[image]Jack has a Narrow Escape"Leave the gap in the wall open for me," he said to one of the regulars; "I shall not be long behind you."Then, catching up a burning rope, he hastened to the end of the French gallery, where his men had laid a train of gunpowder connecting with a heavy charge. He had just time to set light to the train before a group of three or four French soldiers dashed towards him through the ruins. His perilous task was done; he turned to follow his men, the enemy, not waiting to fire, close behind him. As he was crossing the lane dividing the Casas Vega and Tobar there was a loud explosion; the gallery had blown up, and with it the head of the French column immediately behind his pursuers. Only two men were now on his track. He glanced over his shoulder, and judged that there was time to reach the gap in the wall before he could be overtaken. At this moment his foot slipped on a loose heap of fallen masonry; he fell headlong, and before he could recover himself, the foremost pursuer was upon him. Wriggling over instantly on his side, he drew his pistol, and managed to snap it at the man when the point of his bayonet was within a foot of him. The ball hit the man full on the forehead, and he dropped like a log.Springing to his feet, Jack drew his sword in the nick of time to meet the attack of the second pursuer. It was sword against bayonet, and if the latter had been in the hands of a British soldier, Jack, in spite of his skill as a swordsman, might have stood a poor chance. But the bayonet, as wielded by a Continental soldier, was not the same formidable weapon, and it happened that his attacker was a Pole—one of Colonel Chlopiski's Vistula regiment, which, as Jack had already learnt, had proved the most troublesome of all the French troops since the capture of Santa Engracia. Jack had more than once shown himself to be a swordsman of exceptional resource, and at this critical moment the old French émigré who had been his fencing master in London, if he could have seen the duel, would have beamed with satisfaction. After a few passes Jack gave the Pole an opportunity to lunge; he eagerly seized it; his thrust was lightly parried, and the next moment Jack was in beneath his guard.As he hurried away, even in that breathless moment Jack could not help feeling some pity for his two gallant foemen who would see the Vistula no more. It was in the hope of freeing their country from the bondage of Russia that the Poles had allied themselves with Napoleon. They were now purchasing their own freedom by assisting to enslave others.Hastening across the ruins adjoining the Casa Vega, Jack saw terrible signs of the havoc wrought by his mine. The attacking French force had been a large one. It had perished to a man. But there was no time for anything but escape from the horde of French now rapidly approaching him. Scrambling over charred beams, shattered brickwork, fragments of household furniture, and the dead bodies of the fallen enemy, he drew near to the spot where the explosion of the French mine had blown a large hole in the party-wall. It was here that Jack expected to find the gap through which his men had preceded him into safety. But there was no gap. The hole was completely closed up, and the obstruction was too strong to be won through, too high to clamber over. Nonplussed for the moment, Jack turned to look for another means of escape, aware, as he did so, of loud voices in altercation on the other side of the barricade.Bullets were now pattering on the brickwork, and the sound of scrambling feet in the adjoining ruins showed that he had been seen by the French, and that they were making towards him. There was not an instant to lose. To his left, as he faced the French quarter, the ruins were open and exposed to fire from several directions; escape was impossible that way. But on his right there still stood the remnant of what had been a lath-and-plaster wall between two rooms. He caught at this chance of even temporary concealment. Bending low, he dodged along behind its precarious shelter till he came to a ruined window within a few feet of the barricade defended by Don Cristobal. The rattle of musketry could now be heard on all hands. Jack felt sure that his appearance at the window would be the signal for a hail of bullets from the opposite side of the street, at the angle nearer the Coso where the French had obtained a lodgment. But it was now or never, and he was just wrenching away a broken iron bar, to squeeze his way through, when his ears were assailed by unexpected shouts from the street. To his amazement, he saw Don Cristobal's men come swarming over the barricade and rushing along the street towards the French. But it was not Don Cristobal who led them; the leader was a tall figure who rushed forward, sword in hand, with long robe tucked up, and bare arms, from which the sleeves had been flung back over the shoulders. He was shouting in frenzied tones. Jack recognized Latin phrases mingled with Spanish. It was the patriot priest, Santiago Sass.Wondering what had happened, Jack jumped into the street, safe now, for the French were occupied with the rush of the headlong Spaniards. There they were, cutting their way through a large body of French troops, heedless of the pelting bullets from the surrounding houses, yelling, slashing, and, alas! many of them falling."What imbecile folly!" exclaimed Jack in his anger. The rash charge was useless, hopeless. All that he could do was to cover the inevitable retreat. Clambering over the barricade, Jack ran towards the Casa Alvarez, overtaking on the way Don Cristobal, who had hastened thither on the same errand as himself."Men of the reserve," cried Jack, "follow me!"Pablo Quintanar, their leader, was, strangely, not with them. They dashed after Jack and Don Cristobal, and reached the barricade just in time. The Spaniards, all that were left of them, were streaming over it, broken and disheartened, pursued by bullets from the French. Last of them all came Santiago Sass, splashed with blood from head to foot, blood streaming from a wound on his brow."In te, Domine, speravi!" he cried breathlessly as he staggered over the barricade.Catching him by the arm, Jack dragged the exhausted priest out of harm's way, and then, ordering his men to hold the barricade, enquired of Don Cristobal what was the meaning of the recent extraordinary movement. He learnt that Santiago Sass, who was ever where danger was thickest, had been passing the quarter, and, attracted by the noise of the explosions, had hastened, full of burning zeal, to the nearest barricade. There, finding Don Cristobal's force, as he thought, culpably inactive, and hearing musketry on all sides, he had jumped to the conclusion that the Spaniards were skulking, and, refusing to listen to Don Cristobal's explanation, had poured out upon them a torrent of invective and exhortation, called on them to follow him, and led them furiously over the barricade. Such was his influence that not a man refused to obey his call.Meanwhile the hot fire maintained by the reserve had driven the French back. But they showed some disposition to come on in greater strength and attempt the capture of the barricade. Santiago Sass, furious at the failure of his ill-timed sortie, and still more with Jack for forcibly removing him from the scene, began to vent his wrath upon him."Do not stay me!" he cried. "Cursed be any that flinches! Dominus vir pugnator! Let us haste—""Señor Padre," interrupted Jack quietly, "you led a most gallant charge, but look—it has cost me some twenty good men."He pointed to the corpse-strewn street. The priest looked, and was evidently impressed. Gathering his skirts about him he sped away towards the Coso in search of more forlorn hopes to lead, the sound of his wild and whirling words being scarcely drowned by the noise of the battle.For the rest of that day French and Spaniards continued to occupy their respective positions. The former made no attempt at organized attack; they clearly dreaded the discovery of more mines. The Spaniards were not strong enough to expel the enemy altogether. Thus, when nightfall again put an end to the fighting, the situation was essentially the same as it had been in the morning.Reckoning up the results, Jack was able to congratulate himself on having accomplished all that he had hoped to do. The two French galleries towards the Casas Tobar and Vallejo were destroyed; the French had suffered very heavy loss in men. The explosion of their mine in the Casa Vega had not furthered their advance, and their work for three days past was rendered null. But their failure, Jack knew, would only nerve them to redoubled energy; he must be prepared for an even more strenuous attack on his position. All that he could do was to ensure that if the houses must be captured it should be with a maximum of delay and loss to the French.As he went the round of his district, before proceeding to convey his nightly report to Palafox, Pablo Quintanar, the guerrilla leader, came up and made a complaint against his subordinate Antonio. He had been attacked, he said, and nearly murdered by Antonio for refusing to reopen the barricade thrown across the gap in the wall of the Casa Vega."Did you not receive my order?" demanded Jack."Your order was to hold the barricade, Señor.""But you opened a gap to let in my men. I sent the order by one of the Murcian tiradores.""Yes, indeed, and the men came through one by one, and when the last was through I closed the barricade.""And shut me out!"Jack looked sharply at the man, but as usual was unable to catch his eye."I waited for the Señor," he protested, "five, ten, twenty minutes; but he did not come. What was I to think but that he was dead? If I had known—""You would have acted otherwise. Well, as you did make so unfortunate a—mistake, perhaps the less you say about Antonio's attempt to mend it the better. Buenas noches, hombre!"Jack turned on his heel, and, wondering what conceivable motive Pablo Quintanar could have for doing him a hurt, set off for the Castle Aljafferia.CHAPTER XXIV"A bon Chat, bon Rat"Under a Cloud—The Door—Padre Consolacion—A Daughter of Spain—The House in the Lane—An Unexpected Visitor—A Gambit—In the Shadow—The Worm Turns—A Blue Paper—The Simple WayAs he made his way through the throng of people filling the corridors and halls of the palace, Jack could not but observe that the looks he met were rather of suspicion than friendliness. He was known by sight to many of the habitués of the castle. Tio Jorge had never tired of praising his exploits and acclaiming him as a staunch friend of Spain; and yet many now scowled on him, whispered to each other as he passed; one or two even fingered their knives.Surprised at this change of attitude, he was still more surprised to find it reflected in the bearing of Palafox and Don Basilio and other members of the Junta who were present when he made his report. Palafox listened to him coldly, spoke a few words of the faintest praise, and dismissed him without a sign of real approval or encouragement.Tio Jorge met him as he was re-entering the town by the Porta Portillo, and Jack felt a sense of relief when he saw that the big peasant's greeting was cordial as ever. After an exchange of news Tio Jorge, who had scanned his face anxiously, said bluntly:"I am a plain man, Señor. You will answer me a plain question.""Certainly, anything in reason," said Jack in surprise."They're saying—I could not believe it—but they are all saying that you wish to surrender; at least, that you do not think we can hold out. Now, whatever we may think, we do not talk of these things; it is not good for the people to hear such things. If any man says them, he does not live to say them twice. Tell me plainly, Señor, have you spoken of surrender?""My good friend," said Jack with a smile, "when you yourself hear an Englishman talk of surrender, then you may believe it; till then—""Then it is false?" asked Tio Jorge."Absolutely.""I knew it. And that proves," added Tio Jorge after a moment, "what I thought from the first: you have an enemy in Saragossa, Señor."And then he explained. The despatch brought by Don Miguel Priego had been in several points so different from, so much less discouraging than, that previously brought by Jack, that the Saragossans' first flush of enthusiasm for the English had soon disappeared. The undoubted retreat of Sir John Moore, and the subsequent departure of his army from the shores of Spain, were twisted to mean a desertion of the Spanish cause. There was at first no personal feeling against Jack, though his country was regarded with bitterness, but it had lately been rumoured, on the authority of Don Miguel's servant, that he had been overheard, in the Cafe Arcos, expressing a despondent view of the chances of holding the city, and hinting that it would be wise to make terms with the French. Only the energetic and successful work Jack had been doing in the Santa Engracia district, and the strong support of Tio Jorge himself, had given pause to those who wished to treat him as all who counselled surrender were treated—to gibbet him in the Coso.Jack recognized at once that Don Miguel's malignity was not to be ignored. The bare suspicion of disloyalty had been sufficient to bring a full tale of victims to the gallows, and the fact that he was an Englishman would not preserve him if the feelings of the populace were once thoroughly roused. Fortunately Tio Jorge was his friend; and Tio Jorge was a host in himself. Jack had seen no more of Miguel or his man since their remarkable apparition on the ramparts. He resolved to keep a good look-out; though, after all, it was wily, underhand machinations rather than open violence he had to fear from them.He had determined to see Juanita and advise her to remove immediately to a safer part of the city. He therefore took leave of Tio Jorge at the door of the house in the Coso where she was staying. The same old duenna admitted him."The Señora is very ill," she said. "The Señorita receives. There is a visitor with her now.""I will wait, then.""Not so, Señor. The Señorita gave orders that the Señor was always to be shown up if he called."Entering the sala, he saw a tall cloaked figure between him and Juanita."Ah!" said Juanita, coming forward eagerly with outstretched hand; "how do you do, Jack? You are just in time to show Don Miguel to the door.""With pleasure," said Jack, returning at once to the door and holding it wide open.Miguel had faced round, and stood swinging his hat in the middle of the room. A fierce scowl darkened his face as he looked from one to the other. Juanita reseated herself, turned her back on him, and resumed some needle-work for the wounded on which she had been engaged. Jack stood in an attitude of polite expectancy at the door."I protest—" began Don Miguel; but Jack cut him short. Speaking in a quiet, even tone, he said:"You have taken leave, Don Miguel?"The Spaniard stood for a moment irresolute; then, flinging on his hat, he strode across the room, made no response to Jack's bow, and disappeared. The moment the door was shut Juanita sprang up, ran towards Jack, and took him by both hands."Oh, Jack, Jack," she said, "you don't know how glad I am to see you!""Has that hound been bullying you?""Bullying! He dare not. I am not a child! But listen, amigo mio; he came to ask me to marry him. He did! He had the audacity! You should have seen him—heard him—his nasty oily voice; oh, he seemed to be quite sure that he had only to ask! 'And you think of marriage at this fearful time!' I said. And he wanted me to believe that he was thinking only of my safety. When the town falls, he said, I shall want a protector. 'And you, one of Palafox's hussars, how can you protect me?' And then he smiled, and spoke in dark hints of some special power he will have, and I grew angry, and asked whether he meant to turn afrancesado, and then—and then you came, Jack, and I wondered what he would do; and—and he went, and I couldn't help remembering the time when you and I were so terribly afraid of him, and—oh, Jack, it was magnificent—it was indeed!"Juanita laughed, and Jack himself smiled at the recollection of Miguel's undignified exit."But, Juanita," he said, "I came to warn you.""Against him?""No; against the danger you run in staying here. The French are coming nearer every hour; almost at any moment they may reach the Coso. They are driving their mines steadily towards the centre of the city. You must find a place—I can't call it a home—elsewhere.""But, Jack, that is arranged already. Padre Consolacion is going to take us to a house near the Porta Portillo to-morrow. What do you think?—the padre came to see me only a minute or two after you left the other day.""Was that the Padre Consolacion? I saw a benevolent-looking priest enter as I went out.""Yes. And, only think, he wanted me to marry Miguel!""The padre?"Juanita nodded."Of course I told him it was impossible—quite impossible. He sat down and crossed his white plump hands on his hat and began to talk. Miguel must have won him with his plausible manner. I love the padre, but I couldn't listen to him; could I, Jack? He asked me why I was so opposed to what he thought was an excellent match, and one that my father had so much desired; and then I told him that it was all lies, lies; my father had never wished anything of the sort. And the poor old dear was puzzled, and kept tapping his thumbs together and looked at me so sorrowfully, and then he was called away to attend to a dying officer. And—Jack, tell me, will this siege ever end? Can we hold out any longer? Are there big armies mustering to relieve us, as they all say?"She bent forward with clasped hands. Jack hesitated for a moment."Juanita," he said, "I won't disguise my real belief. I don't believe in the big armies. Saragossa will fall—unless one of two things happens.""And they?""Unless General Palafox sends out a large sortie and defeats the French, or unless their ammunition gives out. Neither is probable.""Then what will become of us? How long will General Palafox resist? Cannot someone plead with him? Think of the thousands who have died, and the thousands who are dying—the poor women and children in their horrible cellars! Oh, Jack, what a terrible thing war is! Does Napoleon know, can he know, of all the horrors he has brought upon us? Has he any heart at all? Jack, my poor aunt is dying, I fear. I can do nothing. Every morning when I go out to carry food and water to the brave soldiers—""You do that, Juanita?""Why, yes; every girl in Saragossa does that or something else to help; and every morning I go fearing that I shall never again see Tia Teresa alive. And if she dies, I shall be quite alone in the world. Father gone, José gone— Ah! but I have you, Jack, and the good padre, and if the worst comes you will look after me, won't you?—take me to England, perhaps—I used to like your mother,—and Napoleon will never conquer England, will he, Jack?""Not he," said Jack with a laugh. He saw that the events of the past few days had wrought her nerves to a high pitch of excitement, and tactfully turned the conversation into a quieter channel. He asked for the name of the house to which she was going on the morrow, assured her that, when the inevitable capitulation came, the French would allow generous terms to such brave defenders, and at length took his leave, promising to visit her whenever he could snatch an opportunity."And will you be able to save the old house?" she asked, as he was going out at the door."I shall do my best, for the sake of old times, be sure of that.""I know you will. Vaya usted con Dios, Jack!"Before he reached the foot of the stairs, Jack saw, in the dim light of the small hanging lamp, a portly figure ascending. He crossed to the other side and waited to allow the visitor to pass."Buenas noches, Señor!" said Padre Consolacion, sweeping off his large shovel hat; then he stopped as he recognized the same youth whom he had seen earlier in the week."Padre mio," cried Juanita from the top, "come along; I want to speak to you.""Buenas noches, Padre!" said Jack; and the priest, after a moment's hesitation, went up slowly.Hard by the Casa Alvarez a narrow tortuous lane of mean houses, dirty in appearance and evil in repute, ran almost due east from the ramparts. It was not a district in which, before the siege, any person worth robbing would choose to be abroad after nightfall. But when, towards dusk on this fifth of February, a well-dressed man passed rapidly down the street and disappeared into one of the least reputable of the houses, the few denizens who observed him did so without a thought of their knives, almost without a sense of curiosity. To such a height of abnegation had the public danger brought the professional lawbreakers of Saragossa.It was a house of three stories, and the stranger, threading his way gingerly through the gloomy entrance and up the narrow stairway, gathered from the evidence of all his senses that every story was fully occupied. In hardly another street in this part of Saragossa could a house have been found where its whole population was not herded in cellars below-ground. But here the lane was so narrow, and so closely surrounded by buildings, that the inhabitants were in no danger from the French bombardment, and lived in a security which few of their fellow-citizens enjoyed.As the visitor passed room after room on his upward way, the sounds of coarse laughter, the oaths of men, the shrill expostulation of women, and the querulous cry of children came to him through closed or half-closed doors, and he drew his cloak around him with an instinctive movement of disgust. Treading almost noiselessly he reached the attic floor, where the doors of three rooms opened on to a narrow landing. Although evidently a stranger to the house he showed little hesitation. With infinite caution he tiptoed across the landing to the farthermost door, and put his eye to a crack in the panel, through which a narrow beam of light fell on the dirt-encrusted wall behind him.The room into which he looked was in keeping with the rest of the house. The fitful light of a tallow candle showed a man bending over a crazy table, two truckle-beds ranged at right angles to each other in the far corner, and a few articles of clothing hanging from hooks on the wall. The man was intently studying a blue paper spread out on the table, spelling out the words with difficulty, and repeating them under his breath with a growl of impatience that accentuated the unpleasing effect of a countenance by nature unprepossessing.For some minutes the man beyond the door, drawing shallow breath, watched him closely as he struggled with the intricacies of the document. There was apparently a passage in it that completely baffled him. He turned the paper this way and that, examined it even upside down, but without success, and at last, in a burst of anger, dashed it down on to the table with an audible oath.The visitor took this as his cue for entry, and tapped gently at the door."Adelante!" was the answer, after a distinct pause.He turned the handle and went in. The man had faced round towards the door, and the dim light of the candle disclosed the narrow features, low receding forehead, thin lips, and shifty eyes of Pablo Quintanar. The blue paper had disappeared.There was a momentary silence. The host was evidently waiting for his visitor to introduce himself."Buenas noches, hombre!" said the stranger suavely, with a conciliatory bow. "I trust I don't come at an unseasonable hour."The guerrillero scanned him from head to foot with a quick suspicious glance."That depends, Señor, upon your business, who you are, and what you want with me.""As to who I am, hombre—may I take a chair? thank you!—my name is Miguel Priego. As to my business, that is not so simply stated; we must improve our acquaintance first."The man started at the mention of his visitor's name; and the latter duly noted the fact. But as the guerrillero merely stood in an attitude of expectancy, Don Miguel, loosening his cloak and placing his hat on the table, continued:"I have been, my friend, as you may perhaps have heard, four days in Saragossa. During these four days I have been searching for you."The man's hand went like a flash to his knife, and Miguel, quickening his measured tones, hastened to add:"No, my friend, not in that way, or, as you can imagine, I should not have come alone. I have been searching for you because I think we are both of one mind regarding, let us say, the policy of our brave commandant General Palafox.""Say what you have to say, and have done with it. I don't understand your fine phrases."Don Miguel smiled indulgently. It was clear to him that his host fully grasped his meaning."Well, to put the matter quite plainly, you—that is, you and I—regard all this," waving his hand in the direction of a cannon-shot from the ramparts, "as useless waste of life—sheer obstinacy; a noble enthusiasm, but misguided. Is it not so? Now, acting upon our convictions we—that is, you—have already done our little best to bring this distressing conflict to an end. We—that is, you—have endeavoured—unsuccessfully endeavoured—to relieve our commandant of certain plans which, if placed in proper hands might—I say might—"At this point the guerrillero, who had been standing facing his visitor, sank into a chair, his face blanched, his mouth twitching. On the blank wall before him his imagination was casting the grim shadow of a gibbet.Don Miguel smiled faintly, and waved his hand reassuringly."There is no need, my friend, for emotion. If we were not of the same mind you might, of course, have some ground for uneasiness; but fortunately we understand one another. Is it not so?""Sí, Señor," the man replied, recovering himself with an effort. "Sí, Señor, we understand one another.""That is well. Now we can proceed. You can understand that our good friends out yonder, who also wish to end this terrible siege, are grieved by your ill-success. They are saying hard things about you. They even went the length of giving me your name, which, if I were less discreet, might well have been awkward for you. I don't disguise that if they capture Saragossa while you are still in their debt—one thousand pesetas, is it not?—they may treat you somewhat harshly. But, fortunately, you have a chance of retrieving yourself."Don Miguel paused. His host had now to some extent recovered his composure."And what is that?" he asked sullenly."I happen to know, hombre, where our noble commandant has placed the papers you failed to find. If you can deliver those papers to me I will see that our friends outside do not forget you."The man smiled cunningly."Thank you, Señor! If I run the risk it would suit me better to claim the reward myself.""As you please, my friend. But remember that without my assistance you can do nothing. A few more days will end the siege, and then—" He smiled, then added reflectively: "They say it is an easy death."Pablo Quintanar winced. He felt himself in the toils, and had some difficulty in resisting the impulse to throw himself upon his visitor and end the interview with a knife-thrust. But he felt that Don Miguel, with all his languid urbanity, was fully on his guard, and choking down his animosity he replied:"What does the Señor wish me to do?"Don Miguel's voice throughout the interview had been carefully modulated to defeat any eavesdropping. He now rose quietly, and, rapidly opening the door, peered out on to the landing. There was no one in view. He stretched himself over the balustrade and saw, on the flight below, what appeared to be a tall figure lurking in the shadow. He seemed satisfied. Quietly re-entering the room, he closed the door.Then began a long colloquy between the two men, Miguel giving precise directions as to the whereabouts of a certain box, and the means whereby it could be secured."I think, my friend, there is nothing more to say," he remarked in conclusion. "The matter now rests with you.""One moment, Señor," said Quintanar, motioning him to be seated. He had listened deferentially to what Miguel had been saying, and had obediently fallen in with every proposition; but there was now a vindictive look in his eyes that caused Miguel a strange uneasiness."Certainly," he replied, "but I have little time to spare.""I will not detain you long—not longer, Señor, than you wish, though I think that when you have heard what I have to say, you may not be in such a hurry. The point is this. If—mind, I say 'if'—I knew the whereabouts of a letter in which your name is mentioned in connection with a little affair on the Barcelona road—you remember?—a couple of years ago?—if, I say, I had such a letter, that is, if I knew where such a letter was to be found, would it be worth anything to you, Don Miguel?"Pablo Quintanar grinned maliciously. He had been the victim for the past half-hour; it was now his turn. Miguel had done his best to dissemble his start of surprise and anxiety; but the man's searching gaze was upon him, and though he replied with a show of confidence he felt that it was not convincing."My name has no doubt been mentioned in a good many letters, my friend; but I am quite indifferent whether I am well or ill spoken of. Hard words break no bones.""That may be, Señor, but they sometimes break reputations, and you are dancing on a thin rope. But if I tell you that this letter also has a message about a sum of money hidden by the writer, how does that alter the case?""I can tell you better if you inform me what the message is, and what the name of the writer is.""Well, I can tell you the name of the writer; it is the late Señor Alvarez.""Ah! I heard that a letter had been lost—that, then, was what you found instead of the plan. Do you know, my friend, that this places you in a very awkward position? You will do well to hand the letter over to me. The slightest whisper of suspicion—"The man glared viciously at the speaker, then snapped out:"You may be quite sure that as you are the only man who knows anything about it, I shall take care that you swing on the same gallows."Don Miguel shifted his feet uneasily."You need not fear, my friend; I am not the man to betray you. I merely thought it would be safer for you if this letter were in my possession.""Oh, no doubt! but, Señor," added Quintanar with a harsh laugh, "I couldn't allow you to take the risk—especially as the letter is of no value to you. I need not detain you, Señor."Miguel considered a moment, tapping the floor lightly with his foot."What do you want for the paper?""Well, Señor, I am not unreasonable. Let us say one thousand pesetas down and a quarter of the treasure when you find it."Miguel laughed softly."Thank you, my friend! Before I pay a thousand pesetas I should like to know what I am paying it for."Quintanar, hesitating for a moment, slowly drew out a blue paper from beneath his jacket, and said:"What do you think of this?'I am convinced that Miguel Priego was at the bottom of this dastardly outrage. Unfortunately, we have no proof at present that would satisfy a judge, but if any of the men who assisted him can be found and induced to give evidence it is still possible that he may be brought to book.'What do you think of that, Don Miguel? Ah! I thought I should interest you."Miguel forced a smile, and, waving his hand airily, said:"If that is all the letter contains I would not offer a maravedi for it.""Oh, there is more, a good deal more! I need not read it all, but listen to this:"The sum saved from Miguel's brigands, together with a large amount in jewels and bullion, I have thought it best to secrete until more settled times. You will find appended to this letter instructions which, taken together with a communication I have made to your son Jack, will enable you or him, or such other person as you may be so good as to depute, to find them in the event of anything happening to my servant José Pinzon, who is fully acquainted with all my dispositions."Don Miguel, greed written in every lineament, leaned forward on his chair, listening eagerly."Well," he said impatiently, as the man concluded, "what are the instructions?""Those, Señor, I cannot read. They are in some strange tongue; but no doubt you, having education, will be able to make them out. That is to say, if you make it worth my while to hand you the letter. You know my price."Carefully refolding the letter, Quintanar replaced it in a pocket inside his jacket. In doing so he took his eyes for a moment off Miguel, whom he had been watching with the utmost vigilance, to assure himself that the document was safely stowed away.The other, his face aflame with rage and cupidity, instantly seized the opportunity. Drawing his feet quietly beneath him, he sprang from his chair and bore the guerrillero to the ground. But the man, although taken unawares, recovered himself with surprising agility. Before Miguel had time to draw his knife he had clutched him by the throat, and with a dexterous turn had reversed their positions, Miguel now being on the ground, Quintanar above him, his long knife uplifted to strike.CHAPTER XXVPepito finds a ClueMorning Light—Bombarded—An Afrancesado—From the Roofs—In the Casa Vallejo—A Fight at Daybreak—Anticipated—The Jesus Convent—New Barricades—Repulsed—Borrowing a Gun—Round-Shot and Grape—Out of Action—Odds and EvensJack was awakened next morning by the sounds of altercation outside the small room on the ground floor of the Casa Alvarez that he had reserved for himself."You shall not!" he heard Pepito cry in his shrill voice. "The Señor sleeps; you—shall—not—"Then his voice was stifled by the noise of scuffling. A heavy thud shook the door, as though some massive body had been driven against it. Springing from his bed, on which he had lain down in all his clothes save his boots, Jack went to the door, opened it, and saw Antonio, the guerrillero, raining blow after blow on the small form of Pepito, who had twisted himself about one of the big man's legs and held on grimly, though he must have suffered not a little."Come, come!" said Jack; "what is it, Antonio? Pepito, let him go!"Pepito sprang away instantly."The Busno wanted to wake the Señor," he piped, with a fierce look at Antonio."You waked me between you. Well, Antonio?""Señor, I was on night duty; I was to be relieved at two o'clock, so it was arranged by Don Cristobal; the chief was to relieve me. He did not come. I waited, one hour, two hours; he did not come. The Señor knows I would not leave my post. At five came Don Cristobal on his round of the posts. I told him; he put a man in my place and I went home tired as a dog, and there, in the top room I share with the chief, there, Señor, I saw him, Pablo Quintanar, on the floor, still, dead, and blood all round him."Jack looked sharply at the man. There was every sign of amazement and agitation in his face, but Jack remembered that he had quarrelled with his chief on the previous day, and could not but suspect there had been a repetition of the dispute when the men met in their lodging, and that, possibly by accident, it was Antonio's knife that had done the fatal work. Antonio appeared to guess what was passing in his captain's mind."I swear I did not do it, Señor. I knew nothing of it till I saw him there on the floor. We quarrelled; yes, the Señor knows that, but I keep my knife for the French; I would not—""Take me to the place," interrupted Jack coldly. Staying only to pull on his boots, he accompanied the man to the dirty lane and into the dingy house from which Miguel had stealthily issued some six hours before. Pepito was at his heels as he climbed the filthy staircase; the gipsy sniffed and snorted at the foul odours his nostrils encountered, and put his hand on his knife as he passed each doorway.They entered the attic. The gray light of a dull morning coming through a narrow skylight barely illuminated the sordid room. On the floor, stretched on his face, with arms extended towards the door, lay the figure of the guerrillero. This was no death in fair fight, face to face with his enemy; but the base, stealthy thrust of an assassin."That is how I found him, Señor," said Antonio."Yes; it is the Spanish way."He had noticed that the dead man's hand clasped a knife. Stooping, he removed it from his grasp; the steel was bright and clear, as though it had never been used for any but innocent purposes. Jack, as he held the weapon, reflected. The man had drawn his knife. It must have been for attack or for self-defence against an enemy in front of him; therefore the blow from behind that killed him must have been dealt by a second person. Antonio was scarcely likely to have brought another man into his personal quarrel; Jack was inclined to believe that he was guiltless, as he said. He looked around the room; there were few signs of a scuffle. It was useless to institute an enquiry among the other people in the house, and the sound of musketry and cannon-shots without already called him to his duties."Bury the poor wretch," he said, "and then come to me.""The Señor believes I did not do it?""Yes, yes; we have no time for enquiries. There is work for us who are left alive."He hurried away. There had been something sinister about the guerrillero, something that Jack could not fathom; perhaps it was resentment at a stranger being brought in and placed above him; but Jack could not help feeling a passing pity for the Spaniard who had met his death by the hands presumably of one of his own countrymen, instead of in heroic combat with the enemy.He returned to his post. The situation as it had been left on the previous evening had now been complicated. The cannon-shots he had heard in the attic had been fired from two pieces mounted by the French at the angle of the street. An epaulement of sand-bags and gabions had been thrown across between the ruined blocks, and from that point of vantage the French gunners were pointing their cannon so that their shots fell plump upon the walls of the Casas Vega and Tobar. These, it was clear, would before long be a heap of ruins. Jack sent men to the end of his subterranean galleries to listen whether mining operations had been resumed by the French. When they returned, reporting that no sound could be heard, he concluded that the signal failure of their last mines had been enough for the enemy, and that in future they would probably trust entirely to cannonade, followed by attacks in force. He could not reply to their artillery; all that lay in his power was to hold his men in readiness to repel a charge, and to fire his long Y-shaped mines when the French attack was being pressed home.Some two hours later he was consulting with Don Cristobal on the possibilities of capturing the French guns in a night attack, when Pepito came up, looking even more than usually mysterious. He stood before Jack with his hands behind him, waiting until his master, now deeply engrossed in conversation, should notice him."I should dearly like to make the attempt," Jack was saying, "but your arguments are, I am afraid, conclusive. We can't afford to lose any of our men unless we can be sure of success, and after their recent warnings I don't think we shall catch the French napping. We must give up the idea, I suppose, but you will see that our men keep a keen watch on the epaulement, Señor— Well, what is it, Pepito?"Pepito came forward carelessly."I found these, Señor," he said, handing two papers to Jack, who took them carelessly. Without unfolding them, he asked:"Where did you get these?""In the tall house, Señor.""Which tall house?""Where the Señor went just now.""Where the man was murdered?""Sí, Señor. The big Antonio took him away. I was there. In a minute, two men came in. 'Now we get a bed,' they say. They pull the dirty quilt off the bed. One man carries it; the other pulls off the mattress. There, on the boards, I see two papers. I snatch them, and say: 'I take these to the Señor Capitan'. The man laughs; and here they are, Señor."Jack unfolded the papers and glanced at them curiously. Suddenly he started, and keenly scrutinized one of them."It is explained now, Señor," he said to Don Cristobal, at the same time laying the papers before him. "Quintanar was a spy.""An afrancesado!" ejaculated the Spaniard."Unhappily. One of the papers, you see, is a pass through the French lines; the other a rough plan of our defences. See, the miserable fellow had begun to dot in our mines under the houses opposite. Someone must have discovered his treachery, and killed him without remorse.""So perish all traitors!" said Don Cristobal.At this moment a man rushed in with the news that a small breach had been made in the wall of the Casa Tobar."We must do something to check them," said Jack, rising. "A few good marksmen on the top of this house might pick off their gunners; let us go and see."They went up the staircase towards the roof, Pepito, left alone, put his hand into his pocket, and drew out a small silver buckle, such as Spanish burghers and officers wore on their shoes."Señor has the papers," he muttered. "Ca! I have the buckle. The buckle is better than the papers."He swung it round his forefinger, humming under his breath, and was still toying with it when Jack came downstairs again. Then he hurriedly thrust it into his pocket, and stood unconcernedly as though waiting for orders.A moment's glance had shown Jack that his plan of placing marksmen on the roof would be useless. The Casas Vega and Tobar, though much lower than the Casa Alvarez, were not low enough to allow an effective fire over them. But what could not be done from the Casa Alvarez might be done from the lower roofs nearer the guns. Jack lost no time in making his way to the flat roof of the Casa Tobar. Carefully crawling along and peeping over, he saw that the angle of depression was just sharp enough to allow a good marksman to take aim at the gunners' heads. It would be dangerous work, for the French would instantly perceive the source of the shots, and would bring a concentrated fire to bear in return. There was no parapet to the roof, but a parapet could perhaps be extemporized with sand-bags, between which the Spaniards' muskets might be placed.Returning to the ground, Jack explained what he had in his mind, and Antonio at once volunteered to make the attempt. With some of his men he climbed to the roof, where they pushed sand-bags along until they came to the edge. Then one of the men tried a shot. He missed. But Antonio took more deliberate aim, through the interstice between two sand-bags, and hit one of the French gunners in the arm.Three Frenchmen had been hit before the enemy discovered whence came these disconcerting shots. Then bullets began to patter on the walls and roof. But the Spaniards were too well protected by their extemporized parapet to be in much fear, and continued their firing without suffering serious loss. Before the day was out the French found it the part of discretion to withdraw their gunners, and for the time being the cannon were useless.Jack was not surprised next morning to learn that the French mining work had been renewed. This time the sounds were heard in the Casa Vallejo. The French had evidently seen that their only chance of carrying the position was by reverting to the slow burrowing which had been successful in earlier days. Jack went himself to the attacked house. The sounds through the wall were very faint, but there could be no doubt that the enemy were engaged in repairing the gallery destroyed in the sortie, though they were as yet thirty or forty feet away. It was probable that they had resumed, or would soon resume, operations in the Casas Vega and Tobar also, and dispositions must be made to meet them.It was Jack's practice every morning to call the roll of the men under his charge. Every day the force dwindled, and the physical weakness of the survivors had patently increased. Wishing to spare them as much as possible, he had been indisposed to set them to the arduous work of mining until he felt sure that he was seriously threatened. The fact that the French had resumed their tunnelling showed that there was now no time to be lost, and the morning was but little advanced when men were busily engaged in clearing out the galleries, in Vega and Tobar, that had been tamped and fired, so that they might be recharged. But while the sounds of mining grew clearer in front of Vallejo, hours passed without the Spaniards detecting any signs of activity towards the other two houses. Leaving men to keep watch there, and report if any change took place, Jack returned to Vallejo, where it seemed evident that the only present danger was to be apprehended.He stood with Don Cristobal near the end of the short gallery beneath Vallejo and the ruined house beyond. About eleven o'clock he was struck by a difference in the sounds, which up to the present had been fitfully interrupted."Listen, Señor!" he said to Don Cristobal. "I fancy the French are making several tunnels this time. Don't you think so? There is no break in the sound now, as there would be if they were driving only one or two; and yet there is a slight difference in the quality of the sound at successive moments. Do you hear? There; that was a deeper sound than the one before it.""You are right, Señor," returned the Spaniard. "We can do little on our side, I fear.""No. You see what a piece of arrant folly that rush of Santiago Sass was. Several of our best miners were killed; and what with the necessity of defending the barricades, and maintaining constant garrisons in the houses, we simply can't hope to match the French underground. All we can do is to wait till the right moment comes, and then explode our little mine first. If we let the French anticipate us, the explosion of several mines at once will blow ours up or make it useless, and all our work will be thrown away.""How many galleries do you think the enemy are cutting?""If we listen carefully we can tell."They were silent, and after about a quarter of an hour Jack declared that he had counted four separate operations. He sent for one of the more experienced miners, and asked him to count independently. The man confirmed his opinion, adding that he thought there would be no danger of explosions from the French side for a day or two.The rest of that day passed quietly. But early next morning the necessity of maintaining adequate guards at the exposed points of his position was brought home to Jack. During the night a large number of French had been silently posted in the ruined house at the end of the lane to the north of the Casa Vega. Issuing from these ruins, almost as soon as day dawned, they rushed towards the barricade, bearing fascines and scaling-ladders. But Don Cristobal, who was in command at this point, proved equal to the occasion. He sent off a messenger to Jack in the Casa Alvarez as soon as he saw signs of the French movement, and with the thirty resolute men of his command he held the enemy off, showing much coolness in awaiting their onset and ordering his men to fire at the right moment. When Jack came up at the head of a considerable reinforcement, the French were decisively driven off, leaving more than a score of dead behind them. They retired in confusion, some going into the ruins from which the attack had been made, others retreating down the street until they found protection from the Spaniards' musketry at the sharp bend in the roadway.Hastening then to the Casa Vallejo, Jack found that the sounds of miners at work had been steadily growing more distinct. It was clearly time to prepare his own mine. The gallery extended some six feet beneath the floor of the ruined house adjoining. A heavy charge was laid in it; then the mine was tamped as quickly as possible. All was now in readiness. Through that day Jack scarcely left the place for a moment. It was of the utmost importance that the time for exploding the mine should be well chosen. He dared not run the risk of allowing the French to drive the heads of their tunnels past his own, for indeed they might not pass it, but come clean upon it, in which case they would either explode it themselves, or more probably withdraw the charge. His object was to allow them to approach as near as seemed safe, and then to fire the train. After an anxious day he retired to rest, convinced that a sharp conflict could no longer be much delayed.At ten o'clock next morning, the 8th of February, he judged that the French miners could only be a few feet distant. Withdrawing all his men from the Casa Vallejo to the Casa Hontanon, next door, he waited tensely for a few minutes, then himself fired the train. There was a thunderous explosion, the walls of the room in which he was seemed to rock, then came the crash of falling beams, followed by a death-like silence. The mine had done its terrible work effectually; for the rest of the day there was no further sound of the French.Meanwhile, on the other side of the Ebro the French were gradually preparing for a grand assault. The part of the city along the river bank had been hitherto little damaged, for it was protected by the transpontine suburb of San Lazaro, and to some extent by a few gun-boats moored near the bridge. The key to the position was the Jesus Convent, a building of bricks, with a ditch on the French side of it. The French batteries had made large breaches in its masonry, but in order to carry it by storm it was first necessary for the enemy to trench their way towards it by slow degrees, every step having to be taken under fire from the walls. Their work was delayed for a time by a sudden rise of the river inundating their trenches and driving them back for several hundred yards—a flood hailed with joy by the defenders, who regarded it as another miraculous interposition on the part of Our Lady of the Pillar.Their condition was becoming pitiful in the extreme. All fresh meat and vegetables were exhausted; they had nothing now to subsist on but fish and salt meat. The few chickens that could be got each sold for a sum equivalent to an English pound. The French had seized all the water-mills along the banks of the river, so that the corn, of which the Spaniards yet possessed large stores, could not be ground, and they were forced to make a rough unwholesome bread of grain merely crushed or bruised. Fever, bred in the damp vaults in which most of the people lived, was carrying off hundreds every day; yet the emaciated survivors scarcely murmured, and the faintest suggestion of surrender was still sufficient to carry a man to the gibbet. Cheered by their brave untiring priests, they hoped against hope that relief would come.But the floods subsided, and there was no sign of the long-expected succour. On the morning of February 8th, twenty-two French guns opened fire on the convent. Within a few hours the outer walls were battered down; then Marshal Lannes in person ordered the place to be carried by assault. Five hundred men instantly sprang from the trenches. The Spaniards in the convent, mingled regulars and monks, made what resistance they could, but they were unnerved by the preceding cannonade, and before the furious rush of the French grenadiers they fled and left the convent to its fate. Within the walls the French found hundreds of wounded and sick, and in the courtyard there were some two hundred corpses, men, women, and children, piled up awaiting burial. Even the French were sick at heart when they saw on these pale cold faces the terrible signs of fasting and disease. They themselves had suffered in their trenches. Among them too men fell fast; and even in their ranks there were heard murmurs against the long waiting of this cruel siege.But though they had gained possession of the convent, their capture of the whole suburb was to be delayed for yet a few days. News was brought in to the French marshal, from his outlying positions, that a Spanish army was marching towards the city. The captain-general's brother, Francisco Palafox, had succeeded in raising a small force of 4000 men, and was now but twenty miles away. The attack could not be pressed in this quarter until the exact strength of the new enemy was ascertained. Marshal Lannes himself, therefore, drew off with 12,000 men, and once more the hopes of the dwindling garrison within the walls flickered up into the semblance of a flame.Meanwhile Jack, in his little district, had become convinced that the defence could not be maintained for many more days. But he was determined to hold his own to the very end. After his explosion beyond the Casa Vallejo there had been a prolonged silence on the French side, but in the evening renewed sounds of mining in two quarters showed that though two of the four French galleries had been injured, the other two were still workable. It was only a matter of hours before the wall must fall. All that Jack could do was to ensure that the house should be held as long as possible after the explosion of the French mines, and that this should cause his men the minimum of loss. During the night of the 8th he built a fresh barricade between Vallejo and Tobar, some yards in the rear of the first one, leaving a means of ingress into the threatened house. On the roof of Tobar he stationed men, just before dawn, to give notice of any French movements in the ruins at the farther end of the block. Meanwhile the garrison of Vallejo were withdrawn behind the barricade, with orders to rush in and reoccupy the house as soon as the explosion had taken place.At seven o'clock on the morning of the 9th a deep rumbling noise, as of a miniature earthquake, shook the quarter. Volumes of pungent smoke rolled along the lanes, and the crashing sounds proclaimed that the party-wall of Vallejo had fallen in."Into the house!" shouted Jack.The men burst into the building. Taking advantage of the cover afforded by heaps of shattered masonry, woodwork, and furniture, they stood firm to meet the attack of the French, who, as soon as the dust and smoke began to clear, charged furiously up to the ruined wall. Their front ranks were mowed down by the withering fire of the Spaniards, but the gaps were instantly filled, and the undaunted enemy pressed on again. The volumes of smoke and the heaped wreckage of the house made it difficult sometimes for the combatants to see one another. For the moment the advantage was with the Spaniards. Nothing could dislodge them from behind their barricades of brickwork, furniture, even piles of books. But the French were swarming in at the other end of the block of buildings, and some, mounting on heaps of débris, were able to fire over the heads of the men in front of them into the Spanish position. Jack saw that with the fall of the party-wall of Vallejo the remains of the roof and front wall of the house beyond had also come down. Profiting by this circumstance, he sent a number of men on to the roof of Tobar, whence they were able to enfilade the French marksmen. They were assisted by a strong fire from the front barricade, where Antonio, now the leader of the guerrilleros, was doing yeoman service. Finding that after repeated charges no impression had been made on the Spanish defences, the French drew back disheartened, and, unwilling to face the risk of meeting again such heavy losses, made no further serious attempt during the morning to carry the position. The action degenerated into a fitful exchange of musket-shots, whenever a Frenchman or a Spaniard incautiously exposed himself."Well done, hombres!" said Jack, who had gone from point to point cheering them on, reinforcing weak spots, narrowly escaping the enemy's bullets as he moved at times across the line of fire. He had been quick to mark instances of special bravery or skill, and the few words of praise he spoke nerved the ardent Spaniards to still more strenuous exertions.In the afternoon, as he was resting in the Casa Alvarez, news was brought that the French had been seen clearing away parts of the débris in the ruins at the farther end of the Vallejo block."What does that mean?" he exclaimed, starting up. "They will only expose themselves to direct fire from the roofs and the barricade."Hastening with Don Cristobal to the roof of the Casa Tobar, he sought for an explanation of the new movement. Suddenly it occurred to him: the French were about to bring the gun, which had been driven away from the angle of the street, to a position whence it would bear upon Vallejo, and the work they were doing was for the purpose of clearing away anything that might intercept its fire."We can't hold Vallejo against a bombardment," he remarked. "Stay! Perhaps Don Casimir would lend us a gun from his ramparts. Things have been pretty quiet with him lately. Antonio, run off with twenty men and ask Don Casimir to let you have an eight-pounder, with grape and round-shot. If we can get a gun to bear, Señor, the work the French are doing will assist us as much as themselves.""Can we mount the gun?" asked Don Cristobal, descending with Jack."We can but try. 'Where there's a will there's a way', as we say in England."Twenty minutes later Antonio returned with his men, hauling the eight-pounder briskly along towards the barricade. It was easily taken into the patio of the Casa Vallejo, but to move it thence into a position facing the French would necessitate the breaking of the wall of one of the ground-floor rooms.It was approaching nightfall when, from his post of observation on the roof of Tobar, Jack saw that the French had completed their work. He could just perceive the muzzle of their gun, carefully blinded with beams, protruding from a sort of screen in the ruins of the second house from Vallejo. He was confident that they would not begin their bombardment until the following morning, and he hoped to use the hours of darkness to place his own gun. Before darkness fell, with Don Cristobal's help he took, from several points, careful observations of the position of the French gun, and on the stone floor of the room opening on to the patio in Vallejo he drew chalk lines indicating what appeared to be a suitable position for his eight-pounder.As soon as it was dark he set two men to break a way with picks through the wall of the patio, at a spot where there was a window. The work was carried out with the aid of dark lanterns, large pieces of cloth being hung over every gap to conceal any glimmer of light from the French. The gun was then hauled through the hole and laid by the chalk lines; it was screened with bags of earth, and then, after it had been loaded with ball, a horse-blanket was hung over the muzzle, which alone was in sight of the enemy."Now we can get some sleep, Señor," said Jack. "We've had a hard day's work. I confess I'm longing for the morning, to see whether we can once more get in first. You have arranged the sentries for the night?""Yes. Nothing has been neglected.""A special guard for the gun?""Antonio and two of his guerrilleros will take turns through the night.""We haven't any better men. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Come along."There was but a faint glimmer of light beyond the Ebro when Jack again took his place beside the gun."I'm not a gunner," he remarked to Don Cristobal, "but I fancy I can manage to lay and fire it myself; it's point-blank range, you see; I can hardly miss. Now, hombres," he said, turning to the eight men with him, "everything depends on our shooting first, so keep as mum as door-mats."Waiting till the increasing light showed him clearly the muzzle of the enemy's gun, he carefully pointed his own piece. He aimed at a beam covering the gun at a point which, as nearly as he could judge, corresponded with the trunnion. Don Cristobal watched him anxiously as he lit the match. What would be the result of the shot? One moment of suspense, then Jack applied the match; there was a flash and a roar, followed immediately by the crashing of timber.It was impossible to see the effect of the shot through the cloud of smoke that hung between the buildings; but, whatever it was, Jack knew that it would awake the enemy to feverish activity. Running his piece in, he had it rapidly sponged and then reloaded with grape. While this was being done, he sent orders to the garrison to open fire on the French position, to which there would certainly be a rush. As soon as the smoke cleared he saw that the French gun had also been run in. Before it could be loaded, however, Jack applied his second match; his canister of grape searched every square foot of the area around the French gun, and the men serving it were annihilated. Before another complement of gunners could be brought up, Jack had his piece cleaned and charged again, this time with round-shot. He saw now that the first shot had broken and splintered the beam; the third shivered it to fragments. A great cheer arose from the garrison when they saw the damage already done. A second charge of grape, together with sharp musketry-fire from every point occupied by the Spaniards, scattered the French reinforcements who were now attempting frantically to withdraw the gun out of range. Again Jack loaded with shot, and a fierce shout of exultation broke from the Spaniards on the roof-tops as they saw the enemy's gun completely dismounted, and the remnant of the French fly in all haste to the rear.This spirited defence had the effect of keeping the French quiet in that quarter for the rest of the day. Jack maintained his vigilance unrelaxed, but there was no movement from the enemy's direction either above or below ground."Another day saved!" said Jack to Don Casimir, who, having heard of what had happened, had come to congratulate him on his successful manipulation of the gun."Yes, one more day. But how long can we still hold out?" replied Don Casimir. "Surely, Señor Lumsden, you are not among the credulous people who think that we shall save the city?""Since you ask me plainly, Don Casimir, I am not. But what does that matter? We have to hold our quarters, and I confess that I sha'n't be satisfied unless I can say, when the end comes, that here at all events we are still unbeaten.—Do look at that odd little gipsy boy of mine. He is a strange child. When the fighting is going on he is never to be found; he hasn't any courage of that sort; but he always turns up when it is over, and looks as proud as though he had fought with the best. What has the brat got now?"
[image]Jack has a Narrow Escape
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Jack has a Narrow Escape
"Leave the gap in the wall open for me," he said to one of the regulars; "I shall not be long behind you."
Then, catching up a burning rope, he hastened to the end of the French gallery, where his men had laid a train of gunpowder connecting with a heavy charge. He had just time to set light to the train before a group of three or four French soldiers dashed towards him through the ruins. His perilous task was done; he turned to follow his men, the enemy, not waiting to fire, close behind him. As he was crossing the lane dividing the Casas Vega and Tobar there was a loud explosion; the gallery had blown up, and with it the head of the French column immediately behind his pursuers. Only two men were now on his track. He glanced over his shoulder, and judged that there was time to reach the gap in the wall before he could be overtaken. At this moment his foot slipped on a loose heap of fallen masonry; he fell headlong, and before he could recover himself, the foremost pursuer was upon him. Wriggling over instantly on his side, he drew his pistol, and managed to snap it at the man when the point of his bayonet was within a foot of him. The ball hit the man full on the forehead, and he dropped like a log.
Springing to his feet, Jack drew his sword in the nick of time to meet the attack of the second pursuer. It was sword against bayonet, and if the latter had been in the hands of a British soldier, Jack, in spite of his skill as a swordsman, might have stood a poor chance. But the bayonet, as wielded by a Continental soldier, was not the same formidable weapon, and it happened that his attacker was a Pole—one of Colonel Chlopiski's Vistula regiment, which, as Jack had already learnt, had proved the most troublesome of all the French troops since the capture of Santa Engracia. Jack had more than once shown himself to be a swordsman of exceptional resource, and at this critical moment the old French émigré who had been his fencing master in London, if he could have seen the duel, would have beamed with satisfaction. After a few passes Jack gave the Pole an opportunity to lunge; he eagerly seized it; his thrust was lightly parried, and the next moment Jack was in beneath his guard.
As he hurried away, even in that breathless moment Jack could not help feeling some pity for his two gallant foemen who would see the Vistula no more. It was in the hope of freeing their country from the bondage of Russia that the Poles had allied themselves with Napoleon. They were now purchasing their own freedom by assisting to enslave others.
Hastening across the ruins adjoining the Casa Vega, Jack saw terrible signs of the havoc wrought by his mine. The attacking French force had been a large one. It had perished to a man. But there was no time for anything but escape from the horde of French now rapidly approaching him. Scrambling over charred beams, shattered brickwork, fragments of household furniture, and the dead bodies of the fallen enemy, he drew near to the spot where the explosion of the French mine had blown a large hole in the party-wall. It was here that Jack expected to find the gap through which his men had preceded him into safety. But there was no gap. The hole was completely closed up, and the obstruction was too strong to be won through, too high to clamber over. Nonplussed for the moment, Jack turned to look for another means of escape, aware, as he did so, of loud voices in altercation on the other side of the barricade.
Bullets were now pattering on the brickwork, and the sound of scrambling feet in the adjoining ruins showed that he had been seen by the French, and that they were making towards him. There was not an instant to lose. To his left, as he faced the French quarter, the ruins were open and exposed to fire from several directions; escape was impossible that way. But on his right there still stood the remnant of what had been a lath-and-plaster wall between two rooms. He caught at this chance of even temporary concealment. Bending low, he dodged along behind its precarious shelter till he came to a ruined window within a few feet of the barricade defended by Don Cristobal. The rattle of musketry could now be heard on all hands. Jack felt sure that his appearance at the window would be the signal for a hail of bullets from the opposite side of the street, at the angle nearer the Coso where the French had obtained a lodgment. But it was now or never, and he was just wrenching away a broken iron bar, to squeeze his way through, when his ears were assailed by unexpected shouts from the street. To his amazement, he saw Don Cristobal's men come swarming over the barricade and rushing along the street towards the French. But it was not Don Cristobal who led them; the leader was a tall figure who rushed forward, sword in hand, with long robe tucked up, and bare arms, from which the sleeves had been flung back over the shoulders. He was shouting in frenzied tones. Jack recognized Latin phrases mingled with Spanish. It was the patriot priest, Santiago Sass.
Wondering what had happened, Jack jumped into the street, safe now, for the French were occupied with the rush of the headlong Spaniards. There they were, cutting their way through a large body of French troops, heedless of the pelting bullets from the surrounding houses, yelling, slashing, and, alas! many of them falling.
"What imbecile folly!" exclaimed Jack in his anger. The rash charge was useless, hopeless. All that he could do was to cover the inevitable retreat. Clambering over the barricade, Jack ran towards the Casa Alvarez, overtaking on the way Don Cristobal, who had hastened thither on the same errand as himself.
"Men of the reserve," cried Jack, "follow me!"
Pablo Quintanar, their leader, was, strangely, not with them. They dashed after Jack and Don Cristobal, and reached the barricade just in time. The Spaniards, all that were left of them, were streaming over it, broken and disheartened, pursued by bullets from the French. Last of them all came Santiago Sass, splashed with blood from head to foot, blood streaming from a wound on his brow.
"In te, Domine, speravi!" he cried breathlessly as he staggered over the barricade.
Catching him by the arm, Jack dragged the exhausted priest out of harm's way, and then, ordering his men to hold the barricade, enquired of Don Cristobal what was the meaning of the recent extraordinary movement. He learnt that Santiago Sass, who was ever where danger was thickest, had been passing the quarter, and, attracted by the noise of the explosions, had hastened, full of burning zeal, to the nearest barricade. There, finding Don Cristobal's force, as he thought, culpably inactive, and hearing musketry on all sides, he had jumped to the conclusion that the Spaniards were skulking, and, refusing to listen to Don Cristobal's explanation, had poured out upon them a torrent of invective and exhortation, called on them to follow him, and led them furiously over the barricade. Such was his influence that not a man refused to obey his call.
Meanwhile the hot fire maintained by the reserve had driven the French back. But they showed some disposition to come on in greater strength and attempt the capture of the barricade. Santiago Sass, furious at the failure of his ill-timed sortie, and still more with Jack for forcibly removing him from the scene, began to vent his wrath upon him.
"Do not stay me!" he cried. "Cursed be any that flinches! Dominus vir pugnator! Let us haste—"
"Señor Padre," interrupted Jack quietly, "you led a most gallant charge, but look—it has cost me some twenty good men."
He pointed to the corpse-strewn street. The priest looked, and was evidently impressed. Gathering his skirts about him he sped away towards the Coso in search of more forlorn hopes to lead, the sound of his wild and whirling words being scarcely drowned by the noise of the battle.
For the rest of that day French and Spaniards continued to occupy their respective positions. The former made no attempt at organized attack; they clearly dreaded the discovery of more mines. The Spaniards were not strong enough to expel the enemy altogether. Thus, when nightfall again put an end to the fighting, the situation was essentially the same as it had been in the morning.
Reckoning up the results, Jack was able to congratulate himself on having accomplished all that he had hoped to do. The two French galleries towards the Casas Tobar and Vallejo were destroyed; the French had suffered very heavy loss in men. The explosion of their mine in the Casa Vega had not furthered their advance, and their work for three days past was rendered null. But their failure, Jack knew, would only nerve them to redoubled energy; he must be prepared for an even more strenuous attack on his position. All that he could do was to ensure that if the houses must be captured it should be with a maximum of delay and loss to the French.
As he went the round of his district, before proceeding to convey his nightly report to Palafox, Pablo Quintanar, the guerrilla leader, came up and made a complaint against his subordinate Antonio. He had been attacked, he said, and nearly murdered by Antonio for refusing to reopen the barricade thrown across the gap in the wall of the Casa Vega.
"Did you not receive my order?" demanded Jack.
"Your order was to hold the barricade, Señor."
"But you opened a gap to let in my men. I sent the order by one of the Murcian tiradores."
"Yes, indeed, and the men came through one by one, and when the last was through I closed the barricade."
"And shut me out!"
Jack looked sharply at the man, but as usual was unable to catch his eye.
"I waited for the Señor," he protested, "five, ten, twenty minutes; but he did not come. What was I to think but that he was dead? If I had known—"
"You would have acted otherwise. Well, as you did make so unfortunate a—mistake, perhaps the less you say about Antonio's attempt to mend it the better. Buenas noches, hombre!"
Jack turned on his heel, and, wondering what conceivable motive Pablo Quintanar could have for doing him a hurt, set off for the Castle Aljafferia.
CHAPTER XXIV
"A bon Chat, bon Rat"
Under a Cloud—The Door—Padre Consolacion—A Daughter of Spain—The House in the Lane—An Unexpected Visitor—A Gambit—In the Shadow—The Worm Turns—A Blue Paper—The Simple Way
As he made his way through the throng of people filling the corridors and halls of the palace, Jack could not but observe that the looks he met were rather of suspicion than friendliness. He was known by sight to many of the habitués of the castle. Tio Jorge had never tired of praising his exploits and acclaiming him as a staunch friend of Spain; and yet many now scowled on him, whispered to each other as he passed; one or two even fingered their knives.
Surprised at this change of attitude, he was still more surprised to find it reflected in the bearing of Palafox and Don Basilio and other members of the Junta who were present when he made his report. Palafox listened to him coldly, spoke a few words of the faintest praise, and dismissed him without a sign of real approval or encouragement.
Tio Jorge met him as he was re-entering the town by the Porta Portillo, and Jack felt a sense of relief when he saw that the big peasant's greeting was cordial as ever. After an exchange of news Tio Jorge, who had scanned his face anxiously, said bluntly:
"I am a plain man, Señor. You will answer me a plain question."
"Certainly, anything in reason," said Jack in surprise.
"They're saying—I could not believe it—but they are all saying that you wish to surrender; at least, that you do not think we can hold out. Now, whatever we may think, we do not talk of these things; it is not good for the people to hear such things. If any man says them, he does not live to say them twice. Tell me plainly, Señor, have you spoken of surrender?"
"My good friend," said Jack with a smile, "when you yourself hear an Englishman talk of surrender, then you may believe it; till then—"
"Then it is false?" asked Tio Jorge.
"Absolutely."
"I knew it. And that proves," added Tio Jorge after a moment, "what I thought from the first: you have an enemy in Saragossa, Señor."
And then he explained. The despatch brought by Don Miguel Priego had been in several points so different from, so much less discouraging than, that previously brought by Jack, that the Saragossans' first flush of enthusiasm for the English had soon disappeared. The undoubted retreat of Sir John Moore, and the subsequent departure of his army from the shores of Spain, were twisted to mean a desertion of the Spanish cause. There was at first no personal feeling against Jack, though his country was regarded with bitterness, but it had lately been rumoured, on the authority of Don Miguel's servant, that he had been overheard, in the Cafe Arcos, expressing a despondent view of the chances of holding the city, and hinting that it would be wise to make terms with the French. Only the energetic and successful work Jack had been doing in the Santa Engracia district, and the strong support of Tio Jorge himself, had given pause to those who wished to treat him as all who counselled surrender were treated—to gibbet him in the Coso.
Jack recognized at once that Don Miguel's malignity was not to be ignored. The bare suspicion of disloyalty had been sufficient to bring a full tale of victims to the gallows, and the fact that he was an Englishman would not preserve him if the feelings of the populace were once thoroughly roused. Fortunately Tio Jorge was his friend; and Tio Jorge was a host in himself. Jack had seen no more of Miguel or his man since their remarkable apparition on the ramparts. He resolved to keep a good look-out; though, after all, it was wily, underhand machinations rather than open violence he had to fear from them.
He had determined to see Juanita and advise her to remove immediately to a safer part of the city. He therefore took leave of Tio Jorge at the door of the house in the Coso where she was staying. The same old duenna admitted him.
"The Señora is very ill," she said. "The Señorita receives. There is a visitor with her now."
"I will wait, then."
"Not so, Señor. The Señorita gave orders that the Señor was always to be shown up if he called."
Entering the sala, he saw a tall cloaked figure between him and Juanita.
"Ah!" said Juanita, coming forward eagerly with outstretched hand; "how do you do, Jack? You are just in time to show Don Miguel to the door."
"With pleasure," said Jack, returning at once to the door and holding it wide open.
Miguel had faced round, and stood swinging his hat in the middle of the room. A fierce scowl darkened his face as he looked from one to the other. Juanita reseated herself, turned her back on him, and resumed some needle-work for the wounded on which she had been engaged. Jack stood in an attitude of polite expectancy at the door.
"I protest—" began Don Miguel; but Jack cut him short. Speaking in a quiet, even tone, he said:
"You have taken leave, Don Miguel?"
The Spaniard stood for a moment irresolute; then, flinging on his hat, he strode across the room, made no response to Jack's bow, and disappeared. The moment the door was shut Juanita sprang up, ran towards Jack, and took him by both hands.
"Oh, Jack, Jack," she said, "you don't know how glad I am to see you!"
"Has that hound been bullying you?"
"Bullying! He dare not. I am not a child! But listen, amigo mio; he came to ask me to marry him. He did! He had the audacity! You should have seen him—heard him—his nasty oily voice; oh, he seemed to be quite sure that he had only to ask! 'And you think of marriage at this fearful time!' I said. And he wanted me to believe that he was thinking only of my safety. When the town falls, he said, I shall want a protector. 'And you, one of Palafox's hussars, how can you protect me?' And then he smiled, and spoke in dark hints of some special power he will have, and I grew angry, and asked whether he meant to turn afrancesado, and then—and then you came, Jack, and I wondered what he would do; and—and he went, and I couldn't help remembering the time when you and I were so terribly afraid of him, and—oh, Jack, it was magnificent—it was indeed!"
Juanita laughed, and Jack himself smiled at the recollection of Miguel's undignified exit.
"But, Juanita," he said, "I came to warn you."
"Against him?"
"No; against the danger you run in staying here. The French are coming nearer every hour; almost at any moment they may reach the Coso. They are driving their mines steadily towards the centre of the city. You must find a place—I can't call it a home—elsewhere."
"But, Jack, that is arranged already. Padre Consolacion is going to take us to a house near the Porta Portillo to-morrow. What do you think?—the padre came to see me only a minute or two after you left the other day."
"Was that the Padre Consolacion? I saw a benevolent-looking priest enter as I went out."
"Yes. And, only think, he wanted me to marry Miguel!"
"The padre?"
Juanita nodded.
"Of course I told him it was impossible—quite impossible. He sat down and crossed his white plump hands on his hat and began to talk. Miguel must have won him with his plausible manner. I love the padre, but I couldn't listen to him; could I, Jack? He asked me why I was so opposed to what he thought was an excellent match, and one that my father had so much desired; and then I told him that it was all lies, lies; my father had never wished anything of the sort. And the poor old dear was puzzled, and kept tapping his thumbs together and looked at me so sorrowfully, and then he was called away to attend to a dying officer. And—Jack, tell me, will this siege ever end? Can we hold out any longer? Are there big armies mustering to relieve us, as they all say?"
She bent forward with clasped hands. Jack hesitated for a moment.
"Juanita," he said, "I won't disguise my real belief. I don't believe in the big armies. Saragossa will fall—unless one of two things happens."
"And they?"
"Unless General Palafox sends out a large sortie and defeats the French, or unless their ammunition gives out. Neither is probable."
"Then what will become of us? How long will General Palafox resist? Cannot someone plead with him? Think of the thousands who have died, and the thousands who are dying—the poor women and children in their horrible cellars! Oh, Jack, what a terrible thing war is! Does Napoleon know, can he know, of all the horrors he has brought upon us? Has he any heart at all? Jack, my poor aunt is dying, I fear. I can do nothing. Every morning when I go out to carry food and water to the brave soldiers—"
"You do that, Juanita?"
"Why, yes; every girl in Saragossa does that or something else to help; and every morning I go fearing that I shall never again see Tia Teresa alive. And if she dies, I shall be quite alone in the world. Father gone, José gone— Ah! but I have you, Jack, and the good padre, and if the worst comes you will look after me, won't you?—take me to England, perhaps—I used to like your mother,—and Napoleon will never conquer England, will he, Jack?"
"Not he," said Jack with a laugh. He saw that the events of the past few days had wrought her nerves to a high pitch of excitement, and tactfully turned the conversation into a quieter channel. He asked for the name of the house to which she was going on the morrow, assured her that, when the inevitable capitulation came, the French would allow generous terms to such brave defenders, and at length took his leave, promising to visit her whenever he could snatch an opportunity.
"And will you be able to save the old house?" she asked, as he was going out at the door.
"I shall do my best, for the sake of old times, be sure of that."
"I know you will. Vaya usted con Dios, Jack!"
Before he reached the foot of the stairs, Jack saw, in the dim light of the small hanging lamp, a portly figure ascending. He crossed to the other side and waited to allow the visitor to pass.
"Buenas noches, Señor!" said Padre Consolacion, sweeping off his large shovel hat; then he stopped as he recognized the same youth whom he had seen earlier in the week.
"Padre mio," cried Juanita from the top, "come along; I want to speak to you."
"Buenas noches, Padre!" said Jack; and the priest, after a moment's hesitation, went up slowly.
Hard by the Casa Alvarez a narrow tortuous lane of mean houses, dirty in appearance and evil in repute, ran almost due east from the ramparts. It was not a district in which, before the siege, any person worth robbing would choose to be abroad after nightfall. But when, towards dusk on this fifth of February, a well-dressed man passed rapidly down the street and disappeared into one of the least reputable of the houses, the few denizens who observed him did so without a thought of their knives, almost without a sense of curiosity. To such a height of abnegation had the public danger brought the professional lawbreakers of Saragossa.
It was a house of three stories, and the stranger, threading his way gingerly through the gloomy entrance and up the narrow stairway, gathered from the evidence of all his senses that every story was fully occupied. In hardly another street in this part of Saragossa could a house have been found where its whole population was not herded in cellars below-ground. But here the lane was so narrow, and so closely surrounded by buildings, that the inhabitants were in no danger from the French bombardment, and lived in a security which few of their fellow-citizens enjoyed.
As the visitor passed room after room on his upward way, the sounds of coarse laughter, the oaths of men, the shrill expostulation of women, and the querulous cry of children came to him through closed or half-closed doors, and he drew his cloak around him with an instinctive movement of disgust. Treading almost noiselessly he reached the attic floor, where the doors of three rooms opened on to a narrow landing. Although evidently a stranger to the house he showed little hesitation. With infinite caution he tiptoed across the landing to the farthermost door, and put his eye to a crack in the panel, through which a narrow beam of light fell on the dirt-encrusted wall behind him.
The room into which he looked was in keeping with the rest of the house. The fitful light of a tallow candle showed a man bending over a crazy table, two truckle-beds ranged at right angles to each other in the far corner, and a few articles of clothing hanging from hooks on the wall. The man was intently studying a blue paper spread out on the table, spelling out the words with difficulty, and repeating them under his breath with a growl of impatience that accentuated the unpleasing effect of a countenance by nature unprepossessing.
For some minutes the man beyond the door, drawing shallow breath, watched him closely as he struggled with the intricacies of the document. There was apparently a passage in it that completely baffled him. He turned the paper this way and that, examined it even upside down, but without success, and at last, in a burst of anger, dashed it down on to the table with an audible oath.
The visitor took this as his cue for entry, and tapped gently at the door.
"Adelante!" was the answer, after a distinct pause.
He turned the handle and went in. The man had faced round towards the door, and the dim light of the candle disclosed the narrow features, low receding forehead, thin lips, and shifty eyes of Pablo Quintanar. The blue paper had disappeared.
There was a momentary silence. The host was evidently waiting for his visitor to introduce himself.
"Buenas noches, hombre!" said the stranger suavely, with a conciliatory bow. "I trust I don't come at an unseasonable hour."
The guerrillero scanned him from head to foot with a quick suspicious glance.
"That depends, Señor, upon your business, who you are, and what you want with me."
"As to who I am, hombre—may I take a chair? thank you!—my name is Miguel Priego. As to my business, that is not so simply stated; we must improve our acquaintance first."
The man started at the mention of his visitor's name; and the latter duly noted the fact. But as the guerrillero merely stood in an attitude of expectancy, Don Miguel, loosening his cloak and placing his hat on the table, continued:
"I have been, my friend, as you may perhaps have heard, four days in Saragossa. During these four days I have been searching for you."
The man's hand went like a flash to his knife, and Miguel, quickening his measured tones, hastened to add:
"No, my friend, not in that way, or, as you can imagine, I should not have come alone. I have been searching for you because I think we are both of one mind regarding, let us say, the policy of our brave commandant General Palafox."
"Say what you have to say, and have done with it. I don't understand your fine phrases."
Don Miguel smiled indulgently. It was clear to him that his host fully grasped his meaning.
"Well, to put the matter quite plainly, you—that is, you and I—regard all this," waving his hand in the direction of a cannon-shot from the ramparts, "as useless waste of life—sheer obstinacy; a noble enthusiasm, but misguided. Is it not so? Now, acting upon our convictions we—that is, you—have already done our little best to bring this distressing conflict to an end. We—that is, you—have endeavoured—unsuccessfully endeavoured—to relieve our commandant of certain plans which, if placed in proper hands might—I say might—"
At this point the guerrillero, who had been standing facing his visitor, sank into a chair, his face blanched, his mouth twitching. On the blank wall before him his imagination was casting the grim shadow of a gibbet.
Don Miguel smiled faintly, and waved his hand reassuringly.
"There is no need, my friend, for emotion. If we were not of the same mind you might, of course, have some ground for uneasiness; but fortunately we understand one another. Is it not so?"
"Sí, Señor," the man replied, recovering himself with an effort. "Sí, Señor, we understand one another."
"That is well. Now we can proceed. You can understand that our good friends out yonder, who also wish to end this terrible siege, are grieved by your ill-success. They are saying hard things about you. They even went the length of giving me your name, which, if I were less discreet, might well have been awkward for you. I don't disguise that if they capture Saragossa while you are still in their debt—one thousand pesetas, is it not?—they may treat you somewhat harshly. But, fortunately, you have a chance of retrieving yourself."
Don Miguel paused. His host had now to some extent recovered his composure.
"And what is that?" he asked sullenly.
"I happen to know, hombre, where our noble commandant has placed the papers you failed to find. If you can deliver those papers to me I will see that our friends outside do not forget you."
The man smiled cunningly.
"Thank you, Señor! If I run the risk it would suit me better to claim the reward myself."
"As you please, my friend. But remember that without my assistance you can do nothing. A few more days will end the siege, and then—" He smiled, then added reflectively: "They say it is an easy death."
Pablo Quintanar winced. He felt himself in the toils, and had some difficulty in resisting the impulse to throw himself upon his visitor and end the interview with a knife-thrust. But he felt that Don Miguel, with all his languid urbanity, was fully on his guard, and choking down his animosity he replied:
"What does the Señor wish me to do?"
Don Miguel's voice throughout the interview had been carefully modulated to defeat any eavesdropping. He now rose quietly, and, rapidly opening the door, peered out on to the landing. There was no one in view. He stretched himself over the balustrade and saw, on the flight below, what appeared to be a tall figure lurking in the shadow. He seemed satisfied. Quietly re-entering the room, he closed the door.
Then began a long colloquy between the two men, Miguel giving precise directions as to the whereabouts of a certain box, and the means whereby it could be secured.
"I think, my friend, there is nothing more to say," he remarked in conclusion. "The matter now rests with you."
"One moment, Señor," said Quintanar, motioning him to be seated. He had listened deferentially to what Miguel had been saying, and had obediently fallen in with every proposition; but there was now a vindictive look in his eyes that caused Miguel a strange uneasiness.
"Certainly," he replied, "but I have little time to spare."
"I will not detain you long—not longer, Señor, than you wish, though I think that when you have heard what I have to say, you may not be in such a hurry. The point is this. If—mind, I say 'if'—I knew the whereabouts of a letter in which your name is mentioned in connection with a little affair on the Barcelona road—you remember?—a couple of years ago?—if, I say, I had such a letter, that is, if I knew where such a letter was to be found, would it be worth anything to you, Don Miguel?"
Pablo Quintanar grinned maliciously. He had been the victim for the past half-hour; it was now his turn. Miguel had done his best to dissemble his start of surprise and anxiety; but the man's searching gaze was upon him, and though he replied with a show of confidence he felt that it was not convincing.
"My name has no doubt been mentioned in a good many letters, my friend; but I am quite indifferent whether I am well or ill spoken of. Hard words break no bones."
"That may be, Señor, but they sometimes break reputations, and you are dancing on a thin rope. But if I tell you that this letter also has a message about a sum of money hidden by the writer, how does that alter the case?"
"I can tell you better if you inform me what the message is, and what the name of the writer is."
"Well, I can tell you the name of the writer; it is the late Señor Alvarez."
"Ah! I heard that a letter had been lost—that, then, was what you found instead of the plan. Do you know, my friend, that this places you in a very awkward position? You will do well to hand the letter over to me. The slightest whisper of suspicion—"
The man glared viciously at the speaker, then snapped out:
"You may be quite sure that as you are the only man who knows anything about it, I shall take care that you swing on the same gallows."
Don Miguel shifted his feet uneasily.
"You need not fear, my friend; I am not the man to betray you. I merely thought it would be safer for you if this letter were in my possession."
"Oh, no doubt! but, Señor," added Quintanar with a harsh laugh, "I couldn't allow you to take the risk—especially as the letter is of no value to you. I need not detain you, Señor."
Miguel considered a moment, tapping the floor lightly with his foot.
"What do you want for the paper?"
"Well, Señor, I am not unreasonable. Let us say one thousand pesetas down and a quarter of the treasure when you find it."
Miguel laughed softly.
"Thank you, my friend! Before I pay a thousand pesetas I should like to know what I am paying it for."
Quintanar, hesitating for a moment, slowly drew out a blue paper from beneath his jacket, and said:
"What do you think of this?
'I am convinced that Miguel Priego was at the bottom of this dastardly outrage. Unfortunately, we have no proof at present that would satisfy a judge, but if any of the men who assisted him can be found and induced to give evidence it is still possible that he may be brought to book.'
What do you think of that, Don Miguel? Ah! I thought I should interest you."
Miguel forced a smile, and, waving his hand airily, said:
"If that is all the letter contains I would not offer a maravedi for it."
"Oh, there is more, a good deal more! I need not read it all, but listen to this:
"The sum saved from Miguel's brigands, together with a large amount in jewels and bullion, I have thought it best to secrete until more settled times. You will find appended to this letter instructions which, taken together with a communication I have made to your son Jack, will enable you or him, or such other person as you may be so good as to depute, to find them in the event of anything happening to my servant José Pinzon, who is fully acquainted with all my dispositions."
Don Miguel, greed written in every lineament, leaned forward on his chair, listening eagerly.
"Well," he said impatiently, as the man concluded, "what are the instructions?"
"Those, Señor, I cannot read. They are in some strange tongue; but no doubt you, having education, will be able to make them out. That is to say, if you make it worth my while to hand you the letter. You know my price."
Carefully refolding the letter, Quintanar replaced it in a pocket inside his jacket. In doing so he took his eyes for a moment off Miguel, whom he had been watching with the utmost vigilance, to assure himself that the document was safely stowed away.
The other, his face aflame with rage and cupidity, instantly seized the opportunity. Drawing his feet quietly beneath him, he sprang from his chair and bore the guerrillero to the ground. But the man, although taken unawares, recovered himself with surprising agility. Before Miguel had time to draw his knife he had clutched him by the throat, and with a dexterous turn had reversed their positions, Miguel now being on the ground, Quintanar above him, his long knife uplifted to strike.
CHAPTER XXV
Pepito finds a Clue
Morning Light—Bombarded—An Afrancesado—From the Roofs—In the Casa Vallejo—A Fight at Daybreak—Anticipated—The Jesus Convent—New Barricades—Repulsed—Borrowing a Gun—Round-Shot and Grape—Out of Action—Odds and Evens
Jack was awakened next morning by the sounds of altercation outside the small room on the ground floor of the Casa Alvarez that he had reserved for himself.
"You shall not!" he heard Pepito cry in his shrill voice. "The Señor sleeps; you—shall—not—"
Then his voice was stifled by the noise of scuffling. A heavy thud shook the door, as though some massive body had been driven against it. Springing from his bed, on which he had lain down in all his clothes save his boots, Jack went to the door, opened it, and saw Antonio, the guerrillero, raining blow after blow on the small form of Pepito, who had twisted himself about one of the big man's legs and held on grimly, though he must have suffered not a little.
"Come, come!" said Jack; "what is it, Antonio? Pepito, let him go!"
Pepito sprang away instantly.
"The Busno wanted to wake the Señor," he piped, with a fierce look at Antonio.
"You waked me between you. Well, Antonio?"
"Señor, I was on night duty; I was to be relieved at two o'clock, so it was arranged by Don Cristobal; the chief was to relieve me. He did not come. I waited, one hour, two hours; he did not come. The Señor knows I would not leave my post. At five came Don Cristobal on his round of the posts. I told him; he put a man in my place and I went home tired as a dog, and there, in the top room I share with the chief, there, Señor, I saw him, Pablo Quintanar, on the floor, still, dead, and blood all round him."
Jack looked sharply at the man. There was every sign of amazement and agitation in his face, but Jack remembered that he had quarrelled with his chief on the previous day, and could not but suspect there had been a repetition of the dispute when the men met in their lodging, and that, possibly by accident, it was Antonio's knife that had done the fatal work. Antonio appeared to guess what was passing in his captain's mind.
"I swear I did not do it, Señor. I knew nothing of it till I saw him there on the floor. We quarrelled; yes, the Señor knows that, but I keep my knife for the French; I would not—"
"Take me to the place," interrupted Jack coldly. Staying only to pull on his boots, he accompanied the man to the dirty lane and into the dingy house from which Miguel had stealthily issued some six hours before. Pepito was at his heels as he climbed the filthy staircase; the gipsy sniffed and snorted at the foul odours his nostrils encountered, and put his hand on his knife as he passed each doorway.
They entered the attic. The gray light of a dull morning coming through a narrow skylight barely illuminated the sordid room. On the floor, stretched on his face, with arms extended towards the door, lay the figure of the guerrillero. This was no death in fair fight, face to face with his enemy; but the base, stealthy thrust of an assassin.
"That is how I found him, Señor," said Antonio.
"Yes; it is the Spanish way."
He had noticed that the dead man's hand clasped a knife. Stooping, he removed it from his grasp; the steel was bright and clear, as though it had never been used for any but innocent purposes. Jack, as he held the weapon, reflected. The man had drawn his knife. It must have been for attack or for self-defence against an enemy in front of him; therefore the blow from behind that killed him must have been dealt by a second person. Antonio was scarcely likely to have brought another man into his personal quarrel; Jack was inclined to believe that he was guiltless, as he said. He looked around the room; there were few signs of a scuffle. It was useless to institute an enquiry among the other people in the house, and the sound of musketry and cannon-shots without already called him to his duties.
"Bury the poor wretch," he said, "and then come to me."
"The Señor believes I did not do it?"
"Yes, yes; we have no time for enquiries. There is work for us who are left alive."
He hurried away. There had been something sinister about the guerrillero, something that Jack could not fathom; perhaps it was resentment at a stranger being brought in and placed above him; but Jack could not help feeling a passing pity for the Spaniard who had met his death by the hands presumably of one of his own countrymen, instead of in heroic combat with the enemy.
He returned to his post. The situation as it had been left on the previous evening had now been complicated. The cannon-shots he had heard in the attic had been fired from two pieces mounted by the French at the angle of the street. An epaulement of sand-bags and gabions had been thrown across between the ruined blocks, and from that point of vantage the French gunners were pointing their cannon so that their shots fell plump upon the walls of the Casas Vega and Tobar. These, it was clear, would before long be a heap of ruins. Jack sent men to the end of his subterranean galleries to listen whether mining operations had been resumed by the French. When they returned, reporting that no sound could be heard, he concluded that the signal failure of their last mines had been enough for the enemy, and that in future they would probably trust entirely to cannonade, followed by attacks in force. He could not reply to their artillery; all that lay in his power was to hold his men in readiness to repel a charge, and to fire his long Y-shaped mines when the French attack was being pressed home.
Some two hours later he was consulting with Don Cristobal on the possibilities of capturing the French guns in a night attack, when Pepito came up, looking even more than usually mysterious. He stood before Jack with his hands behind him, waiting until his master, now deeply engrossed in conversation, should notice him.
"I should dearly like to make the attempt," Jack was saying, "but your arguments are, I am afraid, conclusive. We can't afford to lose any of our men unless we can be sure of success, and after their recent warnings I don't think we shall catch the French napping. We must give up the idea, I suppose, but you will see that our men keep a keen watch on the epaulement, Señor— Well, what is it, Pepito?"
Pepito came forward carelessly.
"I found these, Señor," he said, handing two papers to Jack, who took them carelessly. Without unfolding them, he asked:
"Where did you get these?"
"In the tall house, Señor."
"Which tall house?"
"Where the Señor went just now."
"Where the man was murdered?"
"Sí, Señor. The big Antonio took him away. I was there. In a minute, two men came in. 'Now we get a bed,' they say. They pull the dirty quilt off the bed. One man carries it; the other pulls off the mattress. There, on the boards, I see two papers. I snatch them, and say: 'I take these to the Señor Capitan'. The man laughs; and here they are, Señor."
Jack unfolded the papers and glanced at them curiously. Suddenly he started, and keenly scrutinized one of them.
"It is explained now, Señor," he said to Don Cristobal, at the same time laying the papers before him. "Quintanar was a spy."
"An afrancesado!" ejaculated the Spaniard.
"Unhappily. One of the papers, you see, is a pass through the French lines; the other a rough plan of our defences. See, the miserable fellow had begun to dot in our mines under the houses opposite. Someone must have discovered his treachery, and killed him without remorse."
"So perish all traitors!" said Don Cristobal.
At this moment a man rushed in with the news that a small breach had been made in the wall of the Casa Tobar.
"We must do something to check them," said Jack, rising. "A few good marksmen on the top of this house might pick off their gunners; let us go and see."
They went up the staircase towards the roof, Pepito, left alone, put his hand into his pocket, and drew out a small silver buckle, such as Spanish burghers and officers wore on their shoes.
"Señor has the papers," he muttered. "Ca! I have the buckle. The buckle is better than the papers."
He swung it round his forefinger, humming under his breath, and was still toying with it when Jack came downstairs again. Then he hurriedly thrust it into his pocket, and stood unconcernedly as though waiting for orders.
A moment's glance had shown Jack that his plan of placing marksmen on the roof would be useless. The Casas Vega and Tobar, though much lower than the Casa Alvarez, were not low enough to allow an effective fire over them. But what could not be done from the Casa Alvarez might be done from the lower roofs nearer the guns. Jack lost no time in making his way to the flat roof of the Casa Tobar. Carefully crawling along and peeping over, he saw that the angle of depression was just sharp enough to allow a good marksman to take aim at the gunners' heads. It would be dangerous work, for the French would instantly perceive the source of the shots, and would bring a concentrated fire to bear in return. There was no parapet to the roof, but a parapet could perhaps be extemporized with sand-bags, between which the Spaniards' muskets might be placed.
Returning to the ground, Jack explained what he had in his mind, and Antonio at once volunteered to make the attempt. With some of his men he climbed to the roof, where they pushed sand-bags along until they came to the edge. Then one of the men tried a shot. He missed. But Antonio took more deliberate aim, through the interstice between two sand-bags, and hit one of the French gunners in the arm.
Three Frenchmen had been hit before the enemy discovered whence came these disconcerting shots. Then bullets began to patter on the walls and roof. But the Spaniards were too well protected by their extemporized parapet to be in much fear, and continued their firing without suffering serious loss. Before the day was out the French found it the part of discretion to withdraw their gunners, and for the time being the cannon were useless.
Jack was not surprised next morning to learn that the French mining work had been renewed. This time the sounds were heard in the Casa Vallejo. The French had evidently seen that their only chance of carrying the position was by reverting to the slow burrowing which had been successful in earlier days. Jack went himself to the attacked house. The sounds through the wall were very faint, but there could be no doubt that the enemy were engaged in repairing the gallery destroyed in the sortie, though they were as yet thirty or forty feet away. It was probable that they had resumed, or would soon resume, operations in the Casas Vega and Tobar also, and dispositions must be made to meet them.
It was Jack's practice every morning to call the roll of the men under his charge. Every day the force dwindled, and the physical weakness of the survivors had patently increased. Wishing to spare them as much as possible, he had been indisposed to set them to the arduous work of mining until he felt sure that he was seriously threatened. The fact that the French had resumed their tunnelling showed that there was now no time to be lost, and the morning was but little advanced when men were busily engaged in clearing out the galleries, in Vega and Tobar, that had been tamped and fired, so that they might be recharged. But while the sounds of mining grew clearer in front of Vallejo, hours passed without the Spaniards detecting any signs of activity towards the other two houses. Leaving men to keep watch there, and report if any change took place, Jack returned to Vallejo, where it seemed evident that the only present danger was to be apprehended.
He stood with Don Cristobal near the end of the short gallery beneath Vallejo and the ruined house beyond. About eleven o'clock he was struck by a difference in the sounds, which up to the present had been fitfully interrupted.
"Listen, Señor!" he said to Don Cristobal. "I fancy the French are making several tunnels this time. Don't you think so? There is no break in the sound now, as there would be if they were driving only one or two; and yet there is a slight difference in the quality of the sound at successive moments. Do you hear? There; that was a deeper sound than the one before it."
"You are right, Señor," returned the Spaniard. "We can do little on our side, I fear."
"No. You see what a piece of arrant folly that rush of Santiago Sass was. Several of our best miners were killed; and what with the necessity of defending the barricades, and maintaining constant garrisons in the houses, we simply can't hope to match the French underground. All we can do is to wait till the right moment comes, and then explode our little mine first. If we let the French anticipate us, the explosion of several mines at once will blow ours up or make it useless, and all our work will be thrown away."
"How many galleries do you think the enemy are cutting?"
"If we listen carefully we can tell."
They were silent, and after about a quarter of an hour Jack declared that he had counted four separate operations. He sent for one of the more experienced miners, and asked him to count independently. The man confirmed his opinion, adding that he thought there would be no danger of explosions from the French side for a day or two.
The rest of that day passed quietly. But early next morning the necessity of maintaining adequate guards at the exposed points of his position was brought home to Jack. During the night a large number of French had been silently posted in the ruined house at the end of the lane to the north of the Casa Vega. Issuing from these ruins, almost as soon as day dawned, they rushed towards the barricade, bearing fascines and scaling-ladders. But Don Cristobal, who was in command at this point, proved equal to the occasion. He sent off a messenger to Jack in the Casa Alvarez as soon as he saw signs of the French movement, and with the thirty resolute men of his command he held the enemy off, showing much coolness in awaiting their onset and ordering his men to fire at the right moment. When Jack came up at the head of a considerable reinforcement, the French were decisively driven off, leaving more than a score of dead behind them. They retired in confusion, some going into the ruins from which the attack had been made, others retreating down the street until they found protection from the Spaniards' musketry at the sharp bend in the roadway.
Hastening then to the Casa Vallejo, Jack found that the sounds of miners at work had been steadily growing more distinct. It was clearly time to prepare his own mine. The gallery extended some six feet beneath the floor of the ruined house adjoining. A heavy charge was laid in it; then the mine was tamped as quickly as possible. All was now in readiness. Through that day Jack scarcely left the place for a moment. It was of the utmost importance that the time for exploding the mine should be well chosen. He dared not run the risk of allowing the French to drive the heads of their tunnels past his own, for indeed they might not pass it, but come clean upon it, in which case they would either explode it themselves, or more probably withdraw the charge. His object was to allow them to approach as near as seemed safe, and then to fire the train. After an anxious day he retired to rest, convinced that a sharp conflict could no longer be much delayed.
At ten o'clock next morning, the 8th of February, he judged that the French miners could only be a few feet distant. Withdrawing all his men from the Casa Vallejo to the Casa Hontanon, next door, he waited tensely for a few minutes, then himself fired the train. There was a thunderous explosion, the walls of the room in which he was seemed to rock, then came the crash of falling beams, followed by a death-like silence. The mine had done its terrible work effectually; for the rest of the day there was no further sound of the French.
Meanwhile, on the other side of the Ebro the French were gradually preparing for a grand assault. The part of the city along the river bank had been hitherto little damaged, for it was protected by the transpontine suburb of San Lazaro, and to some extent by a few gun-boats moored near the bridge. The key to the position was the Jesus Convent, a building of bricks, with a ditch on the French side of it. The French batteries had made large breaches in its masonry, but in order to carry it by storm it was first necessary for the enemy to trench their way towards it by slow degrees, every step having to be taken under fire from the walls. Their work was delayed for a time by a sudden rise of the river inundating their trenches and driving them back for several hundred yards—a flood hailed with joy by the defenders, who regarded it as another miraculous interposition on the part of Our Lady of the Pillar.
Their condition was becoming pitiful in the extreme. All fresh meat and vegetables were exhausted; they had nothing now to subsist on but fish and salt meat. The few chickens that could be got each sold for a sum equivalent to an English pound. The French had seized all the water-mills along the banks of the river, so that the corn, of which the Spaniards yet possessed large stores, could not be ground, and they were forced to make a rough unwholesome bread of grain merely crushed or bruised. Fever, bred in the damp vaults in which most of the people lived, was carrying off hundreds every day; yet the emaciated survivors scarcely murmured, and the faintest suggestion of surrender was still sufficient to carry a man to the gibbet. Cheered by their brave untiring priests, they hoped against hope that relief would come.
But the floods subsided, and there was no sign of the long-expected succour. On the morning of February 8th, twenty-two French guns opened fire on the convent. Within a few hours the outer walls were battered down; then Marshal Lannes in person ordered the place to be carried by assault. Five hundred men instantly sprang from the trenches. The Spaniards in the convent, mingled regulars and monks, made what resistance they could, but they were unnerved by the preceding cannonade, and before the furious rush of the French grenadiers they fled and left the convent to its fate. Within the walls the French found hundreds of wounded and sick, and in the courtyard there were some two hundred corpses, men, women, and children, piled up awaiting burial. Even the French were sick at heart when they saw on these pale cold faces the terrible signs of fasting and disease. They themselves had suffered in their trenches. Among them too men fell fast; and even in their ranks there were heard murmurs against the long waiting of this cruel siege.
But though they had gained possession of the convent, their capture of the whole suburb was to be delayed for yet a few days. News was brought in to the French marshal, from his outlying positions, that a Spanish army was marching towards the city. The captain-general's brother, Francisco Palafox, had succeeded in raising a small force of 4000 men, and was now but twenty miles away. The attack could not be pressed in this quarter until the exact strength of the new enemy was ascertained. Marshal Lannes himself, therefore, drew off with 12,000 men, and once more the hopes of the dwindling garrison within the walls flickered up into the semblance of a flame.
Meanwhile Jack, in his little district, had become convinced that the defence could not be maintained for many more days. But he was determined to hold his own to the very end. After his explosion beyond the Casa Vallejo there had been a prolonged silence on the French side, but in the evening renewed sounds of mining in two quarters showed that though two of the four French galleries had been injured, the other two were still workable. It was only a matter of hours before the wall must fall. All that Jack could do was to ensure that the house should be held as long as possible after the explosion of the French mines, and that this should cause his men the minimum of loss. During the night of the 8th he built a fresh barricade between Vallejo and Tobar, some yards in the rear of the first one, leaving a means of ingress into the threatened house. On the roof of Tobar he stationed men, just before dawn, to give notice of any French movements in the ruins at the farther end of the block. Meanwhile the garrison of Vallejo were withdrawn behind the barricade, with orders to rush in and reoccupy the house as soon as the explosion had taken place.
At seven o'clock on the morning of the 9th a deep rumbling noise, as of a miniature earthquake, shook the quarter. Volumes of pungent smoke rolled along the lanes, and the crashing sounds proclaimed that the party-wall of Vallejo had fallen in.
"Into the house!" shouted Jack.
The men burst into the building. Taking advantage of the cover afforded by heaps of shattered masonry, woodwork, and furniture, they stood firm to meet the attack of the French, who, as soon as the dust and smoke began to clear, charged furiously up to the ruined wall. Their front ranks were mowed down by the withering fire of the Spaniards, but the gaps were instantly filled, and the undaunted enemy pressed on again. The volumes of smoke and the heaped wreckage of the house made it difficult sometimes for the combatants to see one another. For the moment the advantage was with the Spaniards. Nothing could dislodge them from behind their barricades of brickwork, furniture, even piles of books. But the French were swarming in at the other end of the block of buildings, and some, mounting on heaps of débris, were able to fire over the heads of the men in front of them into the Spanish position. Jack saw that with the fall of the party-wall of Vallejo the remains of the roof and front wall of the house beyond had also come down. Profiting by this circumstance, he sent a number of men on to the roof of Tobar, whence they were able to enfilade the French marksmen. They were assisted by a strong fire from the front barricade, where Antonio, now the leader of the guerrilleros, was doing yeoman service. Finding that after repeated charges no impression had been made on the Spanish defences, the French drew back disheartened, and, unwilling to face the risk of meeting again such heavy losses, made no further serious attempt during the morning to carry the position. The action degenerated into a fitful exchange of musket-shots, whenever a Frenchman or a Spaniard incautiously exposed himself.
"Well done, hombres!" said Jack, who had gone from point to point cheering them on, reinforcing weak spots, narrowly escaping the enemy's bullets as he moved at times across the line of fire. He had been quick to mark instances of special bravery or skill, and the few words of praise he spoke nerved the ardent Spaniards to still more strenuous exertions.
In the afternoon, as he was resting in the Casa Alvarez, news was brought that the French had been seen clearing away parts of the débris in the ruins at the farther end of the Vallejo block.
"What does that mean?" he exclaimed, starting up. "They will only expose themselves to direct fire from the roofs and the barricade."
Hastening with Don Cristobal to the roof of the Casa Tobar, he sought for an explanation of the new movement. Suddenly it occurred to him: the French were about to bring the gun, which had been driven away from the angle of the street, to a position whence it would bear upon Vallejo, and the work they were doing was for the purpose of clearing away anything that might intercept its fire.
"We can't hold Vallejo against a bombardment," he remarked. "Stay! Perhaps Don Casimir would lend us a gun from his ramparts. Things have been pretty quiet with him lately. Antonio, run off with twenty men and ask Don Casimir to let you have an eight-pounder, with grape and round-shot. If we can get a gun to bear, Señor, the work the French are doing will assist us as much as themselves."
"Can we mount the gun?" asked Don Cristobal, descending with Jack.
"We can but try. 'Where there's a will there's a way', as we say in England."
Twenty minutes later Antonio returned with his men, hauling the eight-pounder briskly along towards the barricade. It was easily taken into the patio of the Casa Vallejo, but to move it thence into a position facing the French would necessitate the breaking of the wall of one of the ground-floor rooms.
It was approaching nightfall when, from his post of observation on the roof of Tobar, Jack saw that the French had completed their work. He could just perceive the muzzle of their gun, carefully blinded with beams, protruding from a sort of screen in the ruins of the second house from Vallejo. He was confident that they would not begin their bombardment until the following morning, and he hoped to use the hours of darkness to place his own gun. Before darkness fell, with Don Cristobal's help he took, from several points, careful observations of the position of the French gun, and on the stone floor of the room opening on to the patio in Vallejo he drew chalk lines indicating what appeared to be a suitable position for his eight-pounder.
As soon as it was dark he set two men to break a way with picks through the wall of the patio, at a spot where there was a window. The work was carried out with the aid of dark lanterns, large pieces of cloth being hung over every gap to conceal any glimmer of light from the French. The gun was then hauled through the hole and laid by the chalk lines; it was screened with bags of earth, and then, after it had been loaded with ball, a horse-blanket was hung over the muzzle, which alone was in sight of the enemy.
"Now we can get some sleep, Señor," said Jack. "We've had a hard day's work. I confess I'm longing for the morning, to see whether we can once more get in first. You have arranged the sentries for the night?"
"Yes. Nothing has been neglected."
"A special guard for the gun?"
"Antonio and two of his guerrilleros will take turns through the night."
"We haven't any better men. I can hardly keep my eyes open. Come along."
There was but a faint glimmer of light beyond the Ebro when Jack again took his place beside the gun.
"I'm not a gunner," he remarked to Don Cristobal, "but I fancy I can manage to lay and fire it myself; it's point-blank range, you see; I can hardly miss. Now, hombres," he said, turning to the eight men with him, "everything depends on our shooting first, so keep as mum as door-mats."
Waiting till the increasing light showed him clearly the muzzle of the enemy's gun, he carefully pointed his own piece. He aimed at a beam covering the gun at a point which, as nearly as he could judge, corresponded with the trunnion. Don Cristobal watched him anxiously as he lit the match. What would be the result of the shot? One moment of suspense, then Jack applied the match; there was a flash and a roar, followed immediately by the crashing of timber.
It was impossible to see the effect of the shot through the cloud of smoke that hung between the buildings; but, whatever it was, Jack knew that it would awake the enemy to feverish activity. Running his piece in, he had it rapidly sponged and then reloaded with grape. While this was being done, he sent orders to the garrison to open fire on the French position, to which there would certainly be a rush. As soon as the smoke cleared he saw that the French gun had also been run in. Before it could be loaded, however, Jack applied his second match; his canister of grape searched every square foot of the area around the French gun, and the men serving it were annihilated. Before another complement of gunners could be brought up, Jack had his piece cleaned and charged again, this time with round-shot. He saw now that the first shot had broken and splintered the beam; the third shivered it to fragments. A great cheer arose from the garrison when they saw the damage already done. A second charge of grape, together with sharp musketry-fire from every point occupied by the Spaniards, scattered the French reinforcements who were now attempting frantically to withdraw the gun out of range. Again Jack loaded with shot, and a fierce shout of exultation broke from the Spaniards on the roof-tops as they saw the enemy's gun completely dismounted, and the remnant of the French fly in all haste to the rear.
This spirited defence had the effect of keeping the French quiet in that quarter for the rest of the day. Jack maintained his vigilance unrelaxed, but there was no movement from the enemy's direction either above or below ground.
"Another day saved!" said Jack to Don Casimir, who, having heard of what had happened, had come to congratulate him on his successful manipulation of the gun.
"Yes, one more day. But how long can we still hold out?" replied Don Casimir. "Surely, Señor Lumsden, you are not among the credulous people who think that we shall save the city?"
"Since you ask me plainly, Don Casimir, I am not. But what does that matter? We have to hold our quarters, and I confess that I sha'n't be satisfied unless I can say, when the end comes, that here at all events we are still unbeaten.—Do look at that odd little gipsy boy of mine. He is a strange child. When the fighting is going on he is never to be found; he hasn't any courage of that sort; but he always turns up when it is over, and looks as proud as though he had fought with the best. What has the brat got now?"