man, of course,

and must have died soon, and I have only come a little sooner into the

inheritance that was bound to come to me."

"Did Don Fernan appoint you his heir, then?" asked Jack with a keen

look. "What about Juanita?"

"Does it not come to the same thing, my friend? Juanita, of course, is

Don Fernan's heiress, but since in a little while, when the mourning is

over, she will marry me--"

"Marry you!"

There was contempt as well as surprise in Jack's tone, and Miguel

evidently felt this, for he replied with flashing eyes, though with no

change in his bland manner:

"Yes, marry me--that was what I think I said. Of course if my good

friend Jackino has any objection--"

"Good heavens! Juanita is a thousand times too good for you!" Jack

blurted out.

"Quite so; she is a thousand times too good for any man. But since she

does me the honour to become my wife, you will surely not have the

impudence to question her choice, dear friend."

He hissed out the last sentence, and bent a little forward. Jack

shrugged.

"She wasn't always so fond of you," he said bluntly.

"That is not the point, is it?" returned Miguel with an exasperating

smile. "The match has long been talked of; Don Fernan and my father

were agreed that it was an excellent arrangement for uniting the

business interests of the two families. And now that Don Fernan is dead

I shall marry Juanita as soon as possible, my father will retire, and I

shall be the sole partner of your excellent father, for you, of course,

have a soul much above business, and will no doubt ere long be a

field-marshal. Perhaps, however, you have no ambition to earn fame in

the open and heroic way? Your costume would suggest, my friend, that

you are satisfied with a more modest and retiring part--but still, no

doubt, profitable--"

"It seems to me, Miguel," said Jack, interrupting him very quietly,

"that you have forgotten the last thrashing I gave you. Remember, I am

always at your service. But I should not advise you to risk another

scar like the one you have already. How," he added quickly, "did you

come by that?"

Miguel's sullen face assumed a dusky hue, and the scar showed all the

more livid. He flinched, as bullies will, before Jack's menacing

attitude.

"Hot-tempered as ever," he said with an attempt to smile. "Why will you

take offence so easily? What have I said? Here I find you, an

Englishman, in Spanish dress, and I conclude, naturally enough, that you

are fulfilling an office of very great importance and usefulness, and

when I--"

"Now look here, Miguel, I don't want to quarrel with you, but you'd

better understand at once that I'm not a child, and that your oily

tongue won't do you any good with me. I don't suppose we shall see much

more of each other; when--if--you marry Juanita you will settle down, I

suppose, in Saragossa, and our paths won't cross. I tell you frankly

I'm astonished that Juanita will have you; but she's old enough to know

her own mind--though our girls in England don't marry so early--and I

hope with all my heart she'll be happy. And now I think I'd better say

good-night!"

"And good-bye!" said Miguel sweetly. "I will carry your good wishes to

Juanita, be sure of that."

"Where is she, by the way?" asked Jack.

"In Saragossa, with her aunt the Dona Teresa."

"And you are returning immediately?"

"Oh no! I go on to-morrow towards Leon, with despatches for the Marquis

of La Romana. The Spanish generals will have to strike a blow without

the assistance of your General Moore, it appears."

Jack ignored the sneer.

"Well, good-bye!" he said. "There's no need to suggest that you should

take care the French don't catch you."

"True, true, Jackino. Give my respects, when you see him, to your

excellent father, to whom I hope to have before long the honour of

sending the documents relative to the changes in the business. Adios,

amigo mio!"

He accompanied Jack to the door, and looked after him with a mocking

smile. Jack, pulling his cloak more closely around him, and his

sombrero lower over his eyes, walked rapidly to his quarters, where,

proceeding directly to his room, he threw himself upon his bed with a

sigh of weariness and contentment.

But it was long before the much-needed sleep came to him. He lay awake,

unable to keep his thoughts from running round the circle of his

adventures and dwelling on his unexpected meeting with Miguel. The more

he thought of his conversation with that gentleman the more puzzled he

felt. As a child, Juanita had shrunk from the boy and had never

willingly gone into his presence. It was very odd that she should have

overcome her dislike and now be ready to marry him. Perhaps she still

disliked him, and had agreed to the match merely because it was desired

by Don Fernan and Miguel's father, Don Esteban. But even then it was

extraordinary, for Don Fernan himself had never shown any liking for

Miguel, and had indeed on many occasions taken him severely to task and

punished him for acts of deceit and dishonesty. Miguel did not appear to

Jack to have changed: what had altered Don Fernan's opinion of him?

Then, too, there was Don Fernan's letter, in which he had spoken of his

anxiety on behalf of his daughter. Why, if he were satisfied with the

proposed match, should he be anxious about her future? And what had

General Palafox to do with all this? Miguel was the general's trusted

messenger; could Palafox have influenced Don Fernan's judgment? Jack

wished he could go to Saragossa, and enquire for himself into all the

circumstances--see Juanita, and discover whether she were in truth a

willing bride. And then he thought of the phrase Don Fernan had so

carefully impressed upon his memory: "Palafox the man, Palafox the

name," and with this repeating itself to the hundredth time in his weary

brain he at length fell asleep, and slept on until he was awakened about

ten o'clock next morning by loud cries in the street.

Springing from bed, he ran to the window. Men were waving their hats,

women their fans and handkerchiefs. At every window there was a

fluttering scarf. Loud vivas rose into the air as an officer in full

uniform, followed by a gorgeously-dressed orderly, clattered by.

The officer smiled with gratification at the warmth of the cheers, and

kissed his hand gallantly to the ladies who peeped at him out of their

mantillas. Jack smiled satirically.

"Pooh! It's only Don Miguel Priego! Confound the sneak!"

He was about to withdraw, when the orderly turned his head to the left,

as though seeking a share of the admiration so lavishly bestowed on his

superior. Jack noticed that one eye-socket was closed; the man's

remaining eye had a curiously malign glitter that gave the beholder a

strange sense of uneasiness.

"Is this how people feel when they talk of the evil eye?" he said to

himself with an unmirthful laugh. Then he donned his own clothes and

went gloomily downstairs to find his brother officers.

*CHAPTER IX*

*Some Surprises*

At the Cross-Roads--A Melee--Bagged--Franceschi's Chasseurs--Under

Guard--A Hard Case--Moore's Plans--Reconnoitring--Within the

Gates--Caged--Blind Man's Buff--A Strategic Move--A Dash on Rueda--An

Alarm--A Chase in the Dark--A Tragedy

About two o'clock on a frosty December afternoon, some ten days after

Jack Lumsden's return to Salamanca, four riders were walking their

horses up a slight incline about three miles out of Alaejos towards

Valladolid. Three of them were troopers in the 18th Light Dragoons, the

fourth, riding slightly in advance of the rest, was Jack himself, now

wearing his own uniform, and mounted on a fine black charger borrowed

from the regiment to which his companions belonged. A few yards from

the crest of the hill, lying back from the road, was a mean-looking

hovel at the door of which stood a little black-eyed girl, who watched

the advancing riders with her finger in her mouth.

"Hullo, little girl," said Jack in Spanish, pulling up as he came

abreast of her, "are we on the right road for Tordesillas?"

The child gave a scared look at the troopers and fled into the hut

without replying.

"You've sent the timid little beggar into her burrow," said Jack with a

smile. At the same moment a heavy-browed man appeared at the door, in

the rough coat and thick gaiters of a muleteer.

"Ha, my friend," said Jack in a genial tone, "your little daughter

needn't have been afraid of us! Are we going right for Tordesillas?"

"Straight on, Senor," replied the man, with stolid countenance. "Over

the river; you can't miss your way."

"Thanks! Any sign of the French hereabout?"

"Never a man--the saints forbid!" said the man with a scowl. "They

carried off my last pig six months ago. Gr-r-r! I hate them!"

"Well, they won't trouble you much longer if we can help it. Buenas

tardes!"

"Vaya usted con Dios, Senor!" replied the muleteer, doffing his hat; and

as the Englishman rode off, his little daughter came to his side and

watched with him their retreating figures.

A mile farther on they had just crossed the stream of which the man had

spoken, when Jack suddenly reined up his horse and in a low tone ordered

his men to halt.

"Do you hear anything, Kelly?" he asked of one of the troopers.

The man turned his head aside, and his companions sat motionless, an

expectant look upon their faces.

"Riders, sir!" said Kelly in a moment.

"I thought so," returned Jack. "To our right, eh?"

"Yes, sir."

There was a moment's silence. Behind them came a slight murmur from the

full river, but more distinctly, from some distant point beyond a

wall-enclosed orchard on their right, sounded the unmistakable clatter

of horses' hoofs on the hard road.

"Wait here," said Jack, springing from his horse. "Don't make a sound.

I'm going forward to reconnoitre. Hold my horse's rein, Kelly, and don't

let him champ his bit."

He ran forward, round a slight bend in the road. In two minutes he was

back.

"Men," he said in a low voice, "there's a road to the right, and half a

dozen Frenchmen riding down towards us. I think they're French--by

their helmets. We four are a match for the six, eh?"

The men grinned.

Jack rapidly took stock of the situation. The wind was almost due east;

he and his men were riding north-east, and as they were the smaller

party, and had been travelling only at walking pace, it was not likely

that the enemy had heard them coming. The idea of dismounting his men

and forming an ambuscade at first suggested itself. Jack glanced round

for a convenient tree or post to which they might tether the horses; but

though there were plenty of trees beyond the orchard wall, the only way

in was a quarter of a mile to their rear. This meant that even if the

ambuscade were successful two at least of the enemy would be almost

certain to escape, for Jack and his men, with three carbines and a

pistol, could at the best only account for four at the first volley, and

the remaining two would have a start of half a mile before they could be

pursued. On the other hand, if Jack told off a man to hold the horses,

his striking force would be reduced to three, and there was always the

risk that two of the horses--young Spanish chargers purchased at

Salamanca and only half-trained--would break away at the sound of the

firing. For these reasons Jack preferred to trust to cold steel.

Giving his commands almost in a whisper, he drew up his men in line

under cover of the wall, about thirty yards from the cross-road,

ordering them to be in readiness to charge at the word. Each man

silently drew his sabre and Jack uncovered his sword, still fresh as

when he received it from the makers in Pall Mall. It was not perhaps

quite so suitable for the purpose in hand as the weapons carried by the

troopers, but Jack knew that it was of the highest temper, and felt

confident that it would not fail him.

In little more than a minute the increasing clatter showed that the

unsuspecting Frenchmen were approaching the cross-roads. There was no

slackening of pace as they neared the junction, and Jack inferred from

this that their route lay straight across the main road towards

Castroduno or Toro. Every second seemed like a minute to him as he

waited for the horsemen to arrive, but after what seemed an interminable

delay two helmets at last appeared beyond the angle of the wall. Jack

drove his spurs into his horse, giving the word "Charge!" and, with

their leader a pace or two in advance, the three troopers dashed

forward. In a few seconds the two bodies met with a terrific shock.

The French dragoons, unable to check their progress, had just had time

to draw their sabres; the leading files had half-wheeled their horses to

meet the storm, but the two succeeding troopers were taken square on the

flank, and all the advantage of momentum being on the side of the

attacking force, the whole four went down like a ship struck by a

squall. Almost before Jack could realize what had happened he was

reining in his horse on the far side of the cross-road; three of the

Frenchmen were lying motionless on the road, a fourth, dismounted, was

defending himself with spirit against one of Jack's troopers, and three

horses were scampering wildly towards Toro. He was wheeling his horse

round, when, almost at the same moment, two bullets whizzed past his

head. The two remaining Frenchmen had halted before reaching the

cross-road, rapidly fired their carbines, and, turning round in the

direction from which they had come, were now galloping wildly away.

"After them, Kelly!" shouted Jack to the corporal, who was just beside

him; and, leaving the other two troopers to secure the dismounted

Frenchmen, the two dashed off at a mad gallop. They were a hundred

yards behind at the start; the Frenchmen were down upon their horses'

necks, shouting to the beasts in a fever of haste. But as luck would

have it, they were heavy men; Jack was a light-weight, and before the

chase had proceeded for two hundred yards he began to gain, and the

interval between himself and Kelly was increasing. Foot by foot he made

up on his quarry; in little more than a mile he was at the heels of the

rearmost Frenchman. The man, feeling that he was at a disadvantage,

suddenly swerved towards the near side of the road, bending low as he

did so to avoid Jack's blow, and then, as Jack darted past, pulled his

horse on his haunches and wheeled round to meet Kelly. Thinking he

could safely leave this man to the heavy trooper, Jack rode on after the

Frenchman in front, and within a couple of minutes had him at his mercy.

The dragoon had no time to turn and meet his pursuer; with a horse of

superior speed, Jack, coming up behind him, had a terrible advantage

over the fugitive, who was painfully twisting himself round in the

saddle to meet the expected blow. Choosing his opportunity, Jack,

dropping his own sword, wrested the Frenchman's sabre from his grasp,

and next moment drove him into the hedge.

"Je me rends! je me rends!" cried the Frenchman, panting.

"Comme de juste!" gasped Jack, who then turned to see how Kelly was

faring. He had ridden down and over the luckless dragoon, who, rising

painfully to his feet, called for quarter. Being a strapping fellow,

the trooper had been unable to do more than maintain his distance from

the second Frenchman, who, however, seeing Jack now standing full in his

path, recognized that the game was up, checked his horse, and quietly

surrendered his sword just as Kelly came bustling to his side.

[Illustration: Jack Captures a Dragoon]

"Jolly good chase, sir!" said Kelly, as Jack and his prisoner came up.

"The froggies showed the cleanest pair of heels I ever did see."

"You stuck to it like a Briton," said Jack. "Now we'll get back to the

others and see what damage is done."

With the two Frenchmen disarmed between them, they retraced their steps,

the Frenchmen sitting limp and careless, with a resigned expression of

countenance that tickled Kelly's sense of humour.

"Where do you come from, mon brave?" asked Jack of the man next to him.

"From Rueda, monsieur le capitaine," answered the trooper with a smile.

Jack chuckled inwardly at his sudden promotion, and went on:

"And what is your regiment?"

"Mais, monsieur, the 22nd Chasseurs of General Franceschi's cavalry.

And little did we think, monsieur, that we should meet Englishmen

to-day. Eh bien! it is all the fortune of war, and monsieur le

capitaine rides a good horse."

"No better than your own, mon brave," said Jack, not to be outdone in

politeness. "Well now, how many of your regiment may happen to be in

Rueda, if I may ask?"

The trooper looked at him with twinkling eyes.

"Non, non, monsieur le capitaine," he said. "You have captured our

patrol: c'est egal! but you want to know too much. I tell you how many?

Non, non; but we are enough to capture all Sir Moore's army before it

ends its retreat to Lisbon. Monsieur wants to spoil the joke."

"Very well," said Jack with a laugh. "I won't press you; but there are

more ways than one of killing a cat, as we say in English."

He kept up an amicable conversation with the Frenchman until they

arrived at the cross-roads. There he found his two troopers mounting

guard over the four wounded chasseurs, and Jack was sufficiently new to

warfare to feel relieved and glad that no life had been lost. The

dragoons had made clumsy attempts to bind up their prisoners' wounds,

and had allowed the least injured of them to fetch water in his helmet

from the stream.

"That's right," said Jack as he came up. "We've had an unexpected piece

of luck, my men, and our capture may be important. But we have no time

to lose. We made noise enough along the road to bring up the whole

French army if it's hereabouts. Lucky the regiment isn't far behind us.

Now help these fellows on to their horses; we'll take them back to the

hut we left a while ago, and I'll leave them in your charge while I go

on alone and pick up a little information."

"May I come, sir?" asked Kelly. "'Tisn't safe to go alone."

"Safer for one than two. But come along; there's no time to waste, and

it's getting dark."

In a few minutes the cavalcade had reached the hut on the hillside. The

muleteer glowered viciously at the prisoners as they were led up to his

door, and handled his knife as though he would have liked there and then

to take vengeance upon them for the loss of his favourite pig. But Jack

allowed no mistake about his intentions; he told the man that the

prisoners would remain with him, in charge of the dragoons, until the

British advance-guard under General Stewart arrived.

"I'm going on to Rueda," he added. "How far is it from here?"

"A league and a half, Senor," said the man.

"That's about seven miles as your Spanish league goes. Kelly, if General

Stewart arrives before I get back, tell him that there are some of

General Franceschi's chasseurs at Rueda on our right flank, and I've

gone to find out how many. If all goes well I'll be back within two

hours."

"Very good, sir!" said Kelly, and then looked as though he would have

said more.

"Well, what is it?" asked Jack.

"Beg pardon, sir, but you'll be nabbed as sure as a gun. Your

uniform--"

"Don't worry, Kelly. I'm going to borrow an outfit from one of our

French friends here. Come, mon ami," he said, turning to the sergeant

whom he had captured, "I must trouble you to take off some of your

things--your helmet, say, and your cloak, your breeches, and your boots;

I think they'll be enough."

"Pardon, monsieur le capitaine, but I'm a soldier of the emperor, and

the emperor would shoot me as a traitor if I parted with my uniform to

an Englishman."

"That would be unfortunate. But we can't stand on ceremony now; make

haste, if you please."

"But, monsieur," said the man, "the breeches won't fit you."

"They will be a trifle baggy, but no one will be critical in the dark.

Come now, hurry up!"

"But, monsieur, I shall be cold, I shall freeze. If monsieur will lend

me his things in exchange, perhaps--"

"No, thanks! If you're cold you'd better ask the muleteer to lend you

some things, or, better still, go to bed. Kelly, come and help the

sergeant off with his things."

But as Kelly approached him with a grin, the Frenchman unclasped his

cloak and proceeded to divest himself of the garments Jack required.

Soon Jack was cantering off on his reconnoitring expedition to Rueda.

By this time it was almost dark, and Jack rode gently, partly in order

to avoid mishap, and partly to spare his horse in case hard work were

required of him later. His blood tingled with the excitement of his

recent adventure and with anticipation of the unknown adventures before

him. Like his brother officers, and indeed every member of the army,

from the chief of staff to the smallest drummer-boy, he rejoiced in the

sudden change of plan which Sir John Moore had announced about a week

before. The news he himself had brought to the general, reinforced by

further news obtained through Manuel and Juan, and by information that

the Spanish armies were concentrating, had determined Sir John, on

December 5th, to countermand his order to retreat. The French, he had

learnt, were not marching in his direction, but towards Madrid, which,

he was assured, was defended by large forces at the difficult Somosierra

Pass, and would resist to the utmost. He put little faith in the

Spaniards' power of resistance, but he saw a possibility of creating a

diversion in their favour, and of cutting in between Soult and Napoleon

and striking a blow at the former. If Madrid had not yet fallen, his

movement might draw off Napoleon and save the capital, or at any rate he

might make matters so unpleasant, by seizing Valladolid and Burgos, that

time would be gained for the re-equipment of the Spanish armies. If, on

the other hand, Madrid fell, he could still make a run for it. He

therefore ordered Baird on his left and Hope on his right to move

forward towards Valladolid, while he himself prepared to advance on the

same town by way of Alaejos and Tordesillas, acquainting the Marquis of

La Romana, who was at Leon, some 120 miles due north of Salamanca, with

his intentions.

A few days after Moore had arrived at this decision he received the news

that Madrid had capitulated to Napoleon. It was a severe blow. He had

hoped against hope that the Spanish promises would at last be fulfilled,

that their boasts would at last justify themselves. Once more the

Spaniards had shown their instability. But Moore was not disposed to

alter his plans; there seemed every probability of his striking a

successful blow at the French communications. On December 11th, then,

the infantry moved out from Salamanca, General Paget marching with the

reserve for Toro, where his brother, Lord Paget, had already arrived

with Baird's cavalry, while Hope left Alba de Tormes next day to join

the main body on the Valladolid road. The advance along this road was

led by General Charles Stewart's cavalry brigade, consisting of Hussars

and Light Dragoons. It happened that during the previous week Jack had

more than once been sent backwards and forwards between Salamanca and

Alba de Tormes with despatches and reports, and he had come under the

notice of General Stewart. When the advance was ordered, Stewart,

thinking that Jack would be useful in gathering news from the Spaniards,

and acting as interpreter in matters connected with commissariat and

billeting, asked that he might be temporarily attached to him as extra

aide-de-camp, and it was while riding ahead to enquire about billets in

Tordesillas that Jack met with the adventure just related.

As he rode along towards Rueda he could not help feeling a glow of

satisfaction at his continued good luck. But he did not indulge in idle

dreams. It was now too dark to see, but his ears were keenly alert to

catch any sound that betokened danger, and he told Pomeroy afterwards

that he felt as sensitive as a cat's whiskers. His enterprise was

obviously full of peril, for he had no knowledge of the number of troops

in Rueda, or of that town itself, and it behoved him to go warily. If

the French force was large, there would certainly be outposts at some

distance from the town, and every now and then he pulled up his horse

and waited, straining eyes and ears for a sound or a light.

At length, when he had been riding for about three-quarters of an hour,

he saw, at the bottom of a slight hollow more than half a mile in his

front, a twinkle of light which he inferred came from a house by the

roadside. Dismounting at once he led his horse off the road to the

left, and found that he was in a vineyard where many of the poles used

for supporting the vines were still standing in the soil. He led his

horse well out of sight from the road, tied him to one of these poles,

patted his neck, and then set off to walk through the field, keeping a

distance of about fifty yards from the highway. The light shone more

clearly now, and as he approached it he went ever more and more

cautiously, stopping at one point to remove the spurs that, in spite of

his careful tread, made a slight clanking on the frozen ground. At

thirty yards distance from the light he saw that it proceeded from the

window of a small cabin not unlike the muleteer's behind him. Now every

step he took was as stealthy as a cat's. His pulse beat a little faster

as he came within a few feet of the cabin, though he was barely

conscious of this, so intent was he on the task in hand.

He crept at first behind the hut and waited for a moment. Voices

reached him from within. Pressing his ear against the wooden wall, he

distinguished a few exclamations in French, and then a burst of

laughter.

"They're having a high old time!" he said to himself with a chuckle.

"Evidently well occupied. I'll chance it."

Stealing round the hut he fell down on hands and knees and crawled till

he came beneath the window; he then removed his helmet, took a breath,

and raised himself inch by inch until he could just peer over the lower

sill. For a moment his eyes were dazzled by the light. As they became

more accustomed to it he saw four French troopers, in the same uniform

as the one he now wore, seated at a round table playing cards. An empty

bottle stood in the centre, and some glasses were half-full of red wine.

Jack inferred at once that the cabin was a sort of impromptu guard-room,

from which sentries were posted at the entrance to the village.

"Pretty sentries!" he said to himself. "I wouldn't give much for their

skins if Boney caught them! They're making enough row to drown the

sound of an army. So much for that."

Lowering himself with equal care, he crept away, rose to his feet, and

set off at a sharp walk towards Rueda. Before long he descried a number

of scattered lights ahead. Then he found himself in a lane that

appeared to lead towards the town. "Here goes," he thought, and without

hesitation struck up the lane in the direction of the lights.

It led straight into the principal street. Jack walked boldly on,

thinking that boldness would attract less attention than stealth. He

noticed that nearly all the houses at this end of the place were lit up.

Sounds of merriment floated upon the air--a laugh, a cheer, an

exclamation of anger, the clink of glasses, the rattle of dice. There

was a small inn; twenty yards away Jack smelt fried onions, and longed

for his supper. The street was empty, and as he went forward he

observed that the houses were almost all dark, and guessed that the

French were billeted at the end he had passed. By and by he came to the

Plaza, a narrow open space in the centre of the town, and saw what was

evidently the town-house looming before him, a large building in the

middle of the square. He halted in the shadow of a church porch.

"There'll be a sentry posted here," he thought. "I wonder which side of

the building he is on!" He hesitated for a moment whether to proceed or

to return at once, seeing no prospect of obtaining definite information

of the number of the French. "In for a penny in for a pound," he said

to himself; "I'll try another few yards."

He chose the street passing by the left-hand face of the town-house, and

stole along on tiptoe. A narrow beam of light fell obliquely across the

street from an upper window on his left, throwing a luminous circle on

the townhouse wall just above the level of his head. He skirted the

wall, and had reached the mid-point of that face of the square, when a

voice suddenly arrested his steps.

"Senor, charity for a poor prisoner. A copper, Senor, for the love of

God!"

The voice appeared to come from just above his head. There was something

in the tone that seemed familiar, and with a quickening pulse he

resolved to test the surmise which had flashed upon him. Retracing his

steps for a couple of yards, he looked up, and there, full in the shaft

of light from the house opposite, he saw the barred grating of a

dungeon, and, pressed against the bars--yes, it was the small elfin face

of the gipsy boy Pepito. "Here's luck again!" he thought. Being below

the level of the beam of light, Jack himself was out of sight, and he

knew that Pepito could only have caught the sound of his footsteps, and

must have addressed him without knowing who he was. Putting his hand

into the pocket of his breeches--forgetting they were not his own--he

took out a few copper coins, and stretched his arm up towards the

grating.

"Here you are, poor prisoner!" he said softly in Spanish.

A low exclamation answered him. The coins were taken, and a small lean

hand pressed his gently.

"Muchas gracias," said Pepito; then turning to speak to someone behind

him in the cell: "A Christian gives alms to the poor, and four noble

Spaniards and a gipsy boy will not go supperless to bed."

"Four noble Spaniards!" echoed Jack. "Let me speak with one of them."

Pepito disappeared instantly, and his place was taken by a large,

heavy-jawed Spaniard, whom Jack recognized at once as the stableman who

had led the pursuit of him from Olmedo. The man looked suspiciously at

the French uniform.

"Hist! I may help you," began Jack, but at this moment he heard the

clamp-clamp of ammunition boots approaching from round the corner behind

him. "The sentry!" he thought. "Silence! I will come back," he

whispered.

He crept along the wall on tiptoe, in the direction away from the

approaching footsteps. At the same time he heard from within the cell

Pepito's shrill voice in song:

"Kosko gry! Romany gry!

Muk man kistur tute knaw!"

"Clever little imp!" he thought. "He didn't give me away to his

companions there, and now he's trying to smother the sound of my

footsteps."

He turned the corner and waited. The sentry was still approaching with

measured tread, and when he arrived beneath the grating he cried

angrily:

"Tais-toi, maraud! Il faut te taire, ou je vais te bruler la cervelle."

The singing ceased, and the sentry with a grunt resumed his march.

"He's going to make the round of the building," thought Jack. "So will

I; but I hope to goodness no one will be passing on the other side."

He tiptoed along and turned the other corner. Not a soul was to be

seen. He waited. On this face of the building was the door, over which

a feeble light flickered, and Jack wondered whether it was open, and if

he would be seen from within. But there was no time for hesitation. The

tramping sentry was coming behind him. Taking his courage in both

hands, Jack slipped along, passed the door safely, turned the farther

corner, and in another half-minute was back under the grating,

breathless with excitement.

For a moment he stood listening. The sentry had halted in front of the

building.

"Hist! Are you there?" he whispered towards the grating.

"Si, Senor," said the man.

"Now, answer quickly. How many French are in the town?"

"About a hundred, Senor."

"Foot or horse?"

"Half one, half the other."

"And they come from--"

"From Segovia, Senor."

"That'll do. Where's that gipsy boy?"

"But, Senor--"

"Hush! Where's the gipsy?"

"Here, Senor," said Pepito, pulling the Spaniard away.

"Here's a few pesetas. Buy them all a supper from the jailer. All

being well, I'll have you out to-night."

Then he thought for an instant. He must make sure his escape from the

town. What if the sentry were again moving round the square? Stepping

softly into the road, he picked up a large loose cobble and flung it

with all his force towards the corner farthest away from the road he

meant to take. The stone struck the road several yards beyond the

building, and made a clatter as it ricochetted along. He heard an

exclamation from the sentry, who set off at a quick step in the

direction of the sound. Without more delay Jack hastened in the opposite

direction, hearing behind him, more and more faintly, the quaint refrain

of the gipsy's wild song:

"Kosko gry! Romany gry!

Muk man kistur tute knaw!"

He arrived safely at the end of the street. The mirth of the French was

even more uproarious, their fancied security clearly still more

confident. Out of the town, into the lane, Jack hurried at full speed;

past the guard-house, along over the field, among the bare vine-poles

until he reached his horse again. A whinny greeted him. He sprang on to

the animal's back, and cantered back rapidly in the direction of the

Valladolid road.

"We'll make a clean swoop of them or I'm a Dutchman," he said to himself

gleefully. "Was there ever such luck--and such bad management! Won't

Charley Stewart be delighted!"

On he rode, keeping his ears open for the slightest sound. He had come,

as he judged, within a mile of the scene of his afternoon's adventure

when he heard the sound of horses trotting. Turning off the road, he

walked his horse for some distance across the field and waited. The

riders were approaching him. He tried to determine from the sound of

the hoofs how many they were. Then he heard voices--they carried far in

the silence of the frosty night,--and as they came opposite him he heard

an English voice say with a growl:

"'Pon my soul, the madcap deserves to be nabbed!"

"Charley himself!" chuckled Jack. "Who goes there?" he called.

The horses stopped, and a voice called sharply:

"Who are you?"

"Lumsden of the 95th."

"Gad, it's the fellow himself. Come and show yourself, you daredevil!

Where in the world have you been?"

"Into Rueda and back, sir," said Jack, saluting.

"And what the blazes have you been doing there?"

"Taking stock, sir. There are a hundred French in the town, cavalry and

infantry mixed, and they're all hard at it with drink and cards."

"The deuce they are! No sentries, eh?"

"A few in a cabin this side of the town, sir, but they're busy at the

same game."

"Are they, begad? Seymour, we'll collar this little lot. We were

coming to rescue your dead body, young man, and you've disappointed us.

Ride back, there, and tell the squadron to hurry. We'll draw first

blood to-night."

Ten minutes later the whole squadron of 250 men of the 18th Light

Dragoons, General Stewart himself in command, were on their way to

Rueda. Jack rode ahead by the general's side--no longer in French

uniform, for when the squadron arrived on the scene Kelly came forward

and said:

"Brought these, sir; thought you might want 'em."

He handed Jack his head-dress and cloak, receiving the Frenchman's cloak

and helmet in exchange.

"I didn't bring the breeches, sir," added Kelly, "thinking it might be a

cold change to-night."

"Right, Kelly! and that reminds me that I've borrowed some of the

Frenchman's money; all fair in war, eh?"

General Stewart enquired of Jack as they rode how he had contrived to

pick up his information.

"Famous, famous!" he exclaimed when the tale had been briefly told. "We

mustn't let a man escape if we can help it. If Franceschi doesn't hear

of this we may scoop up his whole division. How are we going to escape

the sentries? They can't fail to hear us on this hard road, and we

can't muffle the horses' hoofs."

"If you like, sir," suggested Jack, "I'll go ahead with a few men across

the fields and collar them first."

"You want to do it all, eh? Very well; we'll halt when you tell us. If

anything goes wrong, give us a hail and we'll be on your tracks like the

wind."

When he judged that the squadron had arrived at a safe distance Jack

gave the word, the general halted, and Jack went forward across the

fields with four men to make a detour and come upon the sentries' cabin

from the direction of Rueda, thereby to deceive the Frenchmen into the

belief that the approaching riders were a party coming out to relieve

guard. Jack's men had ridden two hundred yards beyond the cabin, and

were just turning to the left to regain the road, when one of the men

declared that he heard the sound of trotting horses from the town.

"That's a relief patrol," said Jack. "Ride back to the general, Kelly;

tell him we can hardly hope to surprise the town now, and ask him to

pick up the men in the cabin as he passes. Now, dragoons, forward with

me into Rueda."

They set spurs to their horses, and made for the road. Secrecy was no

longer possible; the approaching chasseurs heard them, stopped short,

hesitated a moment, then turned tail and made at full speed back towards

the town, with Jack and his men close at their heels.

"Who's in first, my boys!" cried Jack, rising in his stirrups and urging

his flying steed. On they went, heedless of the road, sparks flying

from the hoofs, the horses snorting with the joy of the chase. Into the

town with a clash and a clatter!

"Sauve qui peut! Les Anglais! Les Anglais!" shouted the sergeant of

the flying patrol. Instantly the little town was filled with noise, the

inns belched forth their scared revellers, from every house streamed

soldiers, drunk and sober, some in full uniform, some half-dressed, some

without swords, some without muskets, the chasseurs clamouring for their

horses, the officers of Lefebvre's infantry shouting to their men to

form up and stand firm in the square. Jack dashed on. A pistol flashed

at him; he heeded nothing, keeping his eye on the form of the sergeant

who headed the patrol, and who had now distanced his companions, and was

clearly making in a panic for safety. By this time about sixty of the

infantry had formed up in some sort of order in the square. Giving rein

to his horse, the sergeant of chasseurs, yelling incoherent

exclamations, dashed into their midst, cleft a way through them, and

pelted on towards the other end of the town. At his heels flew Jack,

whom in the confusion and the semi-darkness the Frenchmen appeared to

take for one of themselves. Behind him he heard the clatter of hoofs

and the shouts of Stewart's dragoons as they dashed into the town, the

crack of pistols, the dull thud of infantry muskets, then the clash of

sabres and the yells of wounded men. Still he rode on. "Not a man must

escape," the general had said, and not a man should, if Jack could help

it.

He was now out of the town, and the Frenchman was apparently losing

ground. Jack spurred his panting horse, and knew by the louder clicks

of the hoofs before him that he was gaining on the enemy. But it was

only for a moment. The chasseur shouted to his horse, flung a mocking

cry behind, and tore on at increased speed. On went Jack, his mouth set,

determined to run his quarry down if only his horse would hold out.

Mile after mile the chase continued; each horseman could hear the pants

of the other's steed, each rode headlong, careless of ruts or stones,

Jack hoping now against hope that something would happen to check the

Frenchman's career. His own horse was almost done; he remembered that it

had had scarcely any rest for half a day, while the chasseur's was

probably fresh; and it occurred to him at length that the Frenchman

could easily have outstripped him if he pleased, and must be holding him

now for his own malicious amusement, or perhaps to lure him on till he

reached a larger body of Franceschi's men. Just as he was wondering

whether it might not be the more discreet part to relinquish the chase,

he caught sight of lights ahead. The Frenchman was quickening his pace;

evidently then he did not expect to find friends in the village or town

to which they were coming. Jack endeavoured to get still more out of

his own breathless steed. On went the chasseur at full gallop into the

town. At the door of an inn a group of men was gathered, some of their

number holding flaring torches above their heads. The crowd parted to

make way for the flying horseman, and he dashed pell-mell through their

midst.

"The game's up!" thought Jack with a sigh of disappointment. "Poor old

horse! You're done up." He rode into the crowd. "After him!" he cried

in Spanish, pointing after the Frenchman. "After him, hombres! The

English are at Rueda. Don't let him escape. My horse is foundered;

somebody mount and catch the dog!"

But not a man moved in response to his cry. Jack dismounted, trembling

in every limb, and furious with the Spaniards for their apathy. As he

led his quivering horse towards the inn, and the throng gathered around

him, he stopped suddenly, for there, in front of the inn door, stretched

on his back, lay a soldier, his eyes closed, his cheeks pale in the

ghastly torchlight, a dark stain marking the frosty road.

"What is it? Who is he?" asked Jack. He looked round, and saw at the

inn door a man with a reeking knife in his hand. As Jack passed, the

man came forward.

"I did it! One of the accursed French. I killed him!"

He went on to explain that he was the posting-master of the place. The

French horseman had ridden up half an hour before and demanded

refreshment; he had behaved with such insolence and brutality that human

nature could not endure it.

"He was an enemy of my country, and I killed him!" the man concluded.

Jack shuddered involuntarily, and stepped round the corpse to enter the

inn.

*CHAPTER X*

*The Emperor's Despatch*

Spoils of War--Hard Cash--A Good Bargain--"To Command the World"--A

Wigging--"Missing"--Through the Night--Dead Beat--Grumbling--A Late

Breakfast--Mixed Metaphors--A Change of Route

Jack threw himself wearily into a chair. He was tired, famished,

disappointed--above all, disappointed,--for he had set his heart on

capturing the Frenchman as a crowning achievement for this crowded day.

For a few moments he sat staring with downcast eyes at the floor; then

he pulled himself together.

"It can't be helped," he thought. "I did my best.--Landlord, give me

some food."

The landlord put down on the table, between two smoking candles, the

knife which he had retained up to this moment.

"Some food for the caballero," he said to one of his men. "And you,

Perez, go outside and bury that carrion Frenchman."

Some minutes passed. Jack found that he had no appetite for the crude

dishes set before him, and heard dully, with inattentive ears, the slow

monotone of the landlord, who seemed to be anxious to justify to himself

the act of murder he had committed. Presently two of the inn servants

entered.

"We have buried him, master," said the first. "And his clothes are

rich; we thought maybe you would wish to have them."

His companion came forward, and laid before the inn-keeper a heap of

garments.

"He was a handsome man," added the first.

"Fine feathers, fine feathers!" muttered the landlord. He took the

garments up one by one, turning them over and commenting on them. There

was a black cloth pelisse, a white dolman with gold braid and fur, and a

shako of scarlet cloth, surmounted by an aigrette of white heron's

plumes. The uniform was ornate with gold braid, cord, and buttons; and

a rich sash of black and gold silk, a small cartridge-pouch, a

sabretache, and a long Damascene sabre completed the brilliant

appointments. As Jack watched the landlord fingering the articles, he

recognized vaguely that they could only have belonged to a soldier of

high rank or position, and for the first time he wondered what had

brought the Frenchman to this out-of-the-way village of Valdestillos.

The landlord stroked the fur of the dolman caressingly.

"Worth some dollars, this," he said, shaking it out to see its full

extent. As he did so, a folded paper fell to the floor. Jack was up in

an instant.

"I want that," he said, fatigue, hunger, disappointment forgotten at

once. He stepped forward, but the landlord put his foot on the paper.

"No, no, Senor," he said quickly. "He was my prisoner; I killed him;

all his things are mine."

"But don't you see," said Jack, now hardly able to control his

excitement; "don't you see, the man was a despatch-rider! That explains

his rich uniform. Perhaps he was one of Napoleon's own aides-de-camp,

and the fate of all Spain may lie in that simple paper. You must give

it to me, landlord; I must take it to my general."

Jack was too much agitated at the moment to perceive that his urgent

manner was likely to defeat his ends. The probability that the paper

had value had aroused the cupidity of the landlord, who stooped

cautiously, picked up the despatch, and thrust it into his pocket.

"It is mine--mine," he said gloatingly. The man's attitude served to

quiet Jack's nerves.

"Very well," he said. "Keep it. I wouldn't be in your shoes for

something. Your servants have seen the despatch. Look, there's a crowd

of peasants gaping at the door there. You can't keep it quiet, even if

anything happens to me; and when General Stewart finds out what a

patriot you are, he'll send you to the Marquis of La Romana, and then--"

Jack shrugged expressively. The servants cast uneasy glances at their

master, who at first frowned at them, then himself looked uncomfortable.

"What does the Senor offer for it?" he said at length with a covetous

leer.

"You sell your patriotism, eh? Well, I'll give you five dollars."

The landlord shook his head.

"I have lost many dollars of late through the war. It is worth more

than five dollars."

"Well, I won't stick at a few dollars. Say ten."

"No, no. The Marquis of La Romana would give more than ten."

"I won't haggle with you," cried Jack. "I make you a last offer. If

you accept it, you are so much to the good; if you refuse it, you not

only won't get a maravedi, but you'll come pretty badly off when the

authorities hear of it. I'll give you twenty dollars, and not a peseta

more."

The landlord looked at him enquiringly, as though questioning whether he

might not squeeze a few more dollars from the young officer. Jack eyed

him firmly.

"That's final," he said. "Twenty dollars, or nothing, plus your

country's curse."

"A paltry sum!" said the innkeeper. "In cash?" he asked cunningly.

"In cash. I have the money here."

"Let me see it."

Chafing at the man's suspicion, Jack unbuckled his belt, and counted out

from the pockets on the inside twenty small golden dollars of the old

coinage of Spain. The landlord's eye gleamed. He took out the despatch

from his pocket, and held it doubtingly in his hand.

"Give me ten dollars first," he said.

Angrier than ever, but outwardly calm, Jack handed over ten of the

coins. The man bit each one between his teeth, and dropped them into

his pouch.

"Take it, Senor," he said.

It was the most exciting moment Jack remembered in his life when he took

the folded paper in his hand, and paid the balance of the price. He

turned it over; there was no writing on it; the flap was fastened with a

great red seal; what if it was no despatch after all? Instantly he

broke the seal, and, unfolding the stiff paper, read at the top:

"To the Marshal Duke of Dalmatia, commanding the Second Army Corps at

Saldana, the Vice-Constable Major-General".

His eyes swam, and he felt a rush of blood to his cheeks. The landlord

was droning on to his servants, and Jack remembered afterwards, with

infinite amusement, that, at this tense moment, he had heard as in a

dream the land-lord directing his servant to put out one of the candles;

one was enough: "'Tis a waste of good pork fat, and we have no pigs left

in Spain--bar the French."

He read on by the light of one guttering dip, running his eye rapidly

down the closely-written page. Moment by moment his joy increased. The

despatch was written from Chamartin by Marshal Berthier, Prince of

Neufchatel, and Jack saw that it contained Napoleon's plan of campaign,

and gave information of the position of his armies which would be beyond

price to Moore. Having read it hastily, he went through it again with

more care, fixing the details in his mind in case by any mishap he

should lose it before reaching head-quarters. What he read was as

follows:--

"I read to the Emperor your letter of the 4th of December, which was

brought by one of your officers. His Majesty approves of all you have

done. The brigades of Generals Debelle and Franceschi are under your

orders, and you can manoeuvre them as you think proper. The Emperor is

of opinion that with the division of Merle and the division of Mouton,

together with the four regiments of cavalry, nothing can resist you.

"What are you to do? Take possession of Leon, drive back the enemy into

Galicia, make yourself master of Benavente and Zamora. You can have no

English in your front, for some of their regiments came to the Escurial

and Salamanca, and everything shows that they are in full retreat. Our

advance-guard is this day at Talavera de la Reyna, upon the road to

Badajos, which it will reach soon. It will be clear to you that this

movement must compel the English to hasten immediately to Lisbon, if

they have not gone there already. The moment you are sure that the

English have retreated (of which there is every presumption), move

forward with rapidity. There are no Spaniards who can resist your two

divisions. Order shoes and greatcoats to be made at Leon, Santander,

and Palencia. His Majesty grants every demand for improving your

equipment. You may also require mules for your artillery, and horses to

remount your cavalry; but let it all be done according to the regular

forms of administration.

"It is possible that as soon as the dragoons of General Millet arrive in

Spain, the Emperor will send them on to you. But his cannot happen for

a fortnight. At the distance at which you are you must be guided by

what you think best, and look upon all I write as only general

instructions. His Majesty conceives that you will take measures to

reduce the country between the Douro, Galicia, and the Asturias, always

most carefully guarding Santander. The 5th Corps, commanded by the

Marshal Duke of Treviso, has been ordered to advance on Saragossa; the

8th Corps, under the Duke of Abrantes, whose 1st Division arrived at

Vittoria on the 12th, will probably receive orders to concentrate at

Burgos. Gunboats and armoured vessels of any kind have orders to sail

for Santander. Load them with confiscated English merchandise, cotton,

wool, artillery, and send all to France.

"Five divisions of Castanos' best troops have been routed with even less

difficulty than you found in beating the Estremaduran army at Burgos.

The wreck of Castanos' army is being pursued by Marshal Bessieres, who

has cut them off the road to Estremadura, and is pursuing them towards

Valencia, several marches beyond the Tagus. The Emperor's headquarters

are at Chamartin, a little country seat a league and a half from Madrid.

His Majesty enjoys an excellent state of health.

"The city of Madrid is quite tranquil. The shops are all open, the

public amusements are resumed, and there is not the least appearance of

our first proposals having been emphasized by 4000 cannon balls.

"THE PRINCE OF NEUFCHATEL,

"Major-General.

"I will send you to-morrow a proclamation and some decrees of the

Emperor, in which you will recognize the style of him who was born to

command the world."

Every word was impressed on Jack's memory as though burnt in with fire.

He had been disappointed of catching a Frenchman! He almost laughed

aloud, for here, surely, was a find worth a king's ransom.

"Landlord, I ride back to Rueda." His voice had the ring of authority.

"My own horse is tired. I will ride the Frenchman's horse. You will

keep mine here until it is sent for, and a fair price shall be paid you

for the other if mine is returned to me safe and sound. At once, if you

please!"

It was not the Spaniard's way to move with alacrity, and it took fifteen

minutes to saddle the horse and bring it round from the stables. Then

Jack mounted, his whole body tingling with joy; and, the despatch

carefully buttoned up inside his tunic, he set off on the fine Arab gray

for Rueda.

The horse was not too fresh, and went all too slowly for Jack's eager

haste. It was near midnight when he cantered into the open street of

Rueda, and dismounted at the door of the posada. There was a light in

this as in many other houses, and he guessed that here he would be most

likely to find General Stewart. The sound of his horse's hoofs had

drawn an orderly to the door.

"Ah, Benson, catch hold of this nag, there's a good fellow! Is the

general up?"

"Yes, you'll find him in the first room, sir."

Jack waited to hear no more. He almost ran into the room, and found

himself in the presence of General Stewart and a few other officers.

"Oh, it's you!" said Stewart, turning on his chair to face the intruder.

"Now, look here, Lumsden, this is all very well, but things may go too

far, you know. 'Twas a mere fool's trick to bolt off after a runaway

vedette when, for all you knew, a whole army-corps was within a mile of

us."

"Sorry, sir," said Jack, "but I understood that you wished to secure the

whole party, and I went after the only one that had escaped.... There

are no Frenchmen on the road; in fact, to the best of my belief there's

only one Frenchman between here and Valladolid, and he's dead."

"You got him after all, then?" said Stewart with a gleam of interest.

"Unluckily no, sir; he got off. It was another fellow, and he carried

this despatch."

The general took the paper without a word. He opened it, and began to

read.

"Gad, what a find!" he exclaimed. "Look here, Seymour. 'Born to

command the world', begad!"

The other officers got up and looked over his shoulder. Jack watched

their faces, and noticed how their expression changed from an ordinary

interest and amusement to an excitement rivalling his own.

"By George, Lumsden," cried the general as he finished the document,

"you've found a treasure here!"

"It cost me twenty dollars, sir."

"Dirt cheap at twenty thousand! How did it happen?"

Jack briefly told the story.

"Boney was always too careless about his aides-de-camp," said Seymour.

"The idea of sending the poor chap off without an escort!"

"Spare your pity!" laughed Stewart. "This must go off to the

commander-in-chief at once." He looked at Jack, and added dryly: "I

suppose you are too tired to take it yourself?"

"If you'll give me a fresh horse I'll start at once, sir."

"Very well, though you look dog-tired. Have you got a flask you can

give him, Seymour? That's right. There's a fellow half an hour ahead of

you, with a despatch reporting our capture here--and I've put you down

as missing, my boy. You're sure you can do it? It's a ride of nearly

twenty miles."

"I'll go, sir," said Jack simply. "May I mention two things? I left my

horse at the posting inn at Valdestillos, and promised to send for it

and buy the Frenchman's gray. Will you look at it, sir, and offer a

price? And there was a little gipsy boy with a few Spaniards in the

watch-house here. The boy has been rather useful to me; will you order

him and the rest to be released and looked after a bit?"

"Done to both. I'll buy the horse myself if he's fit; and as for the

boy and those Spanish louts, they were released long ago, and the gipsy

has kept the men in fits with his monkey antics. Now wait just a moment

while I scribble a note to Sir John, and then be off, and think yourself

a lucky young dog."

When Jack, fortified with Captain Seymour's flask, went to the door to

mount his horse, he became for the first time thoroughly aware how tired

he was. He had been in the saddle almost without intermission for more

than twelve hours, and as he lifted his foot to the stirrup, he felt as

though his thigh was weighted with lead, and on the point of snapping.

But he would never have confessed his fatigue, much less have abnegated

his right to carry the important despatch to the commander-in-chief; so,

aching but cheerful, he cantered off into the night.

He had a ride of eighteen or twenty miles before him, and it was now

past midnight. "Thank heaven!" he said to himself, "in three hours or

so I shall be between the sheets." Soon after he started, snow began to

fall in scattered flakes, giving cold and gentle dabs to his face. The

horse answered to his spur, and trotted rapidly along the solitary road,

which grew whiter and whiter as he proceeded, past the cabin where the

French outpost had been surprised, past the cross-road where the little

tussle of the afternoon had taken place, over the bridge, up the hill,

and thus on and on until he was within a couple of miles of the town of

Alaejos.

At this point he overtook suddenly another horseman, whom the snow,

driving now thick and fast, had hidden from his sight, while the

carpeted road had deadened the sound of his own horse's hoofs. Guessing

at once that this must be the courier bearing General's Stewart's

earlier despatch, the recollection that he had been reported missing

made him chuckle. Throwing a word of salutation to the rider as he

passed him, he urged his horse to a gallop, soon came to the advanced

pickets of the British force, and in a few minutes arrived at the door

of the house in which Sir John Moore had fixed his quarters. The

general had not long arrived, and was still up, engaged in arranging

with a few of his staff the details of the next day's march. Jack was

ushered to his room at once. Staggering in, white from head to heel, he

drew Stewart's letter and the intercepted despatch from his breast

pocket, and, holding them out towards the general, he said:

"A despatch, sir, from General Stewart."

"Ah, indeed!" said Sir John, rising in his chair. "I hardly

expected--why, Colborne, the boy's done up! See to him."

Jack's face had turned the colour of his snow-laden cloak, and he would

have fallen had not Major Colborne, Moore's secretary, hastily caught

him and placed him on a seat, asking one of the aides-de-camp present to

give him some cordial. Meanwhile Sir John had hurriedly run his eye

over Stewart's covering note, and was now eagerly perusing Berthier's

despatch.

"Gad, we have him at last!" he exclaimed, as he came to the end. The

assembled officers looked expectant of an explanation, but at this

moment the courier whom Jack had passed on the road entered, bearing the

despatch announcing the capture of the French garrison at Rueda.

"Another despatch!" exclaimed the general; "Stewart appears to have been

busy."

Tearing it open, he said, with a jubilant note in his voice:

"First blood, gentlemen! The campaign has opened at last. General

Stewart has captured fifty of Franceschi's chasseurs and seventy of

Lefebvre's infantry at Rueda, and--why, what's this? Lieutenant Lumsden

missing!"

He looked across the room at Jack, who had now recovered, and was

sitting, half-asleep, with his back to the wall.

"You're Mr. Lumsden, surely?" he said.

"Yes, sir."

"I thought I could not be mistaken. How is it you are reported missing

in the second despatch?"

"I was missing when the courier left, sir. I overtook him on the road."

"I see. You're dead beat, I'm afraid, but I should be glad to hear how

you came by this despatch of yours, if you can manage to keep awake for

a few minutes."

Jack briefly gave an account of the circumstances.

"You did very well, uncommonly well, Mr. Lumsden," said Sir John when he

had concluded. "Colborne, be good enough to send someone to see Mr.

Lumsden safely to the quarters of the 95th. Mr. Lumsden, you will hear

from me to-morrow."

Jack rose stiffly and saluted; then, accompanied by one of the

aides-de-camp, he walked off to the quarters of his battalion. The

officers had all gone to bed. Learning from Jack the name of his

servant, the aide-de-camp roused the servants' quarters, and, just as

the church clock was striking three, Jack was put to bed in a cosy

little room on the ground floor of the house by his man Giles Ogbourne.

"What I want to know is, when are we agoing to have a slap at the

French? Here we've been tramping and camping for two months or more,

and nothing to show for it--not a shot fired. And you call that

sojering!"

The words and the grunt that followed came on Jack's ears as it were out

of a mist, along with the pungent fumes of strong tobacco. He had just

awoke from a heavy sleep; the window of his room was open, and he could

see the deep-blue sky of a fine December day.

"My friend Corporal Wilkes holding forth!" he said to himself with a

smile, and, turning on his back, he listened for more.

"What are we here for?" went on the grumbler. "What's the good of

cleaning your rifle day after day when it's had no chance of getting

fouled? It's nothing but walking, walking, walking; 'ang me if we ain't

out on a bloomin' walking-match."

"There's been a bit of a scrum somewhere for'ard, so I heard," put in

another voice. "P'raps things is waking up, corp'ril."

"Shut up, Bates! What's the good o' that to us? It was those

long-legged dragoons, by all accounts. Why should they have it all?

Where does the 95th come in?--that's what I want to know. What's the

good o' pickin' out the Rifles from the whole army and then giving them

cavalry chaps the only job that's going? Besides, nothing'll come of

it. We shall only have a longer walk than ever, you see. A flick in

the ear to the French, so to say, and then we skedaddles!"

"That ain't fair, corp'ril. Who says we're a-going to sheer off?"

"Nobody _says_ we're going to sheer off, but anyone with half an eye

could see those blessed grub-carts over there cutting up the roads this

morning, and anyone with an ounce of gumption would know what that

means. That ain't the road to Valladolid! What I want to know is, do

the general mean to fight, or don't he? If he do, let's step off on

shanks his mare and get to business; if he don't--why, he's only

spoiling good sojers, that's all I've got to say."

"Not so much noise, corp'ril," said Giles Ogbourne; "you'll wake Mr.

Lumsden."

"Spoil his beauty sleep, eh? Where's he been, getting so dead tired

that he ain't up to take his rations? I don't hold with such late

hours. Not but what he's a good plucked 'un mostly, and I don't grudge

him the--"

At this point Jack got out of bed, wincing as his aching muscles

reminded him of the previous day's hard work.

"You there, Giles?" he said, putting his head out of the window. "Get

me some hot water, and then see about my breakfast while I dress."

A guffaw broke from the soldiers below, and was instantly suppressed.

"Yes, sir," said Giles, adding: "Beg pardon, sir, but it's not

breakfast, it's dinner."

Jack laughed.

"What! Have I been asleep so long? What's the time?"

"Gone four, sir, and mess is at a quarter past."

"Hurry up, then! There's just time."

"Mr. Pomeroy's been twice to see if you was up, sir, but he wouldn't let

me disturb you. And he said I was on no account to say a word about--"

He caught himself up, with a blush that gave his honest round face a

very boyish air.

"About what?"

"I wasn't to say, sir."

"Oh well, cut off and fetch the water! Been fighting any Spaniards

lately, Wilkes?"

"No such luck, sir. Spaniards or French, it's all one to me, and what I

want to know is--"

Jack smiled and shut the window.

When he entered the mess-room he found the officers of his regiment

already seated, Colonel Beckwith being at the head of the table.

"Hullo!" exclaimed Smith, who was opposite the door. His exclamation

drew all eyes towards Jack, and as he passed down the table to take the

place made for him beside Pomeroy, the subalterns rapped knives and

glasses on the unstained deal, and gave a rousing welcome to the

wanderer.

"Of all the lucky beggars!" said Pomeroy in Jack's ear, when the general

greetings had subsided. "And I can't even punch your head!"

"You're welcome to try," retorted Jack, "but allow me to get some dinner

first. I've had nothing but pucheros and gaspachos for days past, and

there are heavy arrears to make up."

"Well, I don't want to take advantage of you, though you have played me

rather a mean trick."

"What do you mean?"

"Wine with you, Mr. Lumsden," interjected Colonel Beckwith from the far

end of the table; "a good ride, begad!"

"Thank you, sir! most happy," said Jack, with a look of mingled pleasure

and surprise. After the interchange of compliments, Jack, turning again

to Pomeroy, said quietly: "What's Sidney driving at? I've never been

honoured in this way since I first joined."

"Oh, he's anxious!" returned Pomeroy carelessly.

"Anxious! About what?"

"About his job."

"How? What?"

"'Fraid he'll be superseded, you know."

Jack was so much puzzled by the apparent inconsequence of the reply that

he failed to remark the wide grin of amusement which all the subalterns

within hearing were vainly endeavouring to dissemble.

"He's trying to carry it off," added Pomeroy.

"I say, Smith, what does this lunatic mean?"

"What! Haven't you heard the rumour?" answered Smith.

"'What great ones do the less will prattle of,'" quoted Shirley _sotto

voce_.

"What rumour?" asked Jack, more mystified than ever.

"Well, there may be nothing in it, but for my own part I think it's a

shame to promote a raw sub like you over the heads of men like Colonel

Beckwith and Captain O'Hare, to say nothing of Pomeroy."

Jack, looking somewhat startled, appealed to Captain O'Hare, who was

bubbling with amusement.

"Are they all mad, sir?"

"'S mad's hatters!" replied O'Hare with a chuckle. "'Tis a shame to keep

ye in suspense. The fact is, my boy, as you'd have learnt if you'd only

kept dacent hours, you've been growing in your sleep. You're like the

mushroom that blooms in the dark. You went to bed a second lieutenant

and woke up a full-blown one. 'Tis most unusual, this promotion, and

bedad, 'tis Peter O'Hare himself that's glad, so he is, and so's all the

rest of us."

"Except me," said Pomeroy in a tone of regret; "for as my superior

officer I can't punch his head."

There was a laugh, under which Jack was glad to hide his pleasure and

embarrassment.

"And the worst is," added Pomeroy, "that it's another bet won for the

Grampus."

"By the way," asked Jack, "what's become of the Grampus?"

"Oh!" said Smith, "he went off a week ago. Said he came out to be at

the front; bet me Baird would open the ball with Soult, and went to lend

a hand."

"He'll be lucky if he isn't made mincemeat of by the French, or else by

Spanish bandits," said O'Hare. "These amachures would be safer at

home."

At this moment an orderly entered and handed a note to Colonel Beckwith,

who, having read it, crumpled it up and rapped on the table.

"Gentlemen, I may as well inform you, although of course it must go no

further to-night, that a change has been made in our route. We march

for Toro to-morrow."

There was a dead silence, broken only by a half-audible growl from

Captain O'Hare. The shadow of a smile flickered across the colonel's

face as he noticed the glum looks of his officers.

"This change, I may add, is due to some news lately received." Here he

glanced quizzingly at Jack. "It's not so bad as it looks, and you may

take my word for it that before the week's out we shall be in the thick

of it."

"Thanks be!" said Captain O'Hare.

*CHAPTER XI*

*Napoleon in Pursuit*

To the Douro--Pepito Turns Up--Four Noble Spaniards--At Sahagun--In

Suspense--News from La Romana--On the Trail--War with the Elements--Word

from O'Hare--A Cavalry Skirmish--A Break-down

Sir John Moore had instantly recognized the immense importance of the

despatch so opportunely discovered by Jack at Valdestillos. It informed

him of the exact positions of the various components of the Imperial

army; it assured him also that up to the present Napoleon's ignorance of

his enemy's whereabouts was profound. But Moore knew that after

Stewart's brilliant little affair at Rueda it was only a matter of days

before this ignorance would be dispelled, and then Napoleon would

without doubt launch every Frenchman within striking distance upon his

track. If, therefore, he pursued his original intention of moving on

Valladolid he would come into the direct line of the emperor's advance,

whereas, with his new information about Soult's position, it was just

possible that he would have time to strike a blow at that marshal before

the huge masses converging on Madrid could be wheeled round and hurried

over the passes of the Guadarrama in direct pursuit, or pushed forward

from Burgos upon his flank. That Napoleon would interrupt all other

operations to crush him he had no doubt, and if he was to strike at all

it must be at once.

His own force numbered some 25,000 men, and he was assured from several

sources that he might hope for the co-operation of La Romana, who was

said to be at the head of a continually increasing army of Spaniards at

Leon. Thus reinforced, he would be more than a match for Soult, if

Soult, with some 16,000 men, were ill-advised enough to risk an action.

On the other hand, if Soult, probably the ablest of Napoleon's marshals,

resisted the temptation to close with Moore before the other French

armies came up, the British general would have, as he himself said, "to

run for it", with one army on his flank and three others at his heels.

The risks were great; the boldest general might well shrink from the

ordeal with which Sir John was now confronted. But Moore's courage and

promptitude increased with the magnitude of the peril; he fully counted

the cost, and, feeling bound in honour to take this one chance of saving

Spain, he quickly formed his resolution and set to work with energy to

carry it out.

Within a few hours of receiving the intercepted despatch, Moore

countermanded the advance to Valladolid, and ordered his infantry to

cross the Douro at Zamora and Toro, throwing out cavalry as a screen for

both columns. When the news spread through the ranks that a rapid move

was to be made against Soult, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. The

dissatisfaction which all had felt, the murmurs which had not been

confined to the men, gave place to jubilation, and it was with laughter

and singing that the advance-guard marched out of Alaejos northward to

the Douro.

Jack's regiment was brigaded with others to form the Reserve, and the

men had to curb their impatience for some hours before their turn to

march arrived. It was a bitterly cold day, that 15th of December, and,

having performed all their immediate duties, Jack and his fellow

subalterns were stamping up and down before their quarters, wrapped in

long cloaks, and doing their best to warm their blood. They had been so

busy since Jack's arrival that there had been no time to get from him a

full account of his recent adventures, but now, in their enforced

idleness, they kept up a fire of questions as to where he had been and

what he had seen, and how it was that he had had, as they put it, all

the luck. Jack found that the simplest means to escape the bombardment

was to give a consecutive account of the events at Rueda and

Valdestillos, to which his chums listened with interest, scarcely

remarking the modesty with which the narrator minimized his own share in

the bustling incidents.

"That boy Pepito, you see," he said at one point in his narrative, "is

not quite the thorn in the flesh we all supposed he was going to be. In

fact, he has the strangest knack of turning up at odd moments when he

can be of use--"

"A regular god in the machine!" said Shirley.

"A familiar spirit, I'd call him," said Pomeroy. "I never had much

faith in witchcraft, but upon my word I shall soon begin to believe that

you're in league with the powers of darkness, and no wonder you have

such confounded luck!"

"Talk of the--" cried Smith suddenly. "Look at that!"

The subalterns, looking in the direction pointed out by Smith's

stretched forefinger, saw, at the other end of the street, a strange

cavalcade approaching. Between two stalwart troopers of the 18th Light

Dragoons rode a picturesque little figure on a gaily-caparisoned mule,

the rider cocking his head aloft with a consequential air that was

irresistibly comic. Behind tramped a crowd of foot-soldiers, and the

rear was brought up by a troop of dragoons.

"By George!" cried Pomeroy, "it's Pepito himself, riding in like a

conqueror.

"And the French prisoners of Rueda behind him," added Jack. "I'm glad

to see the boy. Giles, go and see where they halt, and bring the little

beggar to me."

In a few minutes Giles returned, bringing not only Pepito but a group of

four rather dilapidated-looking Spaniards.

"My friends of the Olmedo inn," thought Jack, recognizing them with a

chuckle. "Well, Pepito, so you've turned up again, eh?"

"Si, Senor," answered the gipsy with his captivating smile. "And with

me the four noble Spaniards, Senor."

"So I see. You seem in high feather. You'd better tell me what has

happened since I saw you last on the way to Medina."

Pepito stood in the centre of the group of officers, while the four

stablemen hung on the outskirts, Giles keeping a watchful eye on them.

The boy, speaking in rapid Spanish, with an occasional Romany word when

he found his emotions too much for him, told how, after being provided

with clothes by Giles Ogbourne, he had started to track the Senor, in

spite of orders to the contrary. Being hungry, and having no money, he

had, on arriving at the farmhouse where Jack had met him, offered to

clip the farmer's mules, such clipping being the traditional occupation

of the gipsies in Spain. There he had seen Jack's plight, caught sight

of the pursuers, and instantly determined the course of action he

adopted. When overtaken by the panting stablemen, he had sent them off

on the wrong track; but they carried him along with them and threatened

him with a lingering death if he proved to have played them false. He

was cudgelling his wits for a plan of escape when, as luck would have

it, they fell suddenly in with a troop of French chasseurs, who captured

the whole party, chose to assume that they were spies, and bundled them

into the watch-house at Rueda to await punishment.

"Ay, ay, that cell!" said Pepito. "It was dark and damp and foul, and

Senor knows how the Romany love the fresh air and the open sky. But

still, there were the Busne, the four noble Busne, Senor, and when I

felt sad I would laugh at them, and tell them what fools they were, who

the Senor really was, and how it was all their own fault if they were

shot. Oh, it was good, Senor!" The gipsy's black eyes twinkled at the

recollection.

"I'm afraid you're a mischievous young scamp," said Jack. "You'd better

come along with me--that is, if you'll behave yourself."

"Ta ra, ta ra! Viva!" cried Pepito, flinging his knife in the air and

catching it as it fell. "'The Romany chal to his horse did cry'"--and

singing his merry song he skipped up to Giles, and dug the stolid

Devonian in the ribs.

Meanwhile, Jack beckoned to the Spaniards, and they slouched towards him

with shamefaced sullenness. Addressing the biggest of them, he said with

a smile:

"Well, hombre, you will be wiser next time. It might have been awkward

for you. You'd better go home by way of Salamanca, or you might happen

to meet some more Frenchmen. Here, you may find this useful."

He gave the man a few pesetas, and the four dejected fellows, muttering

their thanks, shambled away.

Half an hour later the order came for the regiment to march, and soon

the men were swinging along on the way to Toro. It was a fine frosty

day, and the cold, though keen, was exhilarating. The road, which in

wet weather would have been a mere slough of mud, was now frozen hard,

and walking was easy and pleasant. Many women walked with the regiment;

others, with their children, were perched on the baggage- and

ammunition-wagons. There was joking and laughter; the prospect of soon

meeting the enemy whom they had been so long hoping to fight gave

brightness to the men's eyes and elasticity to their gait. Colonel

Beckwith rode up and down the column, throwing a word to this man and

that, encouraging the laggards and chaffing the boasters. A little snow

fell at times, causing the women to snuggle under their cloaks and the

men to growl about wet boots; but during this day's march, and the four

succeeding days', the high spirits of the regiment were well maintained,

and it was with surprisingly little loss by sick or stragglers that the

infantry arrived, on December 20th, at Mayorga, where a junction was

effected with the column under Sir David Baird. They moved forward

again the following morning, and their enthusiasm was raised to the

highest pitch by the news that Lord Paget, with the 10th and 15th

Hussars, had surprised a large body of French cavalry in Sahagun,

killing or capturing over 200 officers and men.

When they arrived at this place in the evening, the main army found that

it had outstripped its supplies. Wagons were short, and neither food nor

clothing was to be had. It was therefore imperative that a

breathing-space should be allowed, that time should be given for

recruiting their strength and repairing their equipment. Eager as they

were to fight, they were not sorry when they learnt that at least a

day's rest was to be given them.

But when the whole of December 22nd passed without the expected order to

advance, the men again began to chafe at the delay. Corporal Wilkes and

some of his cronies were sitting round their camp-fire on the evening of

that day discussing the situation.

"What I want to know," said Wilkes in a tone suggesting that he would

rather have resented the information--"what I want to know is, why we

don't up and at them Frenchmen at once. What are we waiting for? True,

we ain't had much grub, and our toggery ain't exactly what the general

would specially admire on parade, but over yonder, where that Marshal

Salt, or whatever they call him, is, there's plenty of tommy and fine

clothes too, and if we could only make a move we'd very soon be able to

fill our insides and polish up our outsides. Here we are, three days

off Christmas, and where's the roast-beef and plum-pudding to come from?

We'll have to sing for it, by what I can see."

"Sing for it!" interposed Bates with a grunt. "No, thank'ee; we've had

enough of the waits. Ha! ha!"

There was a general guffaw at Bates's little witticism.

"I don't see nothing to laugh at," growled Wilkes, resenting the

interruption. The others looked reproachfully at Bates, who relapsed

into abashed silence.

It was not until the morning of the 23rd that the general of the

Reserve, Sir Edward Paget, a younger brother of Lord Paget, received

marching orders. On the evening of that day he was to move his division

forward from Grajal del Campo along the road to Carrion, join the main

body, and halt until head-quarters should arrive from Sahagun. At this

news the younger and less experienced men found it almost impossible to

keep still.

"Lie down and rest, you silly fellows," said Jack to a group of men whom

he saw fidgeting about in sheer nervousness and anxiety. "Look at

Wilkes yonder; he knows what war is, and he's snoring away, getting a

good sleep before the march to-night. Here, Pepito, just come and show

these fellows some of your tricks, and keep them amused, or they'll be

dead-beat before they start."

Pepito, who had followed Jack like a shadow ever since he had left

Alaejos, obediently went among the men, and soon had them laughing

merrily at his absurd antics and extraordinary gibberish. The bleak

winter day passed, and at four o'clock, under a gray and leaden sky, the

Reserve at last set out towards what they hoped was to be a brilliant

victory. The whole country was covered deep with snow. The men had

been ordered to refrain from talking or singing while on the march; and

thus, in cold and silence, the column trudged along in the gathering

night.

After some hours' tramping a halt was called, and the men stood and

shivered and wondered.

"What are we waiting for now?" growled Corporal Wilkes, shaking the snow

from his shako.

"To let the guns come up, shouldn't wonder," returned his friend Bates.

"This blessed snow makes it slow work to bring 'em along."

"I expect it's old Romana not up to the scratch," suggested Tom Plunket,

the best shot in the regiment. "Very likely he's lost his way, or

forgotten the date, or frizzing his moustache, or something, and that's

keeping our general waiting."

"Humph!" growled Wilkes, "another case of to-morrer, to-morrer. Tell

you what, boys, these Dons will say 'manana' once too often. When the

last roll-call comes they'll say 'manana' as sure as fate, and then

where'll they be?--that's what I want to know."

"Hush! what's that?" said Sergeant Jones, a little man known familiarly

as "The Weasel".

A bugle-call was sounding. Every man started to his feet. Surely the

two hours' halt was over and the battle was at hand. But no; there was

no sound of movement among the troops, no cheer from the men near the

general's quarters. While the men stood in a tense attitude of

expectancy, Jack came up out of the darkness.

"Men," he said quietly, "we are ordered back to Grajal. Fall in!"

Not a word broke from them. Back to Grajal? But the French were not

there. Was the battle postponed again? No one appeared to know the

meaning of this new order. They collected their kits, strapped on their

heavy knapsacks, and trudged despondently back over the frozen roads.

At six o'clock that evening a note had been brought to Sir John Moore

from the Marquis of La Romana. It read:

LEON, _Dec. 22_.