Chapter II: Part 2

"Good heavens!" cried Pomeroy; "another defeat! It was quite time we turned up to help the Dons."

"What a cowardly crew!" added Smith. "They run at the sound of their own guns. Bang! whizz! and Vamos, they cry, which Lumsden will tell you means: 'Let us skedaddle'."

"We mustn't be too hard on them," said Mr. Vaughan quietly. "They used to fight well, by all accounts. There were good men in Alva's time--not to go back any further. All they want is proper leading. Their generals happen to be no match for the French marshals, and unlucky to boot. A little British discipline would work wonders. Well, as I happened to be with the Spanish army, I rode off to Madrid at once with the news, and our minister there sent me off with despatches to Sir John."

"Lucky you were on the spot, sir," said Smith, "or we might have waited till doomsday. The villainous way we are served with intelligence is the common talk of the army."

"I judged as much. The fact is, the Spaniards think they can do the whole thing unaided; you gentlemen are mere interlopers. They'd like to have the French all to themselves."

"Well, they've had a lesson at Tudela," said Pomeroy. "Who had the presumption to beat them there? Was it Marshal Ney?"

"No, a Marshal Lannes. It's rather curious how he managed to take the command, seeing that as he rode across the mountains a fortnight ago his horse fell with him over a precipice, and every bone in his body appeared to be broken. But a clever surgeon named Larrey mended him in some ten days--how do you think? He stitched him up in the skin of a newly-flayed sheep!"

"A wolf," said Shirley, "a wolf in sheep's clothing; and the British dogs of war'll soon be at him."

"How does this defeat affect us, sir?" asked Jack.

"That depends on how the French follow it up. Bonaparte may--"

"Oh, I say, sir," cried Dugdale excitedly, "is old Boney himself in Spain?"

"Didn't you know? He crossed the border three weeks ago. He may swoop down on Madrid, for, except Heredia and San Juan, there seems to be nobody to bar his way."

"Bedad, sir, but there's a certain General Sir John Moore, to say nothing of the 95th," said Captain O'Hare with a laugh; "though, to be sure, 'twas Soult we were to tackle first."

"Won't this defeat bring the French on our flank?" asked Smith, already showing the strategical perception that distinguished the victor of Aliwal.

"It certainly seems likely. I found Sir John terribly distressed at his imperfect knowledge of the French position, and at the sluggishness of the Spaniards. The proud Dons seem to have no plans, and to be perfectly content to drift along. But that won't do against soldiers like Bonaparte and his marshals."

"Do you know how many the French number, all told?" asked Jack.

"I don't, and I'm sure no Spaniard does. I heard 80,000 given as one estimate, but I shall be much surprised if the total is not much larger than that."

"Whew!" exclaimed Dugdale. "And we've only a few thousand here at any rate. What's the odds! an Englishman was always worth ten Frenchmen, and I don't care if Boney comes with a million."

"I admire your confidence and spirit, Mr. Dugdale," said Vaughan dryly.

"Though I'm hanged if I know what we're fighting Boney in Spain for," added Dugdale. "Not that that matters."

"Indeed, but it matters a terrible deal," said Captain O'Hare earnestly. "We've crossed the mighty ocean--and mighty unpleasant it was, bedad!--to help a disthressed and downtrodden people; and sure 'tis we Irishmen can feel for the like o' them."

Dugdale, feeling out of his depth, was silent for a time while the conversation took a more serious tone, and turned on the chain of events which had led to the presence of the British army in Spain.

It was fifteen years since a little Corsican officer of artillery, named Napoleon Bonaparte, had first drawn attention to himself by his clever work at the siege of Toulon. In that time he had made himself Emperor of the French and dictator of Europe, and become one of the greatest figures in universal history. His ambition was insatiable and hitherto his success had been stupendous. Within a few years he had subdued Austria, humbled Prussia, hoaxed Russia, and plundered Italy. Alone of the nations, England had checked his series of triumphs by her victories at the Nile and Trafalgar; but even in England his name was held by the more timorous in awe, and caricatures represented him as a voracious ogre who made his meals of little children. He longed to have England also at his feet--a longing only intensified by the success with which she had hitherto defied his efforts cripple her trade.

Before he could subdue England, however, Bonaparte saw the necessity of adding Spain and Portugal to his tale of victims. Portugal was our ally, and he gave her the choice between breaking with us and fighting France. She held to her alliance, and was promptly overrun with French troops. Having crippled Portugal, he turned his attention to Spain. In that country the old King Charles had allowed the government to fall into the hands of his unscrupulous minister Godoy, who was universally detested. The greater part of the nation wished the king to abdicate in favour of his son Ferdinand, with whom he was constantly quarrelling. Taking advantage of these dissensions, Napoleon sent a French force to Madrid, with the intention, as the Spaniards believed, of supporting Ferdinand. But both Charles and Ferdinand were summoned to meet Napoleon at Bayonne; there they were in turn tricked into resigning the sovereignty, which the emperor at once bestowed on his brother Joseph. This was the signal for a great national rising, the first which Napoleon had yet encountered. The Spaniards were proud, high-spirited, and independent, and refused tamely to submit to this arbitrary interference with their affairs. In all parts of the country they proclaimed Ferdinand king, and when Napoleon poured his troops in an endless stream across the Pyrenees, their eyes turned to England as their only stand-by, and to England they sent for help. A British army under Sir Arthur Wellesley landed in Portugal, and defeated Marshal Junot at the battle of Vimeiro; but, ere the victory could be completed and followed up, the chief command was assumed in succession by Sir Harry Burrard and Sir Hew Dalrymple, who came out within a few days of one another. To Wellesley's disgust, they allowed the French, by the Convention of Cintra, to withdraw from Portugal with the honours of war. But their action aroused intense indignation at home; they were recalled, with Wellesley, to appear before a court of enquiry, and Sir John Moore was unexpectedly placed in command.

Meanwhile the French forces in the Peninsula had been continually increasing; the regular armies of Spain had been beaten on all sides; and instead of meeting, as he had expected, large forces, well equipped at English expense, ready to co-operate with him, Sir John found that he had to defend the Portuguese frontier and undertake offensive operations almost single-handed against a victorious enemy many times outnumbering his own army. Immense sums of money and stores of all kinds had been given to Spain by the British Government, but owing to the corruption of the Spanish officials, and the want of any real governing authority, the gift was virtually wasted. The Juntas, or committees, which had undertaken the government of the various provinces, were all acting, or rather talking of acting, independently, and were strangely blind to their deadly peril. They appeared to regard England as an unfailing source of money and arms, and in some cases actually resented the arrival of British troops, in a sort of blind confidence that they were able unaided to withstand the invader.

Mr. Vaughan had seen something of this during his stay with General Castanos, and his account of what had come under his own eyes kept his hosts interested to a late hour. At length he rose.

"I am very tired," he said, "and as I expect to have to ride again to-morrow, I know you gentlemen will excuse me for leaving you. Many thanks for your hospitality, and may we meet again!"

"I will see you to your quarters," said Jack. "Where are you staying?"

"At an inn in the Plaza Santo Tome. I shall be glad of your company, if the hour is not too late."

When Jack returned, half an hour afterwards, his man Giles handed him a note which had been left at the house by an orderly during his absence.

"The commander-in-chief", it ran, "presents his compliments to Mr. Lumsden, and will be glad to see him at his quarters at nine o'clock to-morrow morning."

"Another letter," said Jack to himself; "and almost as mysterious as the first. I wonder what it can mean!"

He read the note again, but finding himself unable to make any inference from the few simple words, he wisely resolved to allow the morning to bring its own solution. In the few moments that elapsed between his laying his head on the pillow and falling asleep, his mind see-sawed between the two letters. Now it was Sir John Moore's that was uppermost, now Don Fernan's; breaking the darkness of his room he seemed to see the phrases, one above the other, in letters of fire: "At nine o'clock to-morrow morning"--"Palafox the Man, Palafox the Name".

*CHAPTER IV*

*A Delicate Mission*

Sir John Moore--In the Dark--A Roving Commission--Maps and Plans--Camp Critics--An Hidalgo--Mystification--Exasperation--Pepito again--A Bargain--Force majeure

At nine o'clock next day Jack made his way through a crowd of officers congregated about the door of the archbishop's palace, where Sir John Moore was quartered. It seemed to be nobody's business to show him up, so he discovered for himself the room in which the commander-in-chief was, as he supposed, awaiting him. Entering at the door, and lifting a heavy velvet curtain that hung within, he found himself in a large chamber, at the other end of which stood a group of officers engaged in what was evidently a very animated discussion. He noticed the tall, handsome figure of General Sir Edward Paget, the commander of the reserve; near him was General Anstruther, a rugged, untiring Scot; in the centre of the group was Sydney Beckwith, Jack's own colonel, rough of tongue and unsparing in his demands on his men, but withal kind of heart and true as steel. He was at this moment eagerly pointing to a map which lay outspread on a table, over which bent several other officers, among them the commander-in-chief himself. Fine men as were all the soldiers gathered there, Sir John Moore was easily first among them. At this time forty-seven years of age, his tall graceful figure, crowned by a head nobly fashioned, with classic features, large lustrous eyes, and bright close-clustering hair, would have marked him out in any crowd as one above the generality of men. He was listening intently to what Colonel Beckwith said. His lips were firmly compressed; every now and then the fingers of his right hand restlessly tattooed upon the table. Suddenly he straightened himself and moved backward a pace; the hubbub of conversation ceased, and in the silence Jack heard, in Moore's clear and measured tones, the following words:

"Excuse me, gentlemen, I take the whole responsibility of my decision; and I only expect my officers to prepare to carry it into effect."

There was sternness, even a touch of irritation, in his accent. "There's something wrong," thought Jack; "I've no business here; I'd better make myself scarce."

He withdrew into the corridor, and began to walk up and down, with that curious feeling of excitement which takes hold of a boy when waiting for an interview on some unknown matter with his head-master. In a few minutes the officers left the room in a body, still talking with animation, and passed down the corridor, away from Jack, towards the street. Judging that Sir John was now alone, Jack returned to the room. The general was pacing the floor with long steps, his hands clasped behind him, his head bent forward in anxious thought. Jack hesitated a moment; then stepped forward. Sir John looked up, and stood with legs apart, evidently not for the moment recognizing his visitor. Then his brow cleared; his features softened in the kindly smile for which he was celebrated.

"Ah! Mr. Lumsden, I think," he said; "I am glad to see you. I fear I have kept you waiting. Yes, I see it is twenty minutes past the hour. Let me waste no time, then. Sit down at the table there."

Sir John seated himself at the opposite side of the table, gave the lad one quick glance, and said:

"Without beating about the bush, are you willing, Mr. Lumsden, to undertake an important and possibly dangerous mission?"

"Certainly, sir."

The answer came without a moment's hesitation, and the general seemed pleased. Then, observing a look of surprise on Jack's face, he went on:

"You wonder at my selecting you? I happened to overhear yesterday an eloquent address in Spanish by an officer of the 95th, and when I came to enquire of Colonel Beckwith, he told me that Mr. Lumsden's knowledge of Spanish had already proved useful. That is how it happened, Mr. Lumsden."

He gave the young officer a friendly smile, and Jack's cheeks flushed with pleasure as the general continued:

"You are the man I've been looking for. What I want you to do is out of your regular duty, but then a knowledge of Spanish is out of the usual officer's acquirements, more's the pity. Do you know French also?"

"A little, sir; just well enough to understand what is said and to make a shift to reply."

"That's well. Now I suppose you have some sort of notion of what my intentions were in marching from Lisbon, eh?"

"We've talked it over at mess, sir," said Jack with a smile.

"Naturally. Well, if you're to be of use to me, and I think you will be, I must take you into my confidence. What I want, Mr. Lumsden, is information--information that I can rely on." At this point he rose from his chair and resumed his restless pacing to and fro. "I started to join forces with the Spaniards, but they haven't put themselves into communication with me. I don't know their plans; I don't know what their Government is aiming at. I am in entire ignorance of the numbers or the situation of the enemy. The Spaniards seem to be living in a fools' paradise; talk very big about their own armies, and very small about the enemy; keep us short of supplies, and shorter still of news. I do know that a fortnight ago General Blake's Spanish army in the north was beaten, and now a Mr. Vaughan has brought me news that General Castanos has been routed at Tudela; which means that his co-operation with me is out of the question. Do you see what I am driving at?"

"You mean, I think, sir, that as the Spaniards are beaten, the French are free to attack you."

"Precisely. Now follow the positions on the map here and you will see more clearly what I want of you. Here am I at Salamanca; Sir John Hope, with the cavalry and guns, is marching to join me by Talavera and the Escurial--a roundabout route, you see, and a long march that might have been avoided if I could have been sure the mountain roads were passable for wheeled transport. All the guns might have come by Guarda and saved a hundred miles; but the Portuguese engineers assured me the road was too difficult. Farther north there is another division under Sir David Baird, who landed recently at Corunna, and is now at Astorga. You see the positions?"

"Yes, sir; of course your idea was to join."

"Exactly. But now you see that I dare not attempt a junction with Sir David. As long as General Castanos' army remained, there was a hope, but now that all the Spanish armies are beaten, the French are free to march against us. Their numbers, I believe, very much exceed my own, so that if they get between me and Sir David we shall be in an awkward hole. And therefore I have determined to retreat."

Jack opened his eyes. A retreat had never entered into his imagination. He understood now what had been the subject of discussion at nine o'clock, and suspected from the general attitude of the officers, and from the few words he had heard, that the decision to withdraw without firing a shot did not meet with the approval of the staff.

"I have already sent orders to Sir John Hope," Moore went on, "to retire by way of Penaranda and Ciudad Rodrigo, and Mr. Vaughan has been good enough to offer to carry a letter to Sir David Baird ordering him to re-embark at Corunna, and land his division at Lisbon. God knows I would have run great risks to help the Spanish cause, but the Spaniards have shown so little ability to do anything for themselves that I should only sacrifice my army, and do no good to Spain, if I attempted the impossible."

The look of anxiety and worry had returned to Sir John's face. It cleared, however, in a moment, and he continued brightly: "Now, Mr. Lumsden, you see the position. The questions are: Where is the enemy? and What is he going to do? The French were, a fortnight ago, at Valladolid; if they go north-west in force they will come across Sir David's division; if they come south, and are reinforced by the French from Tudela, they will threaten Sir John Hope's flank, and I must then do something to relieve the pressure. But any movement on my part would disclose my position and strength to the enemy, who, I hope and believe, at present know nothing about me. What I want then, Mr. Lumsden, is exact information of the enemy's whereabouts and numbers, and I think that you, with your mastery of Spanish, are the most likely officer to obtain it."

"I am ready to start at once, sir," said Jack.

"That's right. If you're the fellow I take you for, you won't want any further instructions from me. What means you use I must leave to your own discretion. I'll supply you with anything you require; money in moderation. I am terribly hard up; our Government showers gold on the Spaniards, but can't afford to pay my army. Now, before we settle the matter, it is only fair to warn you of the danger you run. If you are caught by the French within what they claim to be their lines, you'll be shot, as sure as eggs is eggs. Think of it then; you have free choice. Will you go?"

"I'll take the risk, sir," replied Jack instantly.

"It is confidential, of course," added the general. "You will report direct to me what information you obtain, or, in my absence, to one of my aides-de-camp or to General Paget."

"I am at liberty to employ messengers?"

"Certainly, but you will satisfy yourself that they are trustworthy."

"And may I have a map?"

"Of course. We haven't too many, and they are not particularly good, but send your man, and I will have one looked out within an hour. How long will it take you to make your preparations?"

"Not a minute longer than is necessary to get a Spanish dress and requisition a mule," answered Jack with a smile.

"You'll make a presentable Spaniard," said Moore, smiling back. "But wouldn't a horse serve you better than a mule? You were riding a good mount yesterday."

"A horse would attract too much attention, I think, sir. And I was used to riding mules when I was young."

Sir John laughed.

"You're not a very ancient Pistol even now, Mr. Lumsden," he said. "But that's the right spirit; regard yourself as a man and you'll do a man's work. Well, that is settled, then. I'll send you some money, and I hope you will do me valuable service and come back with a whole skin. Stay; you want a Spanish outfit. I know the very man who can be useful to you--a Spanish gentleman, one of the old school. I will write you a line of introduction. Let me see." Sir John hastily rummaged among a heap of papers. "I mustn't forget one of the names; that would be an unpardonable slight. Here it is."

He scribbled a note, copying the address with some care. Jack read: "El Senor Don Pedro Benito Aguilar Quadrato Garrapinillos de Sarrion de Gracioso," and caught a twinkle in Sir John's eye.

"I am sure he will do all he can for you," added the commander-in-chief. "He is a good patriot, not a painted one. Now good-bye, and good luck to you!"

He shook hands with Jack, who, feeling as though he trod on air, so much elated was he at the confidence placed in him, went back to his quarters. At the door he found a small group of his fellow-officers, evidently in a high state of excitement.

"Hi, Jack," cried Smith, as he came up to them, "what do you think of this? The army's going to retreat."

"You don't say so?" said Jack with well-feigned surprise.

"I do, though. Did you ever hear of such an order from a British commander-in-chief! We haven't even had a glimpse of the enemy, and by all we can hear their cavalry vedettes are at least four marches away. I can't for the life of me make out what Johnny Moore can be thinking of. How did he get his reputation, I wonder?"

"Depend upon it, he's good reason if he has ordered a retreat."

"'He that fights and runs away,'" began Shirley; but Jack had already gone into the house, where he found his man Giles Ogbourne in the kitchen, polishing his boots and hissing like a kettle with the exertion.

"Giles," said Jack, "cut off and find me a strong, steady mule somewhere. Then go to Sir John Moore's quarters; say you have come from me; you'll get some money and a paper packet; take them, with the mule, out of the town as quickly as you can, and wait for me some two miles along the Valladolid road. Don't say a word to anyone about me, mind."

"Very good, sir!"

Giles dropped the boots and departed on his errand. Then Jack found his way to the palace of the much-baptized hidalgo. After the usual salutations, made on both sides with more than ordinary regard to punctilio, Jack presented his note. Don Pedro, an old and stately cavalier, with thin pointed features and wearing a crimson skull-cap, looked up after reading it, and said:

"General Sir Moore's wishes are to a good Spaniard commands. If you will acquaint me, Senor, with the manner in which I may serve you, I shall feel myself indeed honoured."

Jack, bowing his acknowledgments of the hidalgo's courtesy, went straight to the point.

"My general, Senor, has entrusted me with a somewhat delicate mission towards Olmedo. As you may imagine, it would not be politic for me to make such a journey as a British officer. Relying on a certain familiarity with your noble language"--here the courtly hidalgo waved his hand in graceful acknowledgment--"I propose to pass for the time as one of your countrymen. I shall need in the first place a dress, and secondly one or two willing helpers."

"Ah! as to the dress," said the hidalgo musingly. "Let me see. You will do best to wear a quiet costume, such as might become a well-to-do tradesman--say a snuff-coloured cloak, a pointed hat, velvet breeches, and high gaiters. Well, give me half an hour, and I will have the costume ready for you. As to the helpers, that is a little more difficult. I have no intimate acquaintance in the neighbourhood of Olmedo. If you had asked me but a few short months ago, I should have said that any of my countrymen might have been trusted, but, alas! too many now have betrayed their country to the usurper. But now I bethink me, an old servant of mine keeps a small inn, the Posada de Oriente, at Medina del Campo, some twelve miles on this side of Olmedo. He is an excellent worthy fellow, and staunch, and if you so please, Senor, I will write a note to him, asking him to serve you as he would serve me."

Jack eagerly accepted the hidalgo's offer. Don Pedro opened a heavily-chased escritoire, selected a sheet of paper, then cut a new quill, and proceeded with as much formal deliberation as though he were penning a document of state. The letter finished, he carefully sprinkled it with sand from a silver pounce-box, delicately shook the paper clean when the ink was dry, and after folding it, impressed upon it a seal some two inches in diameter. The whole operation had occupied nearly half an hour, which Jack had utilized in thinking out his plans.

"I much regret to hear, Senor," said the hidalgo, as he handed him the note, "that my dear friend General Castanos has suffered a check, and that this may cause some change in General Sir Moore's plans. But I hope your excellent countrymen will not be discouraged by this temporary mischance. 'Tis but the fortune of war, or perhaps a warning, a summons to us to cast off our lethargy; and Spain will hear, and when she awakes, let her foes beware."

Jack took his leave, thanking the hidalgo in flowing Castilian, and requesting him to send the promised costume to his quarters. Half an hour afterwards the clothes arrived. Meanwhile Jack had procured a little saffron, by whose aid he had given his complexion a sallow tinge, and this, with the large-brimmed pointed hat, the cloak, and other details of the costume, effected a complete transformation in his appearance. Armed with the note to Don Pedro's old servant, he walked boldly out by the front door into the street. As luck would have it, the first person he met was Captain O'Hare himself.

"Vaya usted con Dios!" said Jack, with a slight bow, giving the usual Spanish salutation.

"Buenos dias, Senor!" returned the captain, with so vile a pronunciation that Jack could scarcely repress a smile. He passed on unrecognized, and chuckled at having so completely deceived the worthy captain.

Rather more than half an hour later he came to a spot on the road to Medina del Campo where Giles was patiently waiting with the mule. The big private was sitting on a heap of stones, holding the reins with one hand while with the other he flung pebbles across the road in idle preoccupation. Jack went up to him.

"You Inglese soldier?" he said, in a foreign accent.

"Yes, mister."

"Inglaterra a fine region," said Jack. "You go a viaje?"

"See then, what's a viaje?"

"A voyage, a march, on the mule back."

"No, I'm not goin' a march on the mule back."

"The mule is to you?"

"The mule bean't nowt to me."

"Where you go then?"

"What's that to you, mister?"

"What for you--?"

"Now look here, mister, doan't ye be too inquisitive. Axing me forty questions indeed. See then, I'll punch your head, iss a wull, if ye--"

Jack burst out laughing.

"Well, Giles," he said, "that's a compliment to my disguise at any rate. Have you got the packet for me?"

"Yes, sir," said Ogbourne, springing to his feet with a sheepish grin. "Beg pardon, sir, but I took you for a Don."

"I know you did. Well now, get back to quarters, and don't say a word to anybody about where I have gone. If you are asked about me--and no doubt you will be--just say that I have been sent on an errand by the general."

"Very good, sir. Mumchanced as a scarecrow, sir."

"That's right. Good-day!"

He sprang on to the mule, took a switch and the packet containing the map from his man's hands, and rode off in the direction of Medina del Campo. It was fortunate that he had previous experience of such steeds when a young boy in Barcelona, for the animal began at once to play pranks. It got up first of all on its hind-legs, and then gave a lurch forward, a movement for which Jack was prepared, and which he defeated by a sudden violent strain upon the reins that brought the animal to reason. The mule requires wholly different treatment from a horse. Prick him with the spur, he stops dead; strike him with a whip, he lies down; draw rein, and he begins to gallop. Sometimes he will halt in the middle of the road, lift his head, stretch his neck, draw back his chops till he shows his gums and long teeth, and then give vent to sobs, sighs, gurgles, squeals like a pig's; and thrash him as you please, he will not budge a step until his vocal exercises are finished. Jack knew all this of old, and after trying a few experiments the mule appeared to recognize that he had no raw hand to deal with, and settled down into a steady trot, making the bells upon his neck tinkle merrily.

Jack had not ridden more than a quarter of a mile when, as he was passing by a small clump of trees, the mule stopped short, and not all his rider's coaxing sufficed to make him move. Springing off his back, Jack went to his head, to see if leading would prove more effectual than driving. As he stood there a pebble fell at his feet, then another, and another, coming, apparently, from the sky. He looked up, and there, ensconced in a fork of one of the trees, crouched a small human figure.

"Well I'm hanged!" exclaimed Jack. "Come down, Pepito."

The figure swung itself over the bough, clambered down the trunk with the nimbleness of a squirrel, dropped lightly from the lowest branch, and stood before Jack, looking up into his face with a broad smile. It was a curious figure indeed: a boy about four feet six in height, with tanned skin some shades darker than the Spaniard's olive hue, thick red lips now open and showing strong white teeth, narrow brow, arched nose, and long raven-black hair that hung in a tangled mass over his eyes. He was not pretty, but there was something strangely attractive in his smile, and his brilliant black eyes, with their indescribable touch of mystery, were dancing with fun as they met the surprised gaze of the young Englishman.

"And what does this mean, Pepito?" said Jack in Spanish.

"Go with Senor," replied the boy briefly. He shivered; it was a cold day, and the raw air cut through the tatters which left his flesh here and there exposed.

"No, that's impossible," said Jack decisively. "I couldn't be bothered with you."

"Want to go with Senor," persisted the boy. "Know the roads--Medina, Valladolid, Segovia, all the places; the Gitanos know everything."

"That's all very well, but I don't want you. You'd be in the way. Besides, I'm riding. You couldn't keep up with me."

"Can run fast. No mule can beat me."

"Nonsense! I shall be riding all day, and you'd be dead before night."

"I can get a mule, then."

"Where, may I ask?"

"From the Busne."

Jack knew that Busne was the gipsies' name for the Spaniards.

"That means that you would steal it, eh? Didn't I tell you that if you were caught stealing you'd be hanged, or at any rate soundly flogged?"

"Yes. Hanged!" He shrugged his shoulders. "Flogged!" He pulled aside his rags and showed the marks left by old thrashings on his skin.

"Incorrigible little imp!" muttered Jack in English. "Look here," he went on in Spanish, "you can't go with me; that's settled. You must go back to Salamanca. I'll give you a note to Ogbourne--"

"He'll flog me."

"No. I'll tell him to get you some clothes and see that you are fed, and to keep his eye on you till I get back. Now, will you promise me to keep out of mischief?"

"No."

"Impudent little beggar! I suppose you know no better. You know at any rate that my man will lay on pretty heavily if you plague him. Look, here's a silver peseta. I'll give you this if you promise to go back to Salamanca."

He held up the coin between finger and thumb.

"Give it me," said Pepito.

"Promise."

"I'll go with you, Senor," said the boy obstinately.

"Don't you understand? It's impossible. I can't be clogged with you. Come now, here's the money. Cut away, and when I see you next take care that you've decent clothes on your back."

Jack rapidly scribbled a note, and gave it with the coin into the brown lean little paw, eagerly outstretched to receive it. Pepito stowed them both into a pocket he discovered somewhere among his rags, then grinned, and said:

"Now I run with Senor's mule."

"Confound you!" cried Jack, losing patience at last. "I won't have you with me."

He raised the switch which he had laid across the saddle and made to strike at the gipsy. Pepito looked in his face with an inscrutable expression in his dark eyes, shrank back from the expected blow, then slowly turned on his heel and slunk away in the direction of Salamanca.

"The obstinate little mule!" said Jack to himself as he watched him go. "I don't wonder that Giles has given him many a tanning. I'd sooner be haunted by a ghost."

As soon as Pepito was out of sight Jack remounted, and set the mule at a canter to make up for lost time.

*CHAPTER V*

*A Roadside Adventure*

A Spanish By-Road--Negotiations--A Rupture--A Village Inn--Family History--Antonio the Brave--A Near Thing--The Other Cheek--Explanations--Recruits--Quits

For a few miles Jack followed the highroad, meeting no one but an old wizened woman staggering along under a basket-load of onions. Then, thinking it well, as he approached the district in which there was a possibility of encountering the enemy's vedettes, to avoid the main thoroughfare, he struck off to the right along what was little better than a cart track, discovering from his map that this would lead him to his destination by way of Pedroso, Cantalapiedra, and Carpio, villages which were scarcely likely to be selected as billeting-places by any considerable force. It was a dreary ride. The road was heavy with the recent rains. It passed through a country consisting partly of bare heath, partly of grain-fields, now black and desolate. He had started from Salamanca shortly after eleven o'clock, and, owing to interruptions and the state of the roads, it was nearly three in the afternoon before he arrived at Cantalapiedra, little more than half-way to Medina. By that time he was hungry, and his steed was both hungry and tired. Dismounting before a posada at the entrance to the town, he sent the mule to be fed and rubbed down, and went into the house to seek refreshment himself.

There was no other guest in the place, and the landlord, slow and stolid like a genuine Spaniard, showed neither pleasure nor displeasure at the appearance of a traveller. In reply to Jack's request for food, he brought, after some delay, a basin of very greasy soup of a reddish tinge, due to the saffron with which it had been liberally sprinkled, and a dirty carafe of violet-coloured wine, which Jack found, when he poured it out, almost thick enough to cut with a knife. The bread, however, was eatable, if a trifle salt, and Jack munched away with an appetite that evoked a gleam of interest in the landlord's solemn eyes. He began to ask questions, and indeed to show himself inquisitive, remarking on the strange fact of a young man travelling alone through disturbed country at such a time. Jack good-humouredly parried enquiries that seemed too direct, merely explaining that he had been on a visit to Salamanca, and was riding across country because, having heard rumours that the French were in possession of Valladolid, he had no wish to fall into their hands. The landlord dryly told him that travelling anywhere in Spain was rather dangerous for a man with good clothes on his back and money in his pocket, for if he escaped the French he might fall in with bandits, and there was little to choose between them when plunder was in question. In answer to this Jack opened his coat and showed the man the butt of a big Spanish pistol.

"Even a peaceful merchant," he said with a laugh, "may prove an awkward customer to tackle."

The landlord shrugged.

"One against a troop of French cavalry, or a gang of bandits, would fare rather badly," he said. "I suppose you will want a bed to-night, Senor?"

"Not I. I'm going to push on to Medina."

"The saints help you to find your way in the dark, then!"

"Oh! I shall find it. The road is direct, you know, and my mule will not wander."

He set off after an hour's rest and rode on in increasing darkness. What the landlord had said about brigands gave him little concern. For one thing, the mule trod almost silently on the sodden road, and he had removed the bell from its neck; for another, he had avoided the highway, and did not suppose that much booty was ever to be obtained on the by-roads; and lastly, he trusted to his wits, his mule, and his pistol. As he rode on, the air grew colder and the sky darker; there was no moon, and a thickening haze lay over the fields to right and left of the road. It was impossible to proceed at more than a walking pace, except at risk of breaking the mule's knees in a rut or ditch. To divert his thoughts from the cold and the unpleasantness of his journey, he ran over in his mind the events of the last few days. He dwelt particularly on the strange message he had received from Don Fernan Alvarez. "Palafox the man, Palafox the name!"--what could it mean? How did it concern his old playmate Juanita, whom he remembered, a little black-eyed child, clambering on his father's knee, and listening with her finger in her mouth to the stories told her by Mr. Lumsden, so merry and frank compared with her stiff, stately, solemn father. Palafox!--he was a young general, with a brilliant reputation; Jack had heard Colonel Beckwith give high praise to his strenuous defence of Saragossa against Verdier; but what likelihood was there that the chances of the campaign would give Jack an opportunity of meeting him! Suppose he did meet him, what--

"Buenas noches, caballero!" said a thick guttural voice at his mule's head, breaking into his meditation, and giving him a momentary shock.

"Buenas noches, hombre!" he replied.

The mule had stopped short. Jack saw dimly, right in front of him, a thick-set figure clad in a heavy cloak, his head covered with a pointed large-brimmed hat, reminding the rider of pictures he had seen of Italian brigands.

"O Senor caballero," said the man, "will you have the charity to tell a poor wayfarer the time?"

Jack was on the point of pulling out his big hunting-watch, but it struck him suddenly that it was advisable to be on his guard until he was sure of his man.

"Somewhere about seven o'clock, I fancy," he said courteously. "You are right in my way, my friend."

"Si, caballero, but it is my way as well as yours."

"It is wide enough for both of us," rejoined Jack with a smile; "and as I have some miles to ride, I shall be obliged to you if you'll stand away and let me get on."

The man did not budge, but brought his left hand from beneath his cloak and seized the off rein.

"Come, my friend, don't delay me. 'Tis a cold night, and the sooner I reach my journey's end the better I shall be pleased."

Jack spoke quietly and politely as before, but he was watching the fellow with the wariness of a hawk.

"'Tis cold for me also, caballero; a fire and warm drink await me yonder. I am going to fight the accursed French, and it strikes me a mule like yours will serve me well. I will trouble you, therefore, to dismount, caballero. I perceive you are a tradesman from the town, and you will admit the fighter is more useful to Spain than the shopkeeper. If you will do me the honour to descend, I will mount in your place."

"Not so fast, my man," said Jack. "I don't want to hurt you, but if you continue to stand there you may come to grief when I whip up my mule."

Realizing from Jack's firm tone that his object was not to be gained without a struggle, the man suddenly threw off the fold of the cloak enveloping his right arm, and with a guttural oath lifted a huge mallet he carried in his hand, springing slightly aside to give his arm free play. The movement was fatal to him. With a sharp dig in the groin Jack swung the mule round in the same direction, and launched him full at his assailant. Before the ponderous mallet had time to complete its swing, the mule had struck the man square in the chest, and as he reeled and fell under the blow Jack brought down his switch smartly across his brow.

"That's well saved, anyhow," said Jack grimly to himself as he cantered on, and smiled as he heard the man's curses pursuing him. The mule seemed to share in his rider's feelings, for as he trotted steadily on he lifted his head high in the air, curled up his lip, and showed his long yellow teeth, as though laughing at the man's ignominious overthrow. Jack let him have his way, and the animal kept up the same pace unfalteringly, with never a slip or stumble, until he reached the squalid streets of Medina del Campo. The curfew had just ceased ringing, and the great market-square was quite deserted; but Jack knocked at a house in which he saw a light, enquired the way to the Posada de Oriente, and in a few minutes was standing within the doorway of that hostelry. To judge by the various voices issuing from its interior, it was entertaining a numerous company.

He presented to the landlord the letter he had brought from the man's former master, Don Pedro, and was led with some hesitation into the inn, while his mule was handed over to an ostler. The inn consisted of one large apartment with a fireplace at each end, a timber roof blackened and varnished by smoke, stalls at each side for horses and mules, and for travellers a few small lateral chambers each containing a bed made of planks laid across trestles, and covered with sheets of coarse sacking. "Rough lying," thought Jack, as he looked in at the open door of one of these. The floor was of brick, strewn with rushes. A large fire burnt in one of the grates, strings of onions hung from nails on the walls, and the place was pervaded by an odour of scalded oil and grilled tomatos. Jack gave a comprehensive greeting to the company as he entered. A deep silence had fallen upon the room, and he was conscious of the curious scrutiny of several pairs of eyes; but knowing that the Spaniard is always reserved with a stranger until assured that he is not, let us say, a pedlar, or a rope-dancer, or a dealer in hair-oil, he paid the company for the moment no further attention, but sat down on a back seat pointed out by the patron, and ordered food. The landlord regretted that at short notice he could supply him with nothing but a simple gaspacho. Jack laughed inwardly at the thought of how his friend Pomeroy would turn up his fastidious nose at such fare, but assured his host that in his present state of hunger he could eat anything, and the gaspacho was accordingly prepared. Some water was poured into a soup-tureen, to this was added a little vinegar, a few pods of garlic, some onions cut into four, a slice or two of cucumber, a little spice, a pinch of salt, and a few slices of bread; with this the detestable mixture was complete. As Jack began his meagre meal the landlord opened the hidalgo's note, and Jack threw a glance round the company.

Nearest the fire sat a lean, cadaverous old gentleman closely wrapped in a chestnut-coloured cloak, and sipping at a glass of dry Malaga. Next him reclined the village priest, a rotund figure clad in a black cassock, with cloak of the same colour; he nursed on his knee an immense hat, at least three feet long, with a turned-in brim, which when upon his head must have formed a sort of horizontal roof. Then came a couple of arrieros, or carriers, in rough fustian, with big leather gaiters and broad sashes of red silk; and a loutish Maragato with shaven head, clad in a long tight jacket secured at the waist by a broad girdle, loose trousers terminating at the knees, and long boots and gaiters. A few young villagers completed the circle. By this time the landlord had spread out his old master's note, and was scrutinizing it with a puzzled expression, his head screwed aside and his lips pursed up. After a few moments he appeared to come to the conclusion that he would never decipher the crabbed handwriting unaided, and handed it to the priest, a broad grease mark showing where his thumb had pressed it.

"Here, Senor cura," he said, "be so good as to read it to me; Don Pedro's hand is growing paralysed, surely."

The priest took it, giving Jack a humorous smile.

"Don Pedro merely introduces the caballero as a friend of his," he said, "and asks you, for his sake and the sake of Spain, to serve him in every possible way."

"To be sure," returned the landlord; "I have done it without asking. I have given the caballero a gaspacho, and if he will wait till Antonio arrives he shall have a puchero in addition, and a grilled tomato."

"Thanks, landlord! I shall do very well," said Jack. "But I fear I am a kill-joy, Senores. Pray don't let me interrupt your conversation."

"The caballero, being a friend of Don Pedro, may be trusted," said the lean gentleman by the fire, taking a sip. "He is welcome, particularly if he joins us in giving God-speed to Antonio as he goes on his way to join the brave guerrilleros."

"I shall be happy," said Jack. "Antonio, I presume, is a soldier of this neighbourhood?"

"Nay, Senor, all our soldiers are already with General Castanos or the Marquis of La Romana or brave San Juan, doing deeds of valour against the accursed French, every man of them worth three of the enemy. Were I not old and worn, I myself would have led them, and drawn the sword of my ancestors in defence of my country. I am a hidalgo of noble line, Senor, tracing my descent back to a paladin who slew ten Englishmen with his own sword, when, in the days of Great Philip, we landed in England and held London to ransom." (Jack opened his eyes at this new light on English history!) "His blood still flows in my withered veins, and my neighbours here know well that only my great age keeps me from driving the French back across the mountains at the head of my troop."

Most of the company applauded this patriotic speech, but Jack observed a whimsical look on the priest's face.

"I rejoice to know," continued the hidalgo, "that the old valour is still alive in the breasts of my countrymen; they are flocking in their thousands to join the bands of guerrilleros who dog the French at every step, and our friend Antonio, whom we expect to-night, and who leaves to-morrow for Saragossa, is one in whom the Spanish valour most brightly shines."

"Antonio is a journeyman cooper, Senor," said the priest confidentially, "a dare-devil by report, a contrabandista too at times, and a great favourite in these parts. He is expected from Cantalapiedra to-night."

"And here he is," cried one of the younger men, who had gone to the door. "Late, but welcome. Viva Antonio!"

All the company but Jack rose to their feet to greet the hero. He came hastily into the room, flung the door to behind him, bolted it, and heaved a sigh. Jack saw at a glance that he was no other than the man who had sought to borrow his mule, and had found the apparently inoffensive rider tougher than he expected.

"Senores, Senores," cried the man, "only by a miracle and by my own courage have I escaped this night! Blessed be the saints that I have a stout heart and a strong arm, or I should have been but a dead man to-night!"

He spread himself with an air of bravado upon a low bench, and as he removed his hat, disclosed a deep-red wale across his brow. His friends gathered about him in consternation, and the old hidalgo rose painfully from his chair, and, tottering across the room, handed a bumper of Malaga to the panting new-comer, who quaffed it gratefully.

"Yes, Senores," he continued, "but for the merciful protection of Santiago and Santa Maria, and the fact that I know no fear, I should have been lost to Spain, a cold corpse even now. Four miles back, as I trudged wearily along the miry road, thinking of the kind friends and the warm food awaiting me here--"

"Manuel," cried the landlord to a strapping youth who stood with sleeves tucked up near the fireplace, "grill a tomato for our brave Antonio."

"As I trudged along," Antonio resumed, "all at once I heard a great splashing and clanking behind me, and before I could stand aside, three horsemen were upon me. They reined up when they saw me, and one of them called me dog, and asked the way to Valladolid. I knew by his tongue that he was one of the thrice-cursed French, and, commending myself to Santiago in a breath, I raised my mallet and struck him upon the head, and he fell. His comrades drew their swords and made at me over their horses' necks. I defended myself as best I could with my good mallet, but it was an unequal fight, Senores, and I was at my wits' end, when I bethought me that all the French are craven curs, and I shouted aloud, as though summoning a hidden band to the rescue. The Frenchmen started back, looked fearfully around, and then, unmindful of their dead comrade on the ground, set spurs to their horses and galloped away, one of them, as he passed, striking me--with the flat of his sword, praised be Santiago!--across the brow, and--"

"What was he like, hombre?" asked Jack quietly, bending forward on his chair and looking the man full in the face.

Antonio's jaw dropped. He gave a scared look at the speaker, and spilt the remainder of his wine upon his boots.

"The brave fellow is overcome," said the hidalgo. "Fill his glass, Manuel."

Antonio gulped down a second glass, and looked with apprehension at Jack, who was now sitting back again in his chair, keeping his eyes fixed on the abashed Spaniard.

"A lucky escape, Antonio," said the cura with a twinkling eye. "In the morning, no doubt, some passing arriero will see the dead Frenchman on the road, and bring him here for dog's burial."

"No doubt, no doubt, Padre," said Antonio hurriedly. "But I am faint, Senores, and as my nose tells me the tomato is now well grilled, I would fain stay the pangs of hunger."

As he devoted himself to the succulent fruit, the hidalgo entered upon a long oration on the iniquities of the French and the heroism of the Spaniards, with particular reference to the guerrilla band in the Virgen mountains, whom Antonio was on his way to join. He concluded by calling upon the company to drink the health of the brave Antonio, and confusion to the French. When the ringing vivas had ceased, Jack rose from his chair. Approaching the hero, who looked far from comfortable, he held out his right hand, and, laying his left on Antonio's shoulder, said: