Chapter Thirty Nine.Strung-Up.“Or dogs,” said Pen angrily. “What a fellow you are, Punch! Don’t you think we had enough to make us low-spirited and miserable without you imagining that the first howl you hear comes from one of those horrible brutes?”“It’s all very well,” said Punch with a shudder. “I have heard dogs enough in my time. Why, I used to be once close to the kennel where they kept the foxhounds, and they used to set-to and sing sometimes all at once. Then I have heard shut-up dogs howl all night, and other sorts begin to howl when it was moonlight; but I never heard a dog make a noise like that. I am sure it’s wolves.”“Well, perhaps you are right, Punch; but I suppose they never attack people except in the winter-time when they are starving and the ground’s covered with snow; and this is summer, and they have no reason for coming down from the mountains.”“Oh, I say,” exclaimed the boy, “haven’t they just!”“Will you hold your tongue, Punch!” cried Pen angrily. “This is a nice way to prepare ourselves for a tramp over the mountains, isn’t it?”“Are we going to tramp over the mountains in the night?” said the boy rather dolefully.“Yes, and be glad of the opportunity to get farther away from the French before morning.”“But won’t it be very bad for your leg, comrade?”“No worse than it will be for your back, Punch.”“But wouldn’t it be better if we had a good rest to-night?”“Where?” said Pen bluntly.“In some goat-keeper’s cottage. We saw goats before we came here, and there must be people who keep them.”“Perhaps so,” said Pen; “but I have seen no cottages.”“We ain’t looked,” said Punch.“No, and I don’t think it would be very wise to look for them in the dark. Come, Punch, don’t be a coward.”“I ain’t one; but I can’t stand going tramping about in these mountains with those horrid beasts hunting you, smelling you out and following you wherever you go.”“I don’t believe they would dare to come near us if we shouted at them,” said Pen firmly; “and we needn’t be satisfied with that, for if they came near and we fired at them they would never come near us again.”“Yes, we have got the guns,” said the boy; and he unslung the one he carried and began to try the charge with the ramrod. “Hadn’t you better see if yours is all right too?” he said.“Perhaps I had,” was the reply, “for we might have to use them for business that had nothing to do with wolves.”As he spoke, Pen followed his comrade’s example, driving the cartridge and bullet well home, and then feeling whether the powder was up in the pan.“Oh, I say,” cried the boy huskily, “there they go again! They’re coming down from high up the mountains. Hadn’t we better go lower down and try and find some cottage?”“I don’t think so,” said Pen sturdily.“But we might find one, you know—an empty one, just the same as we did before, when my back was so bad. Then we could shut ourselves in and laugh at the wolves if they came.”“We don’t want to laugh at the wolves,” said Pen jocularly. “And it might make them savage. I know I used to have a dog and I could always put him in a rage by laughing at him and calling him names.”“And now you are laughing at me. I can’t help it. I am ashamed perhaps; but, knowing what I do about the wolves, and what our chaps have seen— Ugh! It’s horrid! There they go again. Let’s get lower down.”“To where the French are lying in camp, so that they may get hold of us again? Nonsense, Punch! What was the good of our slipping away if it was only to give ourselves up?”“But we didn’t know then that we should run up against these wolves.”“We are not going to run up against them, Punch, but they are going to run away from us if we behave like men.”“But, don’t you see, I can’t behave like a man when I’m only a boy? Oh, there they go again!” half-whispered the poor fellow, who seemed thoroughly unnerved. “Come along, there’s a good chap.”“No,” said Pen firmly. “You can’t behave like a man, but you can behave like a brave boy, and that’s what you are going to do. If we ever get back to our company you wouldn’t like me to tell the lads that you were so frightened by the howling of the wolves that you let me go on alone to face them, and—”“Here, I say,” cried Punch excitedly, “you don’t mean to say that you would go on alone!”“I mean to say I would,” said Pen firmly; “but I shall not have to, because you are coming on along with me.”“No, I ain’t,” said the boy stubbornly.“Yes, you are.”“You don’t know,” continued the boy, through his set teeth. “Hanged if I do—so there!”Pen laughed bitterly.“Well, you are a queer fellow, Punch,” he said. “You stood by me yesterday and faced dozens of those French chasseurs, and fought till we had fired off our last cartridge, and then set-to to keep them off with the butt of your musket, though you were quite sure they would come on again and again.”“Perhaps I did,” said the boy huskily, “because I felt I ought to as a soldier, and it was dooty; but ’tain’t a soldier’s dooty to get torn to pieces by wolves. Ugh! It’s horrid, and I can’t bear it.”“Come on, Punch. I am going.”“No, don’t! I say, pray don’t, comrade!” cried the boy passionately; and he caught at Pen’s arm and clung to it with all his might. “I tell you I’d shoulder arms, keep touch with you, and keep step and march straight up to a regiment of the French, with the bullets flying all about our ears. I wouldn’t show the white once till I dropped. You know I’d be game if it was obeying orders, and all our fellows coming on behind. I tell you I would, as true as true!”“What!” said Pen, turning upon him firmly, “you would do that if you were ordered?”“That I would, and I wouldn’t flinch a bit. You know I never did,” cried the boy passionately. “Didn’t I always double beside my company-leader, and give the calls whenever I was told?”“Yes; and now I am going to be your company-leader to-night. Now then, my lad, forward!”Pen jerked his arm free and stepped off at once, while his comrade staggered with the violence of the thrust he had received. Then, recovering himself, he stood fast, struggling with the stubborn rage that filled his young breast, till Pen was a dozen paces in front, marching sturdily on in the direction of the howls that they had heard, and without once looking back.Then from out of the silence came the boy’s voice.“You’ll be sorry for this,” he shouted.Pen made no reply.“Oh, it’s too bad of him,” muttered Punch. “I say,” he shouted, “you will be sorry for this, comrade. D’ye ’ear?”Tramp, tramp, tramp went Pen’s feet over the stony ground.“Oh, I say, comrade, this is too bad!” whimpered the boy; and then, giving his musket one or two angry slaps as if in an exaggerated salute, he shouldered the piece and marched steadily after his leader.Pen halted till the boy closed up, and then started again.“There, Punch,” he said quietly, “I knew you better than you know yourself.”The boy made no reply, but marched forward with his teeth set; and evidently now thoroughly strung-up to meet anything that was in store, he stared straight before him into the darkness and paid no heed to the distant howls that floated to them upon the night-air from time to time.
“Or dogs,” said Pen angrily. “What a fellow you are, Punch! Don’t you think we had enough to make us low-spirited and miserable without you imagining that the first howl you hear comes from one of those horrible brutes?”
“It’s all very well,” said Punch with a shudder. “I have heard dogs enough in my time. Why, I used to be once close to the kennel where they kept the foxhounds, and they used to set-to and sing sometimes all at once. Then I have heard shut-up dogs howl all night, and other sorts begin to howl when it was moonlight; but I never heard a dog make a noise like that. I am sure it’s wolves.”
“Well, perhaps you are right, Punch; but I suppose they never attack people except in the winter-time when they are starving and the ground’s covered with snow; and this is summer, and they have no reason for coming down from the mountains.”
“Oh, I say,” exclaimed the boy, “haven’t they just!”
“Will you hold your tongue, Punch!” cried Pen angrily. “This is a nice way to prepare ourselves for a tramp over the mountains, isn’t it?”
“Are we going to tramp over the mountains in the night?” said the boy rather dolefully.
“Yes, and be glad of the opportunity to get farther away from the French before morning.”
“But won’t it be very bad for your leg, comrade?”
“No worse than it will be for your back, Punch.”
“But wouldn’t it be better if we had a good rest to-night?”
“Where?” said Pen bluntly.
“In some goat-keeper’s cottage. We saw goats before we came here, and there must be people who keep them.”
“Perhaps so,” said Pen; “but I have seen no cottages.”
“We ain’t looked,” said Punch.
“No, and I don’t think it would be very wise to look for them in the dark. Come, Punch, don’t be a coward.”
“I ain’t one; but I can’t stand going tramping about in these mountains with those horrid beasts hunting you, smelling you out and following you wherever you go.”
“I don’t believe they would dare to come near us if we shouted at them,” said Pen firmly; “and we needn’t be satisfied with that, for if they came near and we fired at them they would never come near us again.”
“Yes, we have got the guns,” said the boy; and he unslung the one he carried and began to try the charge with the ramrod. “Hadn’t you better see if yours is all right too?” he said.
“Perhaps I had,” was the reply, “for we might have to use them for business that had nothing to do with wolves.”
As he spoke, Pen followed his comrade’s example, driving the cartridge and bullet well home, and then feeling whether the powder was up in the pan.
“Oh, I say,” cried the boy huskily, “there they go again! They’re coming down from high up the mountains. Hadn’t we better go lower down and try and find some cottage?”
“I don’t think so,” said Pen sturdily.
“But we might find one, you know—an empty one, just the same as we did before, when my back was so bad. Then we could shut ourselves in and laugh at the wolves if they came.”
“We don’t want to laugh at the wolves,” said Pen jocularly. “And it might make them savage. I know I used to have a dog and I could always put him in a rage by laughing at him and calling him names.”
“And now you are laughing at me. I can’t help it. I am ashamed perhaps; but, knowing what I do about the wolves, and what our chaps have seen— Ugh! It’s horrid! There they go again. Let’s get lower down.”
“To where the French are lying in camp, so that they may get hold of us again? Nonsense, Punch! What was the good of our slipping away if it was only to give ourselves up?”
“But we didn’t know then that we should run up against these wolves.”
“We are not going to run up against them, Punch, but they are going to run away from us if we behave like men.”
“But, don’t you see, I can’t behave like a man when I’m only a boy? Oh, there they go again!” half-whispered the poor fellow, who seemed thoroughly unnerved. “Come along, there’s a good chap.”
“No,” said Pen firmly. “You can’t behave like a man, but you can behave like a brave boy, and that’s what you are going to do. If we ever get back to our company you wouldn’t like me to tell the lads that you were so frightened by the howling of the wolves that you let me go on alone to face them, and—”
“Here, I say,” cried Punch excitedly, “you don’t mean to say that you would go on alone!”
“I mean to say I would,” said Pen firmly; “but I shall not have to, because you are coming on along with me.”
“No, I ain’t,” said the boy stubbornly.
“Yes, you are.”
“You don’t know,” continued the boy, through his set teeth. “Hanged if I do—so there!”
Pen laughed bitterly.
“Well, you are a queer fellow, Punch,” he said. “You stood by me yesterday and faced dozens of those French chasseurs, and fought till we had fired off our last cartridge, and then set-to to keep them off with the butt of your musket, though you were quite sure they would come on again and again.”
“Perhaps I did,” said the boy huskily, “because I felt I ought to as a soldier, and it was dooty; but ’tain’t a soldier’s dooty to get torn to pieces by wolves. Ugh! It’s horrid, and I can’t bear it.”
“Come on, Punch. I am going.”
“No, don’t! I say, pray don’t, comrade!” cried the boy passionately; and he caught at Pen’s arm and clung to it with all his might. “I tell you I’d shoulder arms, keep touch with you, and keep step and march straight up to a regiment of the French, with the bullets flying all about our ears. I wouldn’t show the white once till I dropped. You know I’d be game if it was obeying orders, and all our fellows coming on behind. I tell you I would, as true as true!”
“What!” said Pen, turning upon him firmly, “you would do that if you were ordered?”
“That I would, and I wouldn’t flinch a bit. You know I never did,” cried the boy passionately. “Didn’t I always double beside my company-leader, and give the calls whenever I was told?”
“Yes; and now I am going to be your company-leader to-night. Now then, my lad, forward!”
Pen jerked his arm free and stepped off at once, while his comrade staggered with the violence of the thrust he had received. Then, recovering himself, he stood fast, struggling with the stubborn rage that filled his young breast, till Pen was a dozen paces in front, marching sturdily on in the direction of the howls that they had heard, and without once looking back.
Then from out of the silence came the boy’s voice.
“You’ll be sorry for this,” he shouted.
Pen made no reply.
“Oh, it’s too bad of him,” muttered Punch. “I say,” he shouted, “you will be sorry for this, comrade. D’ye ’ear?”
Tramp, tramp, tramp went Pen’s feet over the stony ground.
“Oh, I say, comrade, this is too bad!” whimpered the boy; and then, giving his musket one or two angry slaps as if in an exaggerated salute, he shouldered the piece and marched steadily after his leader.
Pen halted till the boy closed up, and then started again.
“There, Punch,” he said quietly, “I knew you better than you know yourself.”
The boy made no reply, but marched forward with his teeth set; and evidently now thoroughly strung-up to meet anything that was in store, he stared straight before him into the darkness and paid no heed to the distant howls that floated to them upon the night-air from time to time.
Chapter Forty.Friends or Foes?“This is rather hard work, Punch, lad,” said Pen, after a long silence; but the boy took no notice. “The ground’s so rugged that I’ve nearly gone down half-a-dozen times. Well, haven’t you anything to say?”The boy kept his teeth firmly pressed together and marched on in silence; and the night tramp went on for quite a couple of hours, till, growing wearied out by the boy’s determination, Pen began again to try and break the icy reserve between them.“What a country this is!” he said. “To think of our going on hour after hour never once seeing a sign of any one’s dwelling-place. Ah, look at that!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Do you see that light?”“Yes,” said Punch sulkily, “a wolf’s eye staring at us.”“Then he’s got one shut,” said Pen, laughing softly. “I can only see one. Why, you are thinking of nothing else but wolves. It’s a little watch-fire far away.”Punch lowered his piece quickly and cocked it.“Look out, comrade,” he said, “some one will challenge directly. Drop down together, don’t us, if he does?”“I don’t think they will be sentries right up here,” said Pen.“What then?”“Shepherds,” replied Pen abruptly.He was about to add, “to keep off the wolves,” but he checked himself in time, as he half-laughed and thought that it would scare his companion again.Punch remained silent and marched on, keeping step, till they were getting very close to a tiny scrap of a smouldering fire; and then there was a rush of feet as if about a couple of dozen goats had been startled, to spring up and scatter away, with their horny hoofs pattering amongst the stones; and at the same moment the two lads became aware of the fact that after their habit the sturdy little animals had been sleeping around a couple of fierce-looking, goatskin-clothed, half-savage Spanish goat-herds, one of whom kicked at the fire, making it burst into a temporary blaze which lit up their swarthy features and flashed in their eyes, and, what was more startling still, on the blades of the two long knives which they snatched from their belts.“Amigos, amigos!” cried Pen, and he grounded arms, Punch following his example.“Amigos! No, Francéses,” shouted one of the men, as the fire burnt up more brightly; and he pointed at Pen’s musket.“No,” cried Pen, “Ingléses.” And laying down his piece near the fire, he coolly seated himself and began to warm his hands. “Come on, Punch,” he said, “sit down; and give me your haversack.”The boy obeyed, and as the two men looked at them doubtingly Pen took the haversack, held it out, thrust his hand within two or three times, and shook his head before pointing to his lips and making signs as if he wanted to eat.“El pano, agua,” he said.The men turned to gaze into each other’s eyes as if in doubt, and then began slowly to thrust their long, sharp knives into their belts; and it proved directly afterwards that Pen’s pantomime had been sufficiently good, for one of them strode away into the darkness, where the lads could make out a sort of wind-shade of piled-up stones, from which he returned directly afterwards with what proved to be a goatskin-bag, which he carried to his companion, and then went off again, to return from somewhere behind the stones, carrying a peculiar-looking earthen jar, which proved to be filled with water.Just then Punch drew the two muskets a little farther from the fire, and to Pen’s surprise took off his jacket and carefully covered their locks.“Afraid of the damp,” muttered Pen to himself; and then he smiled up in the face of the fiercer-looking of the two goat-herds as the man placed a cake of coarse-looking bread in his hands and afterwards turned out from the bag a couple of large onions, to which he added a small bullock’s horn whose opening was stopped with a ball of goatskin.“Bueno, bueno!” said Pen, taking the food which was offered to him with the grave courtesy of a gentleman; and, not to be outdone, he took the hand that gave and lightly raised it to his lips. The act of courtesy seemed to melt all chilling reserve, and the two men hurried to throw some heather-like twigs upon the fire, which began to burn up brightly, emitting a pleasant aromatic smoke. Then, seating themselves, the more fierce-looking of the pair pointed to the bread and held up the jar so that they could drink.“Amigos, amigos!” he said softly; and he took the jar in turn, drank to the lads, and gravely set it down between them; and then as Pen broke bread Punch started violently, for each of the men drew out his knife, and the boy’s hand was stretched out towards the muskets, but withdrawn directly as he realised the meaning of the unsheathed knives, each of the goat-herds snatching up one of the onions and beginning to peel it for the guests, before hastening to stick the point of his knife into the vegetable and hand both to their visitors.“They scared me,” said Punch. “I say, don’t the onions smell good! Want a bit of salt, though.”He had hardly said the word before the taller of the two men caught up the horn, drew out the ball-like wad which closed it up, and revealed within a reddish-looking powder which glistened in the light of the fire and proved to be rock-salt.It was a very rough and humble meal, but Punch expressed his companion’s feelings when he said it was ’lishus.“Worth coming for—eh, Punch?” said Pen, “and risking the wolves.”“Here, I say, drop that, comrade. Don’t be hard on a fellow. One can’t help having one’s feelings. But I say, you looked half-scared too when these two Spaniards whipped out their knives.”“I was more than half, Punch. But it was the same with them; they looked startled enough when we came upon them suddenly with our muskets and woke them out of sleep.”“Yes; they thought we was Frenchies till you showed them we was friends.”It was a rough but savoury meal, and wonderfully picturesque too, for the fire burned up briskly, shedding a bright light upon their hosts in their rough goatskin clothes, as they sat looking on as if pleased and amused at Punch’s voracity, while now the herd of goats that had scampered away into the darkness recovered from their panic and came slowly back one by one, to form a circle round the fire, where they stood, long-horned, shaggy, and full-bearded, looking in the half-light like so many satyrs of the classic times, blinking their eyes and watching the little feast as if awaiting their time to be invited to join in.“I say,” said Pen suddenly, “that was very thoughtful and right of you, Punch, to cover over the muskets; but you had better put your jacket on again. These puffs of air that come down from the mountains blow very cold; when the fire flames up it seems to burn one cheek, while the wind blows on the other and feels quite icy. There’s no chance of any damp making the locks rusty. Put on your jacket, lad; put on your jacket.”“That I don’t,” said the boy, in a half-whisper. “Who thought anything about dew or damp?”“Why, you did.”“Not likely, with the guns so close to the fire. Did you think I meant that?”“Why, of course.”“Nonsense! I didn’t want these Spaniels to take notice of them.”“I don’t understand you, Punch.”“Why, didn’t you tell them we was English?”“Of course.”“And at the same time,” said Punch, “put a couple of French muskets down before them, and us with French belts and cartridge-boxes on us all the time?”“Oh, they wouldn’t have noticed that.”“I don’t know,” said Punch. “These are rough-looking chaps, but they are not fools; and the French have knocked them about so that they hate them and feel ready to give them the knife at the slightest chance.”“Well, there’s no harm in being particular, Punch; but I don’t think they will doubt us.”“Well, I don’t doubt them,” said Punch. “What a jolly supper! I feel just like a new man. But won’t it be a pity to leave here and go on the march again? You know, I can’t help it, comrade; I shall begin thinking about the wolves again as soon as we start off into the darkness. Hadn’t we better lie down here and go to sleep till daylight?”“I don’t know,” said Pen thoughtfully. “These men have been very friendly to us, but we are quite strangers, and if they doubt our being what we said ours would be a very awkward position if we went off to sleep. Could you go off to sleep and trust them?”“Deal sooner trust them than the wolves, comrade,” said Punch, yawning violently, an act which was so infectious that it made his companion yawn too.“How tiresome!” he exclaimed, “You make me sleepy, and if we don’t jump up and start at once we shall never get off.”“Well then, don’t,” said Punch appealingly. “Let’s risk it, comrade. These two wouldn’t be such brutes as to use their knives on us when we were asleep. Look here! What do they mean now?”For the two goat-herds came and patted them on the shoulders and signed to them to get up and follow.“Why, they want us to go along with them, comrade,” said the boy, picking up the two muskets.“Here, ketch hold, in case they mean mischief. Why, they don’t want to take us into the dark so that the goats shouldn’t see the murder, do they?”“I am going to do what you suggested, Punch,” replied Pen, “risk it,” and he followed their two hosts to the rough-looking stone shelter which kept off the wind and reflected the warmth of the fire.Here they drew out a couple of tightly rolled-up skin-rugs, and made signs that the lads should take them. No words were spoken, the men’s intention was plainly enough expressed; and a very short time afterwards each lad was lying down in the angle of the rough wall, snugly rolled in his skin-rug, with a French musket for companion; and to both it seemed as if only a few minutes had elapsed before they were gazing across a beautiful valley where mists were rising, wreath after wreath of half-transparent vapour, shot with many colours by the rays of the rising sun.
“This is rather hard work, Punch, lad,” said Pen, after a long silence; but the boy took no notice. “The ground’s so rugged that I’ve nearly gone down half-a-dozen times. Well, haven’t you anything to say?”
The boy kept his teeth firmly pressed together and marched on in silence; and the night tramp went on for quite a couple of hours, till, growing wearied out by the boy’s determination, Pen began again to try and break the icy reserve between them.
“What a country this is!” he said. “To think of our going on hour after hour never once seeing a sign of any one’s dwelling-place. Ah, look at that!” he exclaimed excitedly. “Do you see that light?”
“Yes,” said Punch sulkily, “a wolf’s eye staring at us.”
“Then he’s got one shut,” said Pen, laughing softly. “I can only see one. Why, you are thinking of nothing else but wolves. It’s a little watch-fire far away.”
Punch lowered his piece quickly and cocked it.
“Look out, comrade,” he said, “some one will challenge directly. Drop down together, don’t us, if he does?”
“I don’t think they will be sentries right up here,” said Pen.
“What then?”
“Shepherds,” replied Pen abruptly.
He was about to add, “to keep off the wolves,” but he checked himself in time, as he half-laughed and thought that it would scare his companion again.
Punch remained silent and marched on, keeping step, till they were getting very close to a tiny scrap of a smouldering fire; and then there was a rush of feet as if about a couple of dozen goats had been startled, to spring up and scatter away, with their horny hoofs pattering amongst the stones; and at the same moment the two lads became aware of the fact that after their habit the sturdy little animals had been sleeping around a couple of fierce-looking, goatskin-clothed, half-savage Spanish goat-herds, one of whom kicked at the fire, making it burst into a temporary blaze which lit up their swarthy features and flashed in their eyes, and, what was more startling still, on the blades of the two long knives which they snatched from their belts.
“Amigos, amigos!” cried Pen, and he grounded arms, Punch following his example.
“Amigos! No, Francéses,” shouted one of the men, as the fire burnt up more brightly; and he pointed at Pen’s musket.
“No,” cried Pen, “Ingléses.” And laying down his piece near the fire, he coolly seated himself and began to warm his hands. “Come on, Punch,” he said, “sit down; and give me your haversack.”
The boy obeyed, and as the two men looked at them doubtingly Pen took the haversack, held it out, thrust his hand within two or three times, and shook his head before pointing to his lips and making signs as if he wanted to eat.
“El pano, agua,” he said.
The men turned to gaze into each other’s eyes as if in doubt, and then began slowly to thrust their long, sharp knives into their belts; and it proved directly afterwards that Pen’s pantomime had been sufficiently good, for one of them strode away into the darkness, where the lads could make out a sort of wind-shade of piled-up stones, from which he returned directly afterwards with what proved to be a goatskin-bag, which he carried to his companion, and then went off again, to return from somewhere behind the stones, carrying a peculiar-looking earthen jar, which proved to be filled with water.
Just then Punch drew the two muskets a little farther from the fire, and to Pen’s surprise took off his jacket and carefully covered their locks.
“Afraid of the damp,” muttered Pen to himself; and then he smiled up in the face of the fiercer-looking of the two goat-herds as the man placed a cake of coarse-looking bread in his hands and afterwards turned out from the bag a couple of large onions, to which he added a small bullock’s horn whose opening was stopped with a ball of goatskin.
“Bueno, bueno!” said Pen, taking the food which was offered to him with the grave courtesy of a gentleman; and, not to be outdone, he took the hand that gave and lightly raised it to his lips. The act of courtesy seemed to melt all chilling reserve, and the two men hurried to throw some heather-like twigs upon the fire, which began to burn up brightly, emitting a pleasant aromatic smoke. Then, seating themselves, the more fierce-looking of the pair pointed to the bread and held up the jar so that they could drink.
“Amigos, amigos!” he said softly; and he took the jar in turn, drank to the lads, and gravely set it down between them; and then as Pen broke bread Punch started violently, for each of the men drew out his knife, and the boy’s hand was stretched out towards the muskets, but withdrawn directly as he realised the meaning of the unsheathed knives, each of the goat-herds snatching up one of the onions and beginning to peel it for the guests, before hastening to stick the point of his knife into the vegetable and hand both to their visitors.
“They scared me,” said Punch. “I say, don’t the onions smell good! Want a bit of salt, though.”
He had hardly said the word before the taller of the two men caught up the horn, drew out the ball-like wad which closed it up, and revealed within a reddish-looking powder which glistened in the light of the fire and proved to be rock-salt.
It was a very rough and humble meal, but Punch expressed his companion’s feelings when he said it was ’lishus.
“Worth coming for—eh, Punch?” said Pen, “and risking the wolves.”
“Here, I say, drop that, comrade. Don’t be hard on a fellow. One can’t help having one’s feelings. But I say, you looked half-scared too when these two Spaniards whipped out their knives.”
“I was more than half, Punch. But it was the same with them; they looked startled enough when we came upon them suddenly with our muskets and woke them out of sleep.”
“Yes; they thought we was Frenchies till you showed them we was friends.”
It was a rough but savoury meal, and wonderfully picturesque too, for the fire burned up briskly, shedding a bright light upon their hosts in their rough goatskin clothes, as they sat looking on as if pleased and amused at Punch’s voracity, while now the herd of goats that had scampered away into the darkness recovered from their panic and came slowly back one by one, to form a circle round the fire, where they stood, long-horned, shaggy, and full-bearded, looking in the half-light like so many satyrs of the classic times, blinking their eyes and watching the little feast as if awaiting their time to be invited to join in.
“I say,” said Pen suddenly, “that was very thoughtful and right of you, Punch, to cover over the muskets; but you had better put your jacket on again. These puffs of air that come down from the mountains blow very cold; when the fire flames up it seems to burn one cheek, while the wind blows on the other and feels quite icy. There’s no chance of any damp making the locks rusty. Put on your jacket, lad; put on your jacket.”
“That I don’t,” said the boy, in a half-whisper. “Who thought anything about dew or damp?”
“Why, you did.”
“Not likely, with the guns so close to the fire. Did you think I meant that?”
“Why, of course.”
“Nonsense! I didn’t want these Spaniels to take notice of them.”
“I don’t understand you, Punch.”
“Why, didn’t you tell them we was English?”
“Of course.”
“And at the same time,” said Punch, “put a couple of French muskets down before them, and us with French belts and cartridge-boxes on us all the time?”
“Oh, they wouldn’t have noticed that.”
“I don’t know,” said Punch. “These are rough-looking chaps, but they are not fools; and the French have knocked them about so that they hate them and feel ready to give them the knife at the slightest chance.”
“Well, there’s no harm in being particular, Punch; but I don’t think they will doubt us.”
“Well, I don’t doubt them,” said Punch. “What a jolly supper! I feel just like a new man. But won’t it be a pity to leave here and go on the march again? You know, I can’t help it, comrade; I shall begin thinking about the wolves again as soon as we start off into the darkness. Hadn’t we better lie down here and go to sleep till daylight?”
“I don’t know,” said Pen thoughtfully. “These men have been very friendly to us, but we are quite strangers, and if they doubt our being what we said ours would be a very awkward position if we went off to sleep. Could you go off to sleep and trust them?”
“Deal sooner trust them than the wolves, comrade,” said Punch, yawning violently, an act which was so infectious that it made his companion yawn too.
“How tiresome!” he exclaimed, “You make me sleepy, and if we don’t jump up and start at once we shall never get off.”
“Well then, don’t,” said Punch appealingly. “Let’s risk it, comrade. These two wouldn’t be such brutes as to use their knives on us when we were asleep. Look here! What do they mean now?”
For the two goat-herds came and patted them on the shoulders and signed to them to get up and follow.
“Why, they want us to go along with them, comrade,” said the boy, picking up the two muskets.
“Here, ketch hold, in case they mean mischief. Why, they don’t want to take us into the dark so that the goats shouldn’t see the murder, do they?”
“I am going to do what you suggested, Punch,” replied Pen, “risk it,” and he followed their two hosts to the rough-looking stone shelter which kept off the wind and reflected the warmth of the fire.
Here they drew out a couple of tightly rolled-up skin-rugs, and made signs that the lads should take them. No words were spoken, the men’s intention was plainly enough expressed; and a very short time afterwards each lad was lying down in the angle of the rough wall, snugly rolled in his skin-rug, with a French musket for companion; and to both it seemed as if only a few minutes had elapsed before they were gazing across a beautiful valley where mists were rising, wreath after wreath of half-transparent vapour, shot with many colours by the rays of the rising sun.
Chapter Forty One.Boots or Booty?“There, Punch,” said Pen, rising; “you didn’t dream, did you, that our friends crept up with their knives in the night to make an end of you?”“No,” cried the boy excitedly, as he turned to gaze after the men, who were some little distance away amongst the goats, “I didn’t dream it. It was real. First one of them and then the other did come with his knife in his hand; but I cocked my musket, and they sneaked off again and pretended that they wanted to see to the fire.”“And what then?” said Pen.“Well, there wasn’t no what then,” replied the boy, “and I must have gone to sleep.”“That was all a dream, I believe, Punch; and I suppose you had another dream or two about the wolves?”“Yes, that was a dream. Yes, it must have been. No, it was more a bit of fancy, for I half-woke up and saw the fire shining on a whole drove of the savage beasts; but I soon made out that they weren’t wolves, because wolves don’t have horns. So it was the goats. I say, look here. Those two chaps have been milking. They don’t mean it for us, do they?”The coming of the two goat-herds soon proved that they were hospitably bent, and the lads agreed between themselves that there were far worse breakfasts than black-bread cake and warm goat’s-milk.This ended, a difficult task had to be mastered, and that was to try and obtain information such as would enable the two questioners to learn the whereabouts of the British troops.But it proved to be easier than might have been supposed.To Pen’s surprise he learned all he wanted by the use of three words—soldado, Francés, andInglés—with the addition of a good deal of gesticulation.For, their breakfast ended, the two lads stood with their hosts, and Pen patted his own breast and that of his companion, and then touched their muskets and belts.“Soldado,” he said. “Soldado.”The fiercer-looking of the two goat-herds caught his meaning directly, and touched them both in turn upon the breast before repeating the wordsoldado(soldier).“That’s all right, Punch,” said Pen. “I have made him understand that we are soldiers.”“Tchah!” said Punch scornfully. “These Spaniels ain’t fools. They knowed that without you telling them.”“Never mind,” said Pen. “Let me have my own way, unless you would like to do it.”“No, thank you,” replied the boy, shrinking back, while Pen now turned and pointed in the direction where he believed the French troops lay.“Soldado Francés?” he said in a questioning tone; and the man nodded quickly, caught hold of the lad’s pointing arm, and pressed it a little to one side, as if to show him that he had not quite located their enemies correctly.“Soldado Francés!” he said, showing his white teeth in a smile; and then his face changed and he drew his knife. “Soldado Francés,” he said fiercely.Pen nodded, and signed to the man to replace his knife.“So far, so good, Punch,” said Pen. “I don’t know how we are going to get on about the next question.”But again the task proved perfectly easy, for, laying his hand upon the goat-herd’s arm, he repeated the words “Soldado Inglés.”“Si,” said the man directly; and he patted the lad on his shoulder. “Soldado Inglés.”“Yes, that’s all right,” said Pen; “but, now then, look here,” And pointing with his hand to a spot higher up the mountain, he repeated the two Spanish words with a questioning tone: “Soldado Inglés?”The man looked at him blankly, and Pen pointed in another direction, repeating his question, and then again away down a far-reaching valley lying westward of where they stood.And now the Spaniard’s face lit up as if he fully grasped the meaning of the question.“Si, si, si!” he cried, nodding quickly and pointing right away into the distant valley. “Soldado Inglés! Soldado Inglés!” he cried. “Muchos,muchos.” And then, thoroughly following the meaning of the lad’s questions, he cried excitedly, as he pointed away down the valley, where an occasional flash of light suggested the presence of a river, “Soldado Inglés, muchos, muchos.” And then he tapped the musket and belts and repeated his words again and again as he pointed away into the distance.“Bravo amigo!” cried Pen.—“There, Punch, I don’t think there’s a doubt of it. The British forces lie somewhere over there.”“Then if the British forces lie over there,” cried Punch, almost pompously, “that’s where the —th lies, for they always go first. Why, we shall be at home again to-night if we have luck. My word, won’t the chaps give us a hooroar when we march into camp? For, of course, they think we are dead! You listen what old O’Grady says. You see if he don’t say, ‘Well done, me boys! Ye are welkim as the flures of May.’ I say, ask him how many miles it is to where our fellows lie.”“No, Punch, you do it.”“No, I ain’t going to try.”“Well, look here; these men have been very good to us, and we ought to show that we are grateful. How is it to be done?”“I don’t know,” said Punch. “We ain’t got no money, have we?”“Not apeseta, Punch. But I tell you what will please them. You must give them your knife.”“Give them my knife! Likely! Why, it’s the best bit of stuff that was ever made. I wouldn’t take a hundred pounds for it.”“Well, no one will offer it to you, Punch, and you are not asked to sell it. I ask you to give it to them to pay for what they have done for us.”“But give my knife! I wouldn’t.—Oh, well, all right. You know best, and if you think we ought to give it to them, there you are.—Good-bye, old sharper! I am very sorry to part with you all the same.”“Never mind, Punch. I’ll give you a better one some day.”“Some day never comes,” said the boy grumpily. “But I know you will if you can.”Pen took the knife, and, eager to get the matter over, he stepped to where the bigger goat-herd stood watching them, and opened and shut the big clasp-knife, picked up a piece of wood, and showed how keen the blade was, the man watching him curiously the while; and then Pen closed it and placed it in the man’s hand.The Spaniard looked at him curiously for a moment, as if not quite grasping his meaning.“Por usted,” said Pen; and the man nodded and smiled, but shook his head and gave him the knife back.“Hooroar! He won’t have it,” cried Punch.Pen pressed it upon the man again, and Punch groaned; but the man rejected it, once more thrusting the knife back with both hands, and then laughingly pointed down to Pen’s boots.“What does he mean by that, Punch?” cried Pen.“Haw, haw, haw, haw!” laughed the boy. “He wants you to give him your boots.”“Nonsense!”“Here, give us hold of my knife. Hooroar! Sharper, I have got you again! But he sha’n’t have your boots; he shall have mine, and welcome.—Look here, my cock Spaniel,” continued the boy excitedly, as he pocketed his knife, and dropping himself on the ground he began to unfasten his boots. But the man shook his head and signed to him that they would not do, pointing again and again to Pen’s. “No, no; you can’t have them. These are better. You can have them and welcome.”But there was a difference of opinion, the Spaniard persisting in his demand for the pair that had taken his fancy.“Here, I didn’t think he was such a fool,” cried Punch. “These are the best;” and the boy thrust off his boots and held them out to the man, who still shook his head violently.“No, no, Punch,” said Pen, who had quickly followed his companion’s example; and he drew off his own boots and held them to the man, who seized them joyfully, showing them with a look of triumph to his fellow. “There, put yours on again, Punch.”“Not me,” said the boy. “Think I’m going to tramp in boots and let you tramp over the rocks barefoot? Blest if I do; so there! Here, you put them on.”“Not I,” said Pen. “I don’t believe they would fit me.”“Yes, they would. I do know that. You are years older than I am, but my feet’s quite as big as yours; so now then. I tried yours when you was asleep one night, and they fitted me exactly, so of course these ’ere will fit you. Here, catch hold.”Pen turned away so decisively that the boy stood scowling; but a thought struck him, and with a look of triumph he turned to the younger of the two goat-herds.“Here you are, cocky,” he cried; and to the man’s keen delight Punch thrust the pair of boots into his hands and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “It’s all right, comrade,” cried the boy. “Foots soon gets hard when you ain’t got no shoes. Nature soles and heels them with her own leather. Lots of our chaps have chucked their boots away, and don’t mind a bit. There was plenty of foots in the world, me boy, before there was any brogues. I heered O’Grady say that one day to one of our chaps who had had his boots stolen. I say, what are they going to do?”This soon became evident, for the elder goat-herd, on seeing that the lads were about to start in the direction of the valley, pressed upon Pen a goatskin-bag which he took from a corner of the shelter, its contents being a couple of bread-cakes, a piece of cheese like dried brown leather, about a dozen onions, and the horn of salt.“Come along, Punch,” cried Pen cheerily. “They have given us aquid pro quoat all events.”“Have they?” cried Punch eagerly. “Take care of it then. I have often longed for a bit when I felt so horribly hungry. Old O’Grady told me over and over again that a chew of ’bacco is splendid when you ain’t got nothing to eat; so we will just try.”“What are you talking about?” said Pen, as they marched along the mountain-slope like some one of old who “went delicately,” for the way was stony, and Nature had not had time to commence the promised soleing and heeling process.“What was I talking about? You said they’d slipped some ’bacco into the bag.”“Nonsense!” cried Pen.“I swear you did. You said quid something.”“I said a few Latin words that sounded like it.”“Well, look ye here, comrade; don’t do it again. Latin was all very well for that oldpadre—good old chap! Bless his bald head! Regular trump he was! And parlyvooing was all very well for Mr Contrabando; but plain English for Bob Punchard, sivvy play, as we say in French.”
“There, Punch,” said Pen, rising; “you didn’t dream, did you, that our friends crept up with their knives in the night to make an end of you?”
“No,” cried the boy excitedly, as he turned to gaze after the men, who were some little distance away amongst the goats, “I didn’t dream it. It was real. First one of them and then the other did come with his knife in his hand; but I cocked my musket, and they sneaked off again and pretended that they wanted to see to the fire.”
“And what then?” said Pen.
“Well, there wasn’t no what then,” replied the boy, “and I must have gone to sleep.”
“That was all a dream, I believe, Punch; and I suppose you had another dream or two about the wolves?”
“Yes, that was a dream. Yes, it must have been. No, it was more a bit of fancy, for I half-woke up and saw the fire shining on a whole drove of the savage beasts; but I soon made out that they weren’t wolves, because wolves don’t have horns. So it was the goats. I say, look here. Those two chaps have been milking. They don’t mean it for us, do they?”
The coming of the two goat-herds soon proved that they were hospitably bent, and the lads agreed between themselves that there were far worse breakfasts than black-bread cake and warm goat’s-milk.
This ended, a difficult task had to be mastered, and that was to try and obtain information such as would enable the two questioners to learn the whereabouts of the British troops.
But it proved to be easier than might have been supposed.
To Pen’s surprise he learned all he wanted by the use of three words—soldado, Francés, andInglés—with the addition of a good deal of gesticulation.
For, their breakfast ended, the two lads stood with their hosts, and Pen patted his own breast and that of his companion, and then touched their muskets and belts.
“Soldado,” he said. “Soldado.”
The fiercer-looking of the two goat-herds caught his meaning directly, and touched them both in turn upon the breast before repeating the wordsoldado(soldier).
“That’s all right, Punch,” said Pen. “I have made him understand that we are soldiers.”
“Tchah!” said Punch scornfully. “These Spaniels ain’t fools. They knowed that without you telling them.”
“Never mind,” said Pen. “Let me have my own way, unless you would like to do it.”
“No, thank you,” replied the boy, shrinking back, while Pen now turned and pointed in the direction where he believed the French troops lay.
“Soldado Francés?” he said in a questioning tone; and the man nodded quickly, caught hold of the lad’s pointing arm, and pressed it a little to one side, as if to show him that he had not quite located their enemies correctly.
“Soldado Francés!” he said, showing his white teeth in a smile; and then his face changed and he drew his knife. “Soldado Francés,” he said fiercely.
Pen nodded, and signed to the man to replace his knife.
“So far, so good, Punch,” said Pen. “I don’t know how we are going to get on about the next question.”
But again the task proved perfectly easy, for, laying his hand upon the goat-herd’s arm, he repeated the words “Soldado Inglés.”
“Si,” said the man directly; and he patted the lad on his shoulder. “Soldado Inglés.”
“Yes, that’s all right,” said Pen; “but, now then, look here,” And pointing with his hand to a spot higher up the mountain, he repeated the two Spanish words with a questioning tone: “Soldado Inglés?”
The man looked at him blankly, and Pen pointed in another direction, repeating his question, and then again away down a far-reaching valley lying westward of where they stood.
And now the Spaniard’s face lit up as if he fully grasped the meaning of the question.
“Si, si, si!” he cried, nodding quickly and pointing right away into the distant valley. “Soldado Inglés! Soldado Inglés!” he cried. “Muchos,muchos.” And then, thoroughly following the meaning of the lad’s questions, he cried excitedly, as he pointed away down the valley, where an occasional flash of light suggested the presence of a river, “Soldado Inglés, muchos, muchos.” And then he tapped the musket and belts and repeated his words again and again as he pointed away into the distance.
“Bravo amigo!” cried Pen.—“There, Punch, I don’t think there’s a doubt of it. The British forces lie somewhere over there.”
“Then if the British forces lie over there,” cried Punch, almost pompously, “that’s where the —th lies, for they always go first. Why, we shall be at home again to-night if we have luck. My word, won’t the chaps give us a hooroar when we march into camp? For, of course, they think we are dead! You listen what old O’Grady says. You see if he don’t say, ‘Well done, me boys! Ye are welkim as the flures of May.’ I say, ask him how many miles it is to where our fellows lie.”
“No, Punch, you do it.”
“No, I ain’t going to try.”
“Well, look here; these men have been very good to us, and we ought to show that we are grateful. How is it to be done?”
“I don’t know,” said Punch. “We ain’t got no money, have we?”
“Not apeseta, Punch. But I tell you what will please them. You must give them your knife.”
“Give them my knife! Likely! Why, it’s the best bit of stuff that was ever made. I wouldn’t take a hundred pounds for it.”
“Well, no one will offer it to you, Punch, and you are not asked to sell it. I ask you to give it to them to pay for what they have done for us.”
“But give my knife! I wouldn’t.—Oh, well, all right. You know best, and if you think we ought to give it to them, there you are.—Good-bye, old sharper! I am very sorry to part with you all the same.”
“Never mind, Punch. I’ll give you a better one some day.”
“Some day never comes,” said the boy grumpily. “But I know you will if you can.”
Pen took the knife, and, eager to get the matter over, he stepped to where the bigger goat-herd stood watching them, and opened and shut the big clasp-knife, picked up a piece of wood, and showed how keen the blade was, the man watching him curiously the while; and then Pen closed it and placed it in the man’s hand.
The Spaniard looked at him curiously for a moment, as if not quite grasping his meaning.
“Por usted,” said Pen; and the man nodded and smiled, but shook his head and gave him the knife back.
“Hooroar! He won’t have it,” cried Punch.
Pen pressed it upon the man again, and Punch groaned; but the man rejected it, once more thrusting the knife back with both hands, and then laughingly pointed down to Pen’s boots.
“What does he mean by that, Punch?” cried Pen.
“Haw, haw, haw, haw!” laughed the boy. “He wants you to give him your boots.”
“Nonsense!”
“Here, give us hold of my knife. Hooroar! Sharper, I have got you again! But he sha’n’t have your boots; he shall have mine, and welcome.—Look here, my cock Spaniel,” continued the boy excitedly, as he pocketed his knife, and dropping himself on the ground he began to unfasten his boots. But the man shook his head and signed to him that they would not do, pointing again and again to Pen’s. “No, no; you can’t have them. These are better. You can have them and welcome.”
But there was a difference of opinion, the Spaniard persisting in his demand for the pair that had taken his fancy.
“Here, I didn’t think he was such a fool,” cried Punch. “These are the best;” and the boy thrust off his boots and held them out to the man, who still shook his head violently.
“No, no, Punch,” said Pen, who had quickly followed his companion’s example; and he drew off his own boots and held them to the man, who seized them joyfully, showing them with a look of triumph to his fellow. “There, put yours on again, Punch.”
“Not me,” said the boy. “Think I’m going to tramp in boots and let you tramp over the rocks barefoot? Blest if I do; so there! Here, you put them on.”
“Not I,” said Pen. “I don’t believe they would fit me.”
“Yes, they would. I do know that. You are years older than I am, but my feet’s quite as big as yours; so now then. I tried yours when you was asleep one night, and they fitted me exactly, so of course these ’ere will fit you. Here, catch hold.”
Pen turned away so decisively that the boy stood scowling; but a thought struck him, and with a look of triumph he turned to the younger of the two goat-herds.
“Here you are, cocky,” he cried; and to the man’s keen delight Punch thrust the pair of boots into his hands and gave him a hearty slap on the back. “It’s all right, comrade,” cried the boy. “Foots soon gets hard when you ain’t got no shoes. Nature soles and heels them with her own leather. Lots of our chaps have chucked their boots away, and don’t mind a bit. There was plenty of foots in the world, me boy, before there was any brogues. I heered O’Grady say that one day to one of our chaps who had had his boots stolen. I say, what are they going to do?”
This soon became evident, for the elder goat-herd, on seeing that the lads were about to start in the direction of the valley, pressed upon Pen a goatskin-bag which he took from a corner of the shelter, its contents being a couple of bread-cakes, a piece of cheese like dried brown leather, about a dozen onions, and the horn of salt.
“Come along, Punch,” cried Pen cheerily. “They have given us aquid pro quoat all events.”
“Have they?” cried Punch eagerly. “Take care of it then. I have often longed for a bit when I felt so horribly hungry. Old O’Grady told me over and over again that a chew of ’bacco is splendid when you ain’t got nothing to eat; so we will just try.”
“What are you talking about?” said Pen, as they marched along the mountain-slope like some one of old who “went delicately,” for the way was stony, and Nature had not had time to commence the promised soleing and heeling process.
“What was I talking about? You said they’d slipped some ’bacco into the bag.”
“Nonsense!” cried Pen.
“I swear you did. You said quid something.”
“I said a few Latin words that sounded like it.”
“Well, look ye here, comrade; don’t do it again. Latin was all very well for that oldpadre—good old chap! Bless his bald head! Regular trump he was! And parlyvooing was all very well for Mr Contrabando; but plain English for Bob Punchard, sivvy play, as we say in French.”
Chapter Forty Two.Friend and Enemy.The two lads started off light-hearted and hopeful, for if they could trust the goat-herds, whose information seemed to be perfectly correct, a day’s journey downward to the river in the valley, though seeming far distant, must bring them pretty near the goal they sought—in other words, the headquarters of the army that had crossed over from Portugal into Spain to drive back the French usurper, the task having been given to England’s most trusted General, Wellesley, who was in time to come always to be better known as Wellington.Thanks to the goat-herds, the lads were well provisioned for a day; but at the same time, and again thanks to their hosts of the past night, they were sadly crippled for their task.It was not long before they began to feel how badly they were equipped, for the principal production of the part of the country they traversed seemed to be stones, from the smallest sharp-cornered pebble up to huge blocks half the size of a house. But for hours they trudged on sturdily, chatting cheerfully at first, then growing silent, and then making remarks which were started by Punch.“Say, comrade,” he said, “is Spain what they call a civilised country?”“Yes, and one of the most famous in Europe; at least, it used to be.”“Ah, used to be!” said Punch sharply. “Used. ’Tain’t now. I don’t call a place civilised where they have got roads like this.”“Yes, it is rough,” said Pen.“Rough! Rough ain’t the word for it,” grumbled Punch. “If we go on much farther like this I shall wear my feet to the bone. Ain’t it time we sat down and had a bit of dinner?”“No,” replied Pen. “We will sit down and rest if you like, but we must try and husband our provisions so as to make them last over till to-morrow night.”“What’s to-morrow night got to do with it? We ought to be along with the British army by to-night; and what’s husbands got to do with it? We are not going to share our prog with anybody else, and if it’s husbands, how do we know they won’t bring their wives? Bother! You will be telling me they are going to bring all their kids next.”“Is that meant for a joke, Punch? Let’s go a little farther first. Come along, step out.”“Step out indeed!” grumbled the boy. “I stepped out first thing—right out of my boots. I say, comrade, oughtn’t the soles of our feet to begin to get hard by now?”“Don’t talk about it, Punch.”“Oh, you can feel it too? If it’s like this now, what’s it going to be by to-night? I did not know that it was going to be so bad. If I had, blest if that goat-stalker should have had my boots! I’d have kept them, and shared them—one apiece—and every now and then we could have changed foots. It would have been better then, wouldn’t it?”“I don’t know, Punch. Don’t think about it. Let’s go on till we get to the first spring, and then rest and bathe our feet.”“All right.”The boys kept on their painful walk for another hour; and then, the spring being found, they rested and bathed their tender soles, partook of a portion of their provisions, and went on again.That night the river seemed to be as far off as ever, and as they settled upon a sheltered spot for their night’s rest, and ate their spare supper, Punch hazarded the remark that they shouldn’t overtake the army the next day. Pen was more hopeful, and that night they fell asleep directly, with Punch quite forgetful of the wolves.The morning found the travellers better prepared for the continuance of their journey, and they toiled on painfully, slept for another night in a patch of forest, and started off at the first blink of dawn so as to reach the river, which was now flowing swiftly westward on their left.Their provisions were finished, all but a scrap of the bread which was so hard that they were glad to soak it in the river; but in spite of their pain they walked on more bravely, their sufferings being alleviated by the water, which was now always on their left, and down to whose bubbling surface they descended from time to time.“I say,” said Punch, all at once, “I hope those chaps were right, because we have come a long way, and I can’t see no sign of the army. You must have patience, Punch.”“All right; but it’s nearly all used up. I say, look here, do you think the army will be this side of the river?”“Can’t say, Punch.—I hope so.”“But suppose it’s the other side. How are you going to get across? Are we likely to come to a town and a bridge?”“No; we are too far away up in the mountains. But I dare say we shall be able to find a ford where we can cross.”“Oh!” said Punch thoughtfully; and they journeyed on, beginning to suffer now from hunger in addition to weariness and pain; and just about midday, when the heat of the sun was beating down strongly in the river valley, Punch limped off painfully to where an oak-tree spread its shady boughs, and threw himself prone.“It’s all up, comrade,” he said. “Can’t go no farther.”“No, no; don’t give way,” said Pen, who felt painfully disposed to follow his companion’s example. “Get well into the shade and have a few hours’ sleep. It will be cooler by-and-by, and we shall get on better after a rest. There, try and go to sleep.”“Who’s to sleep with a pair of red-hot feet and an empty cupboard? I can’t,” said Punch. And he took hold of his ankles, drew them up, and sat Chinese-tumbler fashion, rocking himself to and fro; while with a weary sigh Pen sank down beside him and sat gazing into the sunny distance.“Couldn’t we get over to the other side?” said Punch at last. “It’s all rocks and stones and rough going this side, and all green and meadowlike over the other. Can you swim?”“Yes, pretty well,” said Pen; “but I should be too tired to try.”“So can I, pretty tidy. I am tired, but not too tired to try. Let’s just rest a bit, and then swim across. It runs pretty fast, but ’tain’t far, and if it carried us some way down, all the better.”“Very well, after a bit I don’t mind if we try,” said Pen; “but I must rest first.”Then the boys were silent for a time, for Punch, whose eyes were wandering as he scanned the distance of the verdant undulating slope on the other side of the river, suddenly burst out with: “Yes, we had better get across, for our chaps are sure to be on the other side of the river.”“Why?” said Pen drowsily.“’Cause we are this. Soldiering always seems to be going by the rules of contrary; and—there!” cried the boy excitedly, “what did I tell you? There they are!”“What, our men? Where?” cried Pen excitedly.“Right over yonder, a mile away.”“I can see nothing.”“You don’t half look,” cried Punch angrily, bending forward, nursing his tender feet and staring wildly into the distance. “I ketched sight of a bit of scarlet ever so far off, and that must mean Bri’sh soldiers.”“No; it might be something painted red—or a patch of poppies perhaps.”“Oh, go it!” cried Punch angrily. “You will say next it is a jerrynium in a red pot, same as my mother always used to have in her window. It’s red-coats, I tell you. There, can’t you see them?”“No.”“Tchah! You are not looking right. Look yonder—about a mile away from the top of that hill just to the right of that bit of a wood. Now, do you see?”“No,” said Pen slowly. “Yes, I do—men marching. Do you see that flash in the sunlight. Bayonets! Punch, you are right!”“Ah!” said the boy. “Now then, what do you say to a swim across?”“Yes, I am ready,” said Pen. “How far is it, do you think?”“About a hundred yards,” replied the boy. “Oh, we ought to do that easy. You see, it will be only paddle at first, and then wade till you get up to your chest, and then swim. Perhaps we sha’n’t have to swim at all. Rough rivers like this are always shallow. When you are ready I am. We sha’n’t have to take off our shoes and stockings; and if we get very wet, well, we can wring our clothes, and they will soon dry in the sun. Look sharp and give the word. I am ready for anything with the British army in sight.”There was no hesitation now. The lads took the precaution of securing their cartouche-boxes between the muzzle of their pieces and the ramrod; and, keeping the muskets still slung so that at any moment they could let them drop loose to hang from the shoulder, they stepped carefully down amongst the stones until the pleasantly cool water began to foam above their feet, and then waded carefully on till they were knee-deep and began to feel the pressure of the water against their legs.“Ain’t going to be deep,” said Punch cheerily. “Don’t it feel nice to your toddlers? How fast it runs, though! Why, if it was deep enough to swim in it would carry you along faster than you could walk. It strikes me that we shall get across without having it up to one’s waistbelt.”The boy seemed pretty correct in his judgment, for as they carefully waded on—carefully, for the bottom was very uneven—they were nearly half across, and still the water was not so deep as the boy had prophesied.“There! What did I tell you?” he said; and then with his next step he caught at his companion’s hand and went down to his chin.The result was that Pen lost his balance, and the pair, half-struggling, half-swimming for about a dozen yards, were carried swiftly along to where a patch of rock showed itself in mid-stream with the water foaming all around.They were swept right round against the rocks, and found bottom directly, struggling up, with the swift stream only now to their knees.“What a hole!” cried Pen, panting a little with his exertions. “I say, you must take care, Punch.”“Oh yes, I will take care,” said the boy, puffing and choking. “I don’t know how much water I have swallowed. But it’s all shallow now, and we are half-over. How about your cartridges? Mine’s all wet.”“Then I suppose mine are too,” said Pen.“Never mind,” cried Punch cheerfully. “Perhaps they will be all right if we lay them out to dry in the sun. Now then, are you ready? It looks as if it will be all shallow the rest of the way.”“I sha’n’t trust it,” said Pen, “so let’s keep hold of hands.”They started again, yielding a little to the stream, and wading diagonally for the bank on Punch’s left, but making very slow progress, for Pen noted that the water, which was rough and shallow where they were, seemed to flow calmly and swiftly onward a short distance away, and was evidently deep.“Steady! Steady!” cried Pen, hanging away a little towards the bank from which they had started.“All right; I am steady enough, only one can’t do as one likes. It’s just as if all the water was pushing behind. Ah! Look out, comrade!”Pen was already looking out, and he had need, for once more his companion had stepped as it were off a shelf into deep water, and the next moment, still grasping Punch’s hand with all his might, he was striking out; and then together they were being borne rapidly down by the stream.
The two lads started off light-hearted and hopeful, for if they could trust the goat-herds, whose information seemed to be perfectly correct, a day’s journey downward to the river in the valley, though seeming far distant, must bring them pretty near the goal they sought—in other words, the headquarters of the army that had crossed over from Portugal into Spain to drive back the French usurper, the task having been given to England’s most trusted General, Wellesley, who was in time to come always to be better known as Wellington.
Thanks to the goat-herds, the lads were well provisioned for a day; but at the same time, and again thanks to their hosts of the past night, they were sadly crippled for their task.
It was not long before they began to feel how badly they were equipped, for the principal production of the part of the country they traversed seemed to be stones, from the smallest sharp-cornered pebble up to huge blocks half the size of a house. But for hours they trudged on sturdily, chatting cheerfully at first, then growing silent, and then making remarks which were started by Punch.
“Say, comrade,” he said, “is Spain what they call a civilised country?”
“Yes, and one of the most famous in Europe; at least, it used to be.”
“Ah, used to be!” said Punch sharply. “Used. ’Tain’t now. I don’t call a place civilised where they have got roads like this.”
“Yes, it is rough,” said Pen.
“Rough! Rough ain’t the word for it,” grumbled Punch. “If we go on much farther like this I shall wear my feet to the bone. Ain’t it time we sat down and had a bit of dinner?”
“No,” replied Pen. “We will sit down and rest if you like, but we must try and husband our provisions so as to make them last over till to-morrow night.”
“What’s to-morrow night got to do with it? We ought to be along with the British army by to-night; and what’s husbands got to do with it? We are not going to share our prog with anybody else, and if it’s husbands, how do we know they won’t bring their wives? Bother! You will be telling me they are going to bring all their kids next.”
“Is that meant for a joke, Punch? Let’s go a little farther first. Come along, step out.”
“Step out indeed!” grumbled the boy. “I stepped out first thing—right out of my boots. I say, comrade, oughtn’t the soles of our feet to begin to get hard by now?”
“Don’t talk about it, Punch.”
“Oh, you can feel it too? If it’s like this now, what’s it going to be by to-night? I did not know that it was going to be so bad. If I had, blest if that goat-stalker should have had my boots! I’d have kept them, and shared them—one apiece—and every now and then we could have changed foots. It would have been better then, wouldn’t it?”
“I don’t know, Punch. Don’t think about it. Let’s go on till we get to the first spring, and then rest and bathe our feet.”
“All right.”
The boys kept on their painful walk for another hour; and then, the spring being found, they rested and bathed their tender soles, partook of a portion of their provisions, and went on again.
That night the river seemed to be as far off as ever, and as they settled upon a sheltered spot for their night’s rest, and ate their spare supper, Punch hazarded the remark that they shouldn’t overtake the army the next day. Pen was more hopeful, and that night they fell asleep directly, with Punch quite forgetful of the wolves.
The morning found the travellers better prepared for the continuance of their journey, and they toiled on painfully, slept for another night in a patch of forest, and started off at the first blink of dawn so as to reach the river, which was now flowing swiftly westward on their left.
Their provisions were finished, all but a scrap of the bread which was so hard that they were glad to soak it in the river; but in spite of their pain they walked on more bravely, their sufferings being alleviated by the water, which was now always on their left, and down to whose bubbling surface they descended from time to time.
“I say,” said Punch, all at once, “I hope those chaps were right, because we have come a long way, and I can’t see no sign of the army. You must have patience, Punch.”
“All right; but it’s nearly all used up. I say, look here, do you think the army will be this side of the river?”
“Can’t say, Punch.—I hope so.”
“But suppose it’s the other side. How are you going to get across? Are we likely to come to a town and a bridge?”
“No; we are too far away up in the mountains. But I dare say we shall be able to find a ford where we can cross.”
“Oh!” said Punch thoughtfully; and they journeyed on, beginning to suffer now from hunger in addition to weariness and pain; and just about midday, when the heat of the sun was beating down strongly in the river valley, Punch limped off painfully to where an oak-tree spread its shady boughs, and threw himself prone.
“It’s all up, comrade,” he said. “Can’t go no farther.”
“No, no; don’t give way,” said Pen, who felt painfully disposed to follow his companion’s example. “Get well into the shade and have a few hours’ sleep. It will be cooler by-and-by, and we shall get on better after a rest. There, try and go to sleep.”
“Who’s to sleep with a pair of red-hot feet and an empty cupboard? I can’t,” said Punch. And he took hold of his ankles, drew them up, and sat Chinese-tumbler fashion, rocking himself to and fro; while with a weary sigh Pen sank down beside him and sat gazing into the sunny distance.
“Couldn’t we get over to the other side?” said Punch at last. “It’s all rocks and stones and rough going this side, and all green and meadowlike over the other. Can you swim?”
“Yes, pretty well,” said Pen; “but I should be too tired to try.”
“So can I, pretty tidy. I am tired, but not too tired to try. Let’s just rest a bit, and then swim across. It runs pretty fast, but ’tain’t far, and if it carried us some way down, all the better.”
“Very well, after a bit I don’t mind if we try,” said Pen; “but I must rest first.”
Then the boys were silent for a time, for Punch, whose eyes were wandering as he scanned the distance of the verdant undulating slope on the other side of the river, suddenly burst out with: “Yes, we had better get across, for our chaps are sure to be on the other side of the river.”
“Why?” said Pen drowsily.
“’Cause we are this. Soldiering always seems to be going by the rules of contrary; and—there!” cried the boy excitedly, “what did I tell you? There they are!”
“What, our men? Where?” cried Pen excitedly.
“Right over yonder, a mile away.”
“I can see nothing.”
“You don’t half look,” cried Punch angrily, bending forward, nursing his tender feet and staring wildly into the distance. “I ketched sight of a bit of scarlet ever so far off, and that must mean Bri’sh soldiers.”
“No; it might be something painted red—or a patch of poppies perhaps.”
“Oh, go it!” cried Punch angrily. “You will say next it is a jerrynium in a red pot, same as my mother always used to have in her window. It’s red-coats, I tell you. There, can’t you see them?”
“No.”
“Tchah! You are not looking right. Look yonder—about a mile away from the top of that hill just to the right of that bit of a wood. Now, do you see?”
“No,” said Pen slowly. “Yes, I do—men marching. Do you see that flash in the sunlight. Bayonets! Punch, you are right!”
“Ah!” said the boy. “Now then, what do you say to a swim across?”
“Yes, I am ready,” said Pen. “How far is it, do you think?”
“About a hundred yards,” replied the boy. “Oh, we ought to do that easy. You see, it will be only paddle at first, and then wade till you get up to your chest, and then swim. Perhaps we sha’n’t have to swim at all. Rough rivers like this are always shallow. When you are ready I am. We sha’n’t have to take off our shoes and stockings; and if we get very wet, well, we can wring our clothes, and they will soon dry in the sun. Look sharp and give the word. I am ready for anything with the British army in sight.”
There was no hesitation now. The lads took the precaution of securing their cartouche-boxes between the muzzle of their pieces and the ramrod; and, keeping the muskets still slung so that at any moment they could let them drop loose to hang from the shoulder, they stepped carefully down amongst the stones until the pleasantly cool water began to foam above their feet, and then waded carefully on till they were knee-deep and began to feel the pressure of the water against their legs.
“Ain’t going to be deep,” said Punch cheerily. “Don’t it feel nice to your toddlers? How fast it runs, though! Why, if it was deep enough to swim in it would carry you along faster than you could walk. It strikes me that we shall get across without having it up to one’s waistbelt.”
The boy seemed pretty correct in his judgment, for as they carefully waded on—carefully, for the bottom was very uneven—they were nearly half across, and still the water was not so deep as the boy had prophesied.
“There! What did I tell you?” he said; and then with his next step he caught at his companion’s hand and went down to his chin.
The result was that Pen lost his balance, and the pair, half-struggling, half-swimming for about a dozen yards, were carried swiftly along to where a patch of rock showed itself in mid-stream with the water foaming all around.
They were swept right round against the rocks, and found bottom directly, struggling up, with the swift stream only now to their knees.
“What a hole!” cried Pen, panting a little with his exertions. “I say, you must take care, Punch.”
“Oh yes, I will take care,” said the boy, puffing and choking. “I don’t know how much water I have swallowed. But it’s all shallow now, and we are half-over. How about your cartridges? Mine’s all wet.”
“Then I suppose mine are too,” said Pen.
“Never mind,” cried Punch cheerfully. “Perhaps they will be all right if we lay them out to dry in the sun. Now then, are you ready? It looks as if it will be all shallow the rest of the way.”
“I sha’n’t trust it,” said Pen, “so let’s keep hold of hands.”
They started again, yielding a little to the stream, and wading diagonally for the bank on Punch’s left, but making very slow progress, for Pen noted that the water, which was rough and shallow where they were, seemed to flow calmly and swiftly onward a short distance away, and was evidently deep.
“Steady! Steady!” cried Pen, hanging away a little towards the bank from which they had started.
“All right; I am steady enough, only one can’t do as one likes. It’s just as if all the water was pushing behind. Ah! Look out, comrade!”
Pen was already looking out, and he had need, for once more his companion had stepped as it were off a shelf into deep water, and the next moment, still grasping Punch’s hand with all his might, he was striking out; and then together they were being borne rapidly down by the stream.
Chapter Forty Three.Fresh Comrades.Pen never could quite settle in his own mind how it all happened. He was conscious of the rush of water and the foam bubbling against his lips, while he clung tightly to his companion till they were swept against rocks, borne into eddies, whirled round now beneath the surface, now gasping for breath as darkness was turned into light; then feeling as if they were being dragged over rough pieces of rock that were slimy with weed as he caught at them with one hand, and then, still clinging to Punch, who clung to him, they were being carried slowly over a shallow patch where the water raced beside their ears, till at last he struggled out, half-blind and dizzy, to find himself alone, with the sun beating hotly upon his head.He was giddy, breathless, confused in his excitement, as he pressed the water from his eyes; and then he uttered a cry, for about twenty yards from where he stood, with the water barely up to his ankles, he could see Punch lying upon his face, gradually gliding away towards the spot where the stream was beginning to run smooth and deep.He could recall this part of his adventure, though, well enough: how he staggered and splashed to the place, where he could catch hold of the boy, and turn him over before getting hold of his belt and dragging him right out of the river on to the sandy bank where it was hot and dry.And then he could recall how a great despair came upon him, and he knelt helplessly gazing down at his comrade, with the horrible feeling upon him that he was dead.Then all was misty again. The river was running onward with a swift rush towards its mouth, and he was conscious that he was safe upon the bank from which he had started. Then he knew that he must have swooned away, and lay, for how long he could not tell; but the next thing that he remembered clearly was that he opened his eyes to see Punch bending over him and rocking him to and fro according to the drill instructions they had both learned as to how to deal with a fellow-soldier who has been half-drowned.“Oh, Punch,” he cried, in a voice that sounded to him like a hoarse whisper, “I thought you were dead!”The boy was blubbering as if his heart would break, and it was some moments before he half-sobbed and half-whimpered out, “Why, you couldn’t have done that, because it’s what I was thinking about you. But, I say, comrade, you are all right, aren’t you?”“I—I suppose so,” gasped Pen.“Oh, don’t talk like that,” sobbed the boy.“This ’ere’s the worst of all. Do say as you are coming round. Why, you must be, or else you couldn’t talk. But, I say, did you save me, or did I save you? Blest if I know! And here we are on the wrong side after all! What’s to be done now?”“Wring our clothes, I suppose, Punch,” said Pen wearily, “or lie down and rest without.”“Well, I feel as if I should like to do that,” said Punch. “This ’ere sand is hot and dry enough to make us steam. I say, comrade,” he continued, wiping his eyes and speaking in a piteous tone, “don’t you take no notice of me and the water squeezing out of my eyes. I am so full of it that it’s running out. But we are all right, comrade. I was beginning to think you had gone and left me all alone. But I say, this ’ere’s a nice place, this Spain! Here, what’s the matter with you?” continued Punch excitedly. “Don’t turn like that, choking and pynting. Oh, this ’ere’s worse still! He’s in a blessed fit!”He had seized Pen by the shoulders now, and began shaking him violently, till Pen began to struggle with him, forced him aside, and then pointing across the river, he gasped out, “Cavalry! Look, look!”The boy swung himself round, one hand felt for his musket, the other at his belt, where the bayonet should have been, for the word cavalry suggested to him preparations for receiving a charge.Then, following the direction of his companion’s pointing hand, he fully grasped what was meant, for coming down the slope across the river were a couple of English light dragoons, who had caught sight of the two figures on the opposite bank.The men were approaching cautiously, each with his carbine at the ready, and for the moment it seemed as if the vedette were about to place the lives of the two lads in fresh peril. But as they drew nearer the boys rose and shouted; though the rushing noise of the river drowned their words.As the boys continued to gesticulate, the men began to grasp the fact that they had been in the water, and what they were, for one of them began pointing along the stream and waving his hand, as he shouted again and again.“Can’t—understand—what—you—say!” yelled Punch; and then putting his hand to his lips, he shouted with all his might, “English! Help!”The word “help” evidently reached the ears of one of the dragoons, for, rising in his stirrups, he waved the hand that held his carbine and pointed downstream, yelling out something again.“I don’t know, comrade,” cried Punch dolefully. “I think it was ‘Come on!’”“I know now,” cried Pen. “It was ‘ford.’”Then the drenched, exhausted pair staggered on over the dry sand, which suggested that at times the river must be twice its present width; and the vedette guided their horses carefully on amongst the stones of the farther bank, till, a few hundred yards lower down, where the river was clear of obstructions and ran swiftly on in a regular ripple, the two horses turned right and paced gently down into the water, which, half-way to their knees, splashed up as they made for the opposite bank, which the lads reached at the same time as the vedette.“Why, hallo, my lads! We couldn’t make out what you were. The —th, aren’t you?”“Yes.”“What! Have you been in the river?”“Yes, tried to cross—’most drowned,” said Punch hoarsely.“You should have come down to this ford. Where are you for?”“Our corps, when we can find it,” said Pen.“Oh, that’s all right; about two miles away. Come on.”“Not me!” said Punch sturdily. “I have had enough of it.”“What do you mean?” said the other dragoon who had not spoken. “Afraid to cross?”“Yes, that’s it,” said Punch. “So would you be if you had had my dose. I’m nearly full of water now.”“Well, you look it,” said the first dragoon, laughing. “Here, take hold of our stirrup-leathers. We will take you across all right.”Punch hesitated.“Shall we risk it, comrade?” he said.“Yes, of course.”And Punch limped painfully to the side of the second dragoon, while Pen took hold of the stirrup-leather of the first.“Here, I say, this won’t do,” said the man, as their horses’ hoofs sank in the hot, dry sand of the other side. “Why, you are both regularly knocked up.—Dismount!” he cried, and he and his companion dropped from their saddles. “There, my lads, mount. You can ride the rest of the way. Hallo! Limping?” he continued. “What does that mean? Footsore, or a wound?”“Wound,” said Pen quietly. “My comrade, there, has been worse than I. How far do you say it is to the camp?”“A couple of miles; but we will see you there safe. How have you been off for rations?”Pen told him, and an end was put to their famishing state by a surprise of the dragoons’ haversacks.About half an hour later the led horses entered the camp, and the boy’s hearts were gladdened by the cheery notes of a cavalry call.“Ah,” whispered Punch, as he leaned over from his seat in the saddle to whisper to Pen, “that seems to do a fellow’s heart good, comrade. But ’tain’t so good as a bugle. If I could hear that again I should be just myself.”
Pen never could quite settle in his own mind how it all happened. He was conscious of the rush of water and the foam bubbling against his lips, while he clung tightly to his companion till they were swept against rocks, borne into eddies, whirled round now beneath the surface, now gasping for breath as darkness was turned into light; then feeling as if they were being dragged over rough pieces of rock that were slimy with weed as he caught at them with one hand, and then, still clinging to Punch, who clung to him, they were being carried slowly over a shallow patch where the water raced beside their ears, till at last he struggled out, half-blind and dizzy, to find himself alone, with the sun beating hotly upon his head.
He was giddy, breathless, confused in his excitement, as he pressed the water from his eyes; and then he uttered a cry, for about twenty yards from where he stood, with the water barely up to his ankles, he could see Punch lying upon his face, gradually gliding away towards the spot where the stream was beginning to run smooth and deep.
He could recall this part of his adventure, though, well enough: how he staggered and splashed to the place, where he could catch hold of the boy, and turn him over before getting hold of his belt and dragging him right out of the river on to the sandy bank where it was hot and dry.
And then he could recall how a great despair came upon him, and he knelt helplessly gazing down at his comrade, with the horrible feeling upon him that he was dead.
Then all was misty again. The river was running onward with a swift rush towards its mouth, and he was conscious that he was safe upon the bank from which he had started. Then he knew that he must have swooned away, and lay, for how long he could not tell; but the next thing that he remembered clearly was that he opened his eyes to see Punch bending over him and rocking him to and fro according to the drill instructions they had both learned as to how to deal with a fellow-soldier who has been half-drowned.
“Oh, Punch,” he cried, in a voice that sounded to him like a hoarse whisper, “I thought you were dead!”
The boy was blubbering as if his heart would break, and it was some moments before he half-sobbed and half-whimpered out, “Why, you couldn’t have done that, because it’s what I was thinking about you. But, I say, comrade, you are all right, aren’t you?”
“I—I suppose so,” gasped Pen.
“Oh, don’t talk like that,” sobbed the boy.
“This ’ere’s the worst of all. Do say as you are coming round. Why, you must be, or else you couldn’t talk. But, I say, did you save me, or did I save you? Blest if I know! And here we are on the wrong side after all! What’s to be done now?”
“Wring our clothes, I suppose, Punch,” said Pen wearily, “or lie down and rest without.”
“Well, I feel as if I should like to do that,” said Punch. “This ’ere sand is hot and dry enough to make us steam. I say, comrade,” he continued, wiping his eyes and speaking in a piteous tone, “don’t you take no notice of me and the water squeezing out of my eyes. I am so full of it that it’s running out. But we are all right, comrade. I was beginning to think you had gone and left me all alone. But I say, this ’ere’s a nice place, this Spain! Here, what’s the matter with you?” continued Punch excitedly. “Don’t turn like that, choking and pynting. Oh, this ’ere’s worse still! He’s in a blessed fit!”
He had seized Pen by the shoulders now, and began shaking him violently, till Pen began to struggle with him, forced him aside, and then pointing across the river, he gasped out, “Cavalry! Look, look!”
The boy swung himself round, one hand felt for his musket, the other at his belt, where the bayonet should have been, for the word cavalry suggested to him preparations for receiving a charge.
Then, following the direction of his companion’s pointing hand, he fully grasped what was meant, for coming down the slope across the river were a couple of English light dragoons, who had caught sight of the two figures on the opposite bank.
The men were approaching cautiously, each with his carbine at the ready, and for the moment it seemed as if the vedette were about to place the lives of the two lads in fresh peril. But as they drew nearer the boys rose and shouted; though the rushing noise of the river drowned their words.
As the boys continued to gesticulate, the men began to grasp the fact that they had been in the water, and what they were, for one of them began pointing along the stream and waving his hand, as he shouted again and again.
“Can’t—understand—what—you—say!” yelled Punch; and then putting his hand to his lips, he shouted with all his might, “English! Help!”
The word “help” evidently reached the ears of one of the dragoons, for, rising in his stirrups, he waved the hand that held his carbine and pointed downstream, yelling out something again.
“I don’t know, comrade,” cried Punch dolefully. “I think it was ‘Come on!’”
“I know now,” cried Pen. “It was ‘ford.’”
Then the drenched, exhausted pair staggered on over the dry sand, which suggested that at times the river must be twice its present width; and the vedette guided their horses carefully on amongst the stones of the farther bank, till, a few hundred yards lower down, where the river was clear of obstructions and ran swiftly on in a regular ripple, the two horses turned right and paced gently down into the water, which, half-way to their knees, splashed up as they made for the opposite bank, which the lads reached at the same time as the vedette.
“Why, hallo, my lads! We couldn’t make out what you were. The —th, aren’t you?”
“Yes.”
“What! Have you been in the river?”
“Yes, tried to cross—’most drowned,” said Punch hoarsely.
“You should have come down to this ford. Where are you for?”
“Our corps, when we can find it,” said Pen.
“Oh, that’s all right; about two miles away. Come on.”
“Not me!” said Punch sturdily. “I have had enough of it.”
“What do you mean?” said the other dragoon who had not spoken. “Afraid to cross?”
“Yes, that’s it,” said Punch. “So would you be if you had had my dose. I’m nearly full of water now.”
“Well, you look it,” said the first dragoon, laughing. “Here, take hold of our stirrup-leathers. We will take you across all right.”
Punch hesitated.
“Shall we risk it, comrade?” he said.
“Yes, of course.”
And Punch limped painfully to the side of the second dragoon, while Pen took hold of the stirrup-leather of the first.
“Here, I say, this won’t do,” said the man, as their horses’ hoofs sank in the hot, dry sand of the other side. “Why, you are both regularly knocked up.—Dismount!” he cried, and he and his companion dropped from their saddles. “There, my lads, mount. You can ride the rest of the way. Hallo! Limping?” he continued. “What does that mean? Footsore, or a wound?”
“Wound,” said Pen quietly. “My comrade, there, has been worse than I. How far do you say it is to the camp?”
“A couple of miles; but we will see you there safe. How have you been off for rations?”
Pen told him, and an end was put to their famishing state by a surprise of the dragoons’ haversacks.
About half an hour later the led horses entered the camp, and the boy’s hearts were gladdened by the cheery notes of a cavalry call.
“Ah,” whispered Punch, as he leaned over from his seat in the saddle to whisper to Pen, “that seems to do a fellow’s heart good, comrade. But ’tain’t so good as a bugle. If I could hear that again I should be just myself.”
Chapter Forty Four.Before the Aquiline.Three days in the English camp, and the two lads had pretty well recovered; but they were greatly disappointed to find that during the absence of the dragoons on vedette duty the —th and another regiment had been despatched for a reconnoitring expedition, so that the lads had encountered no old friends.“Well, I suppose we oughtn’t to grumble, comrade,” said Punch, “for every one makes no end of a fuss over us, and are always beginning to ask questions and set one telling them about all we did after we were left behind.”“Yes; I am rather tired of it,” said Pen. “I shall be only too glad when we are able to join the regiment.”“Oh, I shall be glad enough,” said Punch. “I want to see old O’Grady, me boy; and, I say, do you think, if I was to make a sort of petition like, the colonel would put me in one of the companies now? Of course I used to be proud enough of being bugler, but I want to be full private.”“Well, you have only got to wait till you get bigger,” said Pen, smiling.“Bother bigger!” cried the boy. “Why, I am growing fast, and last time I was measured I was only an inch shorter than the little chap we have got; and what difference does an inch make when a fellow can carry a rifle and can use it? You can’t say that I ain’t able, though it was only a musket.”“No, Punch; there isn’t a man in the regiment could have done better than you did.”“There, then!” cried the boy, with his eyes sparkling. “Then I’m sure if you would speak up and say all that to the colonel he would let me go into one of the companies. I want to be in yours, but I would wait for my chance if they would only make me a full private at once.”The boys were sitting talking together when an infantry sergeant came up and said, “Here, youngsters, don’t go away. Smarten yourselves up a bit. You are to come with me to the officers’ tent. I will be back in about ten minutes.”The sergeant went off in his quick, business-like way, and Punch began to grumble.“Who’s to smarten himself up,” he cried petulantly, “when his uniform is all nohow and he’s got no proper boots? These old uns they’ve give me don’t fit, and they will be all to pieces directly; and yours ain’t much better. I suppose they are going to question us again about where we have been and what we have done.”“Yes,” said Pen wearily, “and I am rather tired of it. It’s like making a show of us.”“Oh, well, it don’t hurt. They like to hear, and I dare say the officers will give orders that we are to have something to eat and drink.”“Punch, you think of nothing but eating and drinking,” said Pen again.“Well, after being starved as we have, ain’t it enough to make anybody think that a little more wouldn’t do them any harm? Hallo, he’s soon back!” For he caught sight of the sergeant coming.“Now, boys,” he said, “ready?”“Yes,” said Pen; and the keen-looking non-com looked both of them over in turn.“That the best you can do for yourselves?” he said sourly. “Well, I suppose it is. You are clean, and you look as if you had been at work. You, Punchard, can’t you let those trousers down a little lower?”“No, sir; I did try last night. They have run up through being in the river when we were half-drowned.”“Humph! Perhaps,” said the sergeant. “I believe it was the growing so much.”Punch turned sharply to his comrade and gave him a wink, as much as to say, “Hear that?”“Now then, forward!” said the sergeant. “And look here, put on your best manners, boys. You are going before some of the biggest officers, so mind your p’s and q’s.”A few minutes later the sergeant stopped short at the largest tent in the camp, stated his business to the sentry who was marching to and fro before a flag, and after waiting a few minutes a subaltern came out, spoke to the sergeant, and then told the boys to follow him.Directly after, the pair were ushered into the presence of half-a-dozen officers in undress uniform, one of whom, a keen-looking, aquiline-nosed man, gave them in turn a sharp, searching look, which Punch afterwards said went right through him and came back again. He then turned to a grey-haired officer and said shortly, “Go on. I will listen.”The grey-haired officer nodded and then turned to the two lads.“Look here, boys,” he said, “we have heard something about your adventures while you were away from your regiment. Now, stories grow in telling, like snowballs. Do you understand?”“Oh yes, sir,” said Punch, “I know that;” and, apparently not in the slightest degree abashed by the presence in which he found himself, the boy eagerly scanned each officer in turn, before examining every item within the tent, and then letting his eyes wander out through the open doorway.“And you, my lad?” continued the officer, for Pen had remained silent.“Yes, sir,” said the lad quietly.“Well,” said the officer, “we want the plain, simple account of where you have been, without any exaggeration, for I am afraid one of you—I don’t know which, but I dare say I shall make a very shrewd guess before we have done—has been dressing up your adventures with rather a free hand.”“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Pen quietly, “my comrade here, Punchard, has told nothing but the simple truth, and I have only answered questions without the slightest exaggeration.”“Without the slightest exaggeration?” said the officer, looking searchingly at Pen, and there was a touch of irony in his tone. “Well, that is what I want from you now.”Pen coloured and remained silent while the officer asked a question or two of Punch, but soon turned to the elder lad, who, warming as he went on, briefly and succinctly related the main points of what they had gone through.“Very well said! Well spoken, my lad,” said the aquiline-nosed officer; and Pen started, for, warming in his narration, Pen had almost forgotten his presence. “How long have you been a private in the —th?”“A year, sir.”“Where were you before you enlisted?”“At Blankton House School.”“Oh, I thought they called that College.”“Yes, sir, they do,” said Pen, smiling; “but it is only a preparation place.”“Yes, for the sons of gentlemen making ready for the army?”“Yes, sir.”“And how come you to be a private in his Majesty’s Rifle-Regiment?”Pen was silent.“Speak out, comrade,” put in Punch. “There ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”“Silence, sir!” cried the officer. “Let your comrade speak for himself.” Then turning to Pen, “Your comrade says there was nothing to be ashamed of.”“There is not, sir,” said Pen gravely.“Well, then, keep nothing back.”“It was this way, sir,” said Pen. “I was educated to be an officer, and then by a death in my family all my hopes were set aside, and I was placed in a lawyer’s office to become a clerk. I couldn’t bear it, sir.”“And you ran away?”“No, sir. I appealed again and again for leave to return to my school and finish my education. My relative refused to listen to me, and I suppose I did wrong, for I went straight to where they were recruiting for the Rifle-Regiment, and the sergeant took me at once.”“H’m!” said the officer, looking searchingly in the lad’s eyes. “How came you to join so quiet-looking a regiment?”Pen smiled rather bitterly.“It was because my relative, sir, always threw it in my teeth that it was for the sake of the scarlet uniform that I wanted to join the army.”“H’m!” said the officer. “Now, look here, my lad; I presume you have had your eyes about you during the time that you were a prisoner, when you were escaping, and when you were with thecontrabandistaand had that adventure with the Spanish gentleman whom you suppose to be the King. By the way, why did you suppose that he was the King?”“From the behaviour of his followers, sir, and from what I learned from the smuggler chief.”“H’m. He was a Spaniard, of course?”“Yes, sir.”“Do you speak Spanish?”“No, sir. We conversed in French.”“Do you speak French fluently?”“Pretty easily, sir; but I am afraid my accent is atrocious.”“But you should hear him talk Latin, sir!” cried Punch eagerly.“Silence, boy!” snapped out the grey-haired officer; and the chief gave him a look and a smile.“Well, he can, sir; that’s quite true,” cried Punch angrily. “He talked to the old father, thepadre, who was a regular friend to us.”“Silence, boy!” said the aquiline-nosed officer sternly now. “Your comrade can say what he has to say modestly and well. That is a thing you cannot do, so do not interrupt again.”“All right, sir. No, sir; beg pardon,” said Punch.“Well,” continued the officer, looking keenly and searchingly at Pen, “you should have been able to carry in your mind a pretty good idea of the country you have passed through.”“He can, sir,” cried Punch. “He has got it all in his head like a map.”“My good boy,” said the officer, biting his lip to add to the severity of his aspect, “if you interrupt again you will be placed under arrest.”Punch closed his lips so tightly that they formed a thin pink line right across the bottom of his face.“Now, Private Gray, do you think that you do carry within your recollection a pretty good idea of the face of the country; or to put it more simply and plainly, do you think you could guide a regiment through the passes of this wild country and lead them safely to where you left the French encamped?”“I have not a doubt but that I could, sir.”“In the dark?”“It would be rather harder in the dark, sir,” replied Pen, “but I feel confident that I could.”“May I take it that you are willing to try?”“I am the King’s servant, sir, and I will do my best.”“That’s enough,” said the chief. “You can return to your quarters and hold yourself in readiness to do what I propose, and if you do this successfully—”The speaker stopped short, and Pen took a step towards him.“What were you going to say?” said the officer.“Let me try first, sir,” said the lad, with his pale face, worn by what he had gone through of late, flushing up with excitement.“That will do,” said the officer, “only be ready for your duty at any moment.—Well, what do you wish to say?”Pen stretched out his hand and laid it upon Punch’s shoulder, for the boy had been moving his lips almost continuously during the latter part of the conversation, and in addition making hideous grimaces as if he were in pain.“Only this, sir,” said Pen; “my companion here went through all that I did. He was keenly observant, and would be of great assistance to me if at any turn I were in doubt.”“Then you would like to have him with you?”“Yes, sir.”“And you feel that you could trust him?”“Oh yes, sir,” replied Pen. And the boys’ eyes met—their hands too, for Punch with his lips still pressed together took a step forward and caught Pen by the hand and wrist.“Take him with you, then,” said the officer.“Oh, thank— Hooray! hooray!” cried Punch, wildly excited now, for he had caught the tramp of men and seen that which made him dash towards the open tent-door.“Bring back that boy!” cried the officer; and the sergeant, who was waiting outside, arrested Punch and brought him before the group of officers.“How dare you, sir!” cried the chief wrathfully. “You are not to be trusted. I rescind that permission I was about to give.”“Oh, don’t do that, sir! ’Tain’t fair!” cried the boy. “I couldn’t help it, sir. It was our fellows, sir, marching into camp—the —th, sir—Rifles, sir. Ain’t seen them, sir, since I was shot down. Don’t be hard on a fellow, sir! So glad to see them, sir. You might have done the same. I only wanted to give them a cheer.”“Then go out and cheer them, sir,” said the officer, frowning severely, but with a twinkle of mirth in his eye.—“There, Pen Gray, you know your duty. It is an important one, and I have given it to you in the full belief that you will well serve your country and your King.”
Three days in the English camp, and the two lads had pretty well recovered; but they were greatly disappointed to find that during the absence of the dragoons on vedette duty the —th and another regiment had been despatched for a reconnoitring expedition, so that the lads had encountered no old friends.
“Well, I suppose we oughtn’t to grumble, comrade,” said Punch, “for every one makes no end of a fuss over us, and are always beginning to ask questions and set one telling them about all we did after we were left behind.”
“Yes; I am rather tired of it,” said Pen. “I shall be only too glad when we are able to join the regiment.”
“Oh, I shall be glad enough,” said Punch. “I want to see old O’Grady, me boy; and, I say, do you think, if I was to make a sort of petition like, the colonel would put me in one of the companies now? Of course I used to be proud enough of being bugler, but I want to be full private.”
“Well, you have only got to wait till you get bigger,” said Pen, smiling.
“Bother bigger!” cried the boy. “Why, I am growing fast, and last time I was measured I was only an inch shorter than the little chap we have got; and what difference does an inch make when a fellow can carry a rifle and can use it? You can’t say that I ain’t able, though it was only a musket.”
“No, Punch; there isn’t a man in the regiment could have done better than you did.”
“There, then!” cried the boy, with his eyes sparkling. “Then I’m sure if you would speak up and say all that to the colonel he would let me go into one of the companies. I want to be in yours, but I would wait for my chance if they would only make me a full private at once.”
The boys were sitting talking together when an infantry sergeant came up and said, “Here, youngsters, don’t go away. Smarten yourselves up a bit. You are to come with me to the officers’ tent. I will be back in about ten minutes.”
The sergeant went off in his quick, business-like way, and Punch began to grumble.
“Who’s to smarten himself up,” he cried petulantly, “when his uniform is all nohow and he’s got no proper boots? These old uns they’ve give me don’t fit, and they will be all to pieces directly; and yours ain’t much better. I suppose they are going to question us again about where we have been and what we have done.”
“Yes,” said Pen wearily, “and I am rather tired of it. It’s like making a show of us.”
“Oh, well, it don’t hurt. They like to hear, and I dare say the officers will give orders that we are to have something to eat and drink.”
“Punch, you think of nothing but eating and drinking,” said Pen again.
“Well, after being starved as we have, ain’t it enough to make anybody think that a little more wouldn’t do them any harm? Hallo, he’s soon back!” For he caught sight of the sergeant coming.
“Now, boys,” he said, “ready?”
“Yes,” said Pen; and the keen-looking non-com looked both of them over in turn.
“That the best you can do for yourselves?” he said sourly. “Well, I suppose it is. You are clean, and you look as if you had been at work. You, Punchard, can’t you let those trousers down a little lower?”
“No, sir; I did try last night. They have run up through being in the river when we were half-drowned.”
“Humph! Perhaps,” said the sergeant. “I believe it was the growing so much.”
Punch turned sharply to his comrade and gave him a wink, as much as to say, “Hear that?”
“Now then, forward!” said the sergeant. “And look here, put on your best manners, boys. You are going before some of the biggest officers, so mind your p’s and q’s.”
A few minutes later the sergeant stopped short at the largest tent in the camp, stated his business to the sentry who was marching to and fro before a flag, and after waiting a few minutes a subaltern came out, spoke to the sergeant, and then told the boys to follow him.
Directly after, the pair were ushered into the presence of half-a-dozen officers in undress uniform, one of whom, a keen-looking, aquiline-nosed man, gave them in turn a sharp, searching look, which Punch afterwards said went right through him and came back again. He then turned to a grey-haired officer and said shortly, “Go on. I will listen.”
The grey-haired officer nodded and then turned to the two lads.
“Look here, boys,” he said, “we have heard something about your adventures while you were away from your regiment. Now, stories grow in telling, like snowballs. Do you understand?”
“Oh yes, sir,” said Punch, “I know that;” and, apparently not in the slightest degree abashed by the presence in which he found himself, the boy eagerly scanned each officer in turn, before examining every item within the tent, and then letting his eyes wander out through the open doorway.
“And you, my lad?” continued the officer, for Pen had remained silent.
“Yes, sir,” said the lad quietly.
“Well,” said the officer, “we want the plain, simple account of where you have been, without any exaggeration, for I am afraid one of you—I don’t know which, but I dare say I shall make a very shrewd guess before we have done—has been dressing up your adventures with rather a free hand.”
“I beg your pardon, sir,” said Pen quietly, “my comrade here, Punchard, has told nothing but the simple truth, and I have only answered questions without the slightest exaggeration.”
“Without the slightest exaggeration?” said the officer, looking searchingly at Pen, and there was a touch of irony in his tone. “Well, that is what I want from you now.”
Pen coloured and remained silent while the officer asked a question or two of Punch, but soon turned to the elder lad, who, warming as he went on, briefly and succinctly related the main points of what they had gone through.
“Very well said! Well spoken, my lad,” said the aquiline-nosed officer; and Pen started, for, warming in his narration, Pen had almost forgotten his presence. “How long have you been a private in the —th?”
“A year, sir.”
“Where were you before you enlisted?”
“At Blankton House School.”
“Oh, I thought they called that College.”
“Yes, sir, they do,” said Pen, smiling; “but it is only a preparation place.”
“Yes, for the sons of gentlemen making ready for the army?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And how come you to be a private in his Majesty’s Rifle-Regiment?”
Pen was silent.
“Speak out, comrade,” put in Punch. “There ain’t nothing to be ashamed of.”
“Silence, sir!” cried the officer. “Let your comrade speak for himself.” Then turning to Pen, “Your comrade says there was nothing to be ashamed of.”
“There is not, sir,” said Pen gravely.
“Well, then, keep nothing back.”
“It was this way, sir,” said Pen. “I was educated to be an officer, and then by a death in my family all my hopes were set aside, and I was placed in a lawyer’s office to become a clerk. I couldn’t bear it, sir.”
“And you ran away?”
“No, sir. I appealed again and again for leave to return to my school and finish my education. My relative refused to listen to me, and I suppose I did wrong, for I went straight to where they were recruiting for the Rifle-Regiment, and the sergeant took me at once.”
“H’m!” said the officer, looking searchingly in the lad’s eyes. “How came you to join so quiet-looking a regiment?”
Pen smiled rather bitterly.
“It was because my relative, sir, always threw it in my teeth that it was for the sake of the scarlet uniform that I wanted to join the army.”
“H’m!” said the officer. “Now, look here, my lad; I presume you have had your eyes about you during the time that you were a prisoner, when you were escaping, and when you were with thecontrabandistaand had that adventure with the Spanish gentleman whom you suppose to be the King. By the way, why did you suppose that he was the King?”
“From the behaviour of his followers, sir, and from what I learned from the smuggler chief.”
“H’m. He was a Spaniard, of course?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Do you speak Spanish?”
“No, sir. We conversed in French.”
“Do you speak French fluently?”
“Pretty easily, sir; but I am afraid my accent is atrocious.”
“But you should hear him talk Latin, sir!” cried Punch eagerly.
“Silence, boy!” snapped out the grey-haired officer; and the chief gave him a look and a smile.
“Well, he can, sir; that’s quite true,” cried Punch angrily. “He talked to the old father, thepadre, who was a regular friend to us.”
“Silence, boy!” said the aquiline-nosed officer sternly now. “Your comrade can say what he has to say modestly and well. That is a thing you cannot do, so do not interrupt again.”
“All right, sir. No, sir; beg pardon,” said Punch.
“Well,” continued the officer, looking keenly and searchingly at Pen, “you should have been able to carry in your mind a pretty good idea of the country you have passed through.”
“He can, sir,” cried Punch. “He has got it all in his head like a map.”
“My good boy,” said the officer, biting his lip to add to the severity of his aspect, “if you interrupt again you will be placed under arrest.”
Punch closed his lips so tightly that they formed a thin pink line right across the bottom of his face.
“Now, Private Gray, do you think that you do carry within your recollection a pretty good idea of the face of the country; or to put it more simply and plainly, do you think you could guide a regiment through the passes of this wild country and lead them safely to where you left the French encamped?”
“I have not a doubt but that I could, sir.”
“In the dark?”
“It would be rather harder in the dark, sir,” replied Pen, “but I feel confident that I could.”
“May I take it that you are willing to try?”
“I am the King’s servant, sir, and I will do my best.”
“That’s enough,” said the chief. “You can return to your quarters and hold yourself in readiness to do what I propose, and if you do this successfully—”
The speaker stopped short, and Pen took a step towards him.
“What were you going to say?” said the officer.
“Let me try first, sir,” said the lad, with his pale face, worn by what he had gone through of late, flushing up with excitement.
“That will do,” said the officer, “only be ready for your duty at any moment.—Well, what do you wish to say?”
Pen stretched out his hand and laid it upon Punch’s shoulder, for the boy had been moving his lips almost continuously during the latter part of the conversation, and in addition making hideous grimaces as if he were in pain.
“Only this, sir,” said Pen; “my companion here went through all that I did. He was keenly observant, and would be of great assistance to me if at any turn I were in doubt.”
“Then you would like to have him with you?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And you feel that you could trust him?”
“Oh yes, sir,” replied Pen. And the boys’ eyes met—their hands too, for Punch with his lips still pressed together took a step forward and caught Pen by the hand and wrist.
“Take him with you, then,” said the officer.
“Oh, thank— Hooray! hooray!” cried Punch, wildly excited now, for he had caught the tramp of men and seen that which made him dash towards the open tent-door.
“Bring back that boy!” cried the officer; and the sergeant, who was waiting outside, arrested Punch and brought him before the group of officers.
“How dare you, sir!” cried the chief wrathfully. “You are not to be trusted. I rescind that permission I was about to give.”
“Oh, don’t do that, sir! ’Tain’t fair!” cried the boy. “I couldn’t help it, sir. It was our fellows, sir, marching into camp—the —th, sir—Rifles, sir. Ain’t seen them, sir, since I was shot down. Don’t be hard on a fellow, sir! So glad to see them, sir. You might have done the same. I only wanted to give them a cheer.”
“Then go out and cheer them, sir,” said the officer, frowning severely, but with a twinkle of mirth in his eye.—“There, Pen Gray, you know your duty. It is an important one, and I have given it to you in the full belief that you will well serve your country and your King.”