'Boots are a nuisance,' he answered; 'those little chaps of mine looted
an army boot-store yesterday; they think boots make them look more like
real soldiers. They've never worn boots before, and will be footsore in
an hour, but they _will_ wear them. I can't prevent them.'
I could hear them slipping and sliding behind me in the darkness. To
make matters worse, after we'd been climbing for a couple of hours, the
rain came down in bucketsful, drenched us to the skin, and made
everything more slippery than ever.
'I'm going to take mine off,' I told Gerald when I had slipped badly
again, and so I did, hanging my boots round my neck, and stuffing my
socks inside them.
Presently we heard a sliding noise behind us, a rifle went bounding and
clattering down, a man gave a scream, and then, far below, we heard a
crash, as if the body had fallen into dry bushes.
'That's one gone over the edge,' Gerald said, quite coolly, 'I wish the
others would do as you've done and take off their boots. Keep well to
the right.'
I didn't like it at all, and you bet I put each foot down jolly
carefully before I trusted my weight to it.
We were walking, or scrambling, up a rock path, and I knew that on our
left the mountain-side sloped down very precipitously, and far below,
under my feet, could hear the noise of a rushing stream; it sounded
thousands of feet below.
Noise! Why, it didn't much matter what noise we made! For, although
the rain had ceased nearly as quickly as it had commenced, the night and
blackness was full of the noises of mountain torrents, splashing down
the rocks above and below us--all round us, in fact--sluicing stones
along with them, and making a great rattle.
We knew that the 'Gnome' was still plodding on ahead, for he kept
calling softly back every few seconds. Then a great black gap seemed to
open right out at our feet--it looked like the end of the world for
blackness. My nerves were pretty jumpy--they hadn't yet recovered from
that fight with _La Buena Presidente_--and I clutched at a rock and
shivered in my wet things. We had stopped, and the 'Gnome' was taking
off his boots.
'You'll have to be careful here,' Gerald said. 'Lean well to the right
and get a good grip before you put your weight on your feet. Come on!'
I heard the 'Gnome' scrambling round something, sending stones flying
down into space, Gerald disappeared, and I followed with my heart in my
mouth.
'Dig your toes in and get a good grip,' he sang out, and I stuck them
into a ledge and a little crack I felt, skinning them, I know, and
worked my way along. My shoulders were hanging over that black pit
below, and I had that awful feeling that I wanted to let go and fall
down. I dare not move hand or foot, but just as I was beginning to
sweat with fear, Gerald caught me by one hand and pulled me round.
'That's the worst bit, Billums; we shall lose some of them here.'
I couldn't answer--my jaws were chattering so much. I was trembling all
over.
No! I certainly hadn't quite got over that terrible fifteen minutes
while the poor old _Hector_ was being shattered.
I followed him in a second or two, but we had barely gone twenty paces
before we heard some one slipping at that corner we had just passed;
there was a scream--it sounded again hundreds of feet below us--then
absolute silence, while I waited, with my ears tingling, for the crash.
At last it came up to us out of the darkness, just like the noise a plum
would make if you threw it on the ground. I dug my bare heel among the
stones and clutched some bushes.
'Come along!' Gerald whispered nervously, but stopped again because
there were more screams from that awful corner. He groped his way back.
'I'll make them join their belts together and form a line round there,'
he said, as the 'Gnome,' Jose, and I waited shivering for him.
'_Don Geraldio, mucho bueno_,' the 'Gnome' muttered under his breath.
My brother's voice sounded again after what seemed like half an hour, 'I
had to go round that blessed corner place, Billums, but I've got a dozen
belts fixed together and men holding them on each side, so it's pretty
safe now.'
I myself wouldn't have gone round that corner, or whatever it was, for
anything in the world.
We scrambled on, and the rain came tumbling down; in five minutes the
path we were in was a raging torrent, and my naked feet slipped back one
step for every three I made. They were getting tender now--very tender.
'We're past the worst part, put your boots on again,' Gerald sang out,
and I tried to do so, but they were so wet and my feet so swollen that
they wouldn't go on, so I had to do without them.
'What's the time?' I asked Gerald presently, when we'd halted to let the
column close up. 'Is it safe to light a match?'
'My goodness, no! Zorilla's people would see us for miles; he has
watchers all over the hills. Whatever time it is I'm afraid we shall be
late.'
We _were_ late too, and by the time it was light enough to see my
wretched feet--and wasn't I jolly glad to begin to see anything--it was
half-past two, and we still had a long climb before us. But we went
much faster now, and began edging away to the right, bearing round a
tremendous mountain shoulder that loomed up over our heads.
'On the other side is Santa Cruz,' Gerald whispered. That was exciting
enough, if you like. He was busy hurrying on his men, who now began
slipping past us, going on ahead. They looked pretty well exhausted,
and most of them had done as I had done--hung their boots round their
necks; but in spite of their being soaked to the skin, and in spite of
their tremendous climb, they were cheerful enough, and their eyes were
flashing all right--at the prospect of sacking Santa Cruz, I expect.
The officers looked much more weather-beaten than they did.
Then we went on again, and I asked Gerald whether we had lost many men
during the night, but he didn't know. We were walking through coarse
grass that cut my feet and made them smart like the mischief, so I stuck
my socks on. That eased things a little.
'We can see Santa Cruz from here--in daylight,' Gerald whispered
presently, as we reached the top, and I knew by the waver in his voice
that he was--at last--excited; I know that the blood went tingling to
_my_ ears at the mere thought of being so near the city.
The men were thrown out in a single line; we stopped to get them into
something like order, and as they marched into position they threw
themselves down on the wet ground, clutching their beloved rifles
feverishly, and looking down through the gloom and the mist to where
Santa Cruz lay at our feet. That long line of little crouching men with
their glittering eyes all trying to pierce the dim light and see the
city they'd heard so much about and come so many miles to capture, was
the most extraordinary sight.
As I looked at them I couldn't help thinking what an awful fate was
waiting for Santa Cruz if they should get out of hand and sack it. They
were more than half-savages, and their officers, standing there among
them, didn't look as if they could control them once they began to see
'red.'
'Is everything all right?' I asked Gerald, who had come back out of the
mist from where the far end of the line extended, out of sight, and he
nodded cheerfully, so I didn't mind being wet through and hungry, and
longed for him to give the signal to rush down to the city below us.
Poor old Zorilla! I couldn't help feeling sorry for him.
Presently he did give a sign, the officers drew their swords, and the
whole crouching mob sprang to its feet, and we began scrambling and
sliding downhill. It was a jolly sight easier work than scrambling up,
but we made the dickens of a noise.
In a quarter of an hour we could smell the city, and then the faint
outlines of the old cathedral tower showed up, the fierce little men
drawing in their breath with a hissing sound as they pointed it out to
each other. Suddenly, right under our feet, I recognised San
Sebastian--we were looking down on top of it and on those short saluting
guns along the parapet.
As I pointed it out to Gerald there was the crack of a rifle and then
another, then hundreds of bullets came flying past, hitting the ground
in front of us and whizzing overhead. Gerald's men sank to the ground
behind us, and I could hardly see them among the brown rocks.
The 'Gnome' came waddling along--out of breath--Gerald told me to lie
down, and he and the 'Gnome' and about a hundred men crept forward to
reconnoitre. I crawled after them, and caught up with my brother just
as he was looking round a big boulder.
'Look there!' he whispered, 'down to the left!'
I peered through the dim light, and there, drawn up between us and San
Sebastian, on some level ground, I saw several regiments of regulars. A
few companies, already extended, were lying down and firing up at us,
some were deploying as rapidly as they could, and others were crowding
into San Sebastian and lining the walls. Four field-guns came bumping
along out of the mist and began unlimbering and a little group of
horsemen galloped up behind them.
'There's old Zorilla!' we both sang out. You couldn't possibly mistake
him and his black horse.
'He's too late,' Gerald whispered excitedly. 'We'll rush 'em.'
He got up and back we climbed to where we'd left our men. Bullets were
spluttering and splashing all round us, but no one was hit. Gerald
collected some of the officers and jabbered away to them in Spanish. I
saw their tired eyes begin flaming.
'Look here, Billums!' he said, turning to me. 'Would you mind hurrying
down in front of those chaps on the left? I'm going to take the right
of the mob--I'm going straight for the guns--but you cut along to the
left and try and get into San Sebastian. Shout, wave your arms, but keep
going, and they'll follow all right. Here, take my polo helmet, that'll
make you all the more like me. It's all right; Zorilla won't get his
chaps to stand when they see we mean things.'
Off he ran to his part of the line.
[Illustration: SCRAMBLING DOWN THE MOUNTAIN SIDE]
My aunt! that was fun, if you like. I went across to the left and began
halloaing; the officers began shouting, '_Viva los Horizontales!_' and
before I could say 'Jack Robinson' the whole of those little brown chaps
and I were scrambling down the mountain-side straight for San Sebastian,
yelling blue murder.
My old boots were knocking up against each other and against my back,
but I jammed Gerald's polo hat firmly on and slid and scrambled, and ran
and slid again. The field-guns fired once or twice, there was an
appalling triumphant shrieking noise behind me--you couldn't call it a
cheer, it was much too savage for that--and Gerald was right. Zorilla's
infantry could _not_ stand the torrent of brown forest-men dashing down
the mountain-side on top of them, and, just as I was wishing that I had
a stick or a stone--anything, in fact--in my hand, they fired a volley
and began running and racing back to the town and behind the walls of
San Sebastian.
The mule-drivers unhitched the mules from the guns and galloped madly
along after them--helter-skelter--dodging behind the walls, and then
streaming along the road towards the city itself.
We were after them like smoke, and just as some of them dashed across
the drawbridge and tried to close the heavy iron doors, we rushed in.
They didn't show fight, I should think they didn't; it was only the
backs of them we saw as they tumbled over themselves to escape, throwing
away their rifles and clambering through the embrasures of those
saluting guns.
Well, that was how I paid my second visit to San Sebastian--a bit of a
change from my first visit, wasn't it?
I dashed out again to help Gerald and, as I turned round the walls,
along he came and old Zorilla with him. The poor old chap was mopping
some blood off his forehead, and though he did look so forlorn he bowed
to me in quite a friendly way. I gave his hand a jolly good hard grip.
It turned out that only a very few of his men round those guns had made
any stand, and that Gerald had simply swept through them, driven them
back under the walls of the fort, and the old man had surrendered. The
little brown men were rushing like a pack of hounds after the retreating
regulars, and Gerald's officers were trying to stop them. They did
manage to bring some back, but couldn't stop the rest, who went
careering along towards Santa Cruz, till fifty or sixty regulars, braver
than the others, or perhaps unable to run any farther, faced round,
formed up across the road, and began firing at them, when back they came
grinning and smiling like spaniels who have been ranging too far ahead
and know they deserve a hiding. A lot of them scrambled up the
mountain-side to fetch their beloved boots, which they had dropped
before they began charging down.
'The revolution is finished,' Gerald said quite quietly, and began
loading his pipe; but his fingers shook a little, and I knew that he was
fearfully excited, although he did his best to conceal the fact. He had
the field-guns brought into the fort, and stuck them through some vacant
embrasures, where they could command the road leading down to the city.
Then he began to get his chaps into some kind of order again.
'Would you like to hoist the flag, Billums? You can if you like,' he
said; and you bet I would. Some one--the 'Gnome' it was--brought along a
roll of black and green bunting; we climbed up to the flagstaff on top
of the walls, and hitching it to the halyards I hauled it up, hand over
hand. You should have seen Gerald's chaps yelling and dancing about,
and heard them shouting, '_Viva de Costa!' 'Viva los Horizontals!_' and
'_Viva Don Geraldio!_' I need hardly tell you which were the loudest
shouts, but old Gerald never moved a muscle, and took them all as a
matter of course.
I stood on top of the wall and smiled down on them, and never had had a
jollier spree. It was quite light now--a most beautiful calm morning,
the air crisp and fresh--and the top edge of the ridge we'd just climbed
down was a rosy red.
Whatever the weather had been it wouldn't have made much difference to
me; I felt simply glorious, and thought of old Ginger, down aboard the
_Hercules_, keeping his morning watch and trying to prevent the men from
making too much noise over the Captain's head and waking him.
It was grand to be alive! I managed to get on my boots, though they
wouldn't go on over my socks, then I took my coat off and shook some of
the water out of it, for I was still as wet as a rat. Any number of
weird noises were coming up from the city.
'They'll come and attack us, I suppose; won't they?' I asked Gerald, but
he only smiled and said something to General Zorilla, who smiled too,
rather sadly, and shook his head.
Then I thought of that room place with the barred iron door where I'd
been shut up, and took Gerald over to have a good look at it, but he'd
had it opened already, and quite a number of 'plain clothes' people were
standing about, not quite knowing what to do, but highly delighted with
themselves. They had just been released. I showed him those three
graves, although they were not very distinct now as grass had already
grown over them. It was a happy time if you like, and I was getting
more hungry every second.
Half an hour later a carriage came driving furiously up the road towards
San Sebastian, and two civilians and an officer jumped down. They came
up very humbly to Gerald and spoke to him. I knew their news was good,
because Gerald's face twitched so much, and directly he called out
something in Spanish, every one inside and outside the fort began
shouting and yelling with delight.
'Canilla has vanished,' he told me; 'the place is empty, and they're
going to hoist the black and green flag over the cathedral tower as soon
as they've sewn one together.'
'Then it's all over,' I said, just a little disappointed that there was
to be no more excitement.
'Yes! we can march in now, but----'
'But what?' I asked, seeing Gerald look a little anxious, and he swept
his hand round to where the little half-savage men were cheering and
shouting, dancing about like children.
'----but if I took them in now, Santa Cruz would be in flames in an
hour.'