At the Casa Alvarez a stern fight was in progress. On the preceding day

what Jack had foreseen had at length come to pass: the French had once

more brought guns to bear on his position. Warned by their previous

experience, they blinded their batteries in such a way that their

gunners were protected from the muskets of the Spaniards on the roofs.

They cleared a space at the end of the ruined block of which the Casa

Vallejo formed a part, and there placed two guns; another was mounted at

the end of the street between that house and the Casa Tobar; a fourth at

the end of the street in which the Vega barricade was erected. It was

clear to Jack that he could not hope to prevent the enemy from gaining a

footing in the houses; all that he could do for the present was to await

developments, and act as the need of the moment dictated.

But, to be prepared for emergencies, he rapidly constructed, beneath the

floor of the Casa Vallejo, a fougasse--a shallow mine in the form of a

truncated cone, with its axis inclined towards the point of attack.

Over this he piled some tons of brickwork and stones which, in the

explosion, would be hurled many yards to the front and flanks. With

this, and the as yet unexploded Y-shaped mines beneath the Casas Tobar

and Vega, he hoped to destroy the French who would rush the houses when

the bombardment ceased, and thus to enable his men to retake the

positions they must lose.

He had only 200 men now with him, and many of these were on their last

legs. But when the rumour spread through the quarter that the French

were preparing to make a serious attack, some fifty poor wretches,

scarcely able to crawl, staggered from their squalid lodgings, and

begged to be allowed to take part in the defence. They were a pitiful

sight, gaunt and haggard, with ague-stricken limbs and fever-lit eyes.

They were incapable of hand-to-hand fighting; many of them were too weak

even to lift their muskets to their shoulders; but they could fire

muskets rested on window-sills and through loopholes, and Jack, gladly

as he would have spared them, was too hard-pressed to reject any aid,

however slight. A score of women came forward, offering to load muskets

for the men, and thus save time. Among them Jack recognized the lady he

had seen as he came with Tio Jorge to take over his command. He

remembered her attitude of frenzied grief; he recalled the fierce

command she had laid upon her little boy. The child was no longer with

her; the little fellow had died of fever a few days before. The poor

creature had now lost father, brothers, husband, and son, and had come

with the wild fury of a mad woman to wreak vengeance on the enemy.

About ten o'clock in the morning the French opened fire with all their

guns upon the Casa Vallejo and the barricades. Jack made what reply he

could from the roofs and windows, but the batteries were so well

screened that the fire of his men was almost wholly ineffectual. Great

gaps were soon made in the wall of the house and in the barricades, and

seeing that the attempt to hold the latter in the face of the

bombardment would entail a useless loss of life, Jack withdrew his men

behind the Casas Vega and Tobar, and held them in readiness to rush into

the houses when his mines had exploded. After two hours' bombardment

the four guns ceased fire. Immediately afterwards three parties of

French dashed forward in headlong charge. The Spaniards, who, on the

cessation of the bombardment, had sped back to their posts, met the

enemy with dauntless front. The Frenchmen in the streets fell rapidly

under a hot fire from the roof and windows of the Casa Tobar and from

the advanced barricades, but, seeing the hopelessness of continued

resistance to the overwhelming numbers opposed to him, Jack withdrew his

forces again, and sent word to the men stationed at the mines to light

their matches in readiness for firing the trains. With exultant shouts

the enemy, for the most part Poles and voltigeurs, swarmed into the

houses. Jack gave the word first at Vallejo. The fougasse exploded with

a terrific crash. It was this explosion which had interrupted Tio

Jorge's conversation in the cafe. But though not a Frenchman was left

alive in the house, the places of the dead were instantly filled by

their furious comrades, who were only kept from rushing across the

street towards the Casa Alvarez by the concentrated fire of the

Spaniards there posted.

A few minutes later the French in Tobar and Vega met with a like fate.

Jack had exploded in each case one of the arms of his Y-shaped mines,

and for the time both houses were cleared of the enemy.

But Jack had long since seen that, unless he could deal them a harder

blow than any he had recently been able to strike, he must inevitably be

swamped by superior numbers. Even though the explosions should slay a

hundred of the French to every ten of his own men, the former could be

continually replaced, while a loss to him was irreparable. He could

hold the enemy in check for the moment, but a time must come when his

gallant little force must be overwhelmed and annihilated--unless he

could effect some diversion.

His greatest danger came from these formidable batteries, to which he

could make no effective reply. Under cover of their fire the French

could at any time repeat the rush across the street by which they had

carried Tobar. Was there no way by which the guns could be silenced?

During the two hours' bombardment Jack had spent many anxious minutes in

thinking out this problem. What were the chances? The explosion of the

fougasse, followed by that of the Y mines, would not only deal immense

destruction, but would also, he hoped, have a tremendous moral effect.

Could he not make a rush for the guns while the French were demoralized

and at sixes and sevens? Would there be time to spike them? Ought he to

diminish his little force even by the minimum number of men necessary to

perform the feat? He now had no more than 180 men all told. The

French, he computed, had numbered nearly 700 at the beginning of the

day. Could he, with, say, 50 men, hope to penetrate their ranks and

return in safety?

"It must be tried," he said to himself, and from that moment bent all

his energies to ensure the success of his daring scheme. Before firing

the Y mines he collected his whole disposable force, and, amid a

breathless silence, addressed them.

"Hombres," he said, "there is one thing for us to do. The French guns

must be spiked. I will lead the way. I want fifty men to follow me.

It will be dangerous, perhaps fatal work. Who will volunteer, for

Saragossa and Spain?"

Every man held out his hand. Jack felt proud of the unswerving

patriotism and courage of his troops. The trouble was, not to accept,

but to refuse their offers. He quickly selected fifty of the strongest.

Ten of these he sent to find long nails and hammers, and they soon

returned, bearing tools of all sizes and shapes. The rest were armed

with muskets and bayonets. Jack gave as many as he could pistols in

addition.

"Now, hombres," he said, "when the mines explode, the French in the

houses will be destroyed, and those behind them dismayed. We must seize

that very moment to rush into the Casa Vega. I shall go first. You

must follow close upon me as rapidly as you can. I intend to make for

the guns. We shall spike them. We shall then rush back through the

ruins and the houses beyond the Casa Vallejo and take the French there

in the rear. Don Cristobal will still defend his barricade. Antonio

here will hold the rest of you in readiness to sweep upon the French in

Vallejo and the street. If I am overcome, and you cannot hold the

second barricades, retreat to the Casa Alvarez and fight to the death."

The Spaniards were eager to start, and almost too impatient to wait for

the explosion. When that occurred, the larger debris hurled into the

air had scarcely reached the ground before Jack, followed by his devoted

fifty, dashed through the dust that was swirling in vast eddies from the

ruins. Entering the Casa Vega by a low side doorway, almost suffocated

by the pungent fumes and the clouds of dust, they scrambled through the

ruins, springing over stones and beams, broken furniture, burning

draperies, every man taking his own course and trying to avoid impeding

his comrades. A few seconds brought them to what had been the

party-wall of the house. Bearing to the left, Jack dashed into the

charred ruins of the adjoining house, through the midst of a few

Frenchmen who, injured but not killed by the explosion, were crawling

painfully away. A glance to the right!--he saw that the next clearing

was still held by the force supporting those who had rushed the houses;

but they were in no sort of order, having scattered to seek shelter from

the beams and stones that had descended upon them as from the crater of

a volcano. A glance in front!--across the narrow street, in the wrecked

house nearest the gun, Jack saw in an instant that he had a more

formidable foe to reckon with. The French there, some 150 in number,

had not been affected materially by the explosion; but it had taken them

by surprise, and for the moment they were at a loss what they should do.

Before they could realize what was happening, a band of fifty fierce

yelling Spaniards, led by a young officer with sword in one hand and

pistol in the other, was among them. A score fell at the first onset;

the rest scattered to right and left of the Spaniards, and by the time

they had collected their wits, and perceived how small was the party

engaged in this desperate sortie, Jack and the first of his men were

already engaged with the gunners. The onslaught was so sudden, and Jack

was so intent on the work in hand, that he was scarcely conscious of

what happened until afterwards. One of the gunners, in the urgency of

the moment, picked up a linstock and raised it as a kind of club. Jack

sprang straight at him, toppled him over by the mere force of his

impact, and came upon another gunner, whose smoking musket showed that

he had just fired. Him Jack cut down; the others meanwhile fell to the

bayonets of the Spaniards. The gun was reached. Jack sped past, while

a burly Catalan, with two strokes of his huge mallet, drove a nail into

the vent. Then the whole party, diminished by half a dozen who had

fallen, swept on across the street towards the spot where stood the two

guns that commanded the Casa Vallejo.

[Illustration: Jack Leads a Forlorn Hope]

The few seconds occupied by the tussle about the first gun had given the

gunners at the other two time to form up. At the same time the French

behind Jack had recovered from their surprise and were swarming upon his

track. Would he have time to complete his work? A few bullets pattered

on the jagged remnants of walls still standing; but the French were too

much afraid of hitting their own men to fire volleys, and those who did

shoot were too flustered to take good aim. Amid a din of shouting, Jack

dashed into the ruins on the far side of the street. Some two-score men

were there drawn up ready to receive him. Fortunately they were on the

French side of the epaulement that had been thrown across the ruins.

Had they occupied the other side they could have held their assailants

at bay long enough for the reserves to come up from the direction of

Santa Engracia and take them in the rear.

In a moment the two bands met. The French were outnumbered, but for a

few seconds they held their own around the guns. Then the Spaniards

closed about them, and with their backs to the epaulement the valiant

gunners fell, to the last man.

The first gun was quickly spiked. At the other a gallant pair of

Frenchmen caused a momentary delay by their desperate defence. But they

were in turn overpowered, and fell covered with wounds. A nail was

driven home, and the hazardous exploit was complete.

But the peril was only just beginning. The sortie had been so sudden

and impetuous that even if the French had been thrice as numerous the

chances were on the side of the assailants. But they had now had time

to rally. Sixty yards of ruins lay between the breathless Spaniards and

the Casa Vallejo, which was strongly held by the French. Jack hoped

that the diversion from the Casa Alvarez would keep these sufficiently

employed; it was a race between him and the French who were now coming

up from the rear of their position. For an instant he thought of

retaining a few of his men and attempting to check the pursuit while the

remainder ran on and stormed the French in Vallejo. But he saw in a

flash that this exposed him to the danger of being headed off by the

enemy, who would make greater speed along the comparatively clear street

than he could make through the ruins. Without a moment's hesitation he

bade his men run for their lives. That he was right was proved at once.

Stalwart Poles and little voltigeurs were swarming along the roadway;

Jack could see them through the gaps in the ruined walls, and hear them

as they dashed along out of sight parallel with his own men. Would they

outrun him? Would they succeed in joining hands with their countrymen

in Vallejo, and meet him in such force that his own gallant band, now

diminished by half, would fall a helpless prey to them?

There broke out at this instant, ahead of him, a pandemonium of cries,

which seemed too great to proceed even from the mingled horde of French

and Spanish in Vallejo. The foremost of his men were now at grips there

with the enemy. He dashed into the house, and found a desperate combat

in progress there, but was surprised to see no Frenchmen upon his flank.

He had expected to find those who had rushed along the road now pouring

into the house through the gap in the walls. But the French in the

house were engaged on two sides; on one side by Jack's own party, on the

other by the second sortie-party, under Antonio's command. That was not

all. Amid the din Jack heard the stentorian voice of Jorge Arcos

shouting words of encouragement to his men and of obloquy to the French;

immediately afterwards the bellow of Tio Jorge echoed through the ruins.

Jack understood now what had so suddenly checked the French in the

street. How the great mob-leaders had come upon the scene he knew not;

it was sufficient that they had come in the nick of time. They had

evidently manned the nearest barricade, and, battered as that had been,

it was good enough yet to afford a strong defence. With a sense of

relief Jack threw himself into the midst of the fray; in a few moments

the French in Vallejo were accounted for. Emerging into the street,

Jack saw his bulky friend chasing the French back towards the spiked

gun. The sudden sally over the barricade, when they least expected it,

and when their ranks were in the disorder of pursuit, had been too much

for the enemy. They gave way before Tio Jorge's impetuous rush; then,

as Jack, with a feeling of elation that once more the enemy were foiled,

arrived at the barricade, he heard Jorge Arcos shout to his men to

retire, and they came pelting back, followed by a few wild shots from

the discomfited French.

"Viva la Espana! Viva Saragossa! Viva el Senor Ingles! Viva Tio

Jorge!"

The air rang with the jubilant shouts of the Spaniards, panting,

dishevelled, many of them utterly exhausted. A strange calm succeeded

the turmoil. Scarcely a live Frenchman was now to be seen; the ground

was strewn with dead, and with wounded whom Jack did not dare to remove.

He knew that the lull could only be temporary; the French would

undoubtedly send for reinforcements. After their successive checks they

would not be content until they could bring absolutely crushing force to

bear upon the obstinate defenders. The crisis was still to come, and

Jack, after warmly congratulating Tio Jorge and Jorge Arcos, as well as

Antonio, on the brilliant success they had done so much to bring about,

returned to the Casa Alvarez to concert means of meeting the most

formidable attack of all.

Before he reached the house he saw a girl flying towards him, her

mantilla streaming behind.

"Oh, Jack, Jack," she cried, "I thought you would be killed!"

"Juanita!" he exclaimed. "But you should not be here. It is no place

for you. You ought not to have run into danger. Come back with me at

once."

"I came to help. I will help! Tia Teresa died last night; I have no

one now. I can do something. And you--you are hurt! Oh, Jack, you are

covered with blood! Come, come, at once, let me do something for you."

"I didn't know it," said Jack simply. He brushed his hand across his

brow; it was smeared with blood. Looking at his coat he saw blood

trickling through a rent in the sleeve. "It's nothing," he said. "I

don't feel a scratch. If you must help, Juanita--and it is brave of

you,--why, there are many others who need attention more than I."

"You first, Jack. Come at once; I insist! How can you lead your men if

you are blinded with blood? Jack, you are doing grandly; it is

splendid!"

"You are right, Senorita," put in Tio Jorge, who had come up with them.

"All the men say the English Senor is a hero, and, por Dios! the French

will never get the better of him."

By this time they had reached the house, where Juanita insisted on

bathing and binding up Jack's wounds before she attended to any of the

others. Jorge Arcos had been slightly wounded in the dash across the

barricade, and afterwards Jack remembered, with a strange glow, the

roughly-expressed gratitude of the savage innkeeper as Juanita tenderly

assisted him.

While she went about on her errand of mercy, Jack consulted with his

lieutenants. The new-comers recognized him unhesitatingly as their

leader, and declared that they would remain with him and support him to

the utmost of their power. None doubted that the next fight would be

the most terrible of all; it was only a question how long an interval

would elapse before it came. The Spaniards had lost some forty men

since the morning; they were all on the verge of collapse; only Don

Cristobal's men, who had been unmolested at the Vega barricade, were for

the moment fit for active work.

To ascertain the movements of the French, Jack went with Tio Jorge and

Jorge Arcos to the roof of the Casa Hontanon, that adjoined the empty

shell of Vallejo. From that coign of vantage they could overlook the

whole district. After a time they saw in the distance a compact body of

some 200 men approaching through the ruins from the direction of the

Franciscan convent. With great difficulty they were dragging a gun over

the heaps of obstacles. It must have been taken from one of the

batteries now mounted near the Coso. Slowly they approached; nearly an

hour elapsed between their first appearance and the placing of the gun

at the end of the street facing the Tobar barricade, on the same spot

whence the spiked gun had been withdrawn.

As soon as the gun was fairly in position, a renewal of the bombardment

of the barricade was commenced, and the sound of heavy shots showed that

an attack was being simultaneously made on the Vega barricade.

"We can't hold Vallejo any longer," said Jack. "We shall be cut off

from support."

"Not so, Senor," said Arcos at once. "I will hold it with twenty men.

If the French capture it, our flank will be at their mercy."

"But if the French attack in force you cannot escape."

"Caramba, Senor! What does that matter? A man must die, and I vow I'd

rather die fighting for Saragossa than of fever in the cellars--or of

rage in a French prison."

"You are a true son of Spain, hombre," exclaimed Jack, and the gleam in

Arcos's eyes showed that he wished for no higher praise. "The

barricades, now--it is useless to attempt to repair them?"

"Si, Senor," replied Tio Jorge, "but we can fill up the breaches with

sacks and baskets of earth, if we push them out from the sides of the

street."

"Very well. Will you see that that is done?"

Tio Jorge instantly departed on his errand. Arcos had already gone to

select his twenty men for the perilous post in the ruins of Vallejo.

At half-past three in the afternoon the French cannonade suddenly

ceased. Jack had placed his men in position, but as he saw that nearly

a thousand men were being launched against scarcely more than two

hundred, he felt that even the desperate valour of his patriotic troops

could not prevail against such odds. But it never occurred to him, or

to a single member of his gallant force, that there was any alternative

to the one simple course--to hold on to the end. Palafox had entrusted

him with the defence of that quarter; he would defend it to the last

gasp, and he knew that no British officer in the same situation would

have come to any other conclusion.

The attack had begun. In the two streets the French were rushing ten

abreast at the barricades. In the ruins approaching Vega and Vallejo

their formation was necessarily broken, but they swept forward with a

dash and a courage which Jack, remembering their former failures, could

not but regard as magnificent. The front ranks seemed to melt away

under the fire of the defenders, who, well disciplined by their long

experience, fired calmly and with deadly accuracy, wasting no powder,

and watching the French advance in seeming unconcern. But though the

enemy fell by scores, there was no halting now. They swarmed up to and

through the breached barricades, and ran a race with death towards the

grim skeletons of the shattered houses. For a few seconds there was a

tense silence; the majority of the defenders had discharged their pieces

and were either reloading or preparing to repel with the bayonet. Then

the opposing forces met; there was a sudden babel of noise, steel

clashing against steel, pistols cracking, men shouting fiercely in their

several tongues, and some crying out in the agony of death. The street

was narrow; for a time the French could make but little impression on

the unbroken front opposed to them, but Jack, from his post on the roof

of Hontanon, saw that it was now a question of the most desperate close

fighting. As soon as the head of the attacking column was lost to view

beneath him, he hurried down to take his part in the tremendous

struggle.

It was as he had feared. As soon as the French swarmed over the Vallejo

barricade, the Casa Vallejo and its garrison became completely isolated.

At the moment of his arrival a furious fight was proceeding at the inner

barricade. The French charge, led by a gigantic Polish officer, had

driven the Spaniards behind their last defence and threatened to

dislodge them from that. Jack at once summoned twenty men from the

reserve stationed at the Casa Alvarez, and with them threw himself into

the breach, where, amid fragments of beams, displaced sacks and baskets

of earth, and the debris of part of the wall of Vallejo thrown down by

the explosion of the fougasse, a stern hand-to-hand fight was being

waged. It was almost impossible, in the turmoil and rush, to

distinguish friends from foes, but in the centre of the human whirlpool

the huge form of the Polish officer was conspicuous. He was wielding a

large bar of iron, which he had picked up among the ruins, and even at

that moment Jack marvelled at the man's immense strength. Disdaining

the blows aimed at him by men who looked mere pigmies beside him, he was

step by step forcing a way through the barricade towards the open space

fronting the Casa Alvarez. Jack, with his reinforcements, had arrived

not a moment too soon. As he pushed through towards the spot where the

deadly iron, wielded with as much ease as though it had been a malacca

cane, rose and fell with fatal regularity, the onward rush of the French

was stayed for a moment. Another second would have brought the two

leaders together; but Jack was not yet to cross weapons with the Pole.

At the very instant when they came within striking distance there was a

terrible crash; Pole and Englishman started instinctively. A huge mass

of masonry had fallen from Vallejo upon the outer barricade, into the

midst of the crowded ranks of the Frenchmen, of whom a score at least

were buried beneath the ruins. Even above the clash of weapons, the

shouts of the combatants, and the groans of the wounded, a shrill

mocking voice could be heard exulting in the deadly effect of the

avalanche, and raining frantic curses upon the French. In the moment of

surprise the enemy gave way. Glancing up, Jack saw the figure of the

madwoman, the demented Dona Mercedes Ortega, giddily poised upon a

jagged corner of masonry that threatened every instant to follow the

rest into the street below. The poor creature had seen from the Casa

Alvarez that the outer wall of Vallejo had been so breached that a push

would precipitate it into the street upon the barricade. Escaping from

Juanita's detaining hand, as Jack afterwards learnt, she had crept from

the roof of the Casa Hontanon on to the wall of Vallejo; had leapt from

point to point of the uneven summit, reached the corner overlooking the

street, and with the strength of frenzy had pushed the masonry down,

working more havoc among the enemy than had been wrought by many an

elaborately-prepared mine.

While she stood on her precarious eminence, wildly gesticulating in her

insane triumph, there was the report of a musket from down the street.

She swayed for a brief moment upon the crumbling wall, uttered one

heart-rending shriek of "Juanino!" and fell lifeless upon the ruins

below.

The interruption was but momentary. At the instant when the hapless

Dona Mercedes fell, Jorge Arcos, desperately wounded, struggled from the

ruins of Vallejo, followed by half a dozen of his men, all showing

terrible signs of the struggle they had made to hold the position. While

a portion of Jack's force continued their gallant attempt to repel the

French from the barricade, the rest swarmed into the house, only to be

driven out again with heavy loss by the enemy, who, backed by a large

force in the ruins, had now an overwhelming superiority in numbers. In

the street the gigantic Pole, swept away from before Jack, returned to

the attack at the head of a compact band of his compatriots, and the

Spaniards, still fighting furiously, were driven back inch by inch

through the gap in the barricade, their retirement being hastened by

shots from the walls of the Casa Tobar, which, together with its

neighbour, the ruined Casa Vega, had fallen into French hands. Save for

the Casa Alvarez and the surrounding streets, the whole of the quarter

towards Santa Engracia had now been captured, and Jack, extricating

himself from the melee, saw that it was time to play his last card.

"Senor," said Antonio, running up at this moment, "Don Cristobal sends

me to say that he still holds his barricade, but that he will not be

able to do so for more than a few minutes longer."

"You are the man I want, Antonio," replied Jack. "Run to the Casa

Alvarez, send every man of the reserve to me, and go into the cellars

and fire the last of our mines. Don't wait; do it at once."

Antonio, who was almost unrecognizable from his wounds, at once returned

to the house. Immediately afterwards the remnant of the reserve dashed

out, and threw themselves into the fray with a vigour which for a moment

checked the enemy's advance. A few seconds later there came the

deafening crash which Jack expected. Huge fragments of the walls of the

houses were projected into the street, injuring a few of the Spaniards

who were still tenaciously defending the extremities of the inner

Vallejo barricade, but working fearful havoc among the French between

the two barricades and in the street beyond. Volumes of blinding smoke

poured from the shattered houses, into which, at Jack's order, Antonio

rushed with a party of men. He himself, calling on the rest of his

troops to follow him, sprang through the barricade, leading an impetuous

charge against the distraught enemy. Even as he did so he heard the

strident voice of Santiago Sass behind him, urging on the men, and

shouting Latin words of denunciation and triumph. Dismayed by their

repeated failures, appalled at the apparent inexhaustibility of the

defenders' resources, the French were now giving way like sheep, in

spite of all the exertions, example, and admonition of their officers.

The big Pole, carried away in the rush towards the outer barricade,

there turned and lifted his iron bar to deliver a crushing blow at Jack,

who was just behind him. The fraction of a second occupied by his

wheeling round cost him his life. Before the blow could fall, Jack

closed with him and ran him through the body.

Meanwhile the French in Vallejo, some of whom had been hurt by portions

of the flying masonry, had caught the infection of panic, evacuated the

position, and fled helter-skelter across the ruins. Jack saw the danger

of allowing his men to become widely scattered in pursuit. Stopping at

the outer barricade, he ordered his men to withdraw, in spite of the

frenzied imprecations of Santiago Sass, who would have thrown himself

single-handed against a host. The Spaniards retired slowly; they were

clearly indisposed to relinquish the pursuit, though all were well-nigh

spent, and some, indeed, when the excitement had subsided, dropped their

weapons and fell beside them on the ground. At length the whole of the

force was withdrawn behind the inner barricade.

Jack stood there panting, wondering how long respite he would have

before the French came on again, when he heard his name called from

behind, and, turning, saw Juanita running towards him.

"Go back!" he cried; "for God's sake, go back, Juanita! This is no

place for you."

"A white flag, Jack! a white flag!"

"What do you mean?"

"A man is coming round the corner of the street with a white flag. I

saw him from a window."

"What! Another regiment coming to attack us!"

"No, it is not a regiment. It is one man carrying a small white flag,

and another, an officer, walking by his side. Oh, it must be a flag of

truce, Jack! See, there he is, turning the corner of the street."

It was as she said. Above the epaulement protecting the French gun at

the end of the street a white flag was held aloft. A moment afterwards

the Frenchman bearing it stepped into the street, and, accompanied by an

officer, began to approach Jack's position, picking his way among the

debris and the bodies of the slain.

"I must go to meet him," said Jack. "Have you anything to match his

flag, Juanita? I've nothing fit to be seen."

Juanita handed him her handkerchief. Tying this to a musket, Jack gave

his extemporized flag to one of his men, and walked down the street to

meet the Frenchman.

*CHAPTER XXIX*

*French Leave*

Overtures--Capitulation--Prisoners of War--Colonel de Ferrusat--In

Tudela--Personally Conducted--Adding Insult to Injury--Quos ego--Before

a Fall--Out of Bondage

Meeting midway down the street, the officers courteously saluted each

other.

"I come with a flag of truce, Senor," said the Frenchman in very bad

Spanish.

"I understand French, monsieur," replied Jack with a slight smile, which

the other returned. The Frenchman continued, speaking now in French:

"Marshal Lannes has given the order to cease fire, and has sent an

aide-de-camp into the town to discuss terms of capitulation."

It was impossible not to feel an unutterable sense of relief. But Jack

gave no sign of it to the Frenchman.

"Can you give me any particulars?" he said.

"Yes, monsieur, certainly. Last night General Palafox sent his

aide-de-camp to ask our marshal for a three days' truce, and asking

impossible terms. These, of course, were refused, and the fighting was

resumed. But your people seem now to be more amenable to reason, and,

to tell you the truth, monsieur, I have great hopes that this very

afternoon the end of this most lamentable siege will come. It is, of

course, impossible and useless for your people to continue the

struggle."

"That, monsieur, is a matter for our general to determine."

"Allons, allons, monsieur! You have made a brave defence, but you are

being driven in at all points, and it can only be a matter of a few

hours before we capture your whole city."

"I can only speak for myself, monsieur," said Jack quietly; "but it is

now nearly three weeks since I had the honour to be appointed to this

quarter. I am now, monsieur, where I was then."

The French officer smiled, and bowing, half-ceremoniously,

half-humorously, said:

"Pardon my oversight. Permit me, monsieur, to offer my congratulations

to a so gallant foe."

After an exchange of courtesies, Jack returned to his men, who had

watched the scene with mingled excitement and distrust.

"Hombres," he said, "a truce is proclaimed. There will be no more

fighting for the present."

"Thank God!" exclaimed Juanita. "That means that we shall capitulate at

last."

"Capitulate!" cried Santiago Sass. "Never, hombres! To the Aljafferia

palace with me! Never will we surrender--never! never!"

But none followed him save Tio Jorge. No sooner had he gone than a

tremendous explosion occurred near the University. Some French engineer

officers, who had not heard of the cessation of hostilities, exploded a

mine, and the jet of stones ascended to such a height that it was

visible to the whole town. Crowds of people rushed towards the

Aljafferia palace, crying for vengeance on the treacherous French, and

demanding that the French envoy, at that moment in consultation with the

Junta, should be instantly put to death. He was only saved from being

torn in pieces, by the intervention of some Spanish officers with drawn

swords, and by a message from the French marshal expressing regret for

the unfortunate accident. Marshal Lannes' message to the Junta was

peremptory. He allowed two hours for deputies to be sent him with full

powers to arrange a capitulation. The news was brought to Jack by Tio

Jorge, whose weather-beaten face was expressive of the deepest

dejection.

The interval was spent in anxious suspense. Juanita went from one to

another of Jack's wounded men, doing all that was possible to ease their

sufferings. It was her tender ministry that soothed the last moments of

big Jorge Arcos, who was past recovery, and who died breathing words of

thankfulness.

Later in the evening Jack learnt the result of the negotiations. The

Spanish deputies had again tried to extort impossible terms from Marshal

Lannes, but his most effective reply was to unroll before them a plan of

his mines, from which they saw that the centre of the city was in

imminent danger of being blown to atoms. After this the discussion was

short. Jack had to inform his gallant but exhausted men that the

garrison was to march out next morning and deliver up their arms. All

who would not take the oath of allegiance to King Joseph were to be sent

as prisoners to France. He pointed out that the terms were on the whole

lenient. The French knew how to respect a brave enemy. And he did not

fail to impress upon the men that, so far as they personally were

concerned, they could always remember that nowhere else throughout the

city had the defence been more stoutly maintained or more successful.

This recollection would sweeten whatever was bitter in the surrender.

When the men had accepted the inevitable, and the quarter had settled

down, Jack found time for a serious consultation with Juanita. Now that

her aunt was dead, there was nothing to fetter her movements. Jack had

found a number of respectable farming people who would return, after the

capitulation, to their homes in the direction of Calatayud, and had

arranged that Juanita should accompany them. He explained to Pepito

what was required of him--that he should go with the Senorita, and never

leave her except at her own command. Once more he assured Juanita that

within a week, by hook or by crook, he would rejoin her. Then, late at

night, he accompanied her back to her lodging, and took leave of her in

a spirit of unbounded hopefulness.

Next morning the last scene of this great siege was enacted. At

daybreak all the posts around the city were occupied by the French. At

noon the French troops were drawn up in order of battle on the Aragon

road, holding lighted matches in readiness to prevent any attempt of the

Spaniards to break loose. Then the garrison marched out. Jack never

forgot the sad and touching spectacle. With Don Cristobal and other

officers he stood, under guard of a detachment of the 5th Leger

regiment, near the Portillo Gate, and witnessed the whole scene as the

mixed column, soldiers and peasants, defiled past. It was a motley

crowd. There were young and old, some in uniform, others in peasant

rags. Even the most ragged had tried to smarten up their appearance by

tying bright-coloured sashes round their waists. Their large round

hats, surmounted with feathers, and their brown ponchos flung over their

shoulders, made their very tatters picturesque. Their pale emaciated

features were scorched, and scarred with wounds. Many had long black

matted beards. All had been so much weakened by disease and privation

that they could scarcely stagger along under the weight of their

weapons. Some were smoking cigarillos, and affecting an air of proud

indifference to their fate; others took no pains to conceal their rage,

but ground their teeth and glared out of their gleaming haggard eyes at

the enemy they had withstood so long. Women and children were mingled

with them, and these wept bitterly, and, flinging themselves on their

knees before the effigy of Our Lady in the gate, prayed for solace in

their affliction. The whole population numbered but 15,000 souls;

nearly four times that number had perished during the two months of the

siege.

The scene was closed by the warriors delivering up their arms and flags,

many of them then being unable to refrain from tears and violent cries

of rage and despair. Within the city the victorious French had now begun

to plunder the houses and churches of all the valuables left in them.

At the Aljafferia Castle, Palafox, ill as he was, had been brutally

treated by a French colonel, appointed temporary governor of Saragossa.

Jack learnt long afterwards that even before the brave captain-general

had recovered from his illness he was carried off to France, where

Napoleon, instead of treating him as a prisoner of war, with the

generosity due to a chivalrous foe, chose to regard him as a traitor,

and kept him for several years a captive in the gloomy keep of the

Chateau of Vincennes.

Jack himself was more fortunate. Along with Don Cristobal and other

officers he fell at first into the more kindly hands of the captain who

had brought him the flag of truce. He remained in the French camp for

two days after the capitulation, and was able to assure himself that

Juanita had got safely away. Meanwhile the main body of the garrison

had already been put in motion for France. On the 23rd Jack's own turn

came. He took a friendly farewell of the French captain who had been

responsible for him, and who was in entire ignorance that he had an

Englishman, not a Spaniard, to deal with. His last sight of Saragossa

was made terrible by a scene he witnessed as he set out among a large

company of officers and men, defenceless prisoners. They passed a spot

where two Spaniards in priests' robes stood upright against a wall,

opposite a firing-party of French. As the volley rang out, Jack

recognized the victims of this act of cold-blooded murder; they were Don

Basilio Bogiero and Santiago Sass.

Monsieur le Colonel Hilaire Maxime Lucien de Ferussat, of the 121st

regiment of the line, felt pardonably annoyed when he found that his

corps, or what remained of it, had been selected, with another of

Morlot's regiments, to escort the Spanish prisoners to Bayonne. The

duty involved hard marching, and brought no glory, and Glory, as he was

never tired of declaiming at his mess-table, was the sole object for

which every true Frenchman should live and die. He had not

distinguished himself very greatly in the operations of the siege;

indeed it was whispered among his fellow-officers, who did not love him,

that his selection for the escort duty was by no means a mark of Marshal

Lannes' favour. He himself, however, seemed quite unconscious of

everything except that he had a grievance in being thus shunted for some

weeks off the highroad to fame, and, as was only to be expected, the

wretched prisoners in his charge bore the brunt of his displeasure.

They were physically incapable of prolonged marches, but that was

nothing to monsieur le colonel. He was determined to reach Bayonne as

soon as possible. He played the drover with the unfortunate Spaniards,

and many of them succumbed to fatigue and illness on the road. The men

of his escort, adopting his attitude, and themselves resenting the

rapidity of the march after all their hardships, were in no mood to

spare the wretches committed to their charge, and many a prod with the

butt-end of a musket, or the more lethal bayonet, quickened the steps of

laggards until they could endure no longer, but dropped and died.

Mounted on a fine Andalusian charger, Colonel de Ferussat rode up and

down the line, roundly abusing the non-commissioned officers of his

party whenever he saw any tendency to straggling among the prisoners.

"Peste!" he said to one sergeant, in charge of a herd of some 200

miserable skeletons; "if you value your chevrons you will step out more

briskly. No more of this lagging, or, saprelotte! I'll reduce you." A

moment or two later he turned to the captain of a company: "How long,

monsieur le capitaine," he cried, "how long do you propose to spend in

herding these pigs of Spaniards? Your men are dawdling as if they were

sweethearting in the Bois."

Such remarks caused a quickening all along the column until the lost

ground was made up. With such a commander it was not surprising that

the men took short measures to save themselves trouble. Many a prisoner

who found the pace too fast, and sank down with a groan, was spared

further suffering. One bullet was usually enough.

Late in the afternoon of the second day after leaving Saragossa, Colonel

de Ferussat's column wound its way into Tudela, a place held in bitter

memory by those of the prisoners who had formed part of Castanos' army

on the fatal 23rd of November. The scared inhabitants sullenly

submitted to having the prisoners, with their guards, quartered upon

them. Every building of any pretensions was occupied; but the smaller

houses were left, for monsieur le colonel had a wholesome dread of

scattering his men too widely.

Colonel de Ferussat took up his quarters in the Plaza de Toros. His

chagrin was somewhat mollified when he found that under the same roof

was lodged no less a personage than General Chabot, who was on his way

southward to rejoin his division, operating under General Gouvion de

Saint-Cyr in Catalonia. The colonel thought a good deal of generals,

for did he not expect to be a general himself some day? When,

therefore, on entering the house, he found General Chabot himself

lolling at ease, his coat thrown open and his jack-boots unlaced, he

saluted with an air of unction, and prepared to make himself amiable.

"Bonsoir, monsieur le general!" he said, sweeping his plumed hat at a

radius of a yard.

"Bonsoir, colonel!" responded the general. "En route for France, I

presume?"

"Yes, monsieur le general, and with the most paltry set of prisoners a

French officer ever had. As scarecrows they'd disgrace any farmer's

field in La Beauce."

"Ah! I had heard from some of your predecessors on the road about the

end of the siege. I wonder at such a rabble being able to hold out so

long."

"Rabble indeed, monsieur le general. But there! what are Spaniards but

rabble! If you had only seen them three months ago, when the marshal

whipped them at this very spot!"

"You were at the battle, colonel?"

"Ma foi!" ejaculated the colonel, "I was indeed present on that amusing

day."

"I shall be glad to hear something of the fight--if you can spare time,

colonel."

"You honour me by the request. Would you care to ride over the field

with me? We have time before it is dark."

"Certainly; I shall understand the details so much the more clearly if I

see the actual site."

In a few minutes the two officers were riding side by side over the

battle-field, on which many grim tokens of the struggle lay scattered.

Striking into the road that led from the village in a south-westerly

direction, between olive groves and stone fences, they passed the hill

of Santa Quiteria, where the Spanish centre, under San March and

O'Neill, had been so cleverly outflanked by Maurice Mathieu, and arrived

at length at Cascante, the extreme left of the Spanish position, where

La Pena, with characteristic stupidity, had remained inactive throughout

the fight. Then, retracing their course, they turned to the left, and

rode past the spot where Colbert had held his cavalry until the pursuit

began. Leaving Tudela on their right, they came within sight of the

Cerro de Santa Barbara, where Roca had been so brilliantly outmanoeuvred

by General Morlot.

General Chabot had been so eager to obtain a comprehensive view of the

whole scene of action that he had set a quick pace, which the colonel

found rather discommoding to his rotundity. But he bore it all without

a murmur, for he was deeply imbued with the importance of paying

becoming deference to the higher powers. He was, however, somewhat

blown and heated when he pulled up at a large house near the Ebro,

commanding an excellent view of the Cerro de Santa Barbara and the

country whence Morlot had delivered his attack. Round two sides of the

house ran a veranda, the roof being supported by light pillars resting

on a low balustrade. Beneath the veranda stood a group of Spanish

officers. They had just marched in, and were awaiting the preparation

of the interior of the building, which was being got ready for them. A

sentry with fixed bayonet was stationed at the corner of the veranda,

and a squad of some twenty men had piled arms in the open plaza beyond.

An equal number of Frenchmen were inside the house.

"A capital horse of yours, colonel!" said the general admiringly, as

they reined up just outside the balustrade. "Mine is wheezing a little,

you observe, while yours is hardly breathed."

"It is an excellent beast indeed," panted De Ferussat, with a gratified

smile. "I got it from a ridiculous old Spanish nobleman at Pamplona,

months ago--at a low figure, I assure you; hi! hi! But look, monsieur

le general, it was out there"--he pointed towards the Ebro--"that we

first came in touch with these cowardly curs of Spaniards."

He made no attempt to moderate his voice. Every word was clearly

audible to the gaunt group in the veranda, and some of them looked with

a glare of impotent rage at the ill-mannered officer. As if to obtain a

clearer view of the field he edged his horse up to the balustrade, and

continued his narrative.

"There were about 50,000 of them, but we had at least half that number,

so that there was not much doubt of the issue. The more Spaniards in

the field, monsieur le general, the more there are to run away. Hi!

hi!"

He laughed, a harsh grating cackle of satisfaction that made several of

the Spaniards behind him turn livid with wrath. General Chabot, to whom

his remarks were ostensibly addressed, seemed ill at ease. Like most of

Napoleon's lieutenants, he was a rough-and-ready soldier, but he at any

rate had a genuine Frenchman's respect for a gallant foe, and he was

reluctant to connive, even tacitly, at De Ferussat's gross insult to

helpless prisoners. But, all unconscious of the contempt with which his

superior officer was beginning to regard him, the colonel continued:

"Our division, you observe, was posted behind the Cerro de Santa Barbara

yonder. There were thousands of Spaniards on the summit. Behold how

steep the slope! Imagine their marvellous bravery! Ma foi, monsieur,

but courage is indeed magnificent at the top of a hill! Hi! hi! They

plumed themselves that we could not get at them. But mark, monsieur le

general, that was a mistake--oh! trifling, but a mistake all the same.

Why? There were French at the bottom. I was there, monsieur. To me

turns General Morlot, and says: 'De Ferussat, mon ami, your battalion

will take that hill.' A word--parbleu! and at a word the thing is done.

Do you see, monsieur le general, that narrow cleft on the hillside?

Voila! That is where we climbed up, I and my men." The general glanced

somewhat incredulously at the protuberant figure beside him. "It was

unguarded, and before the Spaniards knew what was happening, behold! we

are upon them. A few minutes, then pouf!--General Roca's division is

pouring past the spot where we are now standing, squeezing through the

streets of the city on to the Saragossa road. Farther to the left

yonder, General Lefebvre-Desnouettes--alas that he is now a

prisoner!--broke the enemy's centre with his cavalry; and presto! the

other Spanish generals were kissing the heels of Roca's braves, off to

Saragossa. Tredame! how these Spaniards can run when there is a French

bayonet behind them! It was laughable, truly a comedy, a farce. I

laugh always when I think of it. Hi! hi!"

Colonel de Ferussat's recollections had once more overcome his gravity;

but the first strident notes of his cackle had barely had time to

lacerate the ears of the prisoners when there was a slight commotion

behind him. Even while his mouth was agape he felt a powerful grip upon

his collar, and in a twinkling he was turning a complete somersault from

the saddle to the balustrade, and thence to the floor of the veranda.

While he had been delivering himself of his double-edged reminiscences a

young Spanish officer, unobtrusively detaching himself from the group,

had moved quietly to within striking distance of the sentry on guard,

who was listening with open-mouthed appreciation. Disposing of him with

a single knock-down blow, the officer had leapt upon the balustrade and

hurled the fat colonel from his seat.

As De Ferussat rebounded from the balustrade, his steed, naturally

nervous at this unusual experience, started aside, and the reins were

jerked from the Frenchman's grip. In an instant the young officer threw

himself into the vacant saddle, and as the horse, now thoroughly

alarmed, dashed madly forward, its new rider just succeeded in grasping

the reins short at the neck, and clung to his seat by the sheer muscular

grip of his knees.

The whole incident had passed rapidly, but General Chabot, with the

readiness of an old campaigner, bent forward to clutch the near rein of

the maddened horse. His own horse swerving at the critical moment, he

missed his grip and himself almost overbalanced, and though he at once

spurred his charger into a gallop, endeavouring to unbutton the holsters

containing his pistols, the fugitive had gained at least twenty yards

before the pursuer's horse settled into its stride.

Jack almost shouted with glee as he lay forward on his horse's neck and

got his feet into the stirrups, expecting every moment that a hail of

bullets would come flying after him. But, hearing the clatter of the

general's horse behind, he lifted himself and laughed, and began to hum

a song he remembered Shirley was fond of:

"Oh, who will o'er the downs so free,

Oh, who will with me ride,

Oh, who will up and follow me--"

The general was up and following him, but he cared nothing for that.

Not a shade of misgiving crossed his exultation. While the general

pursued him he was safe. The group of French soldiers in the square had

rushed to their arms, but were unable to fire, for General Chabot was

between them and the fugitive. Colonel de Ferussat, purple to the verge

of apoplexy, was spluttering with rage and pain, intensified by the

evident delight of the Spanish officers, who, forgetting that they were

in the man's power, were openly laughing at him. In the street,

meanwhile, soldiers and civilians alike cleared out of the way of the

dashing horsemen, not realizing at first what had happened. When they

did understand, Jack was beyond their reach. He could not stop to

choose his course. He urged his steed straight along the road, out at

the north gate of the town, into the country of vineyard and olive

grove, gaining on his pursuer, even steadying his horse somewhat when he

found that the beautiful and spirited animal had the heels of the

general's charger. Chabot must have recognized this, but with dogged

pertinacity he held on for nearly two miles, only desisting from the

chase when he found that his horse was failing. Then he discharged his

pistol; the shot flew wide. Jack turned on the saddle and swept off his

sombrero in ironical salutation; and as the Frenchman drew rein, Jack

jogged the heaving flanks of his steed with his spurless boots, and

cantered gaily off into the dusk.

*CHAPTER XXX*

*The Whip Hand*

No Thoroughfare--A Mountain Inn--A Night with Guerrilleros--The Parting

Guest--A Little Dinner--Antonio in Command--A Night Surprise--On the

Latch--Mars and Bacchus--The Festive Board--Monsieur Taberne off Duty--A

Toast--The Score--Crowded Moments--A Fight in the Glade--Quietus

Nothing ever gave Jack more pleasure to remember than that ride from

Tudela. The scent of spring was in the air, birds were twittering ere

they tucked themselves up for the night, and under him was a beautiful

horse, whose easy swinging motion was a double joy after so many weeks

of hardship and confinement.

"It is good to be alive," he thought, as he rode on, humming gaily.

"And now what am I to do?"

He had only the vaguest idea of the country. He was riding north-west

from Tudela. The red glow of sunset was fading on his left hand.

Calatayud, where he hoped to find Juanita, was far to the south-west.

Now that he was quite clear of pursuit, his best plan, he thought, would

be to double on his track, and, while avoiding Tudela, and any other

place likely to hold a French garrison, to make his way back again

towards Saragossa, keeping somewhat west of the highway until he struck

the road between that city and Calatayud.

"But it will not do to go too far west," he thought, "or I shall get

among the mountains, and then goodness knows when I'll find my way out

again."

Cautiously enquiring his way at cottages along the road, he arrived in

about three hours at the outskirts of the township of Agreda. It was

necessary to pass through the place. He thought it more than likely

that the French would have a garrison there, for the mountain ranges

beyond were the haunt of several guerrilla bands which the enemy were

making spirited but ineffectual efforts to keep in check. He therefore

rode in, with one pistol cocked in his right hand, and the holster of

the other unbuttoned, in readiness for any emergency.

The moon was rising, and Jack, as he passed through the principal

street, noticed that narrow lanes led out from it on both sides,

presumably towards the vineyards with which the surrounding valley was

covered. His horse trod silently on the roadway, owing to a thick bed

of last year's leaves placed upon it by the people, for the purpose of

making manure. There was no light in any of the houses; everybody

appeared to have retired to rest, and Jack was congratulating himself on

having reached the last house, when he came suddenly upon five mounted

French carabineers, with drawn swords, blocking the street. They had

apparently just come into the town from the other end, on a

reconnoitring expedition. They saw him at the same moment, and with a

shout dashed forward. With only his two pistols to rely on, Jack chose

the discreet part, and instantly wheeled his horse round to the right

into one of the lanes, in which there was no more than space for one

rider to pass. It was a steep ascent, and his horse, gallantly

breasting the hill, showed signs of fatigue natural after the long

distance already travelled. Something must be done to check the

pursuit, for if the Frenchmen had fresh horses they were bound to run

him down as soon as they drew out of the lane Springing from his horse

where the path opened into the vineyards, he fired at the leading man,

who was within a few yards of him, and then, with some compunction,

discharged his second pistol at the trooper's horse. It fell. There

was a cry, followed by confused shouts. Jack quietly remounted, and

threaded his way through the vineyards, bearing to the left until he

struck a road that appeared to lead in the direction he wished to go. He

looked cautiously about, in case his recent assailants had belonged to a

scattered party. Finding no trace of an enemy, he sped on his way.

The road was rocky and uneven, winding among the hills, which showed

bare and ghostly in the increasing moonlight. After riding on for some

six or seven miles, wondering where he was going and how long his horse

would hold out, he was passing by the brink of a ravine overhung by a

dark wall of rock, when in a narrow cleft to the right he fancied he saw

a glimmer of artificial light. At once dismounting, he led his horse

towards it, carefully picking his way over the rough ground. At the end

of the narrow defile he came to a venta of rough-hewn stone, with large

casements, all of which were closed with wooden shutters. The light he

had seen proceeded from a round knot-hole in the shutter of one of the

rooms on the ground-floor. The hole was higher than his head.

Remounting, he drew his horse sideways to the house, and, stooping, put

his eye to the peep-hole. He saw a spacious room, part kitchen, part

dining-room, and part dormitory, to judge from the dirty mattresses

spread here and there on the floor. In the centre of the wall to the

right was an immense chimney-piece, where a pile of pine-logs were

crackling and blazing merrily. Over the fire two huge black kettles

were suspended, and in front a long iron spit, garnished with fowls and

goats'-flesh, was turned by a miserable-looking dog, which, perched

against the wall in a wooden barrel, must have suffered both from the

heat and from the tread-mill work it was forced to do.

Opposite the fire, at a more comfortable distance, Jack saw a large

table, around which, seated on benches, crippled chairs, and upturned

casks, a score or more of men were beguiling the time, till supper

should be ready, by frequent applications to the wine-jug. A glance at

their dress was sufficient to inform Jack of their condition. They wore

short tight-fitting jackets, low-crowned black hats with the brim looped

up on one side, breeches fastened at the knee with coloured ribbons, and

long leather gaiters. From pegs on the wall hung long brown cloaks, and

in the corners lay heaps of sabres, pistols, and long carbines.

"Guerrilleros, for a ducat!" said Jack to himself, "and a desperate set.

They have not even troubled to post a sentry. I'm afraid they'll have

to be my bed-fellows to-night, at any rate."

Without hesitation he rapped smartly on the door with the butt of a

pistol. There was a sound of movement within, heavy steps approached

the door, and a gruff voice demanded:

"Quien vive?"

"Espana!" said Jack, giving the usual countersign, then by a happy

inspiration adding: "Amigo de Antonio el valiente guerrillero."

With an exclamation of delight the man inside drew the bolts and threw

open the door. The light from a lamp streamed out, and Jack, bending

his head, asked whether he could be put up at the inn for the night.

"Verdaderamente, Senor," replied the guerrillero, recognizing from

Jack's tone that he had a caballero to deal with. In a few minutes the

horse was stabled, and Jack was seated at the table, partaking of the

savoury stew poured bubbling from the chaldron, and answering the men's

eager questions about the end of the siege of Saragossa. They belonged

to the band of which Pablo Quintanar and Antonio had been the leaders,

and were burning with anxiety as to the fate of those sturdy

guerrilleros. Many a deep growl of rage and indignation burst from them

when they learnt of Quintanar's treason, many a sigh of satisfaction

when they heard of his fate; and when they knew that Antonio had come

safely through the siege, they were all confident that somehow or other

he would escape from the French, and hasten to rejoin them in their

mountain fastnesses.

Jack in his turn asked for information, which the men were not very

ready to give. All that he learnt of their movements was that they had

recently left Soria and were going southward by easy stages, hoping to

meet members of their band escaping from Saragossa. He spent a

comfortless night in the dirty inn, and departed next morning early,

glad to have got off from such rough companions without the loss of his

horse, on which they had cast longing eyes.

All that day he travelled by devious paths among the mountains, asking

his way of the few people he met, putting up at night in a ruined cabin,

and arriving late on the following evening in the neighbourhood of

Morata. Remembering that the Alvarez country house was near at hand, he

found on enquiry that it lay a few miles to the north, and was at

present in charge of one old man, who had been a gardener on the estate.

Suspecting that Morata itself might be garrisoned by the French, he

decided to turn off before reaching the town, and to seek shelter for

the night at the Alvarez villa.

Spring had set in unusually early this year, and as Jack rode through

the lanes he rejoiced in the bright sunshine and the scent of lavender

and rosemary, violets and narcissus, that filled the warm air. He

reached the villa at dusk. It stood half-way up a hill, in a walled

garden, amid luxuriant foliage of laurels. On three sides the garden

wall was approached by the young growth of olive plantations. The house

itself was a long low building of white stone, mellowed by age and

weather. A broad oak balcony ran round, sheltering the ground-floor

rooms from the sun's rays; and amid its massive columns creeping plants,

already in full leaf, pushed their way towards the roof. As Jack rode

up, the odours of honeysuckle and clematis greeted his nostrils, and he

noted the small white stars of the jessamine glittering among their

narrow dark-green leaves.

The caretaker, a bent old man, received Jack somewhat mistrustfully, but

thawed when he was assured of his friendship for the Alvarez family, and

volubly deplored the ruin which had fallen upon it. He conducted the

visitor over the house and round the immense garden, shaking his head at

the wildness of its untended state; all the rose-trees wanted trimming,

the fruit-trees pruning, and the strawberries, already ripe, were

rotting in their beds. He did what he could, but what was one gardener

for such an immense garden? He made up a bed for Jack in one of the

upper rooms, and promised to provide as good a breakfast as possible in

the morning.

Shortly after six Jack was urgently aroused by the old man.

"Senor, Senor," he said, "there are cavalry approaching up the hill.

They are French--I am sure they are; it is not safe to stay longer."

Jack was up in a trice. Hurrying to the stable he quickly saddled his

horse, stuffed some bread into his pocket, and made off by a side gate

leading out of the garden just as the horsemen drew rein in front of the

house. Fortunately the wall hid him from too curious eyes as he led his

horse rapidly away. Gaining an olive plantation a quarter of a mile up

the hill, he decided to wait there for a while, in the hope of

discovering something about the horsemen whose advent had broken his

sleep. After about half an hour, peeping over a stone fence, he saw

them leave the casa, and strike off in a north-easterly direction among

the foot-hills. Only the tops of their helmets were visible as they

trotted past, a shoulder of the hillside hiding the rest of them from

view. He counted forty-two. As soon as they had disappeared he

returned on foot to the house, taking his chance of any Frenchman

remaining there. He found the old gardener in a frenzy of rage and

agitation.

"The cursed Frenchmen!" he cried. "Gone--yes, they are all gone, but

they are coming back--this evening. They are foraging, and among them is

a dastardly Spaniard, an afrancesado, Senor. He asked me questions; he

wanted to know where Jose Pinzon, old Don Fernan's servant, is. As if I

would answer him, even it I knew!--a traitor, who knows the country and

is guiding the French to spoil his countrymen. He told them that the

casa would give them good lodging when their work is done, and ordered

me--yes, the dog of an afrancesado ordered me--to have ready a good

dinner for them--for him and three officers, and nearly forty men--by

the time they return. They come from Calatayud; would to God they'd

break their necks in the hills and never return alive!"

Jack was sympathetic with the old man, but after all much less concerned

with his troubles than with the possibilities of a scheme that had

flashed upon him. The guerrilleros he had lately left were marching in

that direction from a point somewhat to the west of the line taken by

the French. There was little chance of their falling in with the

foraging-party, but it was at least possible that, if they could be

found, they might be able to arrange a little surprise for the French

when they returned. Were they still in the neighbourhood? Jack thought

it worth while to spend a few hours in discovering this, and decided to

return to the plantation where he had left his horse, and ride off.

Before going he asked the old Spaniard to leave unbolted a door he had

noticed at the back of the house; it was evidently little used, and now

almost hidden by tangled masses of creepers.

"I may want to get in to-night," he said.

His horse, refreshed by a good night's rest, covered the ground at a

rapid pace. Jack eagerly scanned the bare hills for signs whether of

friend or foe; it was always possible that the French had turned off in

his direction after visiting this or that farm or country house. But he

saw nothing for nearly two hours, when, having ridden, as he estimated,

some twenty miles, he suddenly heard a voice, from a rocky ridge at his

left hand, calling him to halt He reined up instantly, and shouted back

in Spanish:

"Who are you? I am a friend."

"Get off your horse and put down your pistol then."

It was a peremptory order, which Jack at any other moment might have

resented; but there was no time to spare, and he decided immediately to

risk compliance. The speaker then emerged from behind his rock, and

stood revealed in the rough yet gaudy costume of a guerrillero.

"Hombre, take me to your captain," said Jack, stepping towards him. "I

must speak with him instantly."

The man pointed out a narrow path between the rocks, just wide enough to

admit a horse, and a few minutes later Jack was led into the presence of

his stalwart friend Antonio. Explanations were soon exchanged.

Antonio, having become an inoffensive civilian on the fall of Saragossa,

had had no difficulty in making his way to the mountains. Falling in

with a portion of his old band that had been raiding French convoys

along the Saragossa-Tudela road, he had, only a short time before Jack's

arrival, effected a junction with the smaller band whom Jack had met in

the inn. He was now the leader of a total force of over a hundred men,

among whom Jack recognized with pleasure several of his sturdiest

fighters during the siege.

When Antonio had explained to the others who Jack was, their enthusiasm

knew no bounds. The Saragossa veterans had already told them what their

English leader had accomplished during the siege; how theirs had been

the only quarter in the city in which the French had made no progress

during the last three weeks. Antonio now waxed eloquent on the same

theme, and wound up by commanding his men to serve the Senor as they

would their own captain.

If anything had been wanting to complete his welcome it would have been

supplied by the news he brought. Antonio no sooner heard that a French

foraging-party was in the neighbourhood than he decided to cut it off.

He was anxious to start immediately and ambush it on its way back to the

house, but Jack suggested a better plan. The country around the house,

being, though hilly, fairly open, presented little opportunity for a

successful ambuscade, and in the event of the guerrilla troop being

discovered, there would be great likelihood of the majority of the enemy

escaping. It would be better, Jack suggested, to surround the house at

night; not a Frenchman should then escape. Antonio at once agreed. He

said that he would leave the planning entirely to the Senor, which, Jack

thought, was as it should be; for Antonio, though a brave and dashing

leader of a storming-party, had little claim but that of bull-dog

courage to his position as captain.

At four o'clock the band, well-mounted and eager, set out on their

march. The road followed led by a circuitous course to the foot of the

hill on which the Casa Alvarez stood. It was past seven when, as they

wheeled round to the left, they saw the twinkling lights of the house

more than a mile above them.

"They are very bold," remarked Jack to Antonio. "There must be a

considerable force of French in Calatayud, perhaps at Morata also, or

these foragers would have made some attempt to conceal their movements."

"Few or many, Senor," declared Antonio, "we'll capture these dogs and

hang them up in a string."

"No, no; but we needn't talk about what we'll do with them till we have

them. I've been thinking out a plan of attack as we rode along. It

will be best to leave our horses some distance from the house. If one

of them began to neigh it would at once put the French on the alert. We

must attack on foot in any case. There is a hollow a little farther on

where we can leave the horses under guard."

"Very well, Senor."

"Now we don't want to lose any lives if we can help it, so I think it

will be best for us to get an idea of the enemy's arrangements. I know

the house, and I propose to go forward alone and see what I can find

out. The old gardener will have left the back-door unlocked on the

chance of my returning. If when I get there I see a good chance of your

succeeding in a rush over the walls up to the house, I'll give you a

signal--a shrill whistle, say; one of your men can cut me a reed."

"No need, Senor; I have a whistle here."

He produced a big steel whistle, which he handed to Jack.

"That's well. If you don't hear anything from me in the course of an

hour after I leave you, you may conclude that I am captured. You had

better then rush the sentries, who will no doubt be posted at the front

gate. At the same time your men will scale the wall. One body should be

sent to cut off egress from the stables, and another to enter by the

back-door. I leave the rest to you."

Half a mile farther on they came to the wooded hollow of which Jack had

spoken. The horses were left there as arranged, and the guerrilleros,

headed by Jack and Antonio, advanced cautiously up the hill to within

three hundred yards of the house. By the light of the rising moon two

sentinels could be seen standing at the front gate, between which and

the house lay fifty feet of flower-garden. Jack wondered whether

sentries had been placed on the other sides, but judged from the evident

carelessness of the French that that precaution had not improbably been

neglected. There was no cover for the attacking force beyond about two

hundred and fifty yards from the gates, but at both sides the

plantations would conceal them. The guerrilleros stole into the shade of

the trees; the main body remained at the corner of the wall ready to

attack in front; smaller parties worked round the sides, until the whole

enclosure was practically surrounded.

Jack accompanied the party which had gone to the wall facing the rear of

the house. Under cover of the overhanging branches of a chestnut he

climbed over the wall, which was about eight feet high. No sentry was

posted at the back of the house. In a few minutes Jack had run up the

garden and come to the back-door. Already he had heard sounds of

merriment proceeding from the house. He placed his ear against the

door, listening for footsteps within. Hearing nothing in the vicinity,

he lifted the latch and slipped inside, finding himself in a large

square stone-floored room, which had evidently been used as a storehouse

for the gardener's tools. At the far side of the room was a door

leading, as he knew, to the corridor surrounding the patio. As he

cautiously opened this door his ears were saluted by a deafening babel

from a room on the right, opening on to the corridor. To judge by the

sounds, a large party of French troopers were there enjoying their

evening meal. Shouts of laughter were mingled with bursts of song and

the clatter of knives and crockery. The patio was pitch dark save where

a beam of light fell across it from a window of the room on the right,

and another from the kitchen on the opposite side. Hugging the rear

wall of the patio, Jack made his way cautiously across its tiled floor

to the window of the kitchen. A door opened into the kitchen from the

corridor, opposite to the middle one of the three arches in the

colonnade of the patio. Keeping well in the shadow, Jack saw several

Frenchmen leave the kitchen carrying dishes and flagons, and cross the

patio to the room whence the boisterous sounds were proceeding. He saw

also another man, a tall fellow, whom in the half-light he seemed to

recognize, carry a dish into a room at the farther end of the corridor,

and close the door behind him. While the door was open Jack heard a

burst of song from within. Evidently some of the Frenchmen were also

regaling themselves there.

Peeping in at the kitchen window, he saw the gardener, now alone. He

tapped. The Spaniard looked startled for a moment. Then a light of

recollection came into his eyes. He made hurriedly for the door, and in

another moment was with Jack.

"I've a hundred men outside," whispered the latter. "Where are the

officers?"

"In the room at the end, Senor."

At this moment the door of that very room opened again, and the tall

servant came out, and turned down the corridor at the farther end of the

patio.

"He is going to the cellar under the stairs for wine," whispered the old

man. "Curse them! They are drinking my old master's store of

Valdepenas."

The man had left the door open, and from within the room came the sound

of a mellow baritone voice trolling out a sentimental ditty:

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,

Un bouquet blanc;

J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,

Dedans mon bouquet blanc.

Comm' nous partions, v'la qu'elle cri-i-e:

'Oh! reviens t'en.'

'Marche!' dit mon lieutenant.

Je lui laiss' mon bouquet blanc.

J'ai mis mon coeur, j'ai mis mon coeur dedans,

Dedans mon bouquet blanc."

Shouts of applause followed the last words. Immediately afterwards the

tall servant returned with a huge flagon, re-entered the room, and shut

the door.

"Hombre," said Jack in a whisper, "you must go into that room."

"But, Senor, I'm afraid for my life. There's a big hound of a Frenchman

there whose very voice makes me shiver."

"You must go in. I caught sight of a screen as that man entered just

now. All I want you to do is to go in and show yourself--ask if they

are fully supplied--and give me time to slip in behind you; then wait

outside the door till I call."

The old man hesitated for a moment, then plucked up his courage and

walked along the corridor, Jack following. The Spaniard opened the door,

and was instantly ordered to go about his business. He moved back at

once, but meanwhile Jack had slipped inside the room, and found that in

an angle of the four-leaved screen he could conceal himself, not only

from the persons in the room, but from anyone passing through the door.

He quietly slit a hole in the screen with his penknife, and peeped

through.

Around a ponderous old table of black oak, illuminated by a dozen wax

candles and covered with dishes and flagons and glasses, sat four men.

At the head, with his braided scarlet coat open from the neck, sat a

fat, red-faced, big-moustachioed officer, whom Jack recognized at once

as the blusterous commissary from whom he had coaxed such valuable

information at Olmedo. At the foot sat a French captain, who was

already half-drunk; on the other side was a young lieutenant, with pink

cheeks. With his back to the door there was a man in Spanish dress, who

at that moment beckoned forward the tall servant to fill the captain's

empty glass. As the man moved round the table, Jack caught the glitter

of Perez' one eye, and at the same instant recognized the seated

Spaniard as Miguel Priego himself.

Listening, Jack was amused to find that Commissary Gustave Taberne had

lost nothing of his braggadocio.

"Parbleu, Senor Don What-do-you-call-yourself, this is wine of the right

sort. Nothing in this world is so soul-satisfying as good Valdepenas

after a hard day's work. Mind you, I say 'after'. I'm not like Captain

Horace Marie Etienne d'Echaubroignes yonder, who'll drink in bed, on

horseback, or in a pig-stye--it's all one to him. No; the emperor would

call me a pig if I got drunk before my work was over. I can drink a

gallon without staggering, and have a bottle at my hand without touching

it; but when my duty is done--ah ca! then I can fill my skin in

comfort, and sing a song with any man."

The long-named captain scowled at the reference to himself, bent forward

over the table, and stuttered:

"Monsieur l'inten--l'intendant, do you mean that for a--a reflection?"

"Not at all, not at all, monsieur le capitaine. It was a compliment--to

your versatility and your--h'm!--capacity."

"Eh bien!" rejoined the captain, lifting his glass unsteadily, "if you

mean it that way--"

The commissary winked at Miguel.

"J'ai fait un bouquet pour ma mie,

Un bouquet blanc,"

he hummed. "Tiens! Songs like that suit a gay young bachelor like you

better than a man of my age, with a wife and family. Come, Senor Don

Something-or-other, sing us one of your Spanish songs--a serenade such

as your gallants sing by night under their lady's window.

Tol-lol-di-rol! Come now--sing up."

"Really, monsieur, after hearing your excellent voice, I do not feel

able to enter into competition with you," said Miguel stiffly.

"Ah bah! Allons! you are still in our debt. You did us a good service

to-day, in truth; but remember, we found your lady-love for you

yesterday. Ohe! her eyes, her cheeks, parbleu! I envy you the

lovely--how does she call herself--la belle Juanita? Tol-lol-di-rol!

Chantez, mon ami."

"We Spaniards are not accustomed to discuss such matters in mixed

company," said Miguel, still more irritably.

"We Spaniards! Par exemple! I'm not a Spaniard; nor are you, my

friend, to judge by your reception in the Spaniards' houses to-day."

His tone was decidedly nettled, and the young lieutenant looked

uncomfortable, and seemed about to hazard a remark. The captain was

solemnly drinking.

"Eh bien!" said the commissary, changing his tone. "There's no need for

us to quarrel. The lovely Juanita is to be your bride; that is settled.

We'll see what we can do with King Joseph to hasten matters. And so,

without more words, let us drink a health to her!"

"Perez, another bottle," said Miguel.

The one-eyed servant came across the room, and Jack slipped out of sight

between two leaves of the screen. The commissary sang on:--

"J'ai mis mon coeur dedans,

Dedans mon bouquet blanc.

Comm' nous pardons, v'la qu'elle crie:

'Oh! reviens t'en.'

Voila qu'il en revient!" (as Perez re-entered).

"You can go and get your own supper," said Miguel when the cork was

drawn.

Perez left the room. As soon as he had gone, Jack, relying on the

commissary being engrossed with the bottle, opened the door an inch, and

beckoned the old Spaniard in.

"Now, Senor Don What's-your-name," said the commissary, "we Frenchmen

will drink a bumper to the fair Spaniard, the black-eyed beauty.

Messieurs, aux beaux yeux de la belle Ju--an--i--"

He had lifted his brimming glass half-way to his lips, and turned with a

fat smile towards Miguel, when he paused, his hand stayed in mid-air,

and he broke off in the middle of Juanita's name. Advancing towards him

from behind the screen he saw a young Spaniard, with a drawn sword in

his right hand, and in his left a pistol, cocked and pointed.

"You will excuse me, messieurs," said Jack quietly, "intruding upon you

thus unceremoniously--pray keep your seats," he added, as the lieutenant

pushed back his chair, and the fuddled captain half rose. "In fact, I

shall take it so ill if you move but a hair's breadth that I cannot

answer for my nerves!"

For all its banter, Jack's tone had in it so much of deadly earnestness

that the officers sank limply back into their seats, the instinctive

movement towards sword and pistol arrested as if by a sudden palsy.

Miguel had remained on his chair without moving a muscle. With him the

French were four to one, for as a combatant the old man did not count;

but each of the four knew that the first among them to take up the gage

would fall instantly to Jack's pistol, and the knowledge dulled the edge

of their courage.

"Hombre," continued Jack, addressing the old gardener, "bolt the door."

The man was trembling in every limb, but hastened to obey the order.

"That is right. Now, feel in my left-hand pocket. You will find a

whistle. You have it? Then open yonder window and blow three times."

The man went to the window behind the commissary, opened one of its

leaves, and blew three shrill blasts. While this was going on, the four

sat helplessly in the same position in which Jack had surprised them.

The lieutenant's pink cheeks had paled; the commissary's rubicund

features had become like mottled soap; the captain was red with sottish

indignation; Miguel had never moved. Jack could only see his back.

"With your permission, messieurs," Jack went on, "this good man will

make a little collection. Hombre, relieve that gentleman at the head of

the table of his sword and pistol. No, no; not this side of him. You

may get hurt if you come between us, and we cannot spare a good

Spaniard--can we, Don Miguel? Go round him. That's right. Now bring

the weapons and put them on the floor behind me. So. Now, go round in

the same way and get the next gentleman's arms."

Before the man reached the lieutenant, a confused hubbub came into the

room from the front of the house through the open window--the clash of

steel, the report of firearms. Almost at the same moment loud sounds of

the same kind came from the direction of the patio. The old servant

hesitated, stood still, his fingers working nervously.

"Go on, hombre," said Jack sternly, his pistol still pointed.

While the uproar on both sides gathered strength, the Spaniard tottered

towards the lieutenant, and with shaking hands disengaged his sword and

pistol, which he placed alongside of the commissary's on the floor

behind Jack. He was just repeating the process of disarmament with the

captain when loud shouts were heard at the door, followed by heavy blows

from the butts of muskets. Apparently the French troopers had been

driven across the patio, and were seeking their officers in the inner

room. Jack did not move a muscle, but he devoutly hoped that the door

would stand the strain; otherwise the window was his only chance, though

in any case he could not desert the old man.

The noise outside provided a strange contrast to the quietness within.

Almost silently the Spaniard had disarmed three of the four feasters.

It was now Miguel's turn. In advancing towards him the old man, alarmed

by the tremendous thunderings on the door behind him, and by a bullet

that crashed through one of the panels, incautiously stepped between

Miguel and Jack. In an instant, with an extraordinary muscular effort

for so slightly built a man--an effort nerved doubtless by the knowledge

of what his fate would be if he fell into the hands of his

countrymen,--Miguel seized the man by the middle, and, swinging him

round so as to make of him a screen between himself and Jack, dashed

towards a curtain of arras that apparently overhung a doorway on the

opposite side of the room. At the same moment a number of Spaniards,

headed by Antonio, came headlong through the open window.

"Secure the Frenchmen!" shouted Jack, springing after Miguel. He could

not fire. When he reached the curtain he stumbled over the old

Spaniard, whom Miguel flung back at his pursuer as he dashed through the

door into the dark anteroom beyond. Jack recovered himself in an

instant, but Miguel had disappeared, and when Jack had followed him into

the darkness he heard him stumbling over furniture on the other side of

the room. Then began a desperate chase. As is common in Spanish

houses, room opened into room, and Jack pursued the traitor through door

after door, occasionally catching a fleeting glimpse of him by the

moonlight filtering through the windows of rooms on the outer wall, but

losing him again in the darkness before there was time to fire. At last

Miguel, gaining a slight lead, was able to open a window at the back of

the house, and sprang out into the garden, flinging the leaf of the

window back almost in Jack's face. Outside he fell sprawling on the

ground, but was up in an instant, and rushed madly down the path cutting

the garden in two.

Jack leapt through the window after him, stumbled, recovered himself,

and was off after the fugitive. Tearing through the bushes that had

overspread the path, he flew along, saving his breath, setting his lips,

fiercely determined to bring the wretched man to book at last. Miguel

had reached the wall; with the agility of despair he sprang at it, and

was over. Jack was a better runner; he made as little difficulty of the

wall; pursuer and pursued were now in full career through the olive

plantation. Miguel's breath was failing; he knew that he could not

escape. Stopping suddenly in an open glade, he turned round, and a

bullet whistled past Jack's head as he closed with his quarry. The

headlong rush had spoiled Miguel's aim.

Disdaining to use his pistol, Jack at once engaged Miguel with his

sword. The Spaniard stood fiercely at bay, panting with his exertions,

his face showing livid with fear in the pale moonlight. There were a

few rapid passes; then with a groan he dropped his sword, his forearm

gashed from wrist to elbow.

"Hold!" he gasped. "I am at your mercy. Spare me!"

Jack dropped the point of his sword.

"What--are--you--going--to--do--with--me?" panted Miguel.

"Do with you? There is only one thing for me to do: deliver you to your

fellow-countrymen. They shall judge you."

"Not that, for the love of God!" was the agonized reply, whispered

rather than spoken. "You know what that means! Spare me that! Rather

finish what you have begun. For old time's sake you would not throw me

to those wolves. Ah! their fiendish tortures! See! have done with it;

strike here!"

[Illustration: Miguel Escapes from the Garden]

He tore open his shirt and bared his bosom to the sword. It was well

acted, but Jack was not for a moment deceived. Miguel, he knew, had not

the slightest expectation of being taken at his word. Yet the

alternative! When once the guerrilleros had him in their power there

would be no torture too horrible for the renegade and traitor. Jack

remembered with a shudder the tales he had heard--even those told him by

Miguel himself in Salamanca. Could he deliver the wretch, vile though

he was, to so awful a fate? Could he allow the traitor to go free? It

was a painful dilemma.

So they stood while a man might count ten.

There was a crackle in the undergrowth, the sound of a light footfall,

and, lifting his sword, Jack half-turned. As he did so a heavy form

struck against him. He felt a scorching pain between the shoulders, and

pitching heavily forward sank unconscious to the ground. The dilemma

had solved itself.

*CHAPTER XXXI*

*Doctor Grampus and a French Cook*

An Amateur--Pantomime--At Cross Purposes--Miguel's

Pocket-book--Links--In Cipher--Potatoes--Monsieur Taberne on Duty--The

Compelling Onion

When Jack came to himself it seemed to him that he was in a shaded room

by an open window, for the air gently fanned his temples, and he saw a

wide stretch of blue sky. He turned his aching head.

"Hullo!" said a voice in English.

"Hullo!" murmured Jack in reply, automatically, not knowing what he

said. He looked with puzzlement at the speaker, a tall, stout young

fellow in guerrilla costume.

"There, I wagered you wouldn't know me in this rig. Don't you remember

Dugdale, at Salamanca--Percy Dugdale, don't you know?"

"The Grampus!" whispered Jack.

"The very same. I might have bet you'd know Grampus better than my good

old respectable honoured ugly name. Here, drink this."

He held a cup to Jack's lips. After drinking, Jack closed his eyes and

fell asleep.

"Where am I?" he asked, waking an hour later.

"Feel better? That's grand. Where are you? High up among the hills,

in a sort of cave, lying on a pile of blankets, with a splendid outlook

over--well, nowhere in particular."

"In the hills!" repeated Jack feebly. "How did I get there? I can't

remember. Is anything wrong with me? I don't seem to be able to move.

I don't feel right."

"There's gratitude! Why, you're as right as a trivet. You're really

doing splendidly! Now, you're not to talk. Doctor's orders."

"Oh!"

Jack was silent for a moment, and dozed away again.

When he woke, Dugdale came towards him from the entrance of the cave.

"What's the matter with me? How do you come here? I can't remember

anything."

"I said you were not to talk. Doctor's orders."

"Tell the doctor I want to see him."

Dugdale chuckled.

"Bet it'd be no go. Truth is, I'm the doctor. I've pulled you through,

and when I get home I'm going to demand a diploma from the doctors'

college or whatever it is gives a man a licence to be a sawbones."

"I must know all about it. I can't remember. How long have I been

ill?"

"Nearly three weeks. Now, if you'll promise not to get excited, I'll

tell you what happened. You know a man named Antonio?"

"Yes, of course; he helped me in Saragossa."

"Well, if he weren't a friend of yours I'd punch his head. He is the

leader of this band of ruffians that scooped me up, two months ago, when

I was riding over the hills to see the fun at Saragossa. Antonio wasn't

with them then. I couldn't understand a word they said. They couldn't

understand a word I said. I roared 'Inglese! Inglese!' till I was

sick. No good. They kept me with them and made me get into this

outrageous toggery, and with them I've been ever since, like a canary in

a cage."

"But--"

"You mustn't talk. Doctor's orders. Lucky for you I was here, or

they'd have sent you to kingdom come. With their nasty messes!--ugh!"

"Where did you get your medicines, then?"

"Silence! Don't believe in medicine. Bet Antonio three to one in

Frenchmen--only he couldn't understand--that I'd pull you through on

cold water; and I've done it,--thank God!"

The sudden change to earnestness in Dugdale's tone was almost comic.

"And you were pretty bad, I can tell you. Raved like one o'clock. All

about Pomeroy and Pepito, and some chap whose name rhymed with ass, and

Mig Prig--most about Mig Prig,--and you laughed and shouted 'Fire the

mine!' and 'Pommy, I'll punch your head,' and all sorts of funny

things."

"But what made me ill?"

"A villainous stab in the back. By gum! if I had the beast here I'd

trounce him, I bet I would. You and Antonio had captured a

foraging-party of French at a country-house down there; you tackled the

officers single-handed; dashed plucky of you, begad! and you sprang out

after a scoundrelly Spaniard who escaped, a fellow in French pay; and

afterwards you were found among the olives with a hole in your back and

your sword covered with blood."

"I remember now," cried Jack. "I must get up. I must save Juanita."

He tried to rise, but found that he had no power.

"Juanita be hanged, whoever he may be. Lie still, and don't talk. I

haven't finished yet. Wish I'd been with you, but these confounded

brigands won't let me stir from head-quarters. I've had the most

disgusting luck. I came out to see the fun, and hanged if I've seen any

at all. Well, they found you with a hole in your back and brought you

here, and they were in a deuce of a way about you. They had a score or

more of French prisoners with them, including officers, one of them a

fat, red-faced fellow--"

"I remember it all now. That's my friend the commissary."

"Well, he's peeling onions at this moment. A little change for him, but

all in the same line of business. It was he told me what had happened;

lucky I can make out two French words out of ten. By Jove! what

bloodthirsty ruffians these Spaniards are! If it hadn't been for me all

the prisoners would have been garroted or roasted before slow fires, or

something. When I saw what was in the wind my blood boiled. I couldn't

stand that; no Englishman could; so I made 'em a speech. Lord! I never

knew I could rattle it off so; I must go into Parliament. Of course

they couldn't understand what I said, but I threw my arms about, and

pointed to my neck, and shook my head, and generally played the goat, as

I've seen 'em do at the hustings; and they made out what I meant, and so

the prisoners are here still,--except the captain, who died of

over-drinking."

At this moment Antonio came quietly into the cave; he had been in and

out during Jack's periods of unconsciousness, and now showed every mark

of delight at his impending recovery.

"The saints be praised, Senor!" he said. "We feared you would die. We

should have grieved."

Jack was touched by his simple sincerity.

"I am not gone yet," he said, smiling, "thanks, I understand, to my

friend Senor Dugdale here."

"He is a clever doctor, Senor," said Antonio.

"He tells me that you have the Frenchmen we captured at Morata."

"Si, Senor, and another lot too."

"Indeed! It is well that he managed to persuade you to do them no

harm."

"What does the Senor mean?"

"My friend Senor Dugdale tells me that you were going to torture the

prisoners, and he made a speech and--"

"Oh, that!" exclaimed Antonio, with a wave of the hand. "We didn't

understand. We thought the Senor wanted us to cut all their throats;

but I knew you would not like that."

Jack became almost hysterical with laughter at this explanation, and

Dugdale bundled Antonio out of the cave, and told Jack he must go to

sleep again. He allowed no more talk on that day, but the patient was

so much better next morning that he made no objection when Jack asked to

see the guerrillero again.

"I want to hear what has happened," said Jack to him. "I am anxious."

"I know, Senor; but there is no need. The day after we got back with

the prisoners, the gitano Pepito came and said the Senorita Juanita had

been captured by the French and was living with a colonel's lady in

Morata. I got my men together and we went down at once, and in the

night surprised the French, killed a great many, and captured the rest.

But the Senorita was not among them. We found the colonel's lady; she

told us that the Senorita had escaped."

"Where is she?" asked Jack anxiously.

"We do not know, Senor. The boy Pepito was frantic; he said you would

punish him for losing the lady, and he went away to find her. He has

never come back."

"Did he say anything about Senor Priego--the man who was in Saragossa,

you remember?"

"He said that Senor Priego was with the French who captured the

Senorita, but no more."

"And you did not capture him at the house? It was he I was fighting in

the olive-grove."

"Por Dios, Senor, if I had known that! When we found you lying on the

ground we let a few minutes slip. We thought you were dead, Senor. Then

we searched all around, but we could find no one. Was it the cursed

afrancesado that wounded you, Senor?"

"No. It was someone who came behind my back; his servant, I have no

doubt. He has twice attempted my life."

Antonio swore a hearty oath, and vowed a terrible vengeance should

either Priego or his servant fall into his hands. Jack was much

perturbed. He hoped that Juanita in escaping from the French had

escaped also from Miguel, but the latter had much to gain by not letting

her slip through his hands.

"There is one thing, Senor, yet to be told," added Antonio. "In the

morning, when we were bringing away the prisoners, one of my men found

this at the back of the house, lying on the grass."

He produced a leather pocket-book, which he handed to Jack.

"I can't have this," said Dugdale, entering at this moment. "You're not

well enough yet to be bothered with business."

"You will do me more good by letting me get to the bottom of things. My

hand's all wobbles. Take the pocket-book, old fellow, and tell me what

is in it."

Dugdale opened the case, and, taking out a number of papers, unfolded

them one by one.

"All in foreign lingos," he said ruefully. "Can't read one of them."

"Let me see them," said Jack.

Dugdale handed him one of the papers. It was a pass through the French

lines, signed by Marshal Lannes. At the first glance Jack understood.

The pocket-book must have been jerked from Miguel's pocket when he fell

on escaping from the house. Jack examined the papers eagerly. The

second was a note from the marshal's aide-de-camp Saint-Marc: "In

consideration of Monsieur Priego's services to the Government of His

Majesty King Joseph, his excellency will use his influence with the

commandant at Bayonne to facilitate the interview sought by Monsieur

Priego". The third was a memorandum evidently relating to private

business. The fourth was a long blue paper, on unfolding which Dugdale

cried:

"By George, Lumsden, this is curious! Hanged if there isn't your name

here!"

Jack took the paper with still more eagerness. He saw at once that it

was in the same handwriting as the letter he had received from Don

Fernan Alvarez at Salamanca. It was in Spanish, addressed to Mr.

Lumsden, and Jack had only to read a few words to be assured that this

was the very letter entrusted to the charge of General Palafox--the

letter whose disappearance had so much perplexed him. Before he had

read more than two or three lines, however, Antonio broke in:

"Senor, I know that paper. I saw it often in the hands of Pablo

Quintanar in Saragossa. He used to take it out of his pocket every

night and read it, and always when he came to a certain place he

stopped, and frowned, and cursed. I am sure it is the same."

In a flash the mystery of Quintanar's assassination was made plain to

Jack. Miguel must have discovered in some way that the letter was in

the possession of the guerrillero, and the wretched man had been slain

from behind by one-eyed Perez while Miguel tried to wrest the paper from

him. Jack was aghast at this additional proof of Miguel's villainy; his

heart misgave him as he thought of what might be Juanita's fate.

He read the letter. It gave a clear narrative of the events of which

Juanita had told him--Don Fernan's making up of the accounts of the

business, the journey from Barcelona to Saragossa, the ambush on the

road, the suspected treachery of Miguel Priego. Then followed a

declaration of the old merchant's intentions in regard to his property.

In the last sentence he stated that the place where the treasure had

been concealed was known only to his servant Jose, but that the secret

was contained in a short postscript, which could only be read in the

light of a private communication made to Jack himself in Salamanca.

Jack looked eagerly at the postscript. He uttered an exclamation of joy

as he realized that Miguel must have found the letter useless to him.

For the postscript consisted of a single line of sprawling uneven

capital letters, set close together, not divided into words, and

conveying to the uninitiated absolutely no meaning.

"What do you make of that?" said Jack, handing the letter to Dugdale.

"No good. Don't know a word of Spanish except pan, agua, cebolla, which

I hear every day, and a few--interjections, I think they call 'em in

grammar."

"I don't mean the letter, I mean the postscript."

"The postscript!" He held the paper at arm's-length, shut one eye, and

frowned. "H'm! Looks like a cat's swearing, or Welsh. Too bad even

for Spanish. Some infant set to practise his capitals, eh?"

Jack smiled.

"I'm as much in the dark as you are. Perhaps you wouldn't mind making a

copy of the letters, in case the original goes astray?"

"Very well. Bet you I'll make a dozen mistakes. It dazzles my eyes.

You'd better call 'em out one by one."

Accordingly Jack read the twenty-nine letters off separately, and

Dugdale, whose inaptitude with the pencil was clearly shown by the

frequency with which he licked his lips, made laborious strokes on a

sheet of paper taken from Miguel's note-book.

"There," he said, when the task was finished. "Looks a deal prettier

than the original, don't it?"