Part 17

"Pepito," he said quickly to the boy, "do you know anything about this?"

"Nothing, Senor."

"The truth?"

"Fear makes lies, Senor; I know no fear."

"We shall not go ashore to-night. Have you seen anyone in my cabin?"

"No, Senor."

"Very well. Say nothing about this."

Jack sat down to reflect. Neither captain nor crew could have any interest in stealing a despatch. The bag had contained nothing else. Miguel and his man were the only other passengers beside himself and Pepito. What would it profit either of them to tamper with the bag? The possession of the despatch would be of real advantage to neither of them; its loss would be merely an annoyance to himself. Anyhow, the despatch was gone; it remained to be discovered whether it had been taken by Miguel or Perez.

Pepito had been watching Jack's face. He seemed to divine what his master was thinking, for he came up to him and said quickly:

"Senor, I know the Busne. The paper is gone, and I will find out where."

Jack looked back at him for a moment without speaking, then he nodded, and Pepito hastened away with the light footstep of a cat.

Two hours afterwards he returned, with a grin of glee upon his elfin face, and a paper in his right hand.

"Senor's paper," he said. Then, bringing his left hand from behind his back, he produced a second paper, saying:

"The Busno's paper too. Both were together in the Busno's bag, beneath the Busno's pillow."

Jack frowned. He looked at the address on the second paper; it ran: "The Marquis of La Romana to their excellencies the Supreme Junta at Seville."

"You must take this back, Pepito," he said.

"No, no," said the boy, his eyes gleaming. "The Busno and the one-eyed man are asleep; I should wake them if I took the paper back. The Busno took Senor's paper. Very well, I, Pepito, take the Busno's; and I will tear it in pieces, and throw it into the sea."

"No," replied Jack. "You are a clever boy, but you must learn to do things in my way, not your own. I will give back the paper myself."

Pepito shrugged, as though expressing his inability to understand an Englishman's mad way of doing things. An idea had come to Jack; he would not restore the despatch at present, but would wait until the morning. Placing them both inside his tunic, and buttoning it up, he lay down and settled himself to sleep.

Soon after daylight Jack heard angry, excited voices in Miguel's cabin. It was evident that the master had discovered his loss, and that the man was bearing the first brunt of his vexation. Gradually the voices dropped to a whisper, then there was silence, and Jack detected a soft footfall in the passage. The catch of the little cabin-door was slowly raised; Jack coughed gently, the catch dropped noiselessly, and the visitor disappeared without a sound.

At breakfast Miguel, evidently preoccupied and ill at ease, made no reference to the subject. As Jack had anticipated, he was not sure enough of his ground to report his loss to the captain. But his look became more and more anxious, even agitated, as the vessel worked its way in long reaches up the river. Perez, lounging against the bulwarks, was keenly watching Pepito, in whose somewhat provocative bearing he seemed to find cause for suspicion. The gipsy was even more monkey-like than usual, swarming up and down the yards, flitting around and above his scowling enemy with a disconcerting assumption that Perez was non-existent.

Suddenly, while Jack was watching the play of sunlight on the mountain ranges in the east, he heard a cry, followed instantly by a splash on the port side. He sprang across the deck, noticing as he did so the half-recumbent form of Perez lolling unconcernedly at the spot he had occupied for the past hour. There was nothing to be seen in the sluggish river below, and for a moment Jack was inclined to think that his ears had deceived him; but even as the thought passed through his mind he caught sight of a small dark object rising above the surface some yards in the wake of the vessel. With a loud cry "Man overboard!" he threw off his cloak, sprang on the bulwark, and dived into the river. The water was icy cold, but fortunately in these lower reaches the current ran slowly, and when he came to the surface, with the rapidity of a practised swimmer, he saw the small black head much nearer than he had expected. In another second the reason was clear; the owner of the head was swimming towards him with slow leisurely strokes, and Jack began to regret his precipitancy.

"The Senor will get wet," cried Pepito as he approached. His tone was that of aggrieved expostulation. "He will spoil his fine clothes. Ay de mi! Why will the Senor be so rash? And he has only one uniform. Now he will have to travel as a Busno. Ay de mi!"

Jack had now turned, and was swimming hard against the current. He heard Pepito remonstrating in his wake, but although he treasured the remembrance afterwards, he was in no mood at the time to be amused with his follower's untimely zeal. His heavy boots and water-logged clothes, to say nothing of the numbing cold of the water, made swimming anything but an agreeable exercise, and he was heartily glad when he clambered into a boat that had been promptly lowered from the ship. Pepito followed him a few seconds later, looking not unlike a water rat as he emerged dripping from the river, in which he seemed perfectly at home. In the boat the boy showed him, with an expressive grin, a piece of rope about five feet long. He had dragged it with him out of the river. "What are you doing with that?" enquired Jack sharply.

"It belongs to the ship," was the reply. "Pepito is not a thief; he must give it back."

"How came you to fall in?"

"I was swinging on the rope."

"And it got untied?"

"No; it was cut."

Jack started and looked closely at the end of the rope, which Pepito handed to him with a chuckle of enjoyment. It had evidently been severed with a knife.

"Perez?" enquired Jack.

"Yes, Senor," said Pepito.

They had by this time come under the ship's quarter, and a rope-ladder was let down for their benefit.

"Stay where you are for a moment," said Jack to the bos'un; "I am sending another passenger."

As he clambered over the bulwarks Miguel met him with assumed solicitude.

"You English are such sea-dogs, there is no keeping you out of the water. I trust, my friend, you will not suffer a chill. At this time of the year--"

He was warming to his theme when Jack stepped quietly through the little knot of seamen gathered on the deck, and went straight towards Perez, who was still lolling against the bulwarks, with a gleam of malicious enjoyment in his solitary eye. Before the man was aware of what was coming, Jack had seized him by the waistband, and, using the bulwark as a fulcrum, had tilted him over into the river.

Then Jack went below and changed his dripping garments for the Spanish dress which he carried with him in case of emergency. He noticed as he did so that in his absence his effects had been thoroughly ransacked.

When he came on deck he found that Perez, by no means a favourite with the sailors, had been hauled out with extreme deliberation, after swallowing some quarts of the turbid waters of the Guadalquivir. He glared at Jack with concentrated malignity, but was physically incapable of reprisal, even if his morale had not been impaired by the knowledge that he had only got his deserts.

The captain listened gravely to Jack's explanation, and examined the severed rope with a judicial air. Jack did not consider it necessary to make any reference to the incident of the despatches.

"I suppose," said the captain, "that the Senor will wish to lodge an information? A friend of mine is well acquainted with a man of law in the Calle del Amor de Dios, a very able man--he has one case of assault that has lasted thirteen years."

"Thank you!" said Jack with a smile; "but as I only propose to stay in Seville for a few days, I fear I shall have to forgo your friend's friend's assistance."

The captain looked disappointed.

At length the vessel passed the Torre del Oro, a crenelated octagonal tower near the landing-stage. The brig was moored, Miguel and his man, who had been below since the incident, came on deck at the last moment, and ostentatiously ignoring Jack's presence, stepped across the gangway on to the quay. As Miguel passed him, however, Jack quietly touched him on the shoulder.

"Allow me, Don Miguel," he said, "to hand you this packet. It was found--you can perhaps guess where--with some property of mine. I have no occasion for the one; you will perhaps permit me to retain the other?"

A dull flush mounted to Miguel's cheeks. He took the despatch without a word, gave Jack a glance in which humiliation, chagrin, and undisguised hatred were strangely mingled, and prepared to move off.

"A word," continued Jack, "before we part. Your Polyphemus is doubtless a very devoted servant, but if we meet again, and I find him still at your elbow, you will pardon me if I betray a little suspicion."

Jack turned abruptly away, leaving Miguel for once at a loss for an adequate answer. By the time he had recovered himself, Jack, followed by Pepito, was half-way across the quay.

Jack had never been in Seville before. He was struck by the forest of masts from ships lining the river bank, by the whitewashed houses built in Moorish fashion, with barricaded windows, and the narrow, busy, cobbled streets. It was a fine clear day, and for almost the first time since he landed, four months before, at Mondego Bay, he felt the dry warmth of a southern climate. He found his way with Pepito along the river bank, past the bull ring, to a comfortable inn in the Plaza Nueva, and having there made himself as presentable as his worn and faded garments allowed, he set off for the Alcazar, where he had learnt that the British minister was then in conference with the Junta.

He had some curiosity to meet Mr. Hookham Frere. It had been common talk in the army that Sir John Moore had received a number of almost insolent epistles from the minister, who had gone quite beyond his province in dictating the course of action which he thought the commander-in-chief should follow. Mr. Frere, indeed, was not cut out for the delicate work of an ambassador, and he was perhaps as little surprised as anybody when, two months later, he was recalled by the dissatisfied Government at home. He was no doubt worried by the mingled vacillation, braggadocio, and incompetence of the Spanish authorities with whom he had to deal, and in truth their behaviour was such as would have tried the temper of a more patient and self-assured man than Mr. Frere.

He received Jack in a private room, and read the despatch in silence, save when the news of Sir John Moore's death provoked an exclamation. He folded the paper and laid it down on the table before him.

"Poor fellow!" he said. "He always said he hoped to die after a great victory. You knew him, sir?"

"Yes, sir," said Jack. "I had the honour to serve under him through the campaign, and he was very kind to me."

"Ah! I am afraid our relations were a little clouded of late. I acted for the best. I did some things I now regret; they were due partly to my lack of trustworthy information. And now, though we have won a victory, we have had to leave the country. The army might perhaps have sailed to Lisbon instead of returning home."

"I beg pardon, sir, but if you saw the horrible state of our men you would be the last to say that. They're worn out with illness and hard work, eaten with vermin, and have nothing but rags to cover themselves with. I came off better than most, and you see what a condition my uniform is in."

"Terrible!--I had hoped so much from this expedition. The Spaniards have indeed been given a breathing-space, but they will make little of it. And they are so untrustworthy, so untrustworthy, Mr. Lumsden. At this time, of course, it is of the utmost importance that the real state of things should be known to all the Spanish generals in all parts of the country; but I cannot depend on the Junta here telling the truth. There is General Palafox, for instance, in Saragossa, a young man for whose talents I have the highest admiration; he is, as you may perhaps know, besieged by the French, and the Junta has encouraged him with the news that great battles are being won for Spain, and that armies will shortly march to his relief. All humbug, humbug! Buoyed up by false hopes, he will resist to the bitter end, and the poor people of Saragossa may endure all the nameless horrors of a protracted siege only to find themselves disappointed and deceived. And then they will blame us, accuse us of deserting them in their extremity. It would be difficult now for any messenger to reach him; but in any case I cannot depend on the Junta's telling him the truth. I am weary of it all."

Jack had listened to this speech with growing eagerness. It suggested a means by which he might fulfil what had been his dearest wish ever since he met Miguel in Salamanca--to see Juanita Alvarez, and learn for himself that she had really of her own free-will consented to trust her life and happiness to Miguel Priego. Until now it had seemed idle to hope for such an opportunity, but why should he not offer his services to Mr. Frere and volunteer to convey to Palafox a true account of the progress of events elsewhere? And Palafox!--he had a private reason for seeing him. "Palafox the man, Palafox the name!"--the phrase in Don Fernan's letter had never left his memory. At odd moments, when free from his duties, he had found himself conning the words over and over again; and lately he had begun to wonder whether the mysterious message were not connected in some way with Juanita--whether there were not some strange link binding Palafox and Juanita and himself together. His regiment had gone home; he was now under the orders of the British minister; he had been in dangerous places and circumstances of peril before; why not combine the public service with his private ends, and start for Saragossa? His mind was made up.

"Let me convey a message to General Palafox," he said.

"You! It is preposterous. You would go to your death. How could you, an Englishman, and an English officer, hope to penetrate the French lines? You would be caught and shot."

And then Jack gave the minister a brief account of himself, his early years in Spain, his recent work for Sir John Moore done in the guise of a Spaniard.

"And so you see, sir," he concluded, "you could hardly find anyone, not actually a Spaniard, with better chances of success than I have. I have been in Saragossa before, and I have some command of Spanish--and I am not afraid, sir."

Mr. Frere was evidently taken with the suggestion. He had listened with growing interest to Jack's modest story, and smiled at his account of his conversation with the boastful commissary and his subsequent adventure with the Spanish stablemen.

"And this gipsy boy of yours--would you propose to take him with you?"

"Yes, sir; my chums regard him as my familiar spirit, and I myself have begun to cherish a sort of belief that I sha'n't come to much harm if he is near at hand."

"Well, Mr. Lumsden, I am much interested in your story; I think, if I may say so, that you have shown great capacity and resourcefulness, and fully justified poor Sir John's confidence, and I confess, after seeing and hearing you, that I have every hope of your succeeding in this, perhaps the most difficult, certainly the most hazardous, of all your enterprises. And now, as that is settled, we must lose no time. When will you be ready to start?"

"When the first ship sails, sir."

"You will go by ship, then?"

"It will perhaps be quicker, and safer on the whole."

"What about French frigates?"

"I must take my chance of them. Luckily I kept the Spanish dress given me by Don Pedro de Gracioso; Pepito has it in my bundle. I shall, of course, go as a Spaniard."

"I wish I had your youthful confidence!" Mr. Frere sighed. "Very well; find out when the boat sails northward, and I will have my despatch for General Palafox ready at any time."

"You will answer for me to the military authorities, sir?"

"Certainly. You may assume that you have six months' leave; and for my part, I do not suppose that your regiment will require your services any more in Spain."

At the conclusion of the interview Jack stepped into the street with a light-heartedness he had not known for many a day. The winter, with all its fatigues and disappointments, was passing away; he felt a strange assurance that with the coming spring the tide of his affairs would turn towards achievement and happiness; and he returned to his inn with a buoyancy and eagerness in his gait that caused many a head to turn and many a face to smile.

With Pepito he hastened at once to the quay by the Torre del Oro, only to learn that no vessel would sail for the northern ports for some days. "We can't wait for that," he said to himself, and immediately sought out the owner of a large fishing-smack he saw in the offing. After some bargaining he arranged to hire the craft with its crew, to sail, wind and weather being favourable, next morning.

On the way back to their inn he set a seal to the hold he had unwittingly obtained on the gipsy's affections. Coming to a clockmaker's, he stopped, looked in at the window, then entered, and soon returned carrying a huge silver watch, which he handed with its chain to Pepito.

"There, youngster," he said, "that's a little reward for the services you have done me. Take care you don't lose it."

The boy beamed his delight, and pranced along the street in unfeigned ecstasy.

The sun shone brightly next morning, and the wind blew fresh. Accompanied by Pepito, Jack, in his Spanish dress, went down to the quay, where, however, he found that the master of the smack was not disposed to sail. He foretold a strong gale from the south-west, and wished to postpone his departure till the next day; but Jack was so eager to arrive at Saragossa that he would brook no delay. After an hour's arguing and coaxing, and the promise of double pay, he induced the mariner to attempt the voyage, and at nine o'clock the smack cast off and sailed slowly down the river. The wind increased in force as she approached the mouth. On reaching the open sea she encountered the full force of the blast, and, swinging round, scudded before the wind at a speed that promised a fast passage.

*CHAPTER XVIII*

*A Squire of Dames*

In the Casa Ximenez--Cut Off--Ways and Means--A Race with Time--The Bridge Perilous--Into the Abyss--A Deserted House--Through the Streets--Adios--Senor

Near the convent of San Agustin, at the south-eastern end of Saragossa, there stood, in the year 1809, an old, large, gloomy house known as the Casa Ximenez. It was not in the best part of the city, but it had an air of high respectability, and in truth had been for many years the town residence of a prosperous burgher family, whose name stood for all that was solid and dignified in civic and commercial life.

On February 1st in the aforesaid year the spacious rooms of the mansion were empty--all but one. In the gilded sala on the first floor, a chamber large enough to contain fifty or sixty persons as well as its massive antique furniture, sat two ladies, one old, the other in the heyday of youth. Though it was early morning, the room would have been in pitch darkness but for two candles which, set in the cups of a silver candelabra on the table, threw a glimmering illumination upon the panelled walls. The sulphurous fumes of gunpowder hung heavily in the air. The deep, square windows were shuttered on the outside; there was no crack or aperture through which the light of day could enter save a hole in one of the shutters, and that at this moment was blocked by a long Spanish musket, behind which stood a middle-aged man in the sober costume of an upper servant.

Within the house all was silent, but from without, penetrating the thick walls and the iron-clamped shutters, came dull, heavy, thunderous sounds that shook the air, set the candle flames quivering, and caused the elder of the two ladies to start and shudder and moan as if in pain. At intervals the man at the window withdrew the musket, letting in for a few moments a streak of daylight that lay white across the yellow glimmer from the candles. With silent deliberation he charged his weapon, passed it through the aperture with a downward slant, and pulled the trigger, going through the same series of movements time after time with clock-work regularity.

The old lady watched him as if fascinated. She was small and thin; the hair beneath her elaborate cap was white. With the long bony fingers of one hand she clasped her mantilla closely about her shrunken frame; the other was held in the strong, warm hands of the younger lady, who sat on the floor by the elder's chair and spoke to her alternately in soothing and in urgent tones.

"You really must come, Auntie," she was saying. "It is not safe here. Hark! there is another gun! They will break in before long, and then--oh! come, come now; you can walk if you only try."

The old lady, still with her eyes fixed on the servant, shook her head and clutched her mantilla convulsively.

"Does he kill--every time?" she said in a thin quavering voice.

"How can we tell? And if he does kill, it only makes our position worse, for they will find out where the shots come from, and they will burst in, and you--we--oh! Auntie, it is our only chance. See, I will support you; if you lean on my arm you will walk quite well, and I will never leave you. Come!"

"I will not go," said her companion. "I will not, will not. The French may kill me, I have not long to live; but you, Juanita, you can escape. Francisco will shoot and kill until the very end; he and I will remain in the old house, in the old house--"

"They are coming nearer, Senorita," said Francisco, his respectful tone as quiet and unperturbed as though he were announcing a visitor.

"You hear that? You must come, Auntie. I will not leave you here!"

Springing suddenly to her feet, she stooped, threw her arms around her aunt's body, and lifted her from her chair.

"Francisco," she said, turning to the servant, "go on firing. If I do not return, come after me in ten minutes."

Then, straightening her back, she went to the open door, bearing easily the wasted form of her aunt, who did not resist, but moaned and muttered in helpless impotence. Out into the corridor, down the broad staircase, the strong girl carried the feeble woman. She reached the patio; then, instead of turning towards the great iron-studded gate at the front of the house, she made her way to the smaller but still strong gate at the back. In the open patio the sounds of musket shots were tenfold louder than they had been in the house above; they were mingled with the shouts of men afar off, the sudden shocks of explosions, and the crackle of flames. A pungent smell of smoke filled the air. The girl hastened her steps towards the rear of the house, where the noises came less distinctly to the ear. Arriving at the gate, she set her burden down gently upon a bench, quickly drew the bolts, and, promising to return in a few moments, slipped out, closing the gate behind her.