'My chaps are cutting down trees to haul across the road,' he answered;
'making a barricade.'
That glare--more distinct now, and right in front of us--showed up
again, and a shell came tearing and crashing through the trees on one
side of us, and we heard a soft 'plump' as it buried itself in the
ground without bursting. There was the crash of another volley, and
then nothing but darkness and silence.
'Our chaps see them when they fire that gun, and let "rip" with their
rifles,' Gerald told me. His coolness irritated me, for my nerves were
tingling all over with excitement and the funny feeling inside me of
being under fire for the first time. I rather wondered whether Ginger
would have felt as--well--nervous if he had been here. I'd never known
him frightened at anything. A little further along a couple of wagons
slowed up in a patch of moonlight at the side of the road, some ragged
little natives hovering round them. Gerald stopped a moment to speak to
a white-faced officer, and on we went again. 'That's our only doctor,
Billums; we keep him pretty busy.' If that was the doctor I knew that
we must be close to the firing line, and my heart began thumping very
rapidly. We could only go very slowly now, because the road was blocked
with wagons and mules jumbled together.
'Jump off, Billums; keep close to me!' Gerald sang out cheerily.
I was jolly glad to be on my feet again, and followed him, Jose taking
the horses. On each side of us I heard axes chipping, a tree fell with
a crash quite close to me, and then we got up to the barricade which
they were building across the road. Men were swarming here, some
dragging more trees out of the forest, others cutting off small branches
with their _machetes_.
'The field-gun is right ahead,' my brother said; 'they'll be firing
again in a minute or two.' He'd hardly spoken before I saw the glare of
it, heard the dull bang, and a shell burst overhead. It lighted us for
a second; I saw hundreds of the little brown chaps in their white shirts
scurrying about among the trees, and then a regular hail of shrapnel
bullets spattered on the road and against the tree-trunks, more rifles
went off, and bullets sang past. Behind me a mule screamed, fell on the
ground with a thud, and began kicking. I felt myself wriggling up
against the barricade for shelter, but Gerald sang out for me, and I
followed him round it to the road, in between it and the gun. I didn't
like being there, in the open, a little bit.
'Must do it, Billums--we're the only Englishmen here--must go to the
outpost lines--they're a hundred yards ahead of us--come on,' and he
began striding along the road, very conspicuous in his white clothes,
and, as far as I knew, walking straight towards that field-gun.
I found myself trying to walk _behind_ him, but pulled myself together
and walked by his _side_. 'We're at the edge of the clearing now,' he
said; 'bear off to the right,' and you may guess how glad I was to step
off the road. We wormed our way in among the trees, and Gerald had just
whispered, 'We're right in the skirmishing line,' when a rifle went off
not two yards from me, and I jumped almost out of my skin. Rifle firing
burst out to right and left--I could see the little spurts of flame
among the trees--and then a very short way in front and below hundreds
of rifles went off and bullets flew past, branches and leaves falling
down behind me.
Gerald pulled me round some thick undergrowth and whispered, 'Look down
there.' I peered through and could see nothing at first, but our people
fired again, and immediately I saw hundreds of little spurts of fire--a
whole line of them. Then that field-gun fired--the flash seemed almost
in my face--and for a second I saw the glitter of the gun itself and the
dark figures of the men fighting it.
'The whole of Zorilla's army is there,' Gerald was saying, when we heard
cheering running far into the woods on each side, down below, and then
sweeping far away--it seemed to be running round a huge circle. I could
hear '_Viva La Buena Presidente! Viva La Buena Presidente!_'
'They've heard the good news; old Zorilla will pretty well guess what it
means. Like a shot, Billums?' and Gerald sang out to the native
crouched down beside us. He gave me his rifle with a soft cooing
'_Buenos, Senor!_' and I leant it against a branch and tried to see
something to shoot at, my fingers trembling with excitement. 'Wait till
you see the flashes of their next volley, and try and get your sights
on,' Gerald said, and I knew that he was smiling. I didn't wait, I
thought I saw something, and fired, the recoil bumping my shoulder
because I hadn't held the rifle closely enough. It seemed to start
every one else firing, and the regulars began firing volleys; you could
see the ring of rifle spurts below us, thousands of them, and bullets
were flying overhead, pit-patting against the trees, and cutting off
branches and leaves.
'"Any one assisting the aforesaid Gerald Wilson will be----"' Gerald
chuckled.
'Shut up, you ass,' I sang out. The native gave me another cartridge,
and, the field-gun blazing again, I just had time to get my sights more
or less 'on' and fire, which started all our chaps easing off too.
'Can't afford to keep you in the firing line,' Gerald chuckled, and took
me back. 'You've made my people waste about two hundred rounds, and I
can't afford to waste one. Listen to Zorilla's chaps. You'd imagine
they had millions to blaze away.
'Something's wrong, Billums; I can't make it out. He usually keeps quite
quiet, he's too clever at this game to throw away a single round. You'd
imagine from that field-gun firing down the road, and from all those
volleys he's firing, that he means to advance this way.'
He was talking as coolly as a cucumber; I was sweating with excitement.
'There's a mule track through the forest from here to El Castellar, and
I believe he means to break away there. That's why I came out
to-night--to make sure which way he's going. We'll know soon.' We got
back behind the barricade, and several hundred of the little brown,
whited-coated men began gathering there, gliding noiselessly out from
the trees. The moon was hidden now, and it was pitch dark, so that I
couldn't see them, except for a moment when the field-gun fired, but
only hear them murmuring to each other all round me.
To know that there were four thousand regulars standing by to attack us,
in the dark, was anything but comforting, and the bullets whipping past
were not any too comforting either. All this while Gerald had been
talking to some officers, the 'Gnome' among them, but now they went
away, and he came to me.
'This excitement enough?'
'I should think it was,' I told him--rather too much if I had told him
the truth. I supposed I should get used to it, but suddenly to find
myself in the middle of a fight, in a forest, in the dark, was just a
little bit too trying, especially when not a soul, except Gerald, could
understand a word I said.
Just then I heard a lot of firing much farther away on our front, and
some messengers came dashing up, singing out, '_Yuesencia_![#] _Don
Geraldio_!'
[#] 'Yuesencia' is a contraction for 'excellencia.'
'It's just as I thought, Billums; that firing at us was all a bluff.
Zorilla has broken through our chaps on the right and is marching along
the track to El Castellan.'
Somebody brought a lantern, and he began scribbling orders, tearing the
pages out of a note book and handing them to messengers, who ran off. He
was doing it quite calmly, and was actually smiling. Some officers
sitting on the ground, with their swords over their knees, looked
absolutely played out, but they roused themselves when Gerald spoke to
them, got on their feet, and took their natives into the forest again.
'If these messengers do their work in time,' he said, 'Zorilla will
never get through to El Castellan. I've turned on the _machetos_. We'll
go round there and see how things are going.'
I shuddered to think of these little chaps, with their awful-looking
_machetes_, gliding among the trees all round them.
He had just sent for our horses, when another bare-footed messenger came
panting into the light and was led up to him.
Something glittered in his hand; he held it out to Gerald, and what do
you think it was? My cigarette case!
'It's mine,' I sang out; 'I changed cases with Navarro, Zorilla's fat
little A.D.C., when he was decent to me in San Sebastian.'
'Well, he's a prisoner now and badly wounded,' Gerald said, after he'd
spoken to the man. 'He's sent it to me hoping I shall recognise it and
do something for him. He was in command of a foraging party we cut off
this morning, and is lying with the rest of the wounded in some hut
about two miles away--so this man says.'
Well, it was up to me to do something for him, and I told Gerald so.
'Right you are,' Gerald nodded. 'This chap will show you the way.
You'll be as safe as a house with your yellow head of hair. Do what you
like. He's badly wounded, I fancy. Get back here by daylight, and if
you don't find me, make your way into San Fernando.'
I looked at my watch by the lantern light. It was ten minutes to one,
and there would be another two hours and a half before daylight.
In five minutes I was on my horse, the man who'd brought my cigarette
case was leading him, and we had plunged into the forest to the left of
the road, Gerald going away to the right, after Zorilla. How the little
chap found his way I don't know, but he did somehow or other, cutting
through the brushwood with his _machete_, and jabbering to me in Spanish
all the time.
The bush and the fallen trees were so treacherous that, after Jim had
stumbled badly once or twice, and was trembling with fright, I got off
and helped to lead him too, and wished I'd left him behind.
Now I had a job of my own to do, I didn't mind the beastly darkness, and
gradually gave up jumping with funk whenever some natives glided past,
speaking softly to my little chap, and then hurrying away to the right.
I'd hear, '_Yuesencia!_' '_Hermano!_' '_Don Geraldio!_' and they'd
disappear.
The field-gun had stopped firing, but rifle firing was continuous, and
seemed to be travelling away towards El Castellan.
Once we met quite a large party, with an officer, all hurrying after
Zorilla, and he would not let us pass till he'd struck a match and seen
my face. That was enough for him, and he passed on, full of apologies.
This made me think, more than ever, what a 'boss' old Gerald was, and
what a 'boss' I was, too, simply because I had the same coloured hair.
Somehow or other, after barking my shins and elbows a dozen times, we
got to a small clearing, where there was a kind of a hut and a jolly
welcome light burning in it.
Some one shouted, '_Quien Vive!_' my guide answered, '_Paisano! La
Buena Presidente!_' and a score of natives thronged round us, bowing,
taking my horse, and saying, '_Buenas_,'[#] _Yuesencia!_' I went into
the hut, and found about fifteen men lying on the ground or propped up
against the wall--cavalry men all of them--and I spotted my little
friend, although he'd grown a scraggy beard.
[#] Short for 'buenas noches!' = good-evening.
He was as white as a sheet, and seemed rather 'off his head.' '_El
Medico_,' he sang out, as I went in--all of them sang out, '_El
Medico_,' holding out their hands to make me notice them.
'William Wilson,' I said, and held out the cigarette case he'd sent me,
but he only looked at it vacantly, muttered, '_El Medico!_' again, and
his chin dropped on his chest I thought he was dying, and was in a
terrible stew. I couldn't see any wound about him, and felt his arms;
they were all right, and I felt his legs. Ugh! then I knew, for
half-way above his left knee the bone was sticking through a rent in his
breeches and they were sticky with blood. He groaned when I touched it,
muttering, '_El Medico_'--'_San Fernando!_' '_Ag-ua! Agua!_'
One of the _machetos_ brought him some water.
I scratched my head, I didn't know what to do, and he went on rambling,
'_Zorilla_,' '_El Castellar_,' '_William Wilson_,' '_Don
Geraldio_'--'_El Medico_'--'_San Fernando_.'
'All right, old chap, I'll get you to San Fernando if I can,' I said to
myself.
Well, I knew enough about 'first aid' to lash the two legs firmly
together, and somehow managed to make the natives understand that I
wanted a stretcher. They made a rough litter out of branches in next to
no time. I found a blanket tied to the saddle of a dead horse outside
the hut, and covered the litter with it, and then I told off four of the
most sturdy of the _machete_ men to carry him. They obeyed me like
lambs.
I hated to have to leave these other wounded men there--they cried
piteously when they saw me going--but there were not enough natives to
carry them, so I could not help it. I would try and get Gerald to send
for them.
Phew! it was bad enough for me, but poor little Navarro, in his
stretcher, had a most awful time as we stumbled back through the
forest--he was shrieking with agony,--and when we struck the old Spanish
road again, after a most fearful time struggling among trees and
brushwood, he was quite delirious. You can imagine how thankful I was to
feel it under my feet, and, leaving him on his litter by the roadside,
and tying my horse to a tree, I tramped down towards the barricade.
It was just getting light enough for me to see some empty deserted
wagons standing at the roadside and the fallen tree-trunks dragged
across it, but there was not a single living man there, only one or two
dead men hanging across the barricade, with their _machetes_ still in
their hands.
I had not heard the field-gun firing for at least an hour, the rifle
firing had died away almost as long ago, and it was quite plain that
every one had followed Zorilla towards El Castellar.
I climbed round the barricade and walked rather nervously down towards
where the field-gun had been, and stopped because the weirdest sounds
were coming up from below.
*CHAPTER VIII*
*Zorilla loses his Guns*
_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._
As I stood there, rather nervous and uncertain what to do, listening to
the queer noises which were coming up from the clearing, where Zorilla's
army had camped the night before, I heard the sound of naked feet, and
stepped back among the dark trees. There was just sufficient grey light
for me to see the road, and, as I watched it, two natives, breathing
very heavily, hurried past me. They were weighed down with all sort of
things; one had a saddle over his head and a huge cavalry sword under
his arm, and the other had covered himself from head to foot with a blue
cavalry cloak.
I guessed now what those noises were, and felt certain that Gerald's
people were busy in the clearing looting the camp. I don't quite know
why I went down there, but I did, and it was a most extraordinary sight
in the uncertain light. First I came to that field-gun which had fired
at us, its wheels and small shields white with bullet-marks. An empty
ammunition limber was standing behind it, and the naked bodies of two
dead men lay close by, mixed up with some dead mules. I stepped across
them, and came upon a lot of regulars sitting at each side of the road,
quite a couple of hundred of them, with their hands tied behind their
backs. Poor wretches, they looked as if they expected death at any
moment.
Hundreds of natives were swarming round some wagons, hauling boxes out,
forcing them open with their _machetes_ and scattering the contents on
the ground; and a dozen of them were fighting over a case of brandy,
breaking the necks off the bottles, and cutting their faces and hands in
their struggles to drink some of the stuff. Nobody was taking the
slightest notice of two field-guns, with their limbers and mule teams,
which were standing in the road a few yards further down. The little
half-drunken brutes were simply looting as hard as they could, not even
troubling to pick up the rifles which lay about in hundreds. I felt
sure that Gerald had sent them to take the guns into San Fernando, and,
jolly angry, strode down between the two rows of prisoners, who, seeing
me, thought I was Gerald, and began singing out a whining '_Don
Geraldio! Don Geraldio!_' I saw by their uniforms that they belonged
to the same regiment as those fellows who had collared me in Santa Cruz,
and that didn't make me love them any more, but their mistaking me for
Gerald gave me an idea.
Close by, an officer lay drunk as a fiddler, another had broken the neck
of a champagne bottle, and was trying to swallow the stuff before it
bubbled all away. I seized him by the neck, knocked the bottle out of
his hand, and shook him.
He turned round, looked at me, and fell on his knees in absolute terror.
I jerked him to his feet, singing out, 'San Fernando!' sweeping my arm
round the camp, pointing to the guns, and then along the road towards
the barricade.
'San Fernando!' I roared. He had a revolver in his belt, I pulled it
out--it was unloaded, but that did not matter--and ran up to the wagons,
kicking and cuffing the miserable wretches. They shrieked out, '_Don
Geraldio!_' and bolted, but two of them.--rather drunk they were--came
for me with their _machetes_, and didn't stop when I pointed the
revolver at them.
It was a jolly awkward moment, but I gave the first a blow on the point
of his jaw, which knocked him flying, and before the second could get at
me, there were shouts of '_Yuesencia! Yuesencia!_' and the officer from
whom I had taken the champagne bottle cut him down, clean from the top
of his skull to his mouth. He did it with a _machete_. More
officers--half fuddled--came running up, and whether they thought I was
Gerald or not, they were in a hopeless fright, and began to lay about
them with the flat of their swords, and soon got their natives into
order, although I saw a good many of them stealing away among the trees,
laden with spoil.
[Illustration: "I GAVE THE FIRST A BLOW ON THE POINT OF HIS JAW"]
Ugh! the brutes had evidently killed all the wounded. It was a
perfectly sickening sight. I was beside myself with rage.
Then just as some mules were being hitched to that first field-gun, I
saw a native trying to lead away a big black horse. The poor beast was
limping badly every step he took, and the man was beating him cruelly.
I rushed across, and the man saw me coming, and ran off. The horse had
a very elaborate head-stall and blue saddle-cloth, and I felt certain
that I had seen him somewhere before. 'Poor old fellow,' I said,
stroking his nose. He was simply sweating with pain, and seemed to know
I was a friend. I rubbed my hand down his legs, and looked at his feet,
and soon found what the mischief was. One of his rear shoes was half
off, and a projecting nail had made a gash in his frog, so no wonder the
poor old chap was in such pain.
I found a bayonet and managed to lever the shoe off altogether, and then
led him up to the field-gun. He came along as gently as a lamb, still
limping a bit, but I do believe he was grateful, and as I led him
between the lines of prisoners, one of them got quite excited,
struggling to his knees, then to his feet, singing out, '_Yuesencia! El
General! General Zorilla! Caballo del General Zorilla._'
Ah! now I knew. He was the very horse on which Bob, the 'Angel,' and I
had seen Zorilla ride across the square at Santa Cruz. He seemed to
know the prisoner, so I thought he might have been his groom, and undid
the cord round his arms. Directly they were free, he threw them round
the horse's neck and loved him.
'_San Fernando!_' I said, pointing up the road, and he nodded, '_Bueno,
Senor! Bueno, Yuesencia!_' and was as pleased as Punch.
The officers had, meanwhile, found enough mules for all three guns, and
I sent them rumbling and rattling up towards the barricade, which the
natives were already hauling away. You may bet your life I was jolly
glad to see them make a start, for I knew that they were worth all the
world to Gerald, and there was always the chance of some of Zorilla's
regulars turning up and recapturing them.
There were not mules enough for all the wagons--I felt perfectly certain
that the natives had simply bolted into the forest with a lot of
them--but there were sufficient for four, and I chose two, full of
field-gun ammunition, and sent them up the road, and then we set about
and collected all the rifles lying on the ground, and as many boxes of
rifle ammunition as we could stow on another two, and I felt jolly
pleased with myself when all four were jolting on their way to San
Fernando. I made the officers understand that the prisoners' arms were
to be untied, but it wasn't till I began cutting the cords adrift myself
that they, rather sullenly, ordered their men to release the others.
You can just imagine how gratefully they looked at me, and I felt
certain that they wouldn't be such fools as to try and escape, with five
hundred fierce little _machetos_ all round them, and thousands more in
the forest. It was quite light by the time every one was under way, and
I began to feel most horribly hungry and tired. Up above in the clear
sky a number of vultures were slowly circling round and round with their
long necks stretching downwards, waiting till we went away before they
came down for their horrible feast, and as I left the clearing, and
looked back, I saw any number of the little brown men sneaking out of
the woods again to carry on looting, but I couldn't be bothered with
them, and they would keep those vultures away. I had rescued all that
was most valuable, and wanted to get back to San Fernando as quickly as
possible.
When we got up to where poor little Navarro was lying, by the roadside,
I gave him some brandy from a bottle I'd stowed away in a wagon; it did
him a power of good, and he now seemed quite sensible, looking very
miserable when he saw the guns coming along.
'The horse of _El General_,' he said sadly, as the black horse limped
past with the groom.
I put him on top of one of the wagons, but the jolting was so painful
that he had to be carried on the litter again. He knew me all right
now, and I gave him back my cigarette case, pulling his own out of my
pocket to show him.
'San Sebastian,' he said, smiling; 'I remember always.'
Well, off we went, the three guns and the four wagons on ahead, the two
hundred prisoners, surrounded by the little _machetos_, marching behind
them, and Navarro, on his litter, the groom with Zorilla's black horse,
and myself, on my little stallion, 'Jim,' bringing up the rear. I'd
found some ammunition for that revolver, and had loaded it, but my face
and yellowish hair was all that was wanted to make any one obey me, and
I rode along on my tired little horse, absolutely bossing the show.
You may laugh if you like, but there I was in charge of the whole
blooming crowd, feeling simply dead tired, but kept awake by the
excitement of it.
'Any one assisting the aforesaid Gerald Wilson----' kept running through
my head, and I grinned every time I thought of it.
At about ten or half-past we came to that wayside inn where Gerald and I
had had those omelettes last night. It was most appallingly hot, and,
though there was no food there, I determined to halt for an hour to rest
the mules and men.
The prisoners lay down at the sides of the roads, under the shade, the
little _machetos_ curled up under the trees, and went to sleep in a
twinkling, the officers went into the inn, and Navarro's stretcher was
laid down outside it, in the shade of the projecting roof. I could
hardly keep my eyes open, and dare not even sit down for fear of falling
asleep, because I wasn't going to trust those officers again. They
didn't look in the least pleased (of course by this time they knew that
I wasn't Gerald), and a good many of their men had a sullen look on
their faces, which I didn't like a little bit. Still, so long as I kept
my eye on them I wasn't afraid of them playing the fool, and I spent
that hour walking up and down the line of guns and wagons with their
dejected mule teams, passing a word or two occasionally with Navarro,
who was much brighter now, sitting up on his litter smoking a cigarette.
I thanked him for the letter which he had written to me from Santa Cruz,
warning me about that ex-police agent. 'Very bad man--he will never
cease from revenge--next time you see him kill him,' he said; and I
rather wish that I hadn't mentioned it, because I hated thinking of the
little brute. Of course he was as anxious to get to San Fernando as I
was; he wanted to see a doctor as soon as possible, and have his broken
leg looked after.
At the end of the hour I tried to push on again, but I'm hanged if I
could. I walked up to the inn and sang out, 'San Fernando!' to the
officers sitting inside it, with half-empty bottles of wine in front of
them, but they shook their heads and didn't even stand up. This, I knew
well enough, was meant to be rude. Only the chap who had killed the
native as he was going for me, the one whom I had prevented drinking
that champagne, stood up and came out, shaking his head, and jabbering
Spanish. '_Mucho caliente! Mucho caliente!_'
'He say no go San Fernando till night,' Navarro explained. 'Too hot.'
Well, as I've told you before, I've got a beastly bad temper: I wasn't
going to stand any nonsense, and I was inside that place in a twinkling.
'San Fernando!' I shouted, pointed to the blazing white road, where the
mules were lying panting in the glare.
They only smiled.
I pulled my revolver out and roared again, but they only pulled theirs
out and shook their heads.
I knew that I was up against something 'tough,' and I don't know what
would have happened if I hadn't heard my name called.
Navarro was beckoning to me, and I went out, the officers laughing, and
only that one following me.
'Prisoners obey me--give them rifles--I want El Medico--San
Fernando--quick,' and he pointed to where the regulars were all lying
asleep.
I knew well enough what he meant, and was in such a towering rage that
I'd have taken any risk. I held out my hand, he held out his, and we
shook.
'Right you are, old chap, I'll trust them.'
He jabbered to the officer who had followed me, and then said, 'Take me
to prisoners,' so we picked up the litter and carried him to where they
were, the other officers laughing, and not even getting up from their
benches to see what was going to happen.
Then he introduced the officer to me. 'Don Pedro de Castilio--Senor
William Wilson,' and we bowed to each other. I thought it an awful
waste of time when every second mattered, and what we had to do had to
be done quickly.
He went among the regulars, waking them, and half-a-dozen glided to a
wagon and came back with rifles. Don Pedro took four of them along to
the inn, and I saw them pointing their rifles through the windows.
'Don Pedro make them prisoners,' Navarro whispered, with his eyes
gleaming.
That was a jolly smart move, and the officers never made a sound. If
they'd sung out or fired a shot, we should have had the _machetos_ round
us in a second.
As fast as the other two woke their comrades, they stole away and got
rifles, some of them bringing back a box of ammunition.
Not a _macheto_ moved, and you bet I kept my eyes skinned lest they
should wake, handing out ammunition as fast as the regulars came up for
it. By the time I had seventy or eighty armed, I made them climb on top
of the four wagons, so that they could defend themselves better in case
the little forest-men tried to rush us with their _machetes_; I lifted
Navarro on top of one of them too.
One of these wagons was right in front of the inn, so that my five young
friends inside it had about twenty rifle-muzzles to look at. Still not
a macheto stirred--they seemed dead to the world--so I went across to
the inn.
It was they who were up against something 'tough' now, and they knew it,
stood up, began unbuckling their sword-belts, and were just going to
hand them to me, when I heard cries of '_Senor! Senor!_' heard men
running, and, looking over my shoulder, saw the rest of the regulars
swarming round the wagon with the rifles in it, making a tremendous
noise as they pulled them out. I ran along the road, and, as I ran, I
saw the _machetos_, under the trees, all rising to their feet, gripping
those horrid _machetes_.
I pointed to the wagons, there was no need for orders, the regulars
simply scrambled on top of them like drowning rats on a log, running
from wagon to wagon to find room, and crawling underneath them when they
couldn't. I jumped across to where Jim, my horse, was standing, got on
him, and pulled him into the middle of the road.
The little _machetos_ hadn't quite got the hang of affairs, and looked
half-dazed to see the regulars on top of the wagons and the rifles
pointing at them.
I roared out, 'San Fernando! San Fernando!' but they were too startled
to obey; and Don Pedro and his four men, too frightened to stay where
they were any longer, bolted for the nearest wagon, the officers
bursting out after them, and plunging into the forest among their own
men.
'San Fernando!' I shouted, pointing down the road, and some of the
little forest-men seemed to want to obey, but I saw those contemptible
officers going in among them and dragging them back.
My aunt! I was in a jolly awkward fix. If they only made a rush, my
chaps would simply be eaten up. I dare not get them down from the
wagons to stir up the mules, for I felt absolutely certain that that
would only be the signal for a massacre. We couldn't move the wagons
till the guns went on--the road was not broad enough to pass them--and
the leading one was at least a couple of hundred yards away. I saw a
lot of the _machetos_ dart across the road ahead of us, and my heart
went thump, for I thought they were making ready for a rush, but the
little brutes simply unhitched the leading gun's mule teams and led them
into the forest.
Well, that was checkmate with a vengeance.
One of the officers now came up to the wagon on which Navarro was
sitting and spoke to him. He sang out to me, and I went across.
'He say, "No go San Fernando till night; if soldiers no give up rifles,
_machetos_ kill them. Officers tell _machetos_, soldiers take guns to
Zorilla."'
He was in a funk himself; the trees on both sides of us were simply
swarming with the fierce little men, and I didn't know what to do, my
brain seemed all woolly, but I dare not let the regulars throw their
rifles down.
'Oh! that I knew Spanish and could talk to the little chaps and explain
things,' I was thinking, when there was the sound of a horse galloping
along the road, behind us, and the 'Gnome' dashed up. I was glad to see
him, if you like.
He looked at the regulars on top of the wagons, timidly pointing their
rifles across the road, and at the crowds of _machetos_ in the woods,
and didn't know what to think of it. Before he'd caught sight of me, I
saw one of the officers running to him. I knew he'd tell him lies, so I
cantered up to him too. He looked startled to see me, but quite
pleased, and I made him come to the wagon where Navarro sat. 'Tell
him--ex-plain,' I sang out. They seemed to know each other very well.
You should have seen him after he and Navarro had talked for a few
seconds. He was in a towering rage, and he rode backwards and forwards
along the edge of the road, evidently telling the officers exactly what
he thought of them, and I knew that things were going right, because
Navarro looked so chirpy and the officers so ashamed of themselves. The
regulars, too, began to put up their rifles, and those who had crawled
under the wagons crawled out again. Then, at last, the little
forest-men stuck their _machetes_ back into their belts, and a couple of
hundred of them came along, looking like naughty children, and took
charge of the mule teams. My aunt! I was so relieved and thankful and
tired and hungry and hot all at the same time that I would have done any
mortal thing for my fat little 'Gnome.'
He sent the officers and the rest of their men away into the forest--to
rejoin Gerald, I suppose--and jolly glad I was to see the last of them.
Then we shoved off, rattling down the road, and you may guess that I
never wanted to see that inn again. The 'Gnome' stopped with us for
about a mile, and then, taking off his hat to me, galloped on ahead,
leaving me with no one to question my authority any more.
Still, I didn't feel in the least sure that those other fellows wouldn't
come back, so, with help from Navarro and Don Pedro, I got the two
hundred regulars into some sort of order, fifty of them well in front of
the guns as an advance guard, fifty between the guns and the wagons,
fifty as a rear guard, and the remainder riding on the wagons
themselves.
I wanted to make the little forest-men, who were leading the mules, give
up their _machetes_, and explained that to Navarro, but he smiled, shook
his head, and said, '_Machetos_ good men now,' so I had to be satisfied.
We tramped along like this, the mules getting slower and slower, till
half-past one, when a violent thunderstorm made it almost as dark as
night, and wetted us to the skin. It was jolly refreshing whilst it
lasted, cooled the air splendidly, and afterwards we got along much
faster. By three o'clock we were out of the forest; I had nothing to
fear from the forest-men, and was as happy as a king. We rumbled down
to the stream, splashed through the ford, after a lot of trouble with
the mules, who would fill themselves with water before they'd come on,
breasted the slope again, and got on top of the ridge looking down over
San Fernando.
You can jolly well imagine how glad I was to see it, and the old
_Hector_ lying offshore. From here it was simply a triumphal
procession. The 'Gnome' must have let the people know what had
happened, for they met us in hundreds, flocking round me, trying to lead
my horse, even to kiss my gaiters, dancing and shouting and clapping
their hands, and fighting for the honour of holding on to the gun
traces. '_Viva los canones! Viva los Inglesas!_' they shouted, and
dragged the guns along, much to the relief of the mules.
The cathedral bells were clanging joyously when we marched into the
square, I in front, Navarro on his litter beside me, Zorilla's charger
behind us, then the two hundred regulars walking in front of the leading
gun. You can guess how jolly important I felt, for the whole population
had turned out, huzzahing and throwing their hats in the air, and on the
steps and verandah of the Club were a lot of the _Hector_ chaps and the
Skipper himself.
As I took off my panama hat to salute him, he sang out, 'Good lad! Good
lad!' and Navarro, seeing them, called out, '_El Medico!_'
Clegg, our Surgeon, was leaning over the verandah, so I stopped and had
him taken in there. 'Look after him, will you?' I called out to Clegg;
'his leg's badly broken,' and on we went again.
The regulars, in their hated uniforms, were a bit of a puzzle to the
crowd, but they thought they had deserted to the insurgents, and soon
swarmed round them, shouting, '_Viva los cazedores!_' tearing off their
own green and black rosettes and pinning them on the soldiers' sleeves.
Many of them had already got rid of their green and yellow badges, and
you may bet your life they didn't object to the black and green ones, so
long as their skins were safe.
Ever since I had been stabbed by that wretched little ex-policeman, and
whenever I got in among a crowd of natives, I found myself looking round
to see if I could recognise him. I was doing so now without knowing it,
looking from face to face all round me. Perhaps it was because of what
Navarro had said, 'He will never cease revenge,' but I had the most
extraordinary feeling that he was there, somewhere, and had his cunning
little eyes fixed on me. I couldn't see him anywhere, and thought the
strange fancy was probably due to my being so sleepy. I pulled myself
together, because we were now abreast the cathedral, the front of which
had been hung with black and green flags, and, on the steps, the whole
of the Provisional Government was waiting for me, bowing and taking off
their top-hats. It was all I could do to keep from laughing, although I
was so tired and sleepy and hungry that I could hardly sit in my saddle.
They made me dismount, and would have kept me there for ages, but I
seized hold of Mr. Don Pedro, pushed him forward, took my hat off,
bowed, and led my plucky little stallion back to the Club. I knew that
he would explain everything, and I always hate being fussed over. The
crowd made way for me as if I'd been a blooming emperor; but I felt a
touch on my shoulder and jumped, for I was still thinking of the little
brute.
'Beg parding, sir,' I heard some one say, and there was O'Leary, his
funny old face simply as excited as a child's. 'We'd just like you to
see that 'ere bit of 'ydraulic machinery what we brought along with us,
sir.'
'Right you are,' I sang out--I know I yawned, I couldn't help it--and he
took me through a side street to the water front and a long low
building, which ran along the shore, with a tumble-down 'yard' in front
of it. Inside the tumble-down gates there were thirty or forty of our
petty officers, with their jumpers off, digging out like pepper among a
crowd of half-naked natives.
'Look what we've done, sir,' O'Leary grinned, and there I saw the long
chases of two 4.7's sticking up from their field carriages.
'Pretty good work that,' I said, yawning again.
'They didn't know nothink about 'em, sir, but for us, sir,' he grinned;
they were all grinning with delight, and the armourer's crew, as black
as paint, came across from a forge, in a shed beyond, stood by the guns,
and grinned too.
'Your brother's done a good day's work, we hear, sir,' Griffiths, the
boatswain's mate, said, saluting me; 'these 'ere guns'll be a pleasant
sur--prise to him when he gets back.'
Then Bob and the 'Angel,' Barton, the senior mid., Blotchy Smith,
half-a-dozen more mids., and Marchant, the 'Inkslinger,' with their
coats off, and covered with grease and dirt, came running across.
'What are you up to?' I asked, and they dragged me to another corner of
the yard, and I found they'd been 'assembling' the pom-poms.
'We've just been giving the chaps a bit of drill,' Bob squeaked. 'We're
having a glorious time. I wish we could stay on shore till the morning.
We'd have everything finished by then. Won't Cousin Gerald be pleased?'
Well, I was much too tired to stay any longer, and shoved off, all of
them hurrying back to finish their job.
O'Leary followed me out. 'They don't know how they came 'ere, sir. I
gave them English gents the "tip," and they were all out of their
packin'-cases when I comes along, innercent like, with all these chaps.
We just looks in at the gateway, and sees 'em all lying "'iggle de
piggledy" like, a-lying on the ground, and, well, I says to 'em, "Mr.
Wilson, our Sub, what the Commander bullies, 'as a brother fighting for
these 'ere niggers, so one good turn deserves another, so 'wot oh!'" and
we just 'as a quiet arternoon's fun, and you sees what we've done, sir.'
'He'll be awfully pleased. Thank you very much indeed,' I said, and
tramped back to the Club, more dead than alive, looking from side to
side all the time, in case that little brute was lurking about anywhere
with his knife. I was so stiff that I could hardly move one leg in
front of the other, and my back aches now when I think of it.
Zorilla's black charger was tied up to the Club railings, the groom
apparently waiting for me, and I handed over both of the tired horses to
one of the Englishmen who was there, stumbled up the steps, and fell
back in one of those easy-chairs on the verandah, pretty well played
out. Dr. Clegg came along.
'What do you think of my pal?' I asked him.
'He won't be on his legs again for six months,' he told me, 'I'm going
to take him on board the _Hector_ for the Fleet Surgeon to see.'
I was absolutely too weary just then to worry about anything, but I know
that there were a lot of formalities to go through before he could be
taken aboard, and that the Skipper and one of the San Fernando
Englishmen bustled about and managed it all right. The Provisional
Government would have done anything for us just then. I was jolly glad,
because I owed a great deal more to little Navarro than I could repay.
I don't know when I had felt so tired, and though any number of our
chaps were crowding round me wanting me to talk, and the townspeople
were thronging against the Club railings to see me, I hardly noticed
them, and just wanted something to drink and then go to sleep. I really
couldn't keep my eyes open.
*CHAPTER IX*
*Zorilla attacks*
_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._
I slept like a top for an hour, and woke up in a fright; I thought that
little brute was trying to stab me, but it was only one of the local
Englishmen, a man named Seymour, shaking me.
'I'll be more careful next time,' he said, smiling and rubbing his
shoulder where I'd caught him 'one' as he bent over me. 'You yelled as
if you were being murdered.'
'I thought I was,' I said, waking up.
He had just come back from Gerald, and had a message for me. Gerald
wanted me to go out to him again. He was at a place called Marina,
about eight miles along the coast-line, half-way to El Castellar, and
was making it his headquarters for the night.
'You'll see lots of fun if you go out there,' Seymour told me, 'he has
Zorilla's army surrounded just above Alvarez's farm, not two miles from
Marina, and expects to collar the whole lot to-night or to-morrow
morning. He's done a great day's work and has captured the last gun
they have.'
He was sending his own buggy to Marina with Gerald's bag, and offered me
a lift.
You may bet I jumped at the offer; there was just time for me to have a
wash and some tea; along came the carriage with two jolly smart ponies
in it; one of the Club servants brought down Gerald's kit-bag--one of
the last presents the mater had given him before he left home--in I
jumped, and away those ponies flew, bumping the carriage along at a fine
rate.
There was no more going to sleep then--it was as much as I could do to
hold on to my seat, and prevent myself being chucked out.
We rattled down to the foreshore and turned along the coast road,
bowling along it at a great pace, every now and then meeting wounded men
limping wearily towards San Fernando. Some of our own ward-room
officers were tramping back to catch the 'dinner' boat off to the ship,
and they must have envied me pretty considerably. Thank goodness, the
Skipper had given me forty-eight hours' leave, and I hadn't to get
aboard till to-morrow at noon. I was so jolly keen to see some more
fun, and to tell Gerald how I'd managed to bring those guns back to San
Fernando, that I forgot all about being so sleepy.
The road ran along the top of the beach, skirting the shore all the way,
and the forest came right up to the side of it, and made it beautifully
shady, but it was in such a terrible state of holes and ruts, crumbling
down here and there on the beach side, and overgrown with bushes on the
forest side, that it looked as if the sea and the forest between them
would swallow it up pretty soon.
Four miles out from the town there were two poor chaps lying by the
roadside; I expect they had been wounded during the night, and had tried
to make their way into San Fernando, but died before they could do so.
Horrid-looking crows, something like vultures, were hopping about round
them. I hated the brutes--they hardly got out of the way of the wheels.
Just as it was getting dusk we passed some bungalows, and the native
driver shouted, '_Marina! El Casino!_' pointing ahead to a large
building in front of us standing close to the beach.
'_Don Geraldio!_' he nodded.
Then we splashed through a stream, and it wasn't too dark for me to see
a little native chap squatting by the side of a low garden wall there,
or to recognise him. It was that ex-policeman--I could see the scar on
his forehead--somehow or other I was expecting to see him--and, without
thinking, I jumped out of the carriage, stumbled for an instant, and
then sprang at him, but he'd seen me too, and fled. I had Don Pedro's
revolver with me, and fired as he jumped the low wall and darted among
some trees. I was after him in a second--of course I had missed him, I
always was a rotten shot with a revolver at any time--and then he fired
back, and a bullet sung past my elbow. I caught sight of his white
shirt among the trees, and fired at him again, and he bolted out of the
garden, across the road, and into the forest.
It was hopeless to follow him there.
The pistol-shots had frightened the ponies, and they were dashing madly
along the road, Gerald's kit-bag flying out. I picked it up, and lugged
it along to the front of that big building--a gaudy-looking kind of
place, nearly all windows, with a flat roof, verandahs and balconies all
round it, and '_El Casino_,' in big gilt letters over the door,
half-hidden by a huge black and green flag which hung down over the
entrance.
Gerald, surrounded by officers, was standing at the top of the steps,
and I was only thankful that that little brute had not gone on another
hundred yards.
'Hello, Billums!' Gerald sang out. 'Got my bag all right? I thought,
when the buggy dashed past a moment ago, that old Zorilla would get it.
Come along with me, I'm going to have a shave and get into clean
things.'
He took me along with him, and whilst he was shaving himself, and his
little groom, Jose, was unpacking his bag, I told him about the
ex-policeman.
'For goodness' sake, take care of yourself, Gerald,' I said; 'he'll get
you if he dies for it,' but 'Don't worry,' was all I could get out of
him, as he scraped his face. I don't mind telling you that I was
thoroughly frightened--much more for Gerald than myself, though the more
I bothered him to take some precautions, the more angry he got.
'Blow it!' he said; 'you've made me cut myself. Confound these safety
razors. My dear Billums, if he's going to get me, he will. I'll keep
my eye skinned for the beast, but they're all so much alike that you
can't tell t'other from which--scar or no scar. Nobody's life is worth
a cent in this country unless you trust to luck.'
'But why don't you have an escort?' I pleaded.
'Have an escort? My dear Billums, if I had an escort, they'd think I
was afraid.'
I gave it up, and told him all about bringing those guns and
ammunition-wagons back into San Fernando, and all the troubles I'd had
with the officers and their men; I didn't forget to tell him about the
'Gnome' coming up in the nick of time.
He was jolly pleased, though he didn't say much. 'That chap you call the
'Gnome' is one of the best people I've got, I don't know what I should
do without him.'
All this time orderlies came in and out, and Gerald did not seem to have
a moment's peace. Then a man came in with a note.
'It's from Zorilla,' Gerald said. 'He wants to know what's become of
Navarro, his fat little A.D.C. You ought to know--that chap with the
cigarette case.'