Soult's progress during the previous two_Boys of the Light Brigade: A Story of Spain and the Peninsular War

found the British strongly posted; and his experiences during the

pursuit were calculated to inspire him with a wholesome caution when

tackling, not as during the past fortnight an isolated rear-guard, but

the whole of Moore's army in battle array. There were three ranges of

hills, on any of which an army defending Corunna might be assured of a

strong position. But two of these ranges were of too great an extent to

be held by Moore's little force of 15,000 men, and the British general

had been obliged to content himself with occupying the innermost of the

three, extending over about a mile and a half of country to the south of

the city. It would have been an entirely admirable position had it not

been commanded at the right extremity by a hill of considerably greater

height, and within easy cannon-shot, while beyond this exposed flank was

a stretch of open country extending to the gates of Corunna, and

offering the enemy a good opportunity of turning the whole position.

But Moore had no choice; he knew the risk he ran, and relied on the

valour and steadiness of his men, who, now that their troubles were

over, had become cheerful, confident, and well-behaved British soldiers.

And with the instinct of a great general he ultimately turned his very

weakness into a source of strength.

Throughout the day French troops continued to stream westward along the

hills, and when night fell Soult had driven in the British outposts and

was in full occupation of the whole line of heights. There were sounds

of incessant activity during the night, and at dawn on the following

morning the British found that the enemy had dragged guns up the steep

rocky eminence dominating their right wing.

For several hours after daybreak, on that 16th of January, the two

armies stood fronting one another. Moore had sent all his cavalry, and

most of his guns, on board the transports, retaining only the infantry

to fight Soult if he attempted to interfere with the embarkation.

Hope's division, consisting of Hill's and Leith's brigades, occupied the

extreme left of the British line, its flank resting on the river. Next

came Baird's division, comprising Manningham's and Bentinck's brigades,

the latter facing the little village of Elvina that lay at the bottom of

the slope held by the British, but almost under the frowning heights

occupied by the French batteries. On the Corunna side of the British

position, and protected by the crest of the hills, Catlin Crawford's

brigade lay in support of Hope's division, while Warde's two fine

battalions of Guards were posted a little farther to the right, ready to

reinforce Baird.

Almost out of sight of the French, in front of the village of Oza, lay

Paget's Reserve, ready to be hurled upon any force attempting a turning

movement against Baird. It was so well concealed by the formation of the

ground that the French were not likely to discover its presence until

their movement was well developed. Some distance in Paget's rear

General Fraser's division occupied a low eminence outside Corunna, ready

either to support Paget or to hold in check the large body of French

horse that was found to be threatening the right rear of the British

position.

Dinner-time came, and there was still no forward movement among the

enemy. Moore concluded that Soult had made up his mind not to risk an

attack, and consequently made preparations for completing his

embarkation. The reserve division, with orders to embark as soon as the

mid-day meal was over, grumbled while they ate their plentiful rations,

even those from whom no murmur of complaint had been heard during the

lean days of the retreat. Corporal Wilkes, whose courage and

cheerfulness during the black fortnight had more than once earned him a

word of praise from his officers, now made no attempt to disguise his

feelings.

"I call it a shame," he remarked, gazing moodily up the valley to the

dark masses on the heights, "that we should scuttle away without even

the chance of a slap at 'em. Of course they'll come on as soon as they

see our backs, and of course there'll be another fight. Of course there

will. But where shall we be?--shut up with rats and cockroaches and

shellbacks, and wishing we was at the bottom o' the sea. We've been

doin' the worst of the work--there ain't no arguin' as to that--why

couldn't they let us see it out?--that's what I want to know."

[Illustration: The Battle of Corunna]

At this moment the order is given to march; the men shoulder their

rifles and sullenly tramp down the valley in the direction of the

harbour. For weeks they have been straining all their energies to reach

the coast; now, when a few minutes' march will place them beyond the

reach of their enemies, and ensure complete immunity from the

insufferable horrors that have dogged their footsteps during the

retreat, their bearing is that of savage resentment.

Suddenly the dull boom of artillery is heard far up the valley; the

division, as if at the word of command, comes to an instant halt, and

the men's faces clear as if by magic. Surely this must mean a fight

after all; they are to have their long-wished-for chance of coming to

grips with the enemy. While they are thus waiting, anxious expectancy

on every face, an aide-de-camp from the commander-in-chief dashes up at

full speed.

"There is a general movement, sir," he says, addressing General Paget,

"all along the enemy's line. An engagement appears to be imminent. The

commander-in-chief desires that you will return to the position you have

just left."

Never a general's voice rang out more thrillingly than when Paget gave

the order to countermarch. Never was an order received with more joy by

officers and men. In a few minutes the Reserve had regained its old

position around the little village of Oza. There the eager troops

awaited, with what patience they might, the lurid moment that was to

compensate them for all their past sufferings and humiliations. This

moment was some time in coming, but it came at last.

The brunt of the attack fell, as Moore had expected, upon Baird's

division. The guns from the opposite heights, completely outranging the

British artillery, played upon Baird's front, and from the

vantage-ground of the rocky eminence on his flank raked it from right to

left. Under cover of this artillery fire a great French column, preceded

by a swarm of skirmishers, swept down the hill, drove in the British

pickets, cleared the village of Elvina of a company of the 50th, and

advanced up the slope held by Bentinck's brigade. A portion of the

column at the same time detached itself from the main body and moved

round the right of the British position with the object of taking it in

flank. Moore instantly seized the opportunity. Hurling the 42nd and

50th regiments of Bentinck's brigade at the French front attack, and

driving home the charge with the help of Warde's two battalions of

Guards, he swung round the 4th Regiment on Bentinck's right to meet the

flanking column, and ordered up Paget from behind the hill to take this

force in its turn in flank.

The hour has struck at last! With a cheer the 95th, who are in the van

of the Reserve, dash forward in extended order across the valley, where

they come into immediate contact with Lahoussaye's dragoons, who have

been pushed forward on the French left to assist the turning movement.

The country, however, was far better suited for infantry than cavalry

tactics; low walls and ditches broke up the formation of the horsemen

and prevented them from charging with effect, while giving excellent

cover to the Riflemen. The Frenchmen made a good fight, and there were

several fierce combats between knots of Riflemen and small isolated

bodies of horse; but the 95th pressed steadily forward, sweeping the

enemy before them until the dragoons were driven back upon the slopes of

San Cristobal, a low hill on the extreme left of Soult's position.

There Lahoussaye dismounted his men and made a desperate effort to hold

the Riflemen at bay, while the infantry that had hoped to turn

Bentinck's flank were fighting a losing battle with the other regiments

of the Reserve. It was here that many who had come unscathed through the

perils of the retreat fell under the withering fire of the troopers. A

dismantled farmhouse, with some ruined out-buildings, stood facing

Corunna some distance up the slope. Encircling it was a low stone wall;

other stone walls, taking the place of the hedges in an English

landscape, radiated from it, dividing the surrounding fields, and the

ground on all sides was cut up by ditches and ravines. It was an ideal

position for defensive tactics, and Lahoussaye's men, sheltered behind

the walls, made an obstinate stand against the advancing Rifles.

The task of clearing the farm fell to O'Hare's company. A rough

cart-track led to a gap in the wall that had once been the gateway, now

blocked up by the French with heavy wooden beams.

"Now, Riflemen," cried Captain O'Hare, "you have your chance at last.

Remember Bembibre!" and with a cheer he led the company straight at the

gap. When the Rifles were within twenty yards of the walls they were

met with a murderous volley from the defenders, and there were many gaps

in the line before the wall was reached. Then began a fierce

hand-to-hand fight, in which every advantage was on the side of the

defenders. Again and again the Riflemen mounted the wall and swarmed up

the barricade, only to be thrust back by the sabres and clubbed carbines

of the troopers. Sergeant Jones, whom the loss of his wife had made a

dangerous foe for a Frenchman to meet, succeeded in forcing his way

across, accounting for two of the troopers in his passage, but the man

behind fell to the pistol of a French officer, and before the sergeant

could be supported he was surrounded by the enemy and sank under a dozen

wounds. Captain O'Hare, at the first assault, was stunned for a few

moments by a blow from a clubbed carbine, Pomeroy received a cut over

the brow from a sabre, and others lay either dead or badly wounded

within a few yards of the gateway.

Jack, on the right extremity of the line, had attacked the wall some

fifty yards from the gateway, but the ground falling away steeply at

this point, the obstruction was even more difficult to scale than in the

centre. Three times he and Wilkes, although gallantly supported by their

men, were thrust back after laboriously climbing the steep bank that

carried the wall. He was about to make a fourth attempt when he

observed that a few yards to the right, near an angle in the wall, the

stones showed signs of approaching collapse. The bank had given way at

this point, several huge stones had already fallen out of the wall,

others were loose, and the mortar was crumbling.

"Corporal Wilkes, order six men to load and fire at any head that

appears above the wall. The rest go at them again. Bates, and you,

Plunket, follow me."

Jack led the way to the weak spot in the wall, and directing the men to

work as quietly as possible, began to remove the loose stones. As he

did so the surrounding blocks came away without difficulty, and in the

course of a couple of minutes a hole some two yards wide and about a

yard and a half high, extending half-way through the wall, was made just

above the bank. In the meanwhile Wilkes had led another assault up the

bank, and sounds of fierce fighting still farther to the left proved

that a renewed effort was being made to carry the barricade. A glance

to his left showed Jack that the other companies were busily engaged

with a large body of Lahoussaye's horse, who had taken advantage of some

open ground to remount and threaten the regiment's flank.

Seizing a rifle dropped by one of his men, Jack ordered Bates and

Plunket to make a simultaneous attack with him on the spot where they

had broken half through the wall. Running up the bank, they put their

shoulders to the tottering masonry. The wall shook, then cracked, and

falling, fortunately for Jack and his men, inwards, left a gap a couple

of yards wide. There was a cloud of dust, through which Jack, followed

by Bates and Plunket, dashed with a rousing cheer. The three men were

at once surrounded by twice their number of dragoons; but with their

rifles they kept the Frenchmen at bay, while Wilkes and the others,

profiting by the temporary diversion, scaled the wall. "Come on, my

boys!" shouted Wilkes. "What I"--crack on a Frenchman's head--"want to

know"--a second crack, and the big fellow burst through the French

troopers, followed by several men of Jack's company. Thus reinforced,

Jack led a vigorous charge; nothing could withstand it. The French

troopers broke, and made a dash for their horses, tethered in the rear

of the ruined farm, but in their flight they impeded one another's

movements, and only a few got away.

Meanwhile Smith, who in O'Hare's temporary absence was in command of the

company, formed up his men on the far side of the farm, and continued

the forward movement that had been for the moment arrested. Within a

few yards of the farm they were overtaken by General Paget, who galloped

up and said:

"Well done, Number One Company!" Then, after a careful examination of

the ground in front, and of the retreating enemy, he turned to Captain

O'Hare, who had recovered from his blow and came up eagerly. "I think,

sir, we hold them safe in this quarter. I shall be glad if you can

spare me one of your officers. I have a message for the

commander-in-chief."

O'Hare, who, chafing at being knocked over, had remarked Jack's share in

carrying the farm wall, beckoned him forward.

"Take one of the Frenchmen's horses yonder," continued General Paget,

when Jack came up and saluted, "and tell the commander-in-chief that the

enemy on this side are in full retreat. We shall continue to push them

through the valley, and ought shortly to threaten their great battery."

He pointed, as he spoke, to the rugged slopes, now covered with a thick

pall of smoke, on which Soult had massed his heaviest guns. A

continuous dull roar came from the battery, from which the French

gunners were pouring shot after shot at the British infantry.

With a parting hint to Jack that the commander-in-chief would probably

be found with Baird's division, General Paget wheeled his horse round

and returned down the slope. In a few seconds Jack was in the saddle,

jumping walls and ditches, and floundering through ravines towards the

village of Elvina. The retreating French infantry, broken but not yet

dispersed, barred his direct progress. He ploughed across the valley,

finding terrible evidence of the bitterness of the struggle in the

scores of dead and wounded dotting the fields from which the tide of

battle had now ebbed, and spurred his horse to a hand-gallop up the

gentle acclivity beyond. When he reached the crest, the whole battle

was spread like a panorama before him.

Far to the left General Hope's division was slowly pushing the French

back through the village of Palavea, from which they had driven the

British outposts at the beginning of the battle. In the centre a severe

struggle was being waged for the possession of Elvina, where Bentinck's

brigade, after hurling back the frontal attack and driving the enemy up

the opposite slopes, was now with difficulty holding its own doggedly

against superior numbers. On the right the French flanking columns were

being driven steadily through the valley by Paget's division, and

Franceschi's dragoons were already retiring behind the great battery,

where eleven guns at almost point-blank range were now tearing huge gaps

in Bentinck's slender columns.

Jack had halted for a moment to get his bearings; he was beginning to

make his way down the slope towards Elvina when he caught sight of three

officers on his left, galloping towards him on the crest of the hill.

In the leading horseman, mounted on a cream-coloured charger with black

tail and mane, he instantly recognized Sir John Moore; the others were

officers of the staff. Jack had eyes only for the general as the

well-known figure swept up at headlong speed to within a few yards of

the spot where he had halted, then suddenly drew rein, throwing the

gallant charger upon its haunches, with quivering nostrils and heaving

flanks. Jack never forgot the picture of horse and rider at this

moment: the charger snorting with excitement, its eyes dilated, its ears

cocked forward, its hoofs ploughing deep furrows in the soft earth; the

rider, with eyes fixed searchingly upon the enemy, seeming to keep his

seat without conscious effort, his whole being concentrated in the

lightning glance with which he took in every detail of the fight.

He was about to move away when Jack trotted up, saluted, and delivered

his message. Sir John seemed too much preoccupied to notice who his

informant was. After an instant's reflection he said: "Follow me, sir;

I shall probably have a message for General Paget in the course of a few

minutes." Then, setting spurs to his horse, he galloped down the hill

towards Elvina.

As they approached the village the 50th Regiment, commanded by Major

Charles Napier, was making a desperate effort to retake the place. They

drove the enemy at the point of the bayonet through the village street

and beyond some stone walls on the outskirts; but there the French

rallied, and, being reinforced from the slopes above, again advanced,

capturing Major Napier, who was desperately wounded, and pressing hard

upon the 50th regiment and the Black Watch, both of which were running

short of ammunition. The 42nd, mistaking an order, began to retire.

Then the commander-in-chief rode up, and addressing them said: "Men of

the 42nd, you have still your bayonets. Remember Egypt! Remember

Scotland! Come on, my gallant countrymen!"

With a cheer the Black Watch returned to the attack. Moore followed the

brilliant charge with kindling eyes. "Splendid fellows!" he exclaimed.

He was just turning to give Jack the promised message when a cannon-shot

from the battery above struck him to the ground. For one brief moment

it might almost have been thought that the hurt was a trivial one, for

the general, raising himself upon his right arm, continued to gaze

eagerly and with a look of noble pride upon the struggle beneath. It was

not until the success of his troops was assured that he sank back and

allowed himself to be removed from the field. Four soldiers carried him

tenderly in a blanket to the rear. No doctor was needed to tell the

grief-stricken bearers that the wound was mortal. The injured man knew

that there was no hope. They would have removed his sword; its hilt was

pressing against the wound. "It is as well as it is," he said. "I had

rather it should go out of the field with me." As they carried him

towards Corunna he more than once bade them turn to learn how the fight

was going. They bore him to a house in the town; as he lay dying his

mind was filled with his country and the commanders who had served him

and England so well during the bitter days of the retreat. "I hope the

people of England will be satisfied. I hope my country will do me

justice." He spoke of Paget, asking to be remembered to him. "General

Paget, I mean; he is a fine fellow." He left messages for all his

friends, and in the midst of his agony mentioned for promotion several

officers whose gallantry in the field he had noticed. He bore his

dreadful sufferings without a murmur. Only when he dictated a last

message to his aged mother did he show signs of breaking down. And

thus, nobly as he had lived, when night had stilled the sounds of war

and the stars blinked over the awful field, the great soldier passed

away.

Jack had accompanied the bearers to the little room whither the general

was carried, and remained for some time doing such small services as

Moore's aides-de-camp required of him. When it was seen beyond all

doubt that death was very near, he was sent back to the battle-field

with the sad news. During his absence the fight had been raging with

undiminished fury. The enemy were retiring; the British were pressing

forward on all sides; and but for the lamentable event that had just

occurred it is possible that Soult's army would have been utterly

destroyed, for his ammunition was failing, and behind him his retreat

was barred by an impetuous torrent, spanned by only one narrow bridge.

It was not to be. Sir David Baird, who would naturally have succeeded to

Moore's command, had himself been wounded. Sir John Hope, to whom the

command now fell, ordered the advance to be checked as the shades of

evening were falling. His decision was doubtless wise. He was not in a

position to follow up a successful action, for the cavalry and guns were

all on board ship. The advantage already gained secured the immediate

object for which the battle had been fought--the safe embarkation of the

army.

When Jack, sad at heart, regained his regiment, below the great French

battery, he brought no message from the commander-in-chief. What the

message would have been he could only guess. But he felt that had Moore

lived, the 95th would have had stern work to do upon the rugged hills

above. Sadly the army retired into its lines at Corunna; and as the

last shot from the French guns boomed across the valley, and the

watch-fires of the British pickets broke into flame on the heights, the

body of the noble Moore was laid to rest in the citadel, simply,

peacefully, without pomp, amid a reverent silence.

*CHAPTER XVII*

*In the Guadalquivir*

In the Dumps--Messages--A Fellow Passenger--A Match--Marcamiento--The

Despatch Disappears--A Quick Recovery--Pepito Expostulates--Perez

Plunges--Returned with Thanks--Mr. Frere--An Opportunity--A

Volunteer--Pepito's Present--Before the Gale

The sadness which overshadowed the whole army was partly alleviated by

the bustle of embarkation. The battle had been won; the object of the

great retreat had been achieved. There was nothing to be gained by

postponing the return of the victorious but battered army to England.

Delay would have enabled reinforcements to reach Soult, which might

place him in a position to renew his attack with better hope of success;

while the state of the British army was such that it was impossible to

follow up their success by a pursuit of the French. Sir John Hope,

therefore, upon whom the command had fallen through Moore's death, gave

orders that the embarkation of the troops should be hastened, and within

twenty-four hours the men were aboard the transports, ready to set sail

for home.

Jack was resting in the afternoon with the officers of his company.

Illness and fatigue had worn them all to shadows. Pomeroy was wounded,

Smith was so haggard as to be hardly recognizable, while Shirley's

spirits had forsaken him, and his chums were too much depressed even to

object to the melancholy dirges which he quoted, on the homoeopathic

principle, for his own solace. Jack alone retained something of his old

cheerfulness, and he was doing his best to hearten his companions,

before their turn came to embark, when a messenger entered, saying that

Sir John Hope desired to see Mr. Lumsden at once. He hurried off, and

returned half an hour later with even greater cheerfulness in his eyes

and gait.

"What do you think, you fellows?" he cried. "I am not going to sail

with you after all!"

"Thank heaven!" said Pomeroy, with his head bandaged.

Jack smiled at his old chum's petulance.

"I'm not so thankful, Pommy," he said. "But for one thing I'd much

rather go home with you. As it is--"

"Well, what's your one thing?" said Smith, as he paused.

"I'll tell you some day. I don't want to leave Spain just now, that's

all."

"What are you going to do, then?" asked Pomeroy.

"Hope is sending me with a despatch to Seville, to Mr. Frere, our

minister there. I'm to put myself at his orders. The general thinks

that people at home will be so mad at this retreat that they'll howl for

leaving Spain to its fate; so it's very probable that I shall not be

long behind you. And you'll be as fit as fiddles when I see you again."

"My own mother wouldn't know me now," said Smith. "You always have had

all the luck. Ten chances to one you'll be promoted again, while we,

what with our wretched condition and that awful Bay of Biscay, shall

either be thrown to the fishes on the way home or drop into our graves

as soon as we get there."

"'Call for the robin redbreast and the wren,'" quoted Shirley dolefully.

"Now, Shirley, cheer up!" said Jack. "Don't give all the fellows the

blues."

"Faith, no," said the voice of Captain O'Hare, who had heard the last

words as he entered. "I'm so weak myself I could hardly kill a fly, but

I'm captain o' this company, and I won't have my men driven into the

dumps. There's that Wilkes, now. I left him outside, smoking some

unmentionable stuff with his mates, singing 'Down among the dead men',

in a voice that would scare an undertaker. 'Faith,' says I, 'it's

delighted ye ought to be, seeing ye're a sergeant before your time.'

'Sir,' says he, 'I'm only promoted cos poor Sergeant Jones is down among

the dead men, and what I want to know is, whether it ain't my dooty to

have the nat'ral feelings of a man and a brother.' But what's this I

hear, Lumsden?--we leave you behind, eh?"

"Yes, though I hope you'll soon be out again. Surely our government

won't throw up the sponge!"

"Bedad, not if they ask my advice. No Englishman, let alone an

Irishman, ever turned his back for good on a Frenchman yet; and as the

war secretary's an Irishman, why, I prophesy we'll be wid ye in six

months, my boy."

"Oh! but I'll be home long before then. There's one thing I'd like to

stay in Spain for, but I see little chance of doing anything in it till

the war's over, and then it'll be too late, so no doubt Mr. Frere will

send me home at once."

"Ah! And your one thing?"

"A precious secret," interposed Pomeroy. "Lumsden's a mystery-man ever

since he picked up that brat Pepito, who's the owner of the evil eye if

ever gipsy was. Some cock-and-bull story of a hidden treasure, or a

beautiful heiress, or something of that kind, if the truth was known;

but Jack's as mum as a mile-stone."

A bugle sounded outside the house.

"That's our call, my boys," said the captain. "Come now, out and get

the men into order, and march 'em off with as much decency as their rags

admit. God bless ye, my boy! please the powers we'll have you back in

the mess yet."

"'Fare thee well, but not for ever!'" said Shirley, giving Jack a hearty

grip.

"Good luck, old chap!" added Smith. "Give my love to the heiress Pepito

finds for you, and if you should happen to come across the Grampus, take

my advice--don't gamble."

Pomeroy shook hands silently.

"You'll give my love to the old people, Pommy?" said Jack. "I haven't

had time to write to them since we left Salamanca. You can give them

all the news."

Then they went among the men. Sergeant Wilkes looked astonished as he

filed past and saw that Jack was not among his company, and Jack felt

sure that he "wanted to know" more emphatically than ever, especially

when, on turning suddenly, he found that Pepito was making farewell

grimaces at all his friends in the regiment.

"Now, Pepito," said Jack sternly, "if you're to come with me, you must

learn to behave yourself. Cut away and get my things ready; our ship

leaves at nine to-night."

Jack's departure, however, had to be deferred until the following

morning, the wind being unfavourable. Early on the 18th of January,

then, he went on board a bergantin of some 300 tons, carrying his

despatch for Mr. Frere in a waterproof bag, and followed by Pepito

bearing the few articles he had been able to save out of his

well-stocked kit of a few months before. Sir John Hope, when taking

leave of him, had asked him to put in, if possible, at Vigo, and report

to General Craufurd, if he were still there, the recent happenings at

Corunna.

His errand fortunately fitted in with the instructions of the master of

the brig. Jack had to spend the night at Vigo, where he learned that

Craufurd had embarked his brigade some days before, and had already

sailed for home. Next morning he was standing on deck, watching the last

bales of a miscellaneous cargo as they were lowered into the hold, when,

looking along the quay, he saw hurrying towards him two figures which he

recognized with no little astonishment. The one was a tall Spaniard in

military uniform; the other, still taller, was covered with a ragged

brown cloak, and staggered along under the weight of a large valise.

Perceiving Jack's eyes fixed on him, the foremost figure waved his hand

with easy condescension, and smiled, and when he was still several yards

away, began to speak:

"Ah, amigo mio, you look surprised! As for me, I am both surprised and

delighted. I had not hoped for the pleasure of an old comrade's company

on this voyage. We will talk over old times, Jackino, and help each

other to face the perils of the sea."

"You anticipate a storm, then?" said Jack, with a meaning look.

"Not anticipate, my friend; but one must be prepared. And there is one

peril that, storm or no storm, every traveller has to endure."

"That is?"

"Mareamiento, amigo mio! The motion of a ship produces an unpleasant

perturbation of the internal organs, resulting in--"

Jack laughed.

"That's your peril! Well, it's one that everyone has to face for

himself. If I were you, when you feel the perturbation beginning, I

should lie on my back."

"But then I should have to turn over," said Miguel seriously. "However,

you do not ask why I am prepared to endure this disagreeable accident of

travel; you show no curiosity, my dear friend."

"About other people's business--no. But I see that your man appears

none the worse for the punishment which, no doubt, the Marquis of La

Romana awarded him for his outrage at Astorga--you remember?--the

occasion when you were so much shocked at the man's heartless

treachery."

"I remember well, dear friend. Perez was the victim of a sudden

temptation, poor fellow. You see, he has only one eye. He is not all

there. Oh, he was punished! He was made to take off his uniform--it

had gold lace, you remember?--and to dress as a servant, and that, to a

man of Perez' illustrious connections and personal pride, was a great,

an overpowering humiliation. He felt the disgrace so keenly that he

assured me he could not live unless I took him back into my service.

What could I do? I could not be responsible for the miserable wretch's

self-destruction. I did what every man of heart would have done, and--

But we are moving, my friend; the ship is oscillating like a child's

cradle; the wind catches the sails. Yes, the voyage has begun. I think

I will--ah!--descend."

As Miguel, leaning on the arm of his follower, disappeared down the

companion-way, Jack noticed a large rent in the man's cloak, into which

another material, by no means a good match, had been clumsily darned.

He started, and drew out of his pocket a jagged remnant of cloth, the

sole memento of his narrow escape at Cacabellos. In general appearance

it closely resembled the material worn by the Spaniard; but as both were

brown, and Spanish cloaks were usually of this colour, it would not be

easy, without close examination, to establish their identity.

"It may be merely a coincidence," thought Jack, "but it's queer, anyway.

I have no doubt he owes me a grudge; I hit him rather hard. And Miguel,

who doesn't love me either, would not be above reminding him of it."

With a careless resolve to be on his guard, Jack dismissed the matter

for the moment. For two days he saw nothing more of Miguel. The wind

was fresh, and while Jack revelled in the rapid progress, and felt

himself braced by the keen salt air, Miguel, his man, and Pepito all

passed through various stages of misery and despair. Pepito was the

first to recover, and from him Jack learnt that Miguel had intended to

attempt the journey southwards overland, but that, having accidentally

caught sight of Jack in Vigo, he had made enquiries, and determined to

risk the sea-passage in his company. This information Pepito had picked

up from one of the seamen, who had been accosted and questioned by Perez

before they left the harbour.

"Two villains, Senor!" said Pepito, as he concluded his story. "They do

not love the Senor," he added, significantly fingering the small knife

that protruded from his sash. The action, like the weapon itself, was

two-edged. It was a warning to Jack and a menace to the two Spaniards,

who had just crawled for the first time from below, and, unwashed and

unshorn, presented anything but a formidable appearance. Nevertheless,

whenever he moved, Jack felt that Perez was watching him. He never

succeeded in catching him in the act; he felt rather than saw the glare

of the man's forlorn eye.

Miguel volunteered the information that he was carrying despatches from

La Romana to the Supreme Junta at Seville, and asked Jack what errand

had brought him southwards. Jack, however, evaded the question,

enquiring into the present circumstances of La Romana's rabble, and its

prospects of escaping destruction. The Spaniard was evidently annoyed

at Jack's want of communicativeness. He gave the shortest answers to his

questions, and then, with a malicious gleam in his eyes, turned the

conversation into another channel.

"And when my errand at Seville is accomplished," he said in his blandest

tones, "I shall make my best speed to Saragossa, where I shall find my

pearl, my rose, querida mia, the lovely Juanita. Pity, Jackino, I

cannot invite you to my wedding. It would give you so much pleasure to

see the two friends of your childhood united in the holy bonds of

wedlock; and when--"

But Jack had moved away; he walked forward and watched the prow cutting

its white furrow, thinking of the old days when Juanita and he had both

detested Miguel Priego, and wondering how the girl could have been

persuaded to plight her troth to such a man.

The skipper told him that he hoped to make the mouth of the Guadalquivir

on the evening of the fourth day after leaving Vigo. He proposed to

anchor there for the night, and sail up to Seville next day. Jack was

so eager to reach his destination and deliver his despatch that he

half-resolved to have himself put ashore at San Lucar, and finish the

journey overland. With this intention, when one evening the lights of

San Lucar were sighted, he went to his cabin for his despatch-bag,

telling Pepito to carry his few belongings on deck. Lifting the bag, he

was struck by the appearance of fine scratches on the hasp of the lock.

He held it close to the flame of his lamp to examine it more thoroughly,

and found in a moment that the lock had been forced and the despatch

abstracted.

"Pepito," he said quickly to the boy, "do you know anything about this?"

"Nothing, Senor."

"The truth?"

"Fear makes lies, Senor; I know no fear."

"We shall not go ashore to-night. Have you seen anyone in my cabin?"

"No, Senor."

"Very well. Say nothing about this."

Jack sat down to reflect. Neither captain nor crew could have any

interest in stealing a despatch. The bag had contained nothing else.

Miguel and his man were the only other passengers beside himself and

Pepito. What would it profit either of them to tamper with the bag? The

possession of the despatch would be of real advantage to neither of

them; its loss would be merely an annoyance to himself. Anyhow, the

despatch was gone; it remained to be discovered whether it had been

taken by Miguel or Perez.

Pepito had been watching Jack's face. He seemed to divine what his

master was thinking, for he came up to him and said quickly:

"Senor, I know the Busne. The paper is gone, and I will find out

where."

Jack looked back at him for a moment without speaking, then he nodded,

and Pepito hastened away with the light footstep of a cat.

Two hours afterwards he returned, with a grin of glee upon his elfin

face, and a paper in his right hand.

"Senor's paper," he said. Then, bringing his left hand from behind his

back, he produced a second paper, saying:

"The Busno's paper too. Both were together in the Busno's bag, beneath

the Busno's pillow."

Jack frowned. He looked at the address on the second paper; it ran:

"The Marquis of La Romana to their excellencies the Supreme Junta at

Seville."

"You must take this back, Pepito," he said.

"No, no," said the boy, his eyes gleaming. "The Busno and the one-eyed

man are asleep; I should wake them if I took the paper back. The Busno

took Senor's paper. Very well, I, Pepito, take the Busno's; and I will

tear it in pieces, and throw it into the sea."

"No," replied Jack. "You are a clever boy, but you must learn to do

things in my way, not your own. I will give back the paper myself."

Pepito shrugged, as though expressing his inability to understand an

Englishman's mad way of doing things. An idea had come to Jack; he would

not restore the despatch at present, but would wait until the morning.

Placing them both inside his tunic, and buttoning it up, he lay down and

settled himself to sleep.

Soon after daylight Jack heard angry, excited voices in Miguel's cabin.

It was evident that the master had discovered his loss, and that the man

was bearing the first brunt of his vexation. Gradually the voices

dropped to a whisper, then there was silence, and Jack detected a soft

footfall in the passage. The catch of the little cabin-door was slowly

raised; Jack coughed gently, the catch dropped noiselessly, and the

visitor disappeared without a sound.

At breakfast Miguel, evidently preoccupied and ill at ease, made no

reference to the subject. As Jack had anticipated, he was not sure

enough of his ground to report his loss to the captain. But his look

became more and more anxious, even agitated, as the vessel worked its

way in long reaches up the river. Perez, lounging against the bulwarks,

was keenly watching Pepito, in whose somewhat provocative bearing he

seemed to find cause for suspicion. The gipsy was even more monkey-like

than usual, swarming up and down the yards, flitting around and above

his scowling enemy with a disconcerting assumption that Perez was

non-existent.

Suddenly, while Jack was watching the play of sunlight on the mountain

ranges in the east, he heard a cry, followed instantly by a splash on

the port side. He sprang across the deck, noticing as he did so the

half-recumbent form of Perez lolling unconcernedly at the spot he had

occupied for the past hour. There was nothing to be seen in the

sluggish river below, and for a moment Jack was inclined to think that

his ears had deceived him; but even as the thought passed through his

mind he caught sight of a small dark object rising above the surface

some yards in the wake of the vessel. With a loud cry "Man overboard!"

he threw off his cloak, sprang on the bulwark, and dived into the river.

The water was icy cold, but fortunately in these lower reaches the

current ran slowly, and when he came to the surface, with the rapidity

of a practised swimmer, he saw the small black head much nearer than he

had expected. In another second the reason was clear; the owner of the

head was swimming towards him with slow leisurely strokes, and Jack

began to regret his precipitancy.

"The Senor will get wet," cried Pepito as he approached. His tone was

that of aggrieved expostulation. "He will spoil his fine clothes. Ay

de mi! Why will the Senor be so rash? And he has only one uniform.

Now he will have to travel as a Busno. Ay de mi!"

Jack had now turned, and was swimming hard against the current. He

heard Pepito remonstrating in his wake, but although he treasured the

remembrance afterwards, he was in no mood at the time to be amused with

his follower's untimely zeal. His heavy boots and water-logged clothes,

to say nothing of the numbing cold of the water, made swimming anything

but an agreeable exercise, and he was heartily glad when he clambered

into a boat that had been promptly lowered from the ship. Pepito

followed him a few seconds later, looking not unlike a water rat as he

emerged dripping from the river, in which he seemed perfectly at home.

In the boat the boy showed him, with an expressive grin, a piece of rope

about five feet long. He had dragged it with him out of the river.

"What are you doing with that?" enquired Jack sharply.

"It belongs to the ship," was the reply. "Pepito is not a thief; he

must give it back."

"How came you to fall in?"

"I was swinging on the rope."

"And it got untied?"

"No; it was cut."

Jack started and looked closely at the end of the rope, which Pepito

handed to him with a chuckle of enjoyment. It had evidently been severed

with a knife.

"Perez?" enquired Jack.

"Yes, Senor," said Pepito.

They had by this time come under the ship's quarter, and a rope-ladder

was let down for their benefit.

"Stay where you are for a moment," said Jack to the bos'un; "I am

sending another passenger."

As he clambered over the bulwarks Miguel met him with assumed

solicitude.

"You English are such sea-dogs, there is no keeping you out of the

water. I trust, my friend, you will not suffer a chill. At this time

of the year--"

He was warming to his theme when Jack stepped quietly through the little

knot of seamen gathered on the deck, and went straight towards Perez,

who was still lolling against the bulwarks, with a gleam of malicious

enjoyment in his solitary eye. Before the man was aware of what was

coming, Jack had seized him by the waistband, and, using the bulwark as

a fulcrum, had tilted him over into the river.

Then Jack went below and changed his dripping garments for the Spanish

dress which he carried with him in case of emergency. He noticed as he

did so that in his absence his effects had been thoroughly ransacked.

When he came on deck he found that Perez, by no means a favourite with

the sailors, had been hauled out with extreme deliberation, after

swallowing some quarts of the turbid waters of the Guadalquivir. He

glared at Jack with concentrated malignity, but was physically incapable

of reprisal, even if his morale had not been impaired by the knowledge

that he had only got his deserts.

The captain listened gravely to Jack's explanation, and examined the

severed rope with a judicial air. Jack did not consider it necessary to

make any reference to the incident of the despatches.

"I suppose," said the captain, "that the Senor will wish to lodge an

information? A friend of mine is well acquainted with a man of law in

the Calle del Amor de Dios, a very able man--he has one case of assault

that has lasted thirteen years."

"Thank you!" said Jack with a smile; "but as I only propose to stay in

Seville for a few days, I fear I shall have to forgo your friend's

friend's assistance."

The captain looked disappointed.

At length the vessel passed the Torre del Oro, a crenelated octagonal

tower near the landing-stage. The brig was moored, Miguel and his man,

who had been below since the incident, came on deck at the last moment,

and ostentatiously ignoring Jack's presence, stepped across the gangway

on to the quay. As Miguel passed him, however, Jack quietly touched him

on the shoulder.

"Allow me, Don Miguel," he said, "to hand you this packet. It was

found--you can perhaps guess where--with some property of mine. I have

no occasion for the one; you will perhaps permit me to retain the

other?"

A dull flush mounted to Miguel's cheeks. He took the despatch without a

word, gave Jack a glance in which humiliation, chagrin, and undisguised

hatred were strangely mingled, and prepared to move off.

"A word," continued Jack, "before we part. Your Polyphemus is doubtless

a very devoted servant, but if we meet again, and I find him still at

your elbow, you will pardon me if I betray a little suspicion."

Jack turned abruptly away, leaving Miguel for once at a loss for an

adequate answer. By the time he had recovered himself, Jack, followed

by Pepito, was half-way across the quay.

Jack had never been in Seville before. He was struck by the forest of

masts from ships lining the river bank, by the whitewashed houses built

in Moorish fashion, with barricaded windows, and the narrow, busy,

cobbled streets. It was a fine clear day, and for almost the first time

since he landed, four months before, at Mondego Bay, he felt the dry

warmth of a southern climate. He found his way with Pepito along the

river bank, past the bull ring, to a comfortable inn in the Plaza Nueva,

and having there made himself as presentable as his worn and faded

garments allowed, he set off for the Alcazar, where he had learnt that

the British minister was then in conference with the Junta.

He had some curiosity to meet Mr. Hookham Frere. It had been common talk

in the army that Sir John Moore had received a number of almost insolent

epistles from the minister, who had gone quite beyond his province in

dictating the course of action which he thought the commander-in-chief

should follow. Mr. Frere, indeed, was not cut out for the delicate work

of an ambassador, and he was perhaps as little surprised as anybody

when, two months later, he was recalled by the dissatisfied Government

at home. He was no doubt worried by the mingled vacillation,

braggadocio, and incompetence of the Spanish authorities with whom he

had to deal, and in truth their behaviour was such as would have tried

the temper of a more patient and self-assured man than Mr. Frere.

He received Jack in a private room, and read the despatch in silence,

save when the news of Sir John Moore's death provoked an exclamation.

He folded the paper and laid it down on the table before him.

"Poor fellow!" he said. "He always said he hoped to die after a great

victory. You knew him, sir?"

"Yes, sir," said Jack. "I had the honour to serve under him through the

campaign, and he was very kind to me."

"Ah! I am afraid our relations were a little clouded of late. I acted

for the best. I did some things I now regret; they were due partly to

my lack of trustworthy information. And now, though we have won a

victory, we have had to leave the country. The army might perhaps have

sailed to Lisbon instead of returning home."

"I beg pardon, sir, but if you saw the horrible state of our men you

would be the last to say that. They're worn out with illness and hard

work, eaten with vermin, and have nothing but rags to cover themselves

with. I came off better than most, and you see what a condition my

uniform is in."

"Terrible!--I had hoped so much from this expedition. The Spaniards have

indeed been given a breathing-space, but they will make little of it.

And they are so untrustworthy, so untrustworthy, Mr. Lumsden. At this

time, of course, it is of the utmost importance that the real state of

things should be known to all the Spanish generals in all parts of the

country; but I cannot depend on the Junta here telling the truth. There

is General Palafox, for instance, in Saragossa, a young man for whose

talents I have the highest admiration; he is, as you may perhaps know,

besieged by the French, and the Junta has encouraged him with the news

that great battles are being won for Spain, and that armies will shortly

march to his relief. All humbug, humbug! Buoyed up by false hopes, he

will resist to the bitter end, and the poor people of Saragossa may

endure all the nameless horrors of a protracted siege only to find

themselves disappointed and deceived. And then they will blame us,

accuse us of deserting them in their extremity. It would be difficult

now for any messenger to reach him; but in any case I cannot depend on

the Junta's telling him the truth. I am weary of it all."

Jack had listened to this speech with growing eagerness. It suggested a

means by which he might fulfil what had been his dearest wish ever since

he met Miguel in Salamanca--to see Juanita Alvarez, and learn for

himself that she had really of her own free-will consented to trust her

life and happiness to Miguel Priego. Until now it had seemed idle to

hope for such an opportunity, but why should he not offer his services

to Mr. Frere and volunteer to convey to Palafox a true account of the

progress of events elsewhere? And Palafox!--he had a private reason for

seeing him. "Palafox the man, Palafox the name!"--the phrase in Don

Fernan's letter had never left his memory. At odd moments, when free

from his duties, he had found himself conning the words over and over

again; and lately he had begun to wonder whether the mysterious message

were not connected in some way with Juanita--whether there were not some

strange link binding Palafox and Juanita and himself together. His

regiment had gone home; he was now under the orders of the British

minister; he had been in dangerous places and circumstances of peril

before; why not combine the public service with his private ends, and

start for Saragossa? His mind was made up.

"Let me convey a message to General Palafox," he said.

"You! It is preposterous. You would go to your death. How could you,

an Englishman, and an English officer, hope to penetrate the French

lines? You would be caught and shot."

And then Jack gave the minister a brief account of himself, his early

years in Spain, his recent work for Sir John Moore done in the guise of

a Spaniard.

"And so you see, sir," he concluded, "you could hardly find anyone, not

actually a Spaniard, with better chances of success than I have. I have

been in Saragossa before, and I have some command of Spanish--and I am

not afraid, sir."

Mr. Frere was evidently taken with the suggestion. He had listened with

growing interest to Jack's modest story, and smiled at his account of

his conversation with the boastful commissary and his subsequent

adventure with the Spanish stablemen.

"And this gipsy boy of yours--would you propose to take him with you?"

"Yes, sir; my chums regard him as my familiar spirit, and I myself have

begun to cherish a sort of belief that I sha'n't come to much harm if he

is near at hand."

"Well, Mr. Lumsden, I am much interested in your story; I think, if I

may say so, that you have shown great capacity and resourcefulness, and

fully justified poor Sir John's confidence, and I confess, after seeing

and hearing you, that I have every hope of your succeeding in this,

perhaps the most difficult, certainly the most hazardous, of all your

enterprises. And now, as that is settled, we must lose no time. When

will you be ready to start?"

"When the first ship sails, sir."

"You will go by ship, then?"

"It will perhaps be quicker, and safer on the whole."

"What about French frigates?"

"I must take my chance of them. Luckily I kept the Spanish dress given

me by Don Pedro de Gracioso; Pepito has it in my bundle. I shall, of

course, go as a Spaniard."

"I wish I had your youthful confidence!" Mr. Frere sighed. "Very well;

find out when the boat sails northward, and I will have my despatch for

General Palafox ready at any time."

"You will answer for me to the military authorities, sir?"

"Certainly. You may assume that you have six months' leave; and for my

part, I do not suppose that your regiment will require your services any

Soult's progress during the previous two days had been very slow. He