In the early spring Soult, who was besieging Cadiz, received orders
from Napoleon to cooperate with Massena and, although ignorant of
the latter's plans, and even of his position, prepared to do so at
once. He crushed the Spanish force on the Gebora; captured Badajoz,
owing to the treachery and cowardice of its commander; and was
moving north, when the news reached him that Massena was falling
back. The latter's position had, indeed, become untenable. His army
was wasted by sickness; and famine threatened it, for the supplies
obtainable from the country round had now been exhausted.
Wellington was, as he knew from his agents in the Portuguese
government, receiving reinforcements; and would shortly be in a
position to assume the offensive.
The discipline in the French army under Massena had been greatly
injured by its long inactivity. The only news he received as to
Soult's movements was that he was near Badajoz; therefore, the
first week in March he began his retreat, by sending off 10,000
sick and all his stores to Thomar. Then he began to fall back.
Thick weather favoured him, and Ney assembled a large force near
Leiria, as if to advance against the British position. Two other
corps left Santarem, on the night of the fifth, and retired to
Thomar. The rest of the army moved by other routes.
For four days Wellington, although discovering that a retreat was
in progress, was unable to ascertain by which line Massena was
really retiring. As soon as this point was cleared up, he ordered
Beresford to concentrate near Abrantes; while he himself followed
the line the main body of the French army seemed to be taking. It
was soon found that they were concentrating at Pombal, with the
apparent intention of crossing the Mondego at Coimbra; whereby they
would have obtained a fresh and formidable position behind the
Mondego, with the rich and untouched country between that river and
the Douro, upon which they could have subsisted for a long time.
Therefore, calling back the troops that were already on the march
to relieve Badajos, which had not yet surrendered, he advanced with
all speed upon Pombal, his object being to force the French to take
the line of retreat through Miranda for the frontier, and so to
prevent him from crossing the Mondego.
Ney commanded the rear guard, and carried out the operation with
the same mixture of vigour, valour, and prudence with which he,
afterwards, performed the same duty to the French army on its
retreat from Moscow. He fought at Pombal and at Redinha, and that
so strenuously that, had it not been for Trant, Wilson, and other
partisans who defended all the fords and bridges, Massena would
have been able to have crossed the Mondego. Wellington however
turned, one by one, the positions occupied by Ney; and Massena,
believing that the force at Coimbra was far stronger than it really
was, changed his plans and took up a position at Cazal Nova.
Here he left Ney and marched for Miranda but, although Ney covered
the movement with admirable skill, disputing every ridge and post
of vantage, the British pressed forward so hotly that Massena was
obliged to destroy all his baggage and ammunition. Ney rashly
remained on the east side of the river Cerra, in front of the
village of Foz d'Aronce and, being attacked suddenly, was driven
across the river with a loss of 500 men; many being drowned by
missing the fords, and others crushed to death in the passage.
However, Ney held the line of the river, blew up the bridge, and
his division withdrew in good order.
Massena tarnished the reputation, gained by the manner in which he
had drawn off his army from its dangerous position, by the ruthless
spirit with which the operation was conducted; covering his retreat
by burning every village through which he passed, and even ordering
the town of Leiria to be destroyed, although altogether out of the
line he was following.
After this fight the British pursuit slackened somewhat, for
Wellington received the news of the surrender of Badajoz and,
seeing that Portugal was thus open to invasion by Soult, on the
south, despatched Cole's division to join that of Beresford;
although this left him inferior in force to the army he was
pursuing. The advance was retarded by the necessity of making
bridges across the Cerra, which was now in flood, and the delay
enabled Massena to fall back unmolested to Guarda; where he
intended to halt, and then to move to Coria, whence he could have
marched to the Tagus, effected a junction with Soult, and be in a
position to advance again upon Lisbon, with a larger force than
ever. He had, however, throughout been thwarted by the factious
disobedience of his lieutenants Ney, Regnier, Brouet, Montbrun, and
Junot; and this feeling now broke into open disobedience and, while
Ney absolutely defied his authority, the others were so disobedient
that fierce and angry personal altercations took place.
Massena removed Ney from his command. His own movements were,
however, altogether disarranged by two British divisions, marching
over the mountains by paths deemed altogether impassable for
troops; which compelled him to abandon his intention of marching
south, and to retire to Sabuga on the Coa. Here he was attacked.
Regnier's corps, which covered the position, was beaten with heavy
loss but, owing to the combinations--which would have cut Massena
off from Ciudad Rodrigo--failing, from some of the columns going
altogether astray in a thick fog, Massena gained that town with his
army. He had lost in battle, from disease, or taken prisoners,
30,000 men since the day when, confident that he was going to drive
Wellington to take refuge on board his ships, he had advanced from
that town.
Even now he did not feel safe, though rejoined by a large number of
convalescents; and, drawing rations for his troops from the stores
of the citadel, he retired with the army to Salamanca. Having
reorganized his force, procured fresh horses for his guns, and
rested the troops for a few days; Massena advanced to cover Ciudad
Rodrigo, and to raise the siege of Almeida--which Wellington had
begun without loss of time--and, with upwards of 50,000 men,
Massena attacked the British at Fuentes d'Onoro.
[Illustration: Plan of the Battle of Fuentes d'Onoro.]
The fight was long and obstinate, and the French succeeded in
driving back the British right; but failed in a series of desperate
attempts to carry the village of Fuentes. Both sides claimed the
battle as a victory, but the British with the greater ground; for
Massena fell back across the Aqueda, having failed to relieve
Almeida; whose garrison, by a well-planned night march, succeeded
in passing through the besieging force, and effected their retreat
with but small loss, the town falling into the possession of the
British.
Terence had come up, after a series of long marches, on the day
before the battle. His arrival was very opportune, for the
Portuguese troops with Wellington were completely demoralized, and
exhausted, by the failure of their government to supply them with
food, pay, or clothes. So deplorable was their state that
Wellington had been obliged to disband the militia regiments, and
great numbers of desertions had taken place from the regular
troops.
The regiment had been stationed on the British right. Here the
fighting had been very severe. The French cavalry force was
enormously superior to the British, who had but a thousand troopers
in the field. These were driven back by the French, and Ramsay's
battery of horse artillery was cut off. But Ramsay placed himself
at the head of his battery and, at full gallop, dashed through the
French infantry and cavalry, and succeeded in regaining his
friends.
The two battalions of the Minho regiment, who were posted in a
wood, defended themselves with the greatest resolution against an
attack by vastly superior numbers; until the French, advancing on
each side of the wood, had cut them off from the rest of the
division. Then a bugle call summoned the men to assemble at the
rear of the wood and, forming squares, the two battalions marched
out.
Twelve French guns played upon them and, time after time, masses of
cavalry swept down on them but, filling up the gaps in their ranks,
they pressed on; charged two French regiments, at the double, that
endeavoured to block their way; burst a path through them, and
succeeded in rejoining the retiring division, which received them
with a burst of hearty cheering. Two hundred had fallen, in the
short time that had elapsed since they left the wood.
Terence had been in the centre of one of the squares but, just as
they were breaking through the French ranks, he had ridden to the
rear face; and called upon the men to turn and repulse a body of
French cavalry, that was charging down upon them. At this moment a
bullet struck his horse in the flank. Maddened with the sudden
pain, the animal sprang forward, broke through the ranks of the
Portuguese in front of it and, before Terence could recover its
command, dashed at full speed among the French cavalry. Before he
could strike a blow in defence, Terence was cut down. As he fell
the cavalry passed over him but, fortunately, the impetus of his
charge had carried him nearly through their ranks before he fell;
and the horses of the rear rank leapt over his body, without
touching him. It was the force of the blow that had felled him for,
in the hurry of striking, the trooper's sword had partly turned,
and it was with the flat rather than the edge that he was struck.
Although half stunned with the blow and the heavy fall, he did not
altogether lose consciousness. He heard, as he lay, a crashing
volley; which would, he felt sure, repulse the horsemen and,
fearing that in their retreat they might ride over him, trampling
him to death, he struggled to his feet. The French, however, though
repulsed, did not retire far, but followed upon the retreating
regiment until it joined the British; when a battery opened upon
them, and their commander called upon them to fall back. This was
done in good order, and at a steady trot.
On seeing Terence standing in their path, an officer rode up to
him.
"I surrender," Terence said.
A trooper was called out, and ordered to conduct him to the rear;
where many other prisoners, who had been taken during the French
advance, were gathered. Here an English soldier bound up Terence's
wound, from which the blood was streaming freely, a portion of the
scalp having been shorn clean off.
"That was a narrow escape, sir," the man said.
"Yes; I don't know how it was that it did not sever my skull; but I
suppose that it was a hasty blow, and the sword must have turned.
It might have been worse, by a good deal. I am afraid things are
going badly with us."
"Badly enough, here," the soldier said; "but I think we are holding
our own, in the centre. There is a tremendous roar of fire going
on, round that village there. I was captured half an hour ago, and
it has been growing louder and louder, ever since."
For another two hours the battle continued and, as it still centred
round the village, the spirits of the prisoners rose; for it was
evident that, although the right had been driven back, the centre
was at least holding its position, against all the efforts of the
French. In the afternoon the fire slackened, and only a few shots
were fired.
The next morning at daybreak the prisoners, 300 in number, were
marched away under a strong escort. Both armies still occupied the
same positions they had held the day before, and there seemed every
probability of the battle being renewed. When, however, they had
marched several miles, and no sound of heavy firing was heard, the
prisoners concluded that either Wellington had retired; or that
Massena, seeing his inability to drive the British from their
position, intended himself to fall back upon Ciudad.
The convoy marched twenty miles, and then halted for the night. Two
hours after they did so a great train of waggons containing wounded
came up, and halted at the same place. The wounded were lifted out
and laid on the ground, where the surgeons attended to the more
serious cases.
"Pardon, monsieur," Terence said in French, to one of the doctors
who was near him, "are there any of our countrymen among the
wounded?"
"No, sir, they are all French," the doctor replied.
"That is a good sign," Terence said, to an English officer who was
standing by him when he asked the question.
"Why so, Colonel?"
"Because, if Massena intended to attack again tomorrow, he would
have sent the British wounded back, as well as his own men. The
French, like ourselves, make no distinction between friends and
foes; and that he has not sent them seems, to me, to show that he
intends himself to fall back, and to leave the British wounded to
the care of their own surgeons, rather than embarrass himself with
them."
"Yes, I have no doubt that is the case," the officer said. "It
seems, then, that we must have won the day, after all. That is some
comfort, anyhow, and I shall sleep more soundly than I expected. If
we had been beaten, there would have been nothing for it but for
the army to fall back again to the lines of Torres Vedras; and
Wellington would have had to fight very hard to regain them. If
Massena does fall back, Almeida will have to surrender."
"I was inside last time it surrendered," Terence said, "but I
managed to make my way out with my regiment, after the explosion."
"I wonder whether Massena means to leave us at Ciudad, or to send
us on to Salamanca?"
"I should think that he would send us on," Terence replied; "he
will not want to have 300 men eating up the stores at Ciudad,
besides requiring a certain portion of the garrison to look after
them."
Terence's ideas proved correct and, without stopping at Ciudad, the
convoy of prisoners and wounded continued their march until they
arrived at Salamanca. Terence could not help smiling, as he was
marched through the street, and thought of the wild panic that he
and Dicky Ryan had caused, when he was last in that town. The
convent which the Mayo Fusiliers had occupied was now turned into a
prison, and here the prisoners taken at Fuentes d'Onoro were
marched, and joined those who had fallen into the hands of the
French during Massena's retreat. Among these were several officers
of his acquaintance and, as discipline was not very strict, they
were able to make themselves fairly comfortable together.
The French, indeed, along the whole of the Portuguese frontier, had
their hands full; and the force at Salamanca was so small that but
few men could be spared for prison duties and, so long as their
captives showed no signs of giving trouble, their guards were
satisfied to leave them a good deal to their own devices; watching
the gate carefully, but leaving much of the interior work of the
prison to be done by Spanish warders for, violent as the natives
were in their expressions of hatred for the French, they were
always ready to serve under them, in any capacity in which money
could be earned.
"There can be no difficulty, whatever, in making one's escape from
here," Terence said, to a party of four or five officers who were
lodged with him in a room, from whose window a view over the city
was obtainable. "It is not the getting out of this convent that is
difficult, but the making one's way across this country to rejoin.
I have no doubt that one could bribe one of those Spaniards to
bring in a rope and, even if that could not be obtained, we might
manage to make one from our blankets; but the question is, what to
do when we have got out? Massena lies between us and Ciudad and,
from what I hear the French soldiers say, the whole line is guarded
down to Badajoz, where Soult's army is lying. Victor is somewhere
farther to the south, and their convoys and cavalry will be
traversing the whole country. I speak Portuguese well, and know
enough of Spanish to pass as a Spaniard, among Frenchmen, but to
anyone who does not speak either language it would be next to
impossible to get along."
"I quite see that," one of the officers said, "and for my part I
would rather stay where I am, than run the risk of such an attempt.
I don't know a word of Spanish, and should be recaptured before I
had been out an hour. If I got away from the town I should be no
better off, for I could not obtain a disguise. As to making one's
way from here to Almeida, it would be altogether hopeless."
The others agreed, and one of them said:
"But don't let us be any hindrance to you, O'Connor. If you are
disposed to try, by all means do so and, if we can help you in any
way, we will."
"I shall certainly try," Terence said; "but I shall wait a little
to see how things go. It may be by this time Wellington has fallen
back again and, in that case, no doubt Massena will advance. We
heard as we came along that Marmont, with six divisions, is
approaching the frontier and, even if Wellington could maintain
himself on the Aqueda, Soult is likely to crush Beresford, and may
advance from Badajoz towards Lisbon, when the British will be
obliged to retire at once.
"To make one's way across the open country between this and Ciudad
would be easy enough; while it would be dangerous in the extreme to
enter the passes, while the French troops are pressing through them
on Wellington's rear. My Portuguese would, of course, be a
hindrance rather than a benefit to me on this side of the frontier;
for the Spaniards hate the Portuguese very much more heartily than
they do the French. You know that, when they were supplying our
army with grain, the Spanish muleteers would not bring any for the
use of the Portuguese brigades; and it was only by taking it as if
for the British divisions, and distributing it afterwards to the
Portuguese, that the latter could be kept alive. As a British
officer I should feel quite safe, if I fell into the hands of
Spanish guerillas; but as a Portuguese officer my life would not be
worth an hour's purchase."
Two days later came the news that a desperate battle had been
fought by Beresford at Albuera, near Badajoz. He had been attacked
by Soult but, after tremendous fighting, in which the French first
obtained great advantages, they had been at last beaten off by the
British troops; and it ended a drawn battle, the losses on both
sides being extraordinarily heavy. It was not until some time
afterwards that Terence learned the particulars of this desperate
engagement. Beresford had 30,000 infantry, 2000 cavalry, and 38
guns; but the British infantry did not exceed 7000. Soult had 4000
veteran cavalry, 19,000 infantry, and 40 guns.
The battle began badly. Blake with his Spaniards were soon disposed
of by the French and, in half an hour, the battle was all but lost;
a brigade of the British infantry being involved in the confusion
caused by the Spanish retreat, and two-thirds of its number being
destroyed. The whole brunt of the battle now fell upon the small
British force remaining. French columns pushed up the hill held by
them. The cannon on both sides swept the ground with grape. The
heavy French columns suffered terribly from the fire from the
English lines; but they pressed forward, gained the crest of the
rise and, confident of victory, were still advancing; when Cole and
Houghton's brigades came up and restored the battle, and the
British line, charging through a storm of grape and musketry, fell
upon the French columns and drove them down the hill again, in
confusion.
The Portuguese battalions had fought well, as had the German
regiment; but it was upon the British that the whole brunt of the
fight had fallen. In the four hours that the combat lasted, 7000 of
the allies and over 8000 of the French had been killed or wounded.
Of the 6000 British infantry, only 1800 remained standing when the
battle was over, 4200 being killed or wounded; 600 Germans and
Portuguese were placed hors de combat; while of the Spaniards, who
formed the great mass of the army, 2000 were killed or wounded by
the French artillery and musketry, or cut down while in disorder by
the French cavalry.
Never was the indomitable valour of British infantry more markedly
shown than at the battle of Albuera. The battle had been brought
on, in no small degree, by their anxiety for action. The regiments
had been disappointed that, while their comrades were sharing in
Wellington's pursuit of Massena, they were far away from the scene
of conflict; and when Beresford would have fallen back, as it would
have been prudent to do, they became so insubordinate that he gave
way to their desire to meet the French; and so fought a battle
where defeat would have upset all Wellington's plans for the
campaign, and victory would have brought no advantages with it.
Like Inkerman, it was a soldiers' battle. Beresford's dispositions
were faulty in the extreme and, tactically, the day was lost before
the fighting began.
The Spanish portion of the army did no real fighting and, in their
confusion, involved the loss of nearly the whole of a British
brigade; and it was only by the unconquerable valour of the
remainder of the British force that victory was gained, against
enormous odds, and that against some of the best troops of France.
Terence was in the habit of often going down and chatting with the
French guard at the gate. Their duties were tedious, and they were
glad of a talk with this young British officer, who was the only
prisoner in their keeping who spoke their language fluently; and
from them he obtained what news they had of what was going on. A
fortnight later, he gathered that the British force on the Aqueda
had been greatly weakened, that there was no intention of laying
siege to Ciudad, and it was believed that Wellington's main body
had marched south to join Beresford.
This was, indeed, the only operation left open to the British
general. Regnier's division of Marmont's army had joined Massena,
and it would be impossible to besiege Ciudad while a force, greatly
superior to his own, was within easy striking distance. On the
other hand, Beresford was in no position to fight another battle
and, as long as Badajoz remained in the hands of the French, they
could at any time advance into Portugal; and its possession was
therefore of paramount importance.
Marmont had succeeded Massena in command, the latter marshal having
been recalled to France; and the great bulk of the French army was
now concentrated round Salamanca, from which it could either march
against the British force at Ciudad; or unite with Soult and, in
overwhelming strength, either move against Cadiz or advance into
Portugal. Wellington therefore left Spencer to guard the line of
the Coa, and make demonstrations against Ciudad; while with the
main body of his army he marched south.
The news decided Terence to attempt to make his escape in that
direction. He did not know whether his own regiment would be with
Spencer, or Wellington; but it was clear that more important events
would be likely to take place near Badajoz than on the Coa. The
French would be unlikely to choose the latter route for an advance
into Portugal. The country had been stripped bare by the two armies
that had marched across it. The roads were extremely bad, and it
would be next to impossible for an army to carry with it sustenance
for the march; still less for maintaining itself after it had
traversed the passes. Moreover Spencer, falling back before them,
would retire to the lines of Torres Vedras; and the invaders would
find themselves, as Massena had done, baffled by that tremendous
line of fortifications, where they might find also Wellington and
his army, who would have shorter roads to follow, established
before they arrived.
Some of the townspeople were allowed to pass in and out of the
convent, to sell fruit and other articles to the British prisoners;
and Terence thought it better to open negotiations with one of
these, rather than one of the warders in French pay. He was not
long in fixing upon one of them as an ally. She was a good-looking
peasant girl, who came regularly with grapes and other fruit. From
the first, Terence had made his purchases from her, and had stood
chatting with her for some time.
"I want to get away from here, Nita," he said, on the day he
received the news of Wellington's march to the south.
"I dare say, senor," she laughed. "I suppose all the other
prisoners want the same."
"No doubt; but you see, they would not have much chance of getting
away, because none of them understand Spanish. I talk it a little,
as you see. So if I got out and had a disguise, I might very well
make my way across the country."
"There are many brigands about," she said, "and it is not safe for
a single man to travel anywhere. What do you want me to do?"
"I want a rope fifty feet long; not a very thick one, but strong
enough to bear my weight. That is the first thing. Then I want a
disguise; but that I could get, if a friend would be in readiness
to give it to me, after I had slid down the rope into the street."
"How could I give you a rope, senor, with all these people about?"
"You could put it into the bottom of your basket, and cover it over
with fruit. You could take your stand near the door, at the foot of
the stairs leading up to my room. Then I could, in the hearing of
the rest, say that it was my fete day; and that I was going to give
the others a treat, so that I would buy all your grapes. After we
had bargained for them, I could hand you the money and say:
"'Give me your basket. I will run upstairs, empty it, and bring it
down to you.'
"As this would save my making five or six journeys upstairs, there
would be nothing suspicious about that."
"I will think it over," the girl said, gravely. "I do not see that
there would be much danger. I will give you an answer tomorrow."
The next day she said, when Terence went up to her, "I will do it,
senor. I have a lover who is a muleteer. I spoke to him last night,
and he will help you. Tomorrow I will give you the rope. In the
afternoon you are to hang something out of your window; not far,
but so that it can be just seen from the street. That red sash of
yours will do very well. Do not let it go more than an inch or two
beyond the window sill, so that it will not attract any attention.
"When the clock strikes ten, Garcia and I will be in the street
below that window. This is a quiet neighbourhood, and no one is
likely to be about. Garcia will have a suit of muleteer's clothes
for you, and you can change at once. I will carry those you have on
to our house, and destroy them. Garcia will take you to his
lodging. He starts at daybreak with his mules, and you can travel
with them."
"Thank you most heartily, Nita. Here are five gold pieces, for the
purchase of the ropes and clothes."
"Oh, they will not cost anything like as much as that!" the girl
said.
"If they don't, you must buy yourself a little keepsake, Nita, in
remembrance of me; but I will send you something better worth
having, by Garcia, when I reach our army, and am able to get money
with which I can pay him for his labour and loss of time."
"I don't want money," the girl said, drawing herself up proudly. "I
am helping you because I like you, and because you have come here
to drive the French away."
"I should not think of offering you money, Nita. I know that it is
out of pure kindness that you are doing it; but you could not
refuse some little trinket to wear, on your wedding day."
"I may never get married," the girl said, with a pout.
"Oh, I know better than that, Nita! A girl with as pretty a face as
yours would never remain single, and I should not be surprised if
you were to tell me that the day is fixed already."
"It is not fixed, and is not likely to be, senor. I have told
Garcia that I will never marry, as long as the French are here. He
may go out with one of the partisan forces. He often talks about
doing so, and might get shot any day by these brigands. When I am
married, I am not going to stay at home by myself, while he is away
among the mountains."
"Ah! Well, the war cannot last for ever. You may have Wellington
here before the year is out. Give me your address, so that when we
come, I may find you out."
"Callao San Salvador, Number 10. It is one of my uncles I am living
with there. My home is in Burda, six miles away. It is a little
village, and there are so many French bands ranging over the
country that, a month ago, my father sent me in here to stay with
my uncle; thinking that I should be safer in the city than in a
little village. He brings fruit in for me to sell, twice a week."
"Very well. If we come here, I shall go to your uncle's and inquire
for you and, if you have left him, I will go out to your village
and find you."
All passed off as arranged, without the slightest hitch. Terence
took the girl's basket and ran upstairs with it, emptied the fruit
out on the table, thrust the rope under his bed, and ran down again
and gave Nita the basket. At ten o'clock at night he slung himself
from the window and after a hearty goodbye to his fellow
prisoners--several of whom, now that it was too late, would gladly
have shared in his adventure.
"I should be very glad if you were going with me, but at the same
time I own that I do not think we should get through. I question,
indeed, if the muleteer would take anyone who did not understand
enough Spanish to pass, if he were questioned by French soldiers;
and if he would do so, it would greatly increase the risk. At the
same time, if one of you would like to take my place, I will
relinquish it to you; and will, after you have gone off with the
muleteer, go in another direction, and take my chance of getting
hold of a disguise, somehow, and of making my way out."
None of the others would hear of this and, after extinguishing the
light, so as to obviate the risk of anyone noticing him getting out
of the window, Terence slipped down to the ground just as the clock
struck ten.
"Good evening, senor!" a voice said, as his feet touched the
ground. "Here is your disguise. Nita is watching a short distance
away, and will give us notice if anyone approaches. You had best
change, at once."
Terence took off his uniform and, with the assistance of the
muleteer, donned the garments that he had brought for him. Then he
rolled the others into a bundle, and the muleteer gave a low
whistle, whereupon Nita came running up.
"Thanks be to the saints that no one has come along!" she said, as
the rope, which Terence had forgotten, fell at their feet; his
companions having, as agreed, untied the upper end.
"That will come in useful," Garcia said, coiling it up on his arm.
"Now, senor, do not let us stand talking. Nita will take the
uniform and burn it."
"I will hide it, if you like," the girl said. "There can be no
reason for their searching our house."
"Thank you, Nita, but it would be better to destroy it, at once. It
may be a long time before I come this way again; besides, the
things have seen their best days, and I have another suit I can put
on, when I join my regiment. Thanks very much for your kindness,
which I shall always remember."
"Goodbye, senor! May the saints protect you!" and without giving
him time to say more, she took the bundle from Garcia's hand and
sped away down the street.
"Now, senor, follow me," he said, and turned to go in the other
direction.
"You had best call me Juan, and begin at once," Terence said. "If
by accident you were to say senor, in the hearing of anyone, there
would be trouble at once."
"I shall be careful, never fear," the man said. "However, there
would only be harm done if there happened to be a Frenchman--or one
of their Spaniards, who are worse--present. As to my own comrades,
it would not matter at all. We muleteers are all heart and soul
against the French, and will do anything to injure them. We are all
obliged to work for them; for all trade is at an end, and we must
live. Many have joined the partisans, but those who have good mules
cannot go away and give up their only means of earning a living;
for although the French pay for carriage by mules or carts, if they
come upon animals that are not being used, they take them without a
single scruple.
"Besides, there are not many partisans in this part of Spain. The
French have been too long in the valley here, and are too strong in
the Castiles for their operations. It is different in Navarre,
Aragon, and Catalonia; and in Valencia and Mercia. There the French
have never had a firm footing, and most of the strong places are
still in Spanish hands. In all the mountainous parts, in fact,
there are guerillas; but here it is too dangerous. There are bands
all over the country, but these are really but robbers, and no
honest man would join them.
"This is the house."
He turned in at a small doorway and unlocked the door, closing it
after them.
"Put your hand on my shoulder, Juan," he said. "I have a light
upstairs."
He led the way in darkness up a stone staircase, then unlocked
another door and entered a small room, where a candle was burning.
"This is my home, when I am here," he said. "Most of us sleep at
the stables where our mules are put up; but I like having a place
to myself, and my mate looks after the mules."
Nothing could have been simpler than the furniture of the room. It
consisted of a low pallet, a small table, and a single chair. In a
corner were a pair of saddlebags and two or three coloured
blankets. A thick coat, lined with sheepskin, hung against the
wall. In a corner was a brightly-coloured picture of a saint, with
two sconces for candles by the side of it. The muleteer had crossed
himself and bowed to it as he came in, and Terence doubted not that
it was the picture of a saint who was supposed to take a special
interest in muleteers.
From a small cupboard, the man brought out a flask of wine and two
drinking cups.
"It is good," he said, as he placed them on the table. "I go down
to Xeres sometimes, and always bring up a half octave of something
special for my friends, here."
After pouring out the two cups, he handed the chair politely to
Terence, and sat himself down on the edge of the pallet. Then,
taking out a tobacco bag and a roll of paper, he made a cigarette
and handed it to Terence, and then rolled one for himself.