Part 9

He crept along the wall on tiptoe, in the direction away from the approaching footsteps. At the same time he heard from within the cell Pepito's shrill voice in song:

"Kosko gry! Romany gry! Muk man kistur tute knaw!"

"Clever little imp!" he thought. "He didn't give me away to his companions there, and now he's trying to smother the sound of my footsteps."

He turned the corner and waited. The sentry was still approaching with measured tread, and when he arrived beneath the grating he cried angrily:

"Tais-toi, maraud! Il faut te taire, ou je vais te bruler la cervelle."

The singing ceased, and the sentry with a grunt resumed his march.

"He's going to make the round of the building," thought Jack. "So will I; but I hope to goodness no one will be passing on the other side."

He tiptoed along and turned the other corner. Not a soul was to be seen. He waited. On this face of the building was the door, over which a feeble light flickered, and Jack wondered whether it was open, and if he would be seen from within. But there was no time for hesitation. The tramping sentry was coming behind him. Taking his courage in both hands, Jack slipped along, passed the door safely, turned the farther corner, and in another half-minute was back under the grating, breathless with excitement.

For a moment he stood listening. The sentry had halted in front of the building.

"Hist! Are you there?" he whispered towards the grating.

"Si, Senor," said the man.

"Now, answer quickly. How many French are in the town?"

"About a hundred, Senor."

"Foot or horse?"

"Half one, half the other."

"And they come from--"

"From Segovia, Senor."

"That'll do. Where's that gipsy boy?"

"But, Senor--"

"Hush! Where's the gipsy?"

"Here, Senor," said Pepito, pulling the Spaniard away.

"Here's a few pesetas. Buy them all a supper from the jailer. All being well, I'll have you out to-night."

Then he thought for an instant. He must make sure his escape from the town. What if the sentry were again moving round the square? Stepping softly into the road, he picked up a large loose cobble and flung it with all his force towards the corner farthest away from the road he meant to take. The stone struck the road several yards beyond the building, and made a clatter as it ricochetted along. He heard an exclamation from the sentry, who set off at a quick step in the direction of the sound. Without more delay Jack hastened in the opposite direction, hearing behind him, more and more faintly, the quaint refrain of the gipsy's wild song:

"Kosko gry! Romany gry! Muk man kistur tute knaw!"

He arrived safely at the end of the street. The mirth of the French was even more uproarious, their fancied security clearly still more confident. Out of the town, into the lane, Jack hurried at full speed; past the guard-house, along over the field, among the bare vine-poles until he reached his horse again. A whinny greeted him. He sprang on to the animal's back, and cantered back rapidly in the direction of the Valladolid road.

"We'll make a clean swoop of them or I'm a Dutchman," he said to himself gleefully. "Was there ever such luck--and such bad management! Won't Charley Stewart be delighted!"

On he rode, keeping his ears open for the slightest sound. He had come, as he judged, within a mile of the scene of his afternoon's adventure when he heard the sound of horses trotting. Turning off the road, he walked his horse for some distance across the field and waited. The riders were approaching him. He tried to determine from the sound of the hoofs how many they were. Then he heard voices--they carried far in the silence of the frosty night,--and as they came opposite him he heard an English voice say with a growl:

"'Pon my soul, the madcap deserves to be nabbed!"

"Charley himself!" chuckled Jack. "Who goes there?" he called.

The horses stopped, and a voice called sharply:

"Who are you?"

"Lumsden of the 95th."

"Gad, it's the fellow himself. Come and show yourself, you daredevil! Where in the world have you been?"

"Into Rueda and back, sir," said Jack, saluting.

"And what the blazes have you been doing there?"

"Taking stock, sir. There are a hundred French in the town, cavalry and infantry mixed, and they're all hard at it with drink and cards."

"The deuce they are! No sentries, eh?"

"A few in a cabin this side of the town, sir, but they're busy at the same game."

"Are they, begad? Seymour, we'll collar this little lot. We were coming to rescue your dead body, young man, and you've disappointed us. Ride back, there, and tell the squadron to hurry. We'll draw first blood to-night."

Ten minutes later the whole squadron of 250 men of the 18th Light Dragoons, General Stewart himself in command, were on their way to Rueda. Jack rode ahead by the general's side--no longer in French uniform, for when the squadron arrived on the scene Kelly came forward and said:

"Brought these, sir; thought you might want 'em."

He handed Jack his head-dress and cloak, receiving the Frenchman's cloak and helmet in exchange.

"I didn't bring the breeches, sir," added Kelly, "thinking it might be a cold change to-night."

"Right, Kelly! and that reminds me that I've borrowed some of the Frenchman's money; all fair in war, eh?"

General Stewart enquired of Jack as they rode how he had contrived to pick up his information.

"Famous, famous!" he exclaimed when the tale had been briefly told. "We mustn't let a man escape if we can help it. If Franceschi doesn't hear of this we may scoop up his whole division. How are we going to escape the sentries? They can't fail to hear us on this hard road, and we can't muffle the horses' hoofs."

"If you like, sir," suggested Jack, "I'll go ahead with a few men across the fields and collar them first."

"You want to do it all, eh? Very well; we'll halt when you tell us. If anything goes wrong, give us a hail and we'll be on your tracks like the wind."

When he judged that the squadron had arrived at a safe distance Jack gave the word, the general halted, and Jack went forward across the fields with four men to make a detour and come upon the sentries' cabin from the direction of Rueda, thereby to deceive the Frenchmen into the belief that the approaching riders were a party coming out to relieve guard. Jack's men had ridden two hundred yards beyond the cabin, and were just turning to the left to regain the road, when one of the men declared that he heard the sound of trotting horses from the town.

"That's a relief patrol," said Jack. "Ride back to the general, Kelly; tell him we can hardly hope to surprise the town now, and ask him to pick up the men in the cabin as he passes. Now, dragoons, forward with me into Rueda."

They set spurs to their horses, and made for the road. Secrecy was no longer possible; the approaching chasseurs heard them, stopped short, hesitated a moment, then turned tail and made at full speed back towards the town, with Jack and his men close at their heels.

"Who's in first, my boys!" cried Jack, rising in his stirrups and urging his flying steed. On they went, heedless of the road, sparks flying from the hoofs, the horses snorting with the joy of the chase. Into the town with a clash and a clatter!

"Sauve qui peut! Les Anglais! Les Anglais!" shouted the sergeant of the flying patrol. Instantly the little town was filled with noise, the inns belched forth their scared revellers, from every house streamed soldiers, drunk and sober, some in full uniform, some half-dressed, some without swords, some without muskets, the chasseurs clamouring for their horses, the officers of Lefebvre's infantry shouting to their men to form up and stand firm in the square. Jack dashed on. A pistol flashed at him; he heeded nothing, keeping his eye on the form of the sergeant who headed the patrol, and who had now distanced his companions, and was clearly making in a panic for safety. By this time about sixty of the infantry had formed up in some sort of order in the square. Giving rein to his horse, the sergeant of chasseurs, yelling incoherent exclamations, dashed into their midst, cleft a way through them, and pelted on towards the other end of the town. At his heels flew Jack, whom in the confusion and the semi-darkness the Frenchmen appeared to take for one of themselves. Behind him he heard the clatter of hoofs and the shouts of Stewart's dragoons as they dashed into the town, the crack of pistols, the dull thud of infantry muskets, then the clash of sabres and the yells of wounded men. Still he rode on. "Not a man must escape," the general had said, and not a man should, if Jack could help it.

He was now out of the town, and the Frenchman was apparently losing ground. Jack spurred his panting horse, and knew by the louder clicks of the hoofs before him that he was gaining on the enemy. But it was only for a moment. The chasseur shouted to his horse, flung a mocking cry behind, and tore on at increased speed. On went Jack, his mouth set, determined to run his quarry down if only his horse would hold out. Mile after mile the chase continued; each horseman could hear the pants of the other's steed, each rode headlong, careless of ruts or stones, Jack hoping now against hope that something would happen to check the Frenchman's career. His own horse was almost done; he remembered that it had had scarcely any rest for half a day, while the chasseur's was probably fresh; and it occurred to him at length that the Frenchman could easily have outstripped him if he pleased, and must be holding him now for his own malicious amusement, or perhaps to lure him on till he reached a larger body of Franceschi's men. Just as he was wondering whether it might not be the more discreet part to relinquish the chase, he caught sight of lights ahead. The Frenchman was quickening his pace; evidently then he did not expect to find friends in the village or town to which they were coming. Jack endeavoured to get still more out of his own breathless steed. On went the chasseur at full gallop into the town. At the door of an inn a group of men was gathered, some of their number holding flaring torches above their heads. The crowd parted to make way for the flying horseman, and he dashed pell-mell through their midst.

"The game's up!" thought Jack with a sigh of disappointment. "Poor old horse! You're done up." He rode into the crowd. "After him!" he cried in Spanish, pointing after the Frenchman. "After him, hombres! The English are at Rueda. Don't let him escape. My horse is foundered; somebody mount and catch the dog!"

But not a man moved in response to his cry. Jack dismounted, trembling in every limb, and furious with the Spaniards for their apathy. As he led his quivering horse towards the inn, and the throng gathered around him, he stopped suddenly, for there, in front of the inn door, stretched on his back, lay a soldier, his eyes closed, his cheeks pale in the ghastly torchlight, a dark stain marking the frosty road.

"What is it? Who is he?" asked Jack. He looked round, and saw at the inn door a man with a reeking knife in his hand. As Jack passed, the man came forward.

"I did it! One of the accursed French. I killed him!"

He went on to explain that he was the posting-master of the place. The French horseman had ridden up half an hour before and demanded refreshment; he had behaved with such insolence and brutality that human nature could not endure it.

"He was an enemy of my country, and I killed him!" the man concluded.

Jack shuddered involuntarily, and stepped round the corpse to enter the inn.

*CHAPTER X*

*The Emperor's Despatch*

Spoils of War--Hard Cash--A Good Bargain--"To Command the World"--A Wigging--"Missing"--Through the Night--Dead Beat--Grumbling--A Late Breakfast--Mixed Metaphors--A Change of Route

Jack threw himself wearily into a chair. He was tired, famished, disappointed--above all, disappointed,--for he had set his heart on capturing the Frenchman as a crowning achievement for this crowded day. For a few moments he sat staring with downcast eyes at the floor; then he pulled himself together.

"It can't be helped," he thought. "I did my best.--Landlord, give me some food."

The landlord put down on the table, between two smoking candles, the knife which he had retained up to this moment.

"Some food for the caballero," he said to one of his men. "And you, Perez, go outside and bury that carrion Frenchman."

Some minutes passed. Jack found that he had no appetite for the crude dishes set before him, and heard dully, with inattentive ears, the slow monotone of the landlord, who seemed to be anxious to justify to himself the act of murder he had committed. Presently two of the inn servants entered.

"We have buried him, master," said the first. "And his clothes are rich; we thought maybe you would wish to have them."

His companion came forward, and laid before the inn-keeper a heap of garments.

"He was a handsome man," added the first.

"Fine feathers, fine feathers!" muttered the landlord. He took the garments up one by one, turning them over and commenting on them. There was a black cloth pelisse, a white dolman with gold braid and fur, and a shako of scarlet cloth, surmounted by an aigrette of white heron's plumes. The uniform was ornate with gold braid, cord, and buttons; and a rich sash of black and gold silk, a small cartridge-pouch, a sabretache, and a long Damascene sabre completed the brilliant appointments. As Jack watched the landlord fingering the articles, he recognized vaguely that they could only have belonged to a soldier of high rank or position, and for the first time he wondered what had brought the Frenchman to this out-of-the-way village of Valdestillos. The landlord stroked the fur of the dolman caressingly.

"Worth some dollars, this," he said, shaking it out to see its full extent. As he did so, a folded paper fell to the floor. Jack was up in an instant.

"I want that," he said, fatigue, hunger, disappointment forgotten at once. He stepped forward, but the landlord put his foot on the paper.

"No, no, Senor," he said quickly. "He was my prisoner; I killed him; all his things are mine."

"But don't you see," said Jack, now hardly able to control his excitement; "don't you see, the man was a despatch-rider! That explains his rich uniform. Perhaps he was one of Napoleon's own aides-de-camp, and the fate of all Spain may lie in that simple paper. You must give it to me, landlord; I must take it to my general."

Jack was too much agitated at the moment to perceive that his urgent manner was likely to defeat his ends. The probability that the paper had value had aroused the cupidity of the landlord, who stooped cautiously, picked up the despatch, and thrust it into his pocket.

"It is mine--mine," he said gloatingly. The man's attitude served to quiet Jack's nerves.

"Very well," he said. "Keep it. I wouldn't be in your shoes for something. Your servants have seen the despatch. Look, there's a crowd of peasants gaping at the door there. You can't keep it quiet, even if anything happens to me; and when General Stewart finds out what a patriot you are, he'll send you to the Marquis of La Romana, and then--"

Jack shrugged expressively. The servants cast uneasy glances at their master, who at first frowned at them, then himself looked uncomfortable.

"What does the Senor offer for it?" he said at length with a covetous leer.

"You sell your patriotism, eh? Well, I'll give you five dollars."

The landlord shook his head.

"I have lost many dollars of late through the war. It is worth more than five dollars."

"Well, I won't stick at a few dollars. Say ten."

"No, no. The Marquis of La Romana would give more than ten."

"I won't haggle with you," cried Jack. "I make you a last offer. If you accept it, you are so much to the good; if you refuse it, you not only won't get a maravedi, but you'll come pretty badly off when the authorities hear of it. I'll give you twenty dollars, and not a peseta more."

The landlord looked at him enquiringly, as though questioning whether he might not squeeze a few more dollars from the young officer. Jack eyed him firmly.

"That's final," he said. "Twenty dollars, or nothing, plus your country's curse."

"A paltry sum!" said the innkeeper. "In cash?" he asked cunningly.

"In cash. I have the money here."

"Let me see it."

Chafing at the man's suspicion, Jack unbuckled his belt, and counted out from the pockets on the inside twenty small golden dollars of the old coinage of Spain. The landlord's eye gleamed. He took out the despatch from his pocket, and held it doubtingly in his hand.

"Give me ten dollars first," he said.

Angrier than ever, but outwardly calm, Jack handed over ten of the coins. The man bit each one between his teeth, and dropped them into his pouch.

"Take it, Senor," he said.

It was the most exciting moment Jack remembered in his life when he took the folded paper in his hand, and paid the balance of the price. He turned it over; there was no writing on it; the flap was fastened with a great red seal; what if it was no despatch after all? Instantly he broke the seal, and, unfolding the stiff paper, read at the top:

"To the Marshal Duke of Dalmatia, commanding the Second Army Corps at Saldana, the Vice-Constable Major-General".

His eyes swam, and he felt a rush of blood to his cheeks. The landlord was droning on to his servants, and Jack remembered afterwards, with infinite amusement, that, at this tense moment, he had heard as in a dream the land-lord directing his servant to put out one of the candles; one was enough: "'Tis a waste of good pork fat, and we have no pigs left in Spain--bar the French."

He read on by the light of one guttering dip, running his eye rapidly down the closely-written page. Moment by moment his joy increased. The despatch was written from Chamartin by Marshal Berthier, Prince of Neufchatel, and Jack saw that it contained Napoleon's plan of campaign, and gave information of the position of his armies which would be beyond price to Moore. Having read it hastily, he went through it again with more care, fixing the details in his mind in case by any mishap he should lose it before reaching head-quarters. What he read was as follows:--

"I read to the Emperor your letter of the 4th of December, which was brought by one of your officers. His Majesty approves of all you have done. The brigades of Generals Debelle and Franceschi are under your orders, and you can manoeuvre them as you think proper. The Emperor is of opinion that with the division of Merle and the division of Mouton, together with the four regiments of cavalry, nothing can resist you.

"What are you to do? Take possession of Leon, drive back the enemy into Galicia, make yourself master of Benavente and Zamora. You can have no English in your front, for some of their regiments came to the Escurial and Salamanca, and everything shows that they are in full retreat. Our advance-guard is this day at Talavera de la Reyna, upon the road to Badajos, which it will reach soon. It will be clear to you that this movement must compel the English to hasten immediately to Lisbon, if they have not gone there already. The moment you are sure that the English have retreated (of which there is every presumption), move forward with rapidity. There are no Spaniards who can resist your two divisions. Order shoes and greatcoats to be made at Leon, Santander, and Palencia. His Majesty grants every demand for improving your equipment. You may also require mules for your artillery, and horses to remount your cavalry; but let it all be done according to the regular forms of administration.

"It is possible that as soon as the dragoons of General Millet arrive in Spain, the Emperor will send them on to you. But his cannot happen for a fortnight. At the distance at which you are you must be guided by what you think best, and look upon all I write as only general instructions. His Majesty conceives that you will take measures to reduce the country between the Douro, Galicia, and the Asturias, always most carefully guarding Santander. The 5th Corps, commanded by the Marshal Duke of Treviso, has been ordered to advance on Saragossa; the 8th Corps, under the Duke of Abrantes, whose 1st Division arrived at Vittoria on the 12th, will probably receive orders to concentrate at Burgos. Gunboats and armoured vessels of any kind have orders to sail for Santander. Load them with confiscated English merchandise, cotton, wool, artillery, and send all to France.

"Five divisions of Castanos' best troops have been routed with even less difficulty than you found in beating the Estremaduran army at Burgos. The wreck of Castanos' army is being pursued by Marshal Bessieres, who has cut them off the road to Estremadura, and is pursuing them towards Valencia, several marches beyond the Tagus. The Emperor's headquarters are at Chamartin, a little country seat a league and a half from Madrid. His Majesty enjoys an excellent state of health.

"The city of Madrid is quite tranquil. The shops are all open, the public amusements are resumed, and there is not the least appearance of our first proposals having been emphasized by 4000 cannon balls.

"THE PRINCE OF NEUFCHATEL, "Major-General.

"I will send you to-morrow a proclamation and some decrees of the Emperor, in which you will recognize the style of him who was born to command the world."

Every word was impressed on Jack's memory as though burnt in with fire. He had been disappointed of catching a Frenchman! He almost laughed aloud, for here, surely, was a find worth a king's ransom.

"Landlord, I ride back to Rueda." His voice had the ring of authority. "My own horse is tired. I will ride the Frenchman's horse. You will keep mine here until it is sent for, and a fair price shall be paid you for the other if mine is returned to me safe and sound. At once, if you please!"

It was not the Spaniard's way to move with alacrity, and it took fifteen minutes to saddle the horse and bring it round from the stables. Then Jack mounted, his whole body tingling with joy; and, the despatch carefully buttoned up inside his tunic, he set off on the fine Arab gray for Rueda.

The horse was not too fresh, and went all too slowly for Jack's eager haste. It was near midnight when he cantered into the open street of Rueda, and dismounted at the door of the posada. There was a light in this as in many other houses, and he guessed that here he would be most likely to find General Stewart. The sound of his horse's hoofs had drawn an orderly to the door.

"Ah, Benson, catch hold of this nag, there's a good fellow! Is the general up?"

"Yes, you'll find him in the first room, sir."

Jack waited to hear no more. He almost ran into the room, and found himself in the presence of General Stewart and a few other officers.

"Oh, it's you!" said Stewart, turning on his chair to face the intruder. "Now, look here, Lumsden, this is all very well, but things may go too far, you know. 'Twas a mere fool's trick to bolt off after a runaway vedette when, for all you knew, a whole army-corps was within a mile of us."

"Sorry, sir," said Jack, "but I understood that you wished to secure the whole party, and I went after the only one that had escaped.... There are no Frenchmen on the road; in fact, to the best of my belief there's only one Frenchman between here and Valladolid, and he's dead."

"You got him after all, then?" said Stewart with a gleam of interest.

"Unluckily no, sir; he got off. It was another fellow, and he carried this despatch."

The general took the paper without a word. He opened it, and began to read.

"Gad, what a find!" he exclaimed. "Look here, Seymour. 'Born to command the world', begad!"