Jack turned on his heel, and, wondering what conceivable motive Pablo

Quintanar could have for doing him a hurt, set off for the Castle

Aljafferia.

*CHAPTER XXIV*

*"A bon Chat, bon Rat"*

Under a Cloud--The Door--Padre Consolacion--A Daughter of Spain--The

House in the Lane--An Unexpected Visitor--A Gambit--In the Shadow--The

Worm Turns--A Blue Paper--The Simple Way

As he made his way through the throng of people filling the corridors

and halls of the palace, Jack could not but observe that the looks he

met were rather of suspicion than friendliness. He was known by sight

to many of the habitues of the castle. Tio Jorge had never tired of

praising his exploits and acclaiming him as a staunch friend of Spain;

and yet many now scowled on him, whispered to each other as he passed;

one or two even fingered their knives.

Surprised at this change of attitude, he was still more surprised to

find it reflected in the bearing of Palafox and Don Basilio and other

members of the Junta who were present when he made his report. Palafox

listened to him coldly, spoke a few words of the faintest praise, and

dismissed him without a sign of real approval or encouragement.

Tio Jorge met him as he was re-entering the town by the Porta Portillo,

and Jack felt a sense of relief when he saw that the big peasant's

greeting was cordial as ever. After an exchange of news Tio Jorge, who

had scanned his face anxiously, said bluntly:

"I am a plain man, Senor. You will answer me a plain question."

"Certainly, anything in reason," said Jack in surprise.

"They're saying--I could not believe it--but they are all saying that

you wish to surrender; at least, that you do not think we can hold out.

Now, whatever we may think, we do not talk of these things; it is not

good for the people to hear such things. If any man says them, he does

not live to say them twice. Tell me plainly, Senor, have you spoken of

surrender?"

"My good friend," said Jack with a smile, "when you yourself hear an

Englishman talk of surrender, then you may believe it; till then--"

"Then it is false?" asked Tio Jorge.

"Absolutely."

"I knew it. And that proves," added Tio Jorge after a moment, "what I

thought from the first: you have an enemy in Saragossa, Senor."

And then he explained. The despatch brought by Don Miguel Priego had

been in several points so different from, so much less discouraging

than, that previously brought by Jack, that the Saragossans' first flush

of enthusiasm for the English had soon disappeared. The undoubted

retreat of Sir John Moore, and the subsequent departure of his army from

the shores of Spain, were twisted to mean a desertion of the Spanish

cause. There was at first no personal feeling against Jack, though his

country was regarded with bitterness, but it had lately been rumoured,

on the authority of Don Miguel's servant, that he had been overheard, in

the Cafe Arcos, expressing a despondent view of the chances of holding

the city, and hinting that it would be wise to make terms with the

French. Only the energetic and successful work Jack had been doing in

the Santa Engracia district, and the strong support of Tio Jorge

himself, had given pause to those who wished to treat him as all who

counselled surrender were treated--to gibbet him in the Coso.

Jack recognized at once that Don Miguel's malignity was not to be

ignored. The bare suspicion of disloyalty had been sufficient to bring

a full tale of victims to the gallows, and the fact that he was an

Englishman would not preserve him if the feelings of the populace were

once thoroughly roused. Fortunately Tio Jorge was his friend; and Tio

Jorge was a host in himself. Jack had seen no more of Miguel or his man

since their remarkable apparition on the ramparts. He resolved to keep

a good look-out; though, after all, it was wily, underhand machinations

rather than open violence he had to fear from them.

He had determined to see Juanita and advise her to remove immediately to

a safer part of the city. He therefore took leave of Tio Jorge at the

door of the house in the Coso where she was staying. The same old

duenna admitted him.

"The Senora is very ill," she said. "The Senorita receives. There is a

visitor with her now."

"I will wait, then."

"Not so, Senor. The Senorita gave orders that the Senor was always to

be shown up if he called."

Entering the sala, he saw a tall cloaked figure between him and Juanita.

"Ah!" said Juanita, coming forward eagerly with outstretched hand; "how

do you do, Jack? You are just in time to show Don Miguel to the door."

"With pleasure," said Jack, returning at once to the door and holding it

wide open.

Miguel had faced round, and stood swinging his hat in the middle of the

room. A fierce scowl darkened his face as he looked from one to the

other. Juanita reseated herself, turned her back on him, and resumed

some needle-work for the wounded on which she had been engaged. Jack

stood in an attitude of polite expectancy at the door.

"I protest--" began Don Miguel; but Jack cut him short. Speaking in a

quiet, even tone, he said:

"You have taken leave, Don Miguel?"

The Spaniard stood for a moment irresolute; then, flinging on his hat,

he strode across the room, made no response to Jack's bow, and

disappeared. The moment the door was shut Juanita sprang up, ran

towards Jack, and took him by both hands.

"Oh, Jack, Jack," she said, "you don't know how glad I am to see you!"

"Has that hound been bullying you?"

"Bullying! He dare not. I am not a child! But listen, amigo mio; he

came to ask me to marry him. He did! He had the audacity! You should

have seen him--heard him--his nasty oily voice; oh, he seemed to be

quite sure that he had only to ask! 'And you think of marriage at this

fearful time!' I said. And he wanted me to believe that he was thinking

only of my safety. When the town falls, he said, I shall want a

protector. 'And you, one of Palafox's hussars, how can you protect me?'

And then he smiled, and spoke in dark hints of some special power he

will have, and I grew angry, and asked whether he meant to turn

afrancesado, and then--and then you came, Jack, and I wondered what he

would do; and--and he went, and I couldn't help remembering the time

when you and I were so terribly afraid of him, and--oh, Jack, it was

magnificent--it was indeed!"

Juanita laughed, and Jack himself smiled at the recollection of Miguel's

undignified exit.

"But, Juanita," he said, "I came to warn you."

"Against him?"

"No; against the danger you run in staying here. The French are coming

nearer every hour; almost at any moment they may reach the Coso. They

are driving their mines steadily towards the centre of the city. You

must find a place--I can't call it a home--elsewhere."

"But, Jack, that is arranged already. Padre Consolacion is going to

take us to a house near the Porta Portillo to-morrow. What do you

think?--the padre came to see me only a minute or two after you left the

other day."

"Was that the Padre Consolacion? I saw a benevolent-looking priest

enter as I went out."

"Yes. And, only think, he wanted me to marry Miguel!"

"The padre?"

Juanita nodded.

"Of course I told him it was impossible--quite impossible. He sat down

and crossed his white plump hands on his hat and began to talk. Miguel

must have won him with his plausible manner. I love the padre, but I

couldn't listen to him; could I, Jack? He asked me why I was so opposed

to what he thought was an excellent match, and one that my father had so

much desired; and then I told him that it was all lies, lies; my father

had never wished anything of the sort. And the poor old dear was

puzzled, and kept tapping his thumbs together and looked at me so

sorrowfully, and then he was called away to attend to a dying officer.

And--Jack, tell me, will this siege ever end? Can we hold out any

longer? Are there big armies mustering to relieve us, as they all say?"

She bent forward with clasped hands. Jack hesitated for a moment.

"Juanita," he said, "I won't disguise my real belief. I don't believe in

the big armies. Saragossa will fall--unless one of two things happens."

"And they?"

"Unless General Palafox sends out a large sortie and defeats the French,

or unless their ammunition gives out. Neither is probable."

"Then what will become of us? How long will General Palafox resist?

Cannot someone plead with him? Think of the thousands who have died,

and the thousands who are dying--the poor women and children in their

horrible cellars! Oh, Jack, what a terrible thing war is! Does

Napoleon know, can he know, of all the horrors he has brought upon us?

Has he any heart at all? Jack, my poor aunt is dying, I fear. I can do

nothing. Every morning when I go out to carry food and water to the

brave soldiers--"

"You do that, Juanita?"

"Why, yes; every girl in Saragossa does that or something else to help;

and every morning I go fearing that I shall never again see Tia Teresa

alive. And if she dies, I shall be quite alone in the world. Father

gone, Jose gone-- Ah! but I have you, Jack, and the good padre, and if

the worst comes you will look after me, won't you?--take me to England,

perhaps--I used to like your mother,--and Napoleon will never conquer

England, will he, Jack?"

"Not he," said Jack with a laugh. He saw that the events of the past

few days had wrought her nerves to a high pitch of excitement, and

tactfully turned the conversation into a quieter channel. He asked for

the name of the house to which she was going on the morrow, assured her

that, when the inevitable capitulation came, the French would allow

generous terms to such brave defenders, and at length took his leave,

promising to visit her whenever he could snatch an opportunity.

"And will you be able to save the old house?" she asked, as he was going

out at the door.

"I shall do my best, for the sake of old times, be sure of that."

"I know you will. Vaya usted con Dios, Jack!"

Before he reached the foot of the stairs, Jack saw, in the dim light of

the small hanging lamp, a portly figure ascending. He crossed to the

other side and waited to allow the visitor to pass.

"Buenas noches, Senor!" said Padre Consolacion, sweeping off his large

shovel hat; then he stopped as he recognized the same youth whom he had

seen earlier in the week.

"Padre mio," cried Juanita from the top, "come along; I want to speak to

you."

"Buenas noches, Padre!" said Jack; and the priest, after a moment's

hesitation, went up slowly.

Hard by the Casa Alvarez a narrow tortuous lane of mean houses, dirty in

appearance and evil in repute, ran almost due east from the ramparts.

It was not a district in which, before the siege, any person worth

robbing would choose to be abroad after nightfall. But when, towards

dusk on this fifth of February, a well-dressed man passed rapidly down

the street and disappeared into one of the least reputable of the

houses, the few denizens who observed him did so without a thought of

their knives, almost without a sense of curiosity. To such a height of

abnegation had the public danger brought the professional lawbreakers of

Saragossa.

It was a house of three stories, and the stranger, threading his way

gingerly through the gloomy entrance and up the narrow stairway,

gathered from the evidence of all his senses that every story was fully

occupied. In hardly another street in this part of Saragossa could a

house have been found where its whole population was not herded in

cellars below-ground. But here the lane was so narrow, and so closely

surrounded by buildings, that the inhabitants were in no danger from the

French bombardment, and lived in a security which few of their

fellow-citizens enjoyed.

As the visitor passed room after room on his upward way, the sounds of

coarse laughter, the oaths of men, the shrill expostulation of women,

and the querulous cry of children came to him through closed or

half-closed doors, and he drew his cloak around him with an instinctive

movement of disgust. Treading almost noiselessly he reached the attic

floor, where the doors of three rooms opened on to a narrow landing.

Although evidently a stranger to the house he showed little hesitation.

With infinite caution he tiptoed across the landing to the farthermost

door, and put his eye to a crack in the panel, through which a narrow

beam of light fell on the dirt-encrusted wall behind him.

The room into which he looked was in keeping with the rest of the house.

The fitful light of a tallow candle showed a man bending over a crazy

table, two truckle-beds ranged at right angles to each other in the far

corner, and a few articles of clothing hanging from hooks on the wall.

The man was intently studying a blue paper spread out on the table,

spelling out the words with difficulty, and repeating them under his

breath with a growl of impatience that accentuated the unpleasing effect

of a countenance by nature unprepossessing.

For some minutes the man beyond the door, drawing shallow breath,

watched him closely as he struggled with the intricacies of the

document. There was apparently a passage in it that completely baffled

him. He turned the paper this way and that, examined it even upside

down, but without success, and at last, in a burst of anger, dashed it

down on to the table with an audible oath.

The visitor took this as his cue for entry, and tapped gently at the

door.

"Adelante!" was the answer, after a distinct pause.

He turned the handle and went in. The man had faced round towards the

door, and the dim light of the candle disclosed the narrow features, low

receding forehead, thin lips, and shifty eyes of Pablo Quintanar. The

blue paper had disappeared.

There was a momentary silence. The host was evidently waiting for his

visitor to introduce himself.

"Buenas noches, hombre!" said the stranger suavely, with a conciliatory

bow. "I trust I don't come at an unseasonable hour."

The guerrillero scanned him from head to foot with a quick suspicious

glance.

"That depends, Senor, upon your business, who you are, and what you want

with me."

"As to who I am, hombre--may I take a chair? thank you!--my name is

Miguel Priego. As to my business, that is not so simply stated; we must

improve our acquaintance first."

The man started at the mention of his visitor's name; and the latter

duly noted the fact. But as the guerrillero merely stood in an attitude

of expectancy, Don Miguel, loosening his cloak and placing his hat on

the table, continued:

"I have been, my friend, as you may perhaps have heard, four days in

Saragossa. During these four days I have been searching for you."

The man's hand went like a flash to his knife, and Miguel, quickening

his measured tones, hastened to add:

"No, my friend, not in that way, or, as you can imagine, I should not

have come alone. I have been searching for you because I think we are

both of one mind regarding, let us say, the policy of our brave

commandant General Palafox."

"Say what you have to say, and have done with it. I don't understand

your fine phrases."

Don Miguel smiled indulgently. It was clear to him that his host fully

grasped his meaning.

"Well, to put the matter quite plainly, you--that is, you and I--regard

all this," waving his hand in the direction of a cannon-shot from the

ramparts, "as useless waste of life--sheer obstinacy; a noble

enthusiasm, but misguided. Is it not so? Now, acting upon our

convictions we--that is, you--have already done our little best to bring

this distressing conflict to an end. We--that is, you--have

endeavoured--unsuccessfully endeavoured--to relieve our commandant of

certain plans which, if placed in proper hands might--I say might--"

At this point the guerrillero, who had been standing facing his visitor,

sank into a chair, his face blanched, his mouth twitching. On the blank

wall before him his imagination was casting the grim shadow of a gibbet.

Don Miguel smiled faintly, and waved his hand reassuringly.

"There is no need, my friend, for emotion. If we were not of the same

mind you might, of course, have some ground for uneasiness; but

fortunately we understand one another. Is it not so?"

"Si, Senor," the man replied, recovering himself with an effort. "Si,

Senor, we understand one another."

"That is well. Now we can proceed. You can understand that our good

friends out yonder, who also wish to end this terrible siege, are

grieved by your ill-success. They are saying hard things about you.

They even went the length of giving me your name, which, if I were less

discreet, might well have been awkward for you. I don't disguise that

if they capture Saragossa while you are still in their debt--one

thousand pesetas, is it not?--they may treat you somewhat harshly. But,

fortunately, you have a chance of retrieving yourself."

Don Miguel paused. His host had now to some extent recovered his

composure.

"And what is that?" he asked sullenly.

"I happen to know, hombre, where our noble commandant has placed the

papers you failed to find. If you can deliver those papers to me I will

see that our friends outside do not forget you."

The man smiled cunningly.

"Thank you, Senor! If I run the risk it would suit me better to claim

the reward myself."

"As you please, my friend. But remember that without my assistance you

can do nothing. A few more days will end the siege, and then--" He

smiled, then added reflectively: "They say it is an easy death."

Pablo Quintanar winced. He felt himself in the toils, and had some

difficulty in resisting the impulse to throw himself upon his visitor

and end the interview with a knife-thrust. But he felt that Don Miguel,

with all his languid urbanity, was fully on his guard, and choking down

his animosity he replied:

"What does the Senor wish me to do?"

Don Miguel's voice throughout the interview had been carefully modulated

to defeat any eavesdropping. He now rose quietly, and, rapidly opening

the door, peered out on to the landing. There was no one in view. He

stretched himself over the balustrade and saw, on the flight below, what

appeared to be a tall figure lurking in the shadow. He seemed

satisfied. Quietly re-entering the room, he closed the door.

Then began a long colloquy between the two men, Miguel giving precise

directions as to the whereabouts of a certain box, and the means whereby

it could be secured.

"I think, my friend, there is nothing more to say," he remarked in

conclusion. "The matter now rests with you."

"One moment, Senor," said Quintanar, motioning him to be seated. He had

listened deferentially to what Miguel had been saying, and had

obediently fallen in with every proposition; but there was now a

vindictive look in his eyes that caused Miguel a strange uneasiness.

"Certainly," he replied, "but I have little time to spare."

"I will not detain you long--not longer, Senor, than you wish, though I

think that when you have heard what I have to say, you may not be in

such a hurry. The point is this. If--mind, I say 'if'--I knew the

whereabouts of a letter in which your name is mentioned in connection

with a little affair on the Barcelona road--you remember?--a couple of

years ago?--if, I say, I had such a letter, that is, if I knew where

such a letter was to be found, would it be worth anything to you, Don

Miguel?"

Pablo Quintanar grinned maliciously. He had been the victim for the

past half-hour; it was now his turn. Miguel had done his best to

dissemble his start of surprise and anxiety; but the man's searching

gaze was upon him, and though he replied with a show of confidence he

felt that it was not convincing.

"My name has no doubt been mentioned in a good many letters, my friend;

but I am quite indifferent whether I am well or ill spoken of. Hard

words break no bones."

"That may be, Senor, but they sometimes break reputations, and you are

dancing on a thin rope. But if I tell you that this letter also has a

message about a sum of money hidden by the writer, how does that alter

the case?"

"I can tell you better if you inform me what the message is, and what

the name of the writer is."

"Well, I can tell you the name of the writer; it is the late Senor

Alvarez."

"Ah! I heard that a letter had been lost--that, then, was what you

found instead of the plan. Do you know, my friend, that this places you

in a very awkward position? You will do well to hand the letter over to

me. The slightest whisper of suspicion--"

The man glared viciously at the speaker, then snapped out:

"You may be quite sure that as you are the only man who knows anything

about it, I shall take care that you swing on the same gallows."

Don Miguel shifted his feet uneasily.

"You need not fear, my friend; I am not the man to betray you. I merely

thought it would be safer for you if this letter were in my possession."

"Oh, no doubt! but, Senor," added Quintanar with a harsh laugh, "I

couldn't allow you to take the risk--especially as the letter is of no

value to you. I need not detain you, Senor."

Miguel considered a moment, tapping the floor lightly with his foot.

"What do you want for the paper?"

"Well, Senor, I am not unreasonable. Let us say one thousand pesetas

down and a quarter of the treasure when you find it."

Miguel laughed softly.

"Thank you, my friend! Before I pay a thousand pesetas I should like to

know what I am paying it for."

Quintanar, hesitating for a moment, slowly drew out a blue paper from

beneath his jacket, and said:

"What do you think of this?

'I am convinced that Miguel Priego was at the bottom of this dastardly

outrage. Unfortunately, we have no proof at present that would satisfy

a judge, but if any of the men who assisted him can be found and induced

to give evidence it is still possible that he may be brought to book.'

What do you think of that, Don Miguel? Ah! I thought I should interest

you."

Miguel forced a smile, and, waving his hand airily, said:

"If that is all the letter contains I would not offer a maravedi for

it."

"Oh, there is more, a good deal more! I need not read it all, but

listen to this:

"The sum saved from Miguel's brigands, together with a large amount in

jewels and bullion, I have thought it best to secrete until more settled

times. You will find appended to this letter instructions which, taken

together with a communication I have made to your son Jack, will enable

you or him, or such other person as you may be so good as to depute, to

find them in the event of anything happening to my servant Jose Pinzon,

who is fully acquainted with all my dispositions."

Don Miguel, greed written in every lineament, leaned forward on his

chair, listening eagerly.

"Well," he said impatiently, as the man concluded, "what are the

instructions?"

"Those, Senor, I cannot read. They are in some strange tongue; but no

doubt you, having education, will be able to make them out. That is to

say, if you make it worth my while to hand you the letter. You know my

price."

Carefully refolding the letter, Quintanar replaced it in a pocket inside

his jacket. In doing so he took his eyes for a moment off Miguel, whom

he had been watching with the utmost vigilance, to assure himself that

the document was safely stowed away.

The other, his face aflame with rage and cupidity, instantly seized the

opportunity. Drawing his feet quietly beneath him, he sprang from his

chair and bore the guerrillero to the ground. But the man, although

taken unawares, recovered himself with surprising agility. Before Miguel

had time to draw his knife he had clutched him by the throat, and with a

dexterous turn had reversed their positions, Miguel now being on the

ground, Quintanar above him, his long knife uplifted to strike.

*CHAPTER XXV*

*Pepito finds a Clue*

Morning Light--Bombarded--An Afrancesado--From the Roofs--In the Casa

Vallejo--A Fight at Daybreak--Anticipated--The Jesus Convent--New

Barricades--Repulsed--Borrowing a Gun--Round-Shot and Grape--Out of

Action--Odds and Evens

Jack was awakened next morning by the sounds of altercation outside the

small room on the ground floor of the Casa Alvarez that he had reserved

for himself.

"You shall not!" he heard Pepito cry in his shrill voice. "The Senor

sleeps; you--shall--not--"

Then his voice was stifled by the noise of scuffling. A heavy thud shook

the door, as though some massive body had been driven against it.

Springing from his bed, on which he had lain down in all his clothes

save his boots, Jack went to the door, opened it, and saw Antonio, the

guerrillero, raining blow after blow on the small form of Pepito, who

had twisted himself about one of the big man's legs and held on grimly,

though he must have suffered not a little.

"Come, come!" said Jack; "what is it, Antonio? Pepito, let him go!"

Pepito sprang away instantly.

"The Busno wanted to wake the Senor," he piped, with a fierce look at

Antonio.

"You waked me between you. Well, Antonio?"

"Senor, I was on night duty; I was to be relieved at two o'clock, so it

was arranged by Don Cristobal; the chief was to relieve me. He did not

come. I waited, one hour, two hours; he did not come. The Senor knows

I would not leave my post. At five came Don Cristobal on his round of

the posts. I told him; he put a man in my place and I went home tired

as a dog, and there, in the top room I share with the chief, there,

Senor, I saw him, Pablo Quintanar, on the floor, still, dead, and blood

all round him."

Jack looked sharply at the man. There was every sign of amazement and

agitation in his face, but Jack remembered that he had quarrelled with

his chief on the previous day, and could not but suspect there had been

a repetition of the dispute when the men met in their lodging, and that,

possibly by accident, it was Antonio's knife that had done the fatal

work. Antonio appeared to guess what was passing in his captain's mind.

"I swear I did not do it, Senor. I knew nothing of it till I saw him

there on the floor. We quarrelled; yes, the Senor knows that, but I

keep my knife for the French; I would not--"

"Take me to the place," interrupted Jack coldly. Staying only to pull on

his boots, he accompanied the man to the dirty lane and into the dingy

house from which Miguel had stealthily issued some six hours before.

Pepito was at his heels as he climbed the filthy staircase; the gipsy

sniffed and snorted at the foul odours his nostrils encountered, and put

his hand on his knife as he passed each doorway.

They entered the attic. The gray light of a dull morning coming through

a narrow skylight barely illuminated the sordid room. On the floor,

stretched on his face, with arms extended towards the door, lay the

figure of the guerrillero. This was no death in fair fight, face to

face with his enemy; but the base, stealthy thrust of an assassin.

"That is how I found him, Senor," said Antonio.

"Yes; it is the Spanish way."

He had noticed that the dead man's hand clasped a knife. Stooping, he

removed it from his grasp; the steel was bright and clear, as though it

had never been used for any but innocent purposes. Jack, as he held the

weapon, reflected. The man had drawn his knife. It must have been for

attack or for self-defence against an enemy in front of him; therefore

the blow from behind that killed him must have been dealt by a second

person. Antonio was scarcely likely to have brought another man into

his personal quarrel; Jack was inclined to believe that he was

guiltless, as he said. He looked around the room; there were few signs

of a scuffle. It was useless to institute an enquiry among the other

people in the house, and the sound of musketry and cannon-shots without

already called him to his duties.

"Bury the poor wretch," he said, "and then come to me."

"The Senor believes I did not do it?"

"Yes, yes; we have no time for enquiries. There is work for us who are

left alive."

He hurried away. There had been something sinister about the

guerrillero, something that Jack could not fathom; perhaps it was

resentment at a stranger being brought in and placed above him; but Jack

could not help feeling a passing pity for the Spaniard who had met his

death by the hands presumably of one of his own countrymen, instead of

in heroic combat with the enemy.

He returned to his post. The situation as it had been left on the

previous evening had now been complicated. The cannon-shots he had heard

in the attic had been fired from two pieces mounted by the French at the

angle of the street. An epaulement of sand-bags and gabions had been

thrown across between the ruined blocks, and from that point of vantage

the French gunners were pointing their cannon so that their shots fell

plump upon the walls of the Casas Vega and Tobar. These, it was clear,

would before long be a heap of ruins. Jack sent men to the end of his

subterranean galleries to listen whether mining operations had been

resumed by the French. When they returned, reporting that no sound

could be heard, he concluded that the signal failure of their last mines

had been enough for the enemy, and that in future they would probably

trust entirely to cannonade, followed by attacks in force. He could not

reply to their artillery; all that lay in his power was to hold his men

in readiness to repel a charge, and to fire his long Y-shaped mines when

the French attack was being pressed home.

Some two hours later he was consulting with Don Cristobal on the

possibilities of capturing the French guns in a night attack, when

Pepito came up, looking even more than usually mysterious. He stood

before Jack with his hands behind him, waiting until his master, now

deeply engrossed in conversation, should notice him.

"I should dearly like to make the attempt," Jack was saying, "but your

arguments are, I am afraid, conclusive. We can't afford to lose any of

our men unless we can be sure of success, and after their recent

warnings I don't think we shall catch the French napping. We must give

up the idea, I suppose, but you will see that our men keep a keen watch

on the epaulement, Senor-- Well, what is it, Pepito?"

Pepito came forward carelessly.

"I found these, Senor," he said, handing two papers to Jack, who took

them carelessly. Without unfolding them, he asked:

"Where did you get these?"

"In the tall house, Senor."

"Which tall house?"

"Where the Senor went just now."

"Where the man was murdered?"

"Si, Senor. The big Antonio took him away. I was there. In a minute,

two men came in. 'Now we get a bed,' they say. They pull the dirty

quilt off the bed. One man carries it; the other pulls off the

mattress. There, on the boards, I see two papers. I snatch them, and

say: 'I take these to the Senor Capitan'. The man laughs; and here they

are, Senor."

Jack unfolded the papers and glanced at them curiously. Suddenly he

started, and keenly scrutinized one of them.

"It is explained now, Senor," he said to Don Cristobal, at the same time

laying the papers before him. "Quintanar was a spy."

"An afrancesado!" ejaculated the Spaniard.

"Unhappily. One of the papers, you see, is a pass through the French

lines; the other a rough plan of our defences. See, the miserable

fellow had begun to dot in our mines under the houses opposite. Someone

must have discovered his treachery, and killed him without remorse."

"So perish all traitors!" said Don Cristobal.

At this moment a man rushed in with the news that a small breach had

been made in the wall of the Casa Tobar.

"We must do something to check them," said Jack, rising. "A few good

marksmen on the top of this house might pick off their gunners; let us

go and see."

They went up the staircase towards the roof, Pepito, left alone, put his

hand into his pocket, and drew out a small silver buckle, such as

Spanish burghers and officers wore on their shoes.

"Senor has the papers," he muttered. "Ca! I have the buckle. The

buckle is better than the papers."

He swung it round his forefinger, humming under his breath, and was

still toying with it when Jack came downstairs again. Then he hurriedly

thrust it into his pocket, and stood unconcernedly as though waiting for

orders.

A moment's glance had shown Jack that his plan of placing marksmen on

the roof would be useless. The Casas Vega and Tobar, though much lower

than the Casa Alvarez, were not low enough to allow an effective fire

over them. But what could not be done from the Casa Alvarez might be

done from the lower roofs nearer the guns. Jack lost no time in making

his way to the flat roof of the Casa Tobar. Carefully crawling along

and peeping over, he saw that the angle of depression was just sharp

enough to allow a good marksman to take aim at the gunners' heads. It

would be dangerous work, for the French would instantly perceive the

source of the shots, and would bring a concentrated fire to bear in

return. There was no parapet to the roof, but a parapet could perhaps

be extemporized with sand-bags, between which the Spaniards' muskets

might be placed.

Returning to the ground, Jack explained what he had in his mind, and

Antonio at once volunteered to make the attempt. With some of his men

he climbed to the roof, where they pushed sand-bags along until they

came to the edge. Then one of the men tried a shot. He missed. But

Antonio took more deliberate aim, through the interstice between two

sand-bags, and hit one of the French gunners in the arm.

Three Frenchmen had been hit before the enemy discovered whence came

these disconcerting shots. Then bullets began to patter on the walls

and roof. But the Spaniards were too well protected by their

extemporized parapet to be in much fear, and continued their firing

without suffering serious loss. Before the day was out the French found

it the part of discretion to withdraw their gunners, and for the time

being the cannon were useless.

Jack was not surprised next morning to learn that the French mining work

had been renewed. This time the sounds were heard in the Casa Vallejo.

The French had evidently seen that their only chance of carrying the

position was by reverting to the slow burrowing which had been

successful in earlier days. Jack went himself to the attacked house.

The sounds through the wall were very faint, but there could be no doubt

that the enemy were engaged in repairing the gallery destroyed in the

sortie, though they were as yet thirty or forty feet away. It was

probable that they had resumed, or would soon resume, operations in the

Casas Vega and Tobar also, and dispositions must be made to meet them.

It was Jack's practice every morning to call the roll of the men under

his charge. Every day the force dwindled, and the physical weakness of

the survivors had patently increased. Wishing to spare them as much as

possible, he had been indisposed to set them to the arduous work of

mining until he felt sure that he was seriously threatened. The fact

that the French had resumed their tunnelling showed that there was now

no time to be lost, and the morning was but little advanced when men

were busily engaged in clearing out the galleries, in Vega and Tobar,

that had been tamped and fired, so that they might be recharged. But

while the sounds of mining grew clearer in front of Vallejo, hours

passed without the Spaniards detecting any signs of activity towards the

other two houses. Leaving men to keep watch there, and report if any

change took place, Jack returned to Vallejo, where it seemed evident

that the only present danger was to be apprehended.

He stood with Don Cristobal near the end of the short gallery beneath

Vallejo and the ruined house beyond. About eleven o'clock he was struck

by a difference in the sounds, which up to the present had been fitfully

interrupted.

"Listen, Senor!" he said to Don Cristobal. "I fancy the French are

making several tunnels this time. Don't you think so? There is no

break in the sound now, as there would be if they were driving only one

or two; and yet there is a slight difference in the quality of the sound

at successive moments. Do you hear? There; that was a deeper sound

than the one before it."

"You are right, Senor," returned the Spaniard. "We can do little on our

side, I fear."

"No. You see what a piece of arrant folly that rush of Santiago Sass

was. Several of our best miners were killed; and what with the

necessity of defending the barricades, and maintaining constant

garrisons in the houses, we simply can't hope to match the French

underground. All we can do is to wait till the right moment comes, and

then explode our little mine first. If we let the French anticipate us,

the explosion of several mines at once will blow ours up or make it

useless, and all our work will be thrown away."

"How many galleries do you think the enemy are cutting?"

"If we listen carefully we can tell."

They were silent, and after about a quarter of an hour Jack declared

that he had counted four separate operations. He sent for one of the

more experienced miners, and asked him to count independently. The man

confirmed his opinion, adding that he thought there would be no danger

of explosions from the French side for a day or two.

The rest of that day passed quietly. But early next morning the

necessity of maintaining adequate guards at the exposed points of his

position was brought home to Jack. During the night a large number of

French had been silently posted in the ruined house at the end of the

lane to the north of the Casa Vega. Issuing from these ruins, almost as

soon as day dawned, they rushed towards the barricade, bearing fascines

and scaling-ladders. But Don Cristobal, who was in command at this

point, proved equal to the occasion. He sent off a messenger to Jack in

the Casa Alvarez as soon as he saw signs of the French movement, and

with the thirty resolute men of his command he held the enemy off,

showing much coolness in awaiting their onset and ordering his men to

fire at the right moment. When Jack came up at the head of a

considerable reinforcement, the French were decisively driven off,

leaving more than a score of dead behind them. They retired in

confusion, some going into the ruins from which the attack had been

made, others retreating down the street until they found protection from

the Spaniards' musketry at the sharp bend in the roadway.

Hastening then to the Casa Vallejo, Jack found that the sounds of miners

at work had been steadily growing more distinct. It was clearly time to

prepare his own mine. The gallery extended some six feet beneath the

floor of the ruined house adjoining. A heavy charge was laid in it;

then the mine was tamped as quickly as possible. All was now in

readiness. Through that day Jack scarcely left the place for a moment.

It was of the utmost importance that the time for exploding the mine

should be well chosen. He dared not run the risk of allowing the French

to drive the heads of their tunnels past his own, for indeed they might

not pass it, but come clean upon it, in which case they would either

explode it themselves, or more probably withdraw the charge. His object

was to allow them to approach as near as seemed safe, and then to fire

the train. After an anxious day he retired to rest, convinced that a

sharp conflict could no longer be much delayed.

At ten o'clock next morning, the 8th of February, he judged that the

French miners could only be a few feet distant. Withdrawing all his men

from the Casa Vallejo to the Casa Hontanon, next door, he waited tensely

for a few minutes, then himself fired the train. There was a thunderous

explosion, the walls of the room in which he was seemed to rock, then

came the crash of falling beams, followed by a death-like silence. The

mine had done its terrible work effectually; for the rest of the day

there was no further sound of the French.

Meanwhile, on the other side of the Ebro the French were gradually

preparing for a grand assault. The part of the city along the river

bank had been hitherto little damaged, for it was protected by the

transpontine suburb of San Lazaro, and to some extent by a few gun-boats

moored near the bridge. The key to the position was the Jesus Convent,

a building of bricks, with a ditch on the French side of it. The French

batteries had made large breaches in its masonry, but in order to carry

it by storm it was first necessary for the enemy to trench their way

towards it by slow degrees, every step having to be taken under fire

from the walls. Their work was delayed for a time by a sudden rise of

the river inundating their trenches and driving them back for several

hundred yards--a flood hailed with joy by the defenders, who regarded it

as another miraculous interposition on the part of Our Lady of the

Pillar.

Their condition was becoming pitiful in the extreme. All fresh meat and

vegetables were exhausted; they had nothing now to subsist on but fish

and salt meat. The few chickens that could be got each sold for a sum

equivalent to an English pound. The French had seized all the

water-mills along the banks of the river, so that the corn, of which the

Spaniards yet possessed large stores, could not be ground, and they were

forced to make a rough unwholesome bread of grain merely crushed or

bruised. Fever, bred in the damp vaults in which most of the people

lived, was carrying off hundreds every day; yet the emaciated survivors

scarcely murmured, and the faintest suggestion of surrender was still

sufficient to carry a man to the gibbet. Cheered by their brave

untiring priests, they hoped against hope that relief would come.

But the floods subsided, and there was no sign of the long-expected

succour. On the morning of February 8th, twenty-two French guns opened

fire on the convent. Within a few hours the outer walls were battered

down; then Marshal Lannes in person ordered the place to be carried by

assault. Five hundred men instantly sprang from the trenches. The

Spaniards in the convent, mingled regulars and monks, made what

resistance they could, but they were unnerved by the preceding

cannonade, and before the furious rush of the French grenadiers they

fled and left the convent to its fate. Within the walls the French

found hundreds of wounded and sick, and in the courtyard there were some

two hundred corpses, men, women, and children, piled up awaiting burial.

Even the French were sick at heart when they saw on these pale cold

faces the terrible signs of fasting and disease. They themselves had

suffered in their trenches. Among them too men fell fast; and even in

their ranks there were heard murmurs against the long waiting of this

cruel siege.

But though they had gained possession of the convent, their capture of

the whole suburb was to be delayed for yet a few days. News was brought

in to the French marshal, from his outlying positions, that a Spanish

army was marching towards the city. The captain-general's brother,

Francisco Palafox, had succeeded in raising a small force of 4000 men,

and was now but twenty miles away. The attack could not be pressed in

this quarter until the exact strength of the new enemy was ascertained.

Marshal Lannes himself, therefore, drew off with 12,000 men, and once

more the hopes of the dwindling garrison within the walls flickered up

into the semblance of a flame.

Meanwhile Jack, in his little district, had become convinced that the

defence could not be maintained for many more days. But he was

determined to hold his own to the very end. After his explosion beyond

the Casa Vallejo there had been a prolonged silence on the French side,

but in the evening renewed sounds of mining in two quarters showed that

though two of the four French galleries had been injured, the other two

were still workable. It was only a matter of hours before the wall must

fall. All that Jack could do was to ensure that the house should be held

as long as possible after the explosion of the French mines, and that

this should cause his men the minimum of loss. During the night of the

8th he built a fresh barricade between Vallejo and Tobar, some yards in

the rear of the first one, leaving a means of ingress into the

threatened house. On the roof of Tobar he stationed men, just before

dawn, to give notice of any French movements in the ruins at the farther

end of the block. Meanwhile the garrison of Vallejo were withdrawn

behind the barricade, with orders to rush in and reoccupy the house as

soon as the explosion had taken place.

At seven o'clock on the morning of the 9th a deep rumbling noise, as of

a miniature earthquake, shook the quarter. Volumes of pungent smoke

rolled along the lanes, and the crashing sounds proclaimed that the

party-wall of Vallejo had fallen in.

"Into the house!" shouted Jack.

The men burst into the building. Taking advantage of the cover afforded

by heaps of shattered masonry, woodwork, and furniture, they stood firm

to meet the attack of the French, who, as soon as the dust and smoke

began to clear, charged furiously up to the ruined wall. Their front

ranks were mowed down by the withering fire of the Spaniards, but the

gaps were instantly filled, and the undaunted enemy pressed on again.

The volumes of smoke and the heaped wreckage of the house made it

difficult sometimes for the combatants to see one another. For the

moment the advantage was with the Spaniards. Nothing could dislodge

them from behind their barricades of brickwork, furniture, even piles of

books. But the French were swarming in at the other end of the block of

buildings, and some, mounting on heaps of debris, were able to fire over

the heads of the men in front of them into the Spanish position. Jack

saw that with the fall of the party-wall of Vallejo the remains of the

roof and front wall of the house beyond had also come down. Profiting

by this circumstance, he sent a number of men on to the roof of Tobar,

whence they were able to enfilade the French marksmen. They were

assisted by a strong fire from the front barricade, where Antonio, now

the leader of the guerrilleros, was doing yeoman service. Finding that

after repeated charges no impression had been made on the Spanish

defences, the French drew back disheartened, and, unwilling to face the

risk of meeting again such heavy losses, made no further serious attempt

during the morning to carry the position. The action degenerated into a

fitful exchange of musket-shots, whenever a Frenchman or a Spaniard

incautiously exposed himself.

"Well done, hombres!" said Jack, who had gone from point to point

cheering them on, reinforcing weak spots, narrowly escaping the enemy's

bullets as he moved at times across the line of fire. He had been quick

to mark instances of special bravery or skill, and the few words of

praise he spoke nerved the ardent Spaniards to still more strenuous

exertions.

In the afternoon, as he was resting in the Casa Alvarez, news was

brought that the French had been seen clearing away parts of the debris

in the ruins at the farther end of the Vallejo block.

"What does that mean?" he exclaimed, starting up. "They will only expose

themselves to direct fire from the roofs and the barricade."

Hastening with Don Cristobal to the roof of the Casa Tobar, he sought

for an explanation of the new movement. Suddenly it occurred to him: the

French were about to bring the gun, which had been driven away from the

angle of the street, to a position whence it would bear upon Vallejo,

and the work they were doing was for the purpose of clearing away

anything that might intercept its fire.

"We can't hold Vallejo against a bombardment," he remarked. "Stay!

Perhaps Don Casimir would lend us a gun from his ramparts. Things have

been pretty quiet with him lately. Antonio, run off with twenty men and

ask Don Casimir to let you have an eight-pounder, with grape and

round-shot. If we can get a gun to bear, Senor, the work the French are

doing will assist us as much as themselves."

"Can we mount the gun?" asked Don Cristobal, descending with Jack.

"We can but try. 'Where there's a will there's a way', as we say in

England."

Twenty minutes later Antonio returned with his men, hauling the

eight-pounder briskly along towards the barricade. It was easily taken

into the patio of the Casa Vallejo, but to move it thence into a

position facing the French would necessitate the breaking of the wall of

one of the ground-floor rooms.

It was approaching nightfall when, from his post of observation on the

roof of Tobar, Jack saw that the French had completed their work. He

could just perceive the muzzle of their gun, carefully blinded with

beams, protruding from a sort of screen in the ruins of the second house

from Vallejo. He was confident that they would not begin their

bombardment until the following morning, and he hoped to use the hours

of darkness to place his own gun. Before darkness fell, with Don

Cristobal's help he took, from several points, careful observations of

the position of the French gun, and on the stone floor of the room

opening on to the patio in Vallejo he drew chalk lines indicating what

appeared to be a suitable position for his eight-pounder.

As soon as it was dark he set two men to break a way with picks through

the wall of the patio, at a spot where there was a window. The work was

carried out with the aid of dark lanterns, large pieces of cloth being

hung over every gap to conceal any glimmer of light from the French. The

gun was then hauled through the hole and laid by the chalk lines; it was

screened with bags of earth, and then, after it had been loaded with

ball, a horse-blanket was hung over the muzzle, which alone was in sight

of the enemy.

"Now we can get some sleep, Senor," said Jack. "We've had a hard day's

work. I confess I'm longing for the morning, to see whether we can once

more get in first. You have arranged the sentries for the night?"

"Yes. Nothing has been neglected."

"A special guard for the gun?"

"Antonio and two of his guerrilleros will take turns through the night."

"We haven't any better men. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Come

along."

There was but a faint glimmer of light beyond the Ebro when Jack again

took his place beside the gun.

"I'm not a gunner," he remarked to Don Cristobal, "but I fancy I can

manage to lay and fire it myself; it's point-blank range, you see; I can

hardly miss. Now, hombres," he said, turning to the eight men with him,

"everything depends on our shooting first, so keep as mum as door-mats."

Waiting till the increasing light showed him clearly the muzzle of the

enemy's gun, he carefully pointed his own piece. He aimed at a beam

covering the gun at a point which, as nearly as he could judge,

corresponded with the trunnion. Don Cristobal watched him anxiously as

he lit the match. What would be the result of the shot? One moment of

suspense, then Jack applied the match; there was a flash and a roar,

followed immediately by the crashing of timber.

It was impossible to see the effect of the shot through the cloud of

smoke that hung between the buildings; but, whatever it was, Jack knew

that it would awake the enemy to feverish activity. Running his piece

in, he had it rapidly sponged and then reloaded with grape. While this

was being done, he sent orders to the garrison to open fire on the

French position, to which there would certainly be a rush. As soon as

the smoke cleared he saw that the French gun had also been run in.

Before it could be loaded, however, Jack applied his second match; his

canister of grape searched every square foot of the area around the

French gun, and the men serving it were annihilated. Before another

complement of gunners could be brought up, Jack had his piece cleaned

and charged again, this time with round-shot. He saw now that the first

shot had broken and splintered the beam; the third shivered it to

fragments. A great cheer arose from the garrison when they saw the

damage already done. A second charge of grape, together with sharp

musketry-fire from every point occupied by the Spaniards, scattered the

French reinforcements who were now attempting frantically to withdraw

the gun out of range. Again Jack loaded with shot, and a fierce shout of

exultation broke from the Spaniards on the roof-tops as they saw the

enemy's gun completely dismounted, and the remnant of the French fly in

all haste to the rear.

This spirited defence had the effect of keeping the French quiet in that

quarter for the rest of the day. Jack maintained his vigilance

unrelaxed, but there was no movement from the enemy's direction either

above or below ground.

"Another day saved!" said Jack to Don Casimir, who, having heard of what

had happened, had come to congratulate him on his successful

manipulation of the gun.

"Yes, one more day. But how long can we still hold out?" replied Don

Casimir. "Surely, Senor Lumsden, you are not among the credulous people

who think that we shall save the city?"

"Since you ask me plainly, Don Casimir, I am not. But what does that

matter? We have to hold our quarters, and I confess that I sha'n't be

satisfied unless I can say, when the end comes, that here at all events

we are still unbeaten.--Do look at that odd little gipsy boy of mine.

He is a strange child. When the fighting is going on he is never to be

found; he hasn't any courage of that sort; but he always turns up when

it is over, and looks as proud as though he had fought with the best.

What has the brat got now?"

Pepito approached jauntily, twirling a small silver buckle round on his

finger.

"Well, what is the mischief now?" asked Jack with a smile.

"That is for Senor to say," replied Pepito gravely.

"You found that buckle, I suppose. Well, it looks a very good silver

buckle; what is there to explain?"

"I found it in the tall house. It was under the dead man. I saw it

when they took him away."

"Yes. What then?"

Pepito put his hand into his pocket and produced a second buckle, the

exact fellow of the first.

"Now I have two," he said.

"So I see. One isn't much use without the other. I suppose you will

want them sewn on your shoes now. You found that too, eh?"

"No, I cut it off. Senor thinks they are the buckles a poor Busno would

wear?"

"Well, no; they are a little unusual for a guerrillero, certainly. But

he may have been a bandit first."

"No, no. They were not his. Senor, listen as I tell. I find in the

room one buckle; I think I know it. I put it in my pocket. I go out at

once into the streets to look. What do I see? I see a man walk; one

shoe has a buckle, the other shoe has not. I open my eyes wide; I say

to myself: 'Ho! ho! That is what I thought!' But I was not sure. I

wait. A time comes. I see the one-buckle Senor go into the Cafe Arcos.

I follow; big Jorge Arcos knows me now. I keep much in the dark; Senor

One-buckle must not see me. But I see him; I see his foot; I am under

the table. I put buckle one next to buckle two; they are brothers. I

take my knife and cut off buckle two. It is Senor No-buckle now! Senor

knows?"

Jack had been impressed, not so much by the gipsy's story as by the

solemnity of his manner of telling it.

"You have something more to tell me. What is it?"

"Senor One-buckle, Senor No-buckle--who is it? One-buckle, I find it

under the dead man in the tall house; two-buckle, I cut it from the shoe

of--of the master of Senor One-eye."

"Senor Priego?"

"Si, Senor!"

*CHAPTER XXVI*

*Wanted: Don Miguel Priego*

Circumstantial Evidence--A Council of War--Miguel's Despatch--A

Statement of Facts--The Inevitable Inference--Shambles--In the

Belfry--Without Guile--The People's Curse

Jack had had so many evidences of Pepito's sagacity that he could not

doubt the accuracy of the boy's report. The shoe buckles almost

certainly belonged to Don Miguel. From this one seed of fact sprang a

whole sheaf of problems. Miguel had been in the room when the

guerrillero was murdered; he may not have dealt the blow himself, but

certainly he was there. Then why was he there? Had he learnt that the

man was an afrancesado and gone personally to serve him as every good

Spaniard would wish to serve a traitor? That was improbable, for the

murder had been committed in secret, no report had been made of it, and

Miguel was not the man to let slip the chance of adding to his

popularity by ridding the city of a domestic foe. No, he had not gone

to the house as an enemy; could he have gone to it as a friend? What

bond of union could there be between Don Miguel Priego, in civil life a

well-to-do merchant and now also major in Palafox's hussars, and a poor

obscure peasant who had no standing whatever as a citizen or a soldier?

Suddenly the idea came to him: could Miguel have visited the man because

he was an afrancesado? The suggestion was like the letting out of a

flood. Jack recalled the suspicious entry of Miguel and his man into

Saragossa; the strange tale about an overpowered sentry; the curious

reappearance of a sentinel in the French trenches almost immediately

afterwards. Had Miguel got in, not in spite of the French, but with

their connivance? His rapid journey across country from Seville: how

could that be accounted for unless he had been helped through the

districts in French occupation, and provided with relays of post-horses

at every stage? The inevitable conclusion was that Miguel was himself

an afrancesado, and had come into the city on some traitorous errand.

Knowing that the guerrillero was of the same kidney, he had visited him

for some purpose of his own. A quarrel had arisen; during the struggle

one of his buckles had been wrenched off, and it lay unnoticed on the

floor. It was improbable that Miguel himself had dealt Quintanar the

fatal blow; but, remembering Perez, the one-eyed man, Jack was in little

doubt where to look for the assassin.

There was only one thing wanted to complete his assurance of Miguel's

treachery. Miguel had certainly brought to Palafox a despatch from the

Supreme Junta at Seville. If he were a true Spaniard, and had really

gained admittance to the city by a hazardous feat of arms, the despatch

must have been intact when Palafox received it. On the other hand, if

Miguel was a spy, in the pay of the French, it was little likely that

they would have allowed a despatch to pass through their lines without

mastering its contents. In that case they must have found means to open

and read it, without leaving anything to arouse suspicion in the mind of

Palafox when he received it. How was that possible? Palafox would

certainly have remarked any sign of tampering with the seal; the

despatch could not have been opened without tampering with the seal, and

that-- Stay! Jack vaguely remembered having read somewhere that a seal

could be removed by dexterously slipping a thin hot blade between it and

the paper. Had that been done with Miguel's despatch? The question had

no sooner formed itself in Jack's mind than conviction flashed upon him;

he felt absolutely sure that the man he had always so much disliked on

personal grounds was a renegade and a traitor.

Next morning he rose from his bed unrefreshed, but with a plan of action

formed. He made his dispositions for the continued defence of his

district with keenness and care. Then, somewhat after one o'clock, he

left the work in charge of Don Cristobal, and made his way by narrow

lanes towards the other end of the city. The streets were almost

entirely deserted now; only a few brave women and ministering priests

went about fearlessly on errands of mercy. All the men were engaged on

the ramparts or in the houses, striving with dogged energy to hinder the

creeping advance of the French. He had crossed the part of the city

most in danger from bombardment or mines when he met Tio Jorge, whom he

had not seen for a few days.

"Tio," he said, "can you come with me? I am going to see the general,

and I should like you to be with me."

"Assuredly, Senor. And in truth, I think it well you should have a

friend with you, for the murmurs against you are growing stronger. It

is whispered that an afrancesado was lately slain in your quarter, and

men are saying that he was not the only one there. They are puzzled,

for if you are an afrancesado, as some think, why are you fighting the

French so desperately every day? I only tell you what they think and

say, Senor; it is well I am your friend."

Jack set his lips; he traced this to Miguel's inveterate malice.

Hurrying along with the big peasant, he arrived at the Aljafferia

Castle, and was admitted after some delay to Palafox's room. The

general had now taken to his bed; the fever had gained a terrible hold

upon him, and but for his indomitable spirit he would probably ere this

have died. He was surrounded by a group of his advisers, among them Don

Basilio, Santiago Sass, Padre Consolacion, and General San March, who,

having failed to hold the Monte Torrero against the French in the early

days of the siege, had since been under a cloud. The priests scowled at

Jack as he approached; the lean Santiago Sass and the rotund Padre

Consolacion looked at him with equal distrust.

"Come, Tio Jorge," said General San March, "you are in time to support

me. I have been asking the captain-general to allow me to lead a sortie

across the Ebro, now that the French are weakened there by the

withdrawal of so many men."

"Useless, useless!" cried Palafox from his bed.

"Useless, Senores!" echoed Tio Jorge. "What men have we now for

sorties? Three weeks ago, yes; but now--most of our men can hardly

stagger under the weight of their muskets. The time for sorties is

past; but let us hope the French are withdrawn from San Lazaro by news

of our brothers coming to aid us--"

"And we will never give in, never give in!" cried Santiago Sass. "No,

not even though traitors within our walls give the gates to the enemy."

Tio Jorge was on the point of resenting, on Jack's behalf, the glare

with which the priest accompanied these words; but Jack laid his hand on

the man's arm, and, advancing to the bedside, spoke to the worn figure

lying there.

"You remember, Senor, the despatch that was brought to you from the

Supreme Junta, little more than a week ago, by one of your officers who

made his way by night through the French lines?"

"I remember it."

"You have that despatch still?"

"I have. Why do you ask?"

"Pardon me, Senor, you will see in a few moments. You observed nothing

unusual about the seal?"

"Nothing."

"It was the usual seal of the Junta," put in Don Basilio. "I have the

despatch."

"Will you allow me to look at it?"

The chaplain hesitated; he appeared to be about to ask a question, but

Tio Jorge interposed.

"The despatch, Senor Padre! The Senor has a reason; I know it not, but

he fought with me by the Casa Ximenez, and what he says, por Dios! there

is sense in it."

"Produce the despatch, Padre," said Palafox.

Don Basilio went to a cabinet, and after a little search found the

despatch and handed it to Jack. The seal was broken across the middle.

Jack examined the edges carefully, lifting the wax slightly with his

thumb nail. He looked up.

"It is as I thought," he said. "Will Don Basilio look?"

The priest took the paper and looked at it with an air of puzzlement and

surprise.

"I see red wax and paper," he said coldly. "What of that?"

"Do you not see, Senor Padre, a slight browning of the paper beneath, as

though it had been scorched?"

The chaplain scrutinized the seal again. The other priests watched him

in silence; Palafox kept his burning eyes fixed on Jack; and Tio Jorge

stood with his lips parted as though wondering what deep mystery was

concerned here.

"I do see a faint coloration," said Don Basilio at length; "a light

tinge at the edge of the wax, becoming a little darker beneath the seal.

What then?"

"This, Senor. The paper, I suggest, was scorched by the passage of a

hot keen blade beneath the seal."

There was a painful silence. Then Tio Jorge cried, "Por Dios! that

explains everything. It is all clear. The man that brought it is a

villain, an afrancesado, Senores! And 'tis he who has sought to harm

the brave English Senor here! Death to all traitors! Death to Don

Miguel Priego!"

"Stay, stay!" said Padre Consolacion, his round face wearing a look of

concern. "This is a terrible charge to bring against a reputable

citizen of Saragossa."

"One of my own hussars," murmured Palafox.

"He was my pupil," continued the padre. "I have known him since he was

an infant. I knew his father, an estimable man; he cannot be a traitor.

If the despatch was opened, it must have been without his knowledge. Of

that I am sure."

"The evidence is not sufficient--not sufficient," said Palafox. "You

must be mistaken, Senor Lumsden."

"I am sorry, Senores," returned Jack; "but will you bear with me while I

put certain facts before you? You remember how strangely Don Miguel

made his entrance into the city some days ago? He had overcome a

sentinel, he and his man, and came by night across the Huerba, scaling

our ramparts by the aid of muskets held out to him by two of Don

Casimir's men. I was present, Senores, at the time. I had just gone to

take over the command with which the Senor Capitan-general honoured me,

and was walking along the ramparts with Don Casimir Ulloa, who told me

how amazed he was to see no sentinel in the French trenches, where for

many nights before a sentinel had never failed to be. Even as he spoke

we saw two figures creep down the slope and approach the walls. They, as

you know, were Don Miguel Priego and his man. They forded the river,

clambered up the slope on our side, and were assisted over our ramparts,

and we heard from Don Miguel's lips the story he told the general

afterwards."

"It was a bold feat," interjected Padre Consolacion. "Don Miguel was

ever a man of daring."

"But, Senores," continued Jack, "no sooner was Don Miguel safely within

our walls than, in the French lines opposite, a sentinel suddenly

reappeared. Had the Frenchman, slain by Don Miguel, come to life again?

Why had Don Casimir heard no sound? Would the discovery of their dead

sentinel have been regarded by the French as an ordinary accident, of no

more account than the finding of a dead rat? And now we find that the

despatch brought by Don Miguel had been opened. Is it not natural to

conclude that it was opened by the French, and that the temporary

absence of the sentinel was part of an arrangement between them and Don

Miguel to give colour to his story?"

"Surmise! All baseless surmise!" said Padre Consolacion.

"One thing more," went on Jack quietly. "The other night a man was

murdered in my quarter of the city. He was assassinated in his room at

the top of a lofty house. In that room was found this pass through the

French lines, and this drawing of our defences."

Everyone started as Jack produced the papers.

"Besides these, there was found this shoe-buckle, that had been torn off

in the man's scuffle with his assailant. Two days afterwards the

fellow-buckle was brought to me, and Don Miguel Priego was seen in the

streets with shoes which had both lost their buckles. It was this that

convinced me. Had Don Miguel reason to dispute with an afrancesado

unless--"

"Enough!" cried Santiago Sass. "It is clear he is a proved villain! To

the gallows with him! Where is he? With my own hand will I hang him in

the midst of the Coso! To the gallows! To the gallows!"

And, gathering his cassock about him, the priest rushed madly from the

room. Almost before the door was closed behind him a tremendous

explosion set the whole building vibrating, and caused Palafox almost to

jump from his bed.

"My convent!" cried Padre Consolacion. "It is my convent at last! Tio

Jorge, come; they will have need of us."

"And of me!" cried Palafox, springing up.

"Stay, Jose," said Don Basilio, "you are not fit to go out."

"Do not stay me, Padre," answered Palafox, clasping his cloak, and with

trembling fingers buckling on his sword. "I must go; I must share the

dangers of my people."

The chaplain made no further protest, and soon Palafox, accompanied by

San March, Tio Jorge, and Jack, was hastening towards the scene of one

of the most awful catastrophes that ever befell a beleaguered city. The

French, undetected by the defenders, had driven a mine beneath the great

Franciscan convent, and charged it with 3000 pounds of powder. The

convent was at the moment full of fighting-men; the cellars were

occupied by many families of citizens; and one part of the building was

crammed with 400 workpeople, men and women, who were there engaged in

making clothes for the soldiers. All these perished when the mine was

fired; and when Palafox arrived on the scene, the whole district for

many yards around was strewn not merely with broken masonry, but with

mutilated human remains.

All thought of Don Miguel's treason was for the moment banished by the

hideous spectacle. Yet, awful as the damage was, the Spaniards had not

awaited the arrival of their leaders before attempting reprisals. A

wide opening had been made by the explosion, in the wall near the porch;

the pavement of the church of San Francisco had been torn up; altars,

pulpits, columns, arches, lay in shattered fragments; but Spaniards had

rushed in from the streets, and, barricading themselves behind the

ruins, were showering bullets upon the incoming French. Some had

climbed into the galleries; others had mounted by a narrow spiral

staircase into the belfry, which had strangely withstood the shock; and

from these elevated positions they poured murderous volleys upon the

invaders. As the rays of sunlight streamed through the broken

stained-glass windows, they fell upon groups of furious combatants,

imparting varied tints to the clouds of smoke and dust that rolled

through the shattered nave, and glinting on the bayonets of the French

infantry as they pressed desperately forward. The Spaniards fought with

the fury of despair. Inspirited by the presence of their idolized

general, by the heroic efforts of Tio Jorge, and the fiery exhortations

of Padre Consolacion and Santiago Sass, who had soon appeared on the

scene, they defended every nook and corner with obstinate tenacity, and

when night put an end to the terrible conflict, had succeeded, at a huge

cost, in driving the French from a portion of the building.

Jack had climbed into the belfry along with a body of peasants under the

command of a French emigre, the Comte de Fleury. He was almost overcome

by the sickening sight. All around, the roofs of the neighbouring

houses were covered with dismembered limbs; the gutters, through which

for eight centuries nothing but rain had streamed, now ran red with

blood, that poured into the street as if from the mouths of the dragons,

vultures, and winged monsters that decorated the Gothic walls. He could

not help exclaiming at the folly of maintaining a resistance against

such heavy odds. It was terrible enough that soldiers, whose duty

brought them face to face with sudden death, should fall by hundreds to

the French arms; but innocent and helpless citizens, young boys and

girls, were all included in this late carnage, and Jack shuddered at the

dire results of what he could now only regard as sheer obstinacy and

blind rage.

Creeping down when the din was over, and French and Spaniards alike were

resting from the fray, he found that Palafox, in a complete state of

collapse, was being carried back to his bed. Along with Tio Jorge, Jack

accompanied the sad group. The halls of the Aljafferia Castle were

thronged with some of the more substantial merchants who were yet left

alive. They had come to plead with the general to ask for terms from

the French. But at the first suggestion there arose such an outcry from

the peasants and the poorer citizens, incited by their priests, that the

merchants were in danger of being torn limb from limb. No voice was

louder than that of Santiago Sass in demanding that the defence should

be still continued. The French who had withdrawn from the eastern

suburbs had not yet reappeared, and the priest vehemently declared that

the catastrophe at the Franciscan convent was the turning-point of the

siege, and that from that moment the hand of Our Lady of the Pillar

would work wonders on behalf of her city. Backed up by him, the people

clamoured for a proclamation to be issued, enjoining still more

strenuous resistance, and not till this had been drawn up by Don

Basilio, and Palafox had affixed his tremulous signature, did the crowd

disperse.

Jack remained for some time in the castle. He wished he was older and

more experienced. He then might have pointed out to some of the

bitterest of the Junta what fearful hardship they were bringing on the

city by their insensate resistance. But he saw that they were in no

temper to listen to expostulations from anyone, and he dared not speak

his thoughts even to his friend Tio Jorge. He was about to return to his

own district when he saw Padre Consolacion enter with a brisker step

than was usual with him. The priest came straight towards him.

"Senor, Senor," he said, with a mingled look of regret and indignation,

"he that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor endureth a reproach against

his neighbour, he shall never be moved. I knew it could not be true; I

knew the boy I taught at my knee could not be a traitor; I knew--"

"Senor Padre," interrupted Jack, "you don't mean to say you have told

him?"

"Indeed, and what more natural? Is it right to condemn unheard? Should

I not ask of the man himself what--"

"Come to the general!" shouted Tio Jorge, catching the priest by the

arm. "Come to the general! He must know of what you have done."

They made their way to Palafox's room, where none but Don Basilio

remained with him.

"Don Jose needs sleep," said the chaplain, meeting them at the door.

"What do you want with him?"

"Caramba, Padre!" cried Tio Jorge, "he must know whether the man be a

traitor or not. Listen to Padre Consolacion!"

The priest seemed amazed at the fuss Tio Jorge was making.

"I went, Senores, to find Don Miguel Priego, to ask him, on his honour,

whether there was a word of truth in the English Senor's story. He was

indignant, as I knew he would be. He demanded to know why he, a loyal

son of Spain, should be suspected on such flimsy grounds. He scoffed

when I spoke of the scorched paper, and--"

"You told him that, Padre?" said Palafox, raising himself on his elbow.

"I did, of course, and he flew into a passion, and said that with

morning light he would come and meet his accuser and give him the lie to

his face."

"Send for him now; bring him here instantly. Shall there be treason in

our midst? Tio Jorge, do you go and command Don Miguel Priego instantly

to my presence."

It was an hour before Tio Jorge returned.

"Proof! Proof of treason!" he cried furiously. "He is gone; he and his

man. See what your meddling did, Senor Padre! No sooner was your back

turned than the accursed afrancesado fled."

"Fled!" echoed the priest in consternation.

"'Meet his accuser--give him the lie to his face', you said," exclaimed

Tio Jorge with bitter mockery, "'with morning light'! He is gone, and

even now, I doubt not, is making merry with the French who have hired

him. A curse light on him! May he die by a traitor's hand, even as he

is a traitor!"

"Write, Don Basilio," said Palafox, "write a proclamation! Proclaim

Miguel Priego to all men a traitor, and call upon all true men to seize

upon him and bring him before us to suffer the penalty of his crime. My

unhappy country! Let me die, let me die!"

He turned his face to the wall. The stern chaplain wrote a

proclamation; within an hour printed copies were distributed throughout

the town, and the name of Miguel Priego, hitherto lauded to the skies,

was now hissed with venomous hate by every loyal citizen of Saragossa.

*CHAPTER XXVII*

*The Eleventh Hour*

Tantaene Irae?--Taking thought--Pepito's Charge--Horrors of the

Siege--Beyond the River--A Ring of Steel--Unconquered Still--Patriots

All

With morning light the French completed their capture of the Franciscan

convent. By a series of desperate charges they cleared the vast ruins

of the Spaniards who had held their position during the night, the brave

Comte de Fleury and his men were bayoneted on the narrow stairway of the

bell-tower, and with one final rush the French pursued the fleeing

remnant of the defenders to the very edge of the Coso.

Not long afterwards the French outposts beyond the Aljafferia Castle

were surprised to see a strange and motley procession issue from the

Portillo Gate. A mob of peasants--for the most part women and

children--ragged, famished, fever-stricken, almost mad, rushed pell-mell

towards the French lines, preferring to die by the hands of the enemy

rather than endure longer the terrors of the beleaguered city. Reaching

the outposts, they begged to be allowed to pass through towards their

village homes; this being refused, they implored the French to kill

them, not to drive them back. But the marshal would not forgo this

opportunity of teaching the obstinate defenders a lesson. He ordered

the poor creatures to be fed, and then sent back to the city, hoping

thereby to impress the Spaniards both with his humanity and with the

abundance of his stores.

When news of this incident was brought to Jack, he read it at once as a

sign that the inevitable end could not now be long delayed. Heroic as

the defence had been, the strain upon poor human nature was too heavy to

be borne, and though the priests and the mob-leaders were still

vehemently opposed to surrender, it was clear that only surrender would

save the city from the most horrible of fates. Not even the most

violent fanatic would have the heart to prolong the struggle for more

than a few days.

Things being still quiet in his own quarter, Jack determined to see

Juanita, and advise her upon her course when the city fell. He left Don

Cristobal in charge, and made his tortuous way around the captured part

of the town towards the northern end of the city. Pepito accompanied

him.

Juanita was looking pale and worn. Her aunt was seriously ill, and the

girl had spent sleepless nights in watching her.

"Oh, Jack, Jack," she cried, "surely the end must come now! It is

wicked of our Junta to hold out longer. The people are dying like flies.

Two were carried out of this very house yesterday. Are we all to die?"

"General Palafox must capitulate soon," said Jack, "and that is what I

wanted to see you about. Have you thought of what you will do when the

capitulation takes place?"

"Why, you will be with me; you will look after my poor aunt and me."

"No, I shall be a prisoner."

"A prisoner! Oh, but you must escape! It will be easy to escape in the

confusion. What shall we do if you are a prisoner, Jack?"

"I can't run away. I have to defend my quarter till the last. And

then--well, it's the fortune of war--the French will make sure of all

the officers, you may depend on that. But about yourself, Juanita; you

won't be in any danger--except from Miguel."

"Why from Miguel? Won't he be a prisoner too?"

Jack laughed grimly.

"Miguel has taken care of that. Last night he disappeared from

Saragossa--just in time to escape being gibbeted as an afrancesado, a

traitor, and a spy."

Juanita's eyes blazed, her cheeks flamed with the hot Spanish blood.

"Kill him! Kill him, Jack!" she cried. "He was a traitor to my father;

he is a traitor to Spain! Oh, if I were a man!"

Jack was amazed at the girl's fury.

"I don't think I'd like to soil my hands with him," he said quietly.

"Besides, he will keep out of my way. But don't you see, Juanita, that

he will come in with the French, and then--I'm afraid he might bother

you, you know."

Juanita drew herself up with a proud air.

"I could borrow a knife!" she said. "A Spanish girl is not afraid to

die."

"Don't talk like that. What need is there for you to die? I shall have

to give you orders, as I give my men. Senorita Juanita Alvarez, you are

to make your way, after the capitulation, to some place of safety, where

I will find you--

"You, a prisoner?"

"Oh, I don't mean to remain a prisoner! I shall say good-bye to my

captors at the earliest possible moment, and then find you, and we will

steal our way to the coast, and find a ship and sail for England.

Mother will be glad to see you."

"I have always wanted to see England," said Juanita musingly. "But what

about my property--that all this mystery is about?"

"We don't know where it is; but, you remember, a duplicate letter was

sent to father in London, and we can find out all about it there. And

then, when the war is over, no doubt father will come back with you and

put everything straight. And then--"

"Well, Senor?" said Juanita archly.

"Oh, then I suppose you'll marry a Don--of some sort--"

"How dare you, Senor Lumsden!" she cried with flashing eyes.

Jack looked astonished at her sudden anger.

"But never mind that," he went on. "The question is, is there anywhere

that you can go to when the city falls?"

"Ay de mi! Our old country house near Morata was shut up months ago;

only one old man remains in charge. The garden must now be a waste. But

I have friends at Calatayud, some miles farther away, and I could stay

with them. It is quite sixty miles distant. Could I get there safely?"

"I think so. After the siege many peasants will be returning to their

homes. I will enquire if any are going in that direction, and will let

you know if I find some respectable people with whom you might travel.

Your old duenna would, of course, go with you. And then I thought of

lending you a special friend of my own, who has done me many a good

turn; he is outside now--a young gipsy boy who--

"Pepito! Oh, he and I are good friends!"

"You know him, then?"

"Of course I do. He comes to see me every day, and talks about you all

the time. Strange to say, he thinks a great deal of you, Jack."

"Poor little chap! I owe him a good deal. Well, he shall go with you,

and you will make your way to Calatayud, and I will come to you there

in--let me see, under a week. I shall have had enough of the Frenchmen

in a week."

"But suppose you can't escape, Jack?"

"Never fear," said Jack with a smile. "That is all arranged, then?"

"Yes, I suppose so," replied Juanita doubtfully. "You will be sure to

find me, Jack?"

"Unless you hide away--like your treasure."

Returning to his quarter he found that the French had still made no

further attempt upon it. The situation indeed, remained unchanged for

several days. They were so fully occupied in pushing the advantage they

had gained in the direction of the Coso that they could afford to leave

Jack's little block of buildings for the present. They continued to

occupy the ruins facing the Casa Vallejo, and Jack discovered, by

observations made from the roofs of the Casas Tobar and Alvarez, that a

considerable body of troops was held ready in Santa Engracia to

reinforce any point that should be threatened by the Spaniards.

Though his own position was thus left unmolested, every few hours

brought news of the steady progress the enemy were making elsewhere.

One after another the blocks of buildings adjacent to the Franciscan

convent fell into their hands. Jack saw that, even if he could hold his

own in front, the French were gradually creeping around his flank, and

that in the course of a few days he would be attacked from the east as

well as the north. On February 12th Don Casimir sent for the gun he had

lent. An urgent message had come from Palafox asking for all artillery

that could be spared. It was needed for the defence of the Coso. The

French had established two batteries among the ruins of the convent, one

of which raked the Coso, while the other commanded the street leading to

the bridge across the river. Jack had already withdrawn Don Casimir's

gun from the direct view of the French, and he trusted that its total

disappearance from his defences would remain for some time undiscovered.

But although he was not seriously pressed, he was alarmed to see how his

small force had dwindled and was still dwindling in numbers. A few fell

by the musket-shots of the French; far more dropped out through

sickness, and of these almost none recovered. A form of typhus fever

had broken out in the city, attacking especially the guerrilleros from

the country and wounded soldiers who had no fixed homes. The Countess

Bureta was dead; many of the other ladies who had nobly done their best

in nursing the sick and wounded had perished; the stock of medicines was

exhausted. Many invalids lay untended on the stone pavements of the

courtyards, with nothing but a little straw for their beds. In the

intervals of fighting the worn survivors were to be seen sitting on

stone benches, shivering in spite of their cloaks, their hands scarcely

able to hold their weapons. So weak were they that the slightest wound

proved fatal. Jack was sick at heart as he saw his ranks depleted day

by day through the loss of some stalwart guerrillero or seasoned tirador

who had succumbed to an enemy more terrible than the French.

Once or twice he thought of finding relief in leading a desperate sortie

on the enemy's entrenchments. But consideration showed him the futility

of any such move. He might inflict some loss on the French, but even if

he drove them from their advanced position, he could not hope to retain

the ground he might thus win. His efforts must be confined to defensive

work; he must hold his own, as he had hitherto succeeded in doing. He

had now been for a fortnight in command of the Casa Alvarez district,

and during that period the French had not made any real progress.

Indeed, they had lost very heavily in men, and had suffered so many

disasters from the Spanish mines that they appeared for the present to

have suspended all mining operations in Jack's quarter.

As the days passed by without any serious demonstration against his

position, Jack inferred that the French, like the Spaniards, were

suffering from the long-continued strain. The force under Marshal

Lannes' command was evidently not sufficient to maintain a simultaneous

attack on all the points at which they had effected an entrance into the

city. On the 13th the corps sent out to drive away the army collected

by Francisco Palafox returned to the siege; their mere appearance had

been sufficient to scatter the relieving army of which the Saragossans

had expected so much. It was at once apparent that the interrupted

attack on the San Lazaro suburb was to be actively pressed. The French

entrenchments were pushed closer to the river; heavy siege-guns were

brought into position, and epaulements were constructed across all the

roads by which the Spaniards holding the suburb could escape.

On February 18th a vigorous bombardment was commenced. No fewer than

fifty-two guns opened fire at daybreak, the main point of attack being

the San Lazaro convent, which commanded the bridge across the Ebro, the

sole link between the city and the suburb. The effect of the

bombardment was stupendous. Roofs crashed in beneath the bursting

bombs, the crackle of flames was mingled with the clang of alarm-bells

from every belfry, the whole city shook as with an earthquake. The

Spanish batteries responded vigorously. The Spaniards fought for every

inch of ground in the streets, but they were steadily beaten back. A

breach was made in the convent wall; the French rushed in, massacring

the monks who dauntlessly opposed them, cutting down without mercy

crowds of men, women, and children who had sought a refuge in the church

itself. The yells of the combatants were mingled with the screams of

the wounded and dying, and not till every one of the occupants of the

convent was slain did the hideous clamour cease.

Retreat to the city was now cut off, and scattered bands of Spaniards

wandered frantically about, seeking a means of escape and finding none.

Three hundred, led by a bold fellow named Fernando Gonzalez, succeeded

in running the gauntlet of the French fusillade and forcing their way

across the bridge into Saragossa. Many who sought to escape by the

river were drowned, and 3000 who tried to make their way along the bank

towards the country were headed off by a regiment of French cavalry and

compelled to lay down their arms. Palafox himself, though so ill that

he could scarcely stand, came at the head of his troops to the succour

of the suburb, but his efforts were vain. The French remained masters

of the position, and were now able to place their guns so as to command

the northern part of the city, which hitherto had been almost untouched.

While this terrible struggle had been in progress, the Spaniards had

suffered a serious disaster elsewhere. At three in the afternoon three

huge mines, charged with more than two tons of powder, were exploded

beneath the University, which was carried with a rush. With it fell

several buildings in its neighbourhood, and in the evening the French

penetrated to the Coso, where they gained several houses, among them one

which had repulsed no fewer than ten previous assaults. The Spaniards

lost ground also near the Trinity convent, and the district known as the

Tanneries began to suffer severely from the new French works thrown up

in the captured suburb of San Lazaro.

That night Jack held a serious consultation with Don Cristobal and

several of his more trusty men. The successes won by the French in

other parts of the town would no doubt encourage them to make a renewed

attack on the only quarter along its outer rim which had yet withstood

them.

"I am not going to give it up without a tussle," said Jack resolutely.

"If they bring artillery to bear, our barricades must fall; but we still

have the houses opposite. The Y mines in Tobar and Vega will do

enormous damage if the French get in there. I rather suspect they will

fight shy of the houses and try to rush in from the streets. All that

we can do with our little force is to man the windows and roofs of the

houses and delay them as long as possible."

It was a pathetic sight to see the unquenched eagerness of the haggard

crowd. Not one faltered; all were as resolute as though it were the

first day of the siege. Jack arranged with them for their respective

posts on the morrow, and waited anxiously for daylight.

About twelve o'clock on February 20th Tio Jorge and Jorge Arcos were

staying their hunger in the latter's cafe with a mess of boiled rice and

half-baked corn-meal. Their begrimed, black-bearded faces wore a look

of savage gloom. No one was with them. Outside, in the Coso, not a

living person was to be seen.

"By all the saints, I vow I will not surrender!" Tio Jorge was saying.

"Nor I!" replied his friend. "Nor would the general himself, but that

he is ill. Had he been well, no one could have persuaded him to beg for

terms from the French dog. When I heard it last night I could not

believe the news. For two months we have fought; shall we yield now? I

for one will not yield; I will die rather!"

"And we could have told the general it would be of no use. We have

killed too many of the accursed French for them to let us march away. I

could have laughed when Senor Casseillas came back after his journey to

the French camp, and said that we must lay down our arms without

conditions. And the general is dying! God have his soul! He has given

the command to San March. Ay, 'twas San March who lost the Monte

Torrero--curse him! But the Junta!--the saints be praised our brave

padres are members of the Junta, and will not let the others yield.

Traitors, por Dios! I myself will shoot any man, high or low, who

counsels surrender. But Don Basilio, and Padre Consolacion, and Padre

Santiago Sass--ah, they will never yield! The priests of Spain are men,

mi amigo!"

"Yes; they will fight and--"

A shattering explosion from the other side of the Coso interrupted him.

"Where is that?" cried Tio Jorge, starting up. Running to the door he

saw, beyond the Franciscan convent, a cascade of dust and stones

darkening the air. "'Tis towards the Casa Alvarez," he cried, "where

the English Senor still holds out. The dogs are attacking there. Come,

Jorge Arcos, we can do nothing elsewhere; come, and let us help the

brave Englishman!"

Together they left the cafe. The crash of the explosion had drawn

others to the street, and as the two leaders hurried along, past the

barricades, up narrow by-ways, pursuing a roundabout course towards the

Huerba, they were joined by ones and twos and threes, who came in answer

to their hail. At the corner of a lane near the Seminary thirty men who

had escaped with Fernando Gonzalez from San Lazaro swelled their

numbers.

"To the Casa Alvarez!" shouted Tio Jorge.

A second explosion made him hasten still more eagerly.

"To the Casa Alvarez!" he repeated. "War to the knife!"

*CHAPTER XXVIII*

*The Last Fight in Saragossa*

The Last Muster--The Fougasse--A Forlorn Hope--Spiking the Guns--A Race

with Death--A Sally--Solicitude--Jorge Arcos Volunteers--To the Bitter

End--A Bolt from the Blue--The Last Sacrifice--The Courage of

Despair--Truce