Pepito approached jauntily, twirling a small silver buckle round on his finger."Well, what is the mischief now?" asked Jack with a smile."That is for Señor to say," replied Pepito gravely."You found that buckle, I suppose. Well, it looks a very good silver buckle; what is there to explain?""I found it in the tall house. It was under the dead man. I saw it when they took him away.""Yes. What then?"Pepito put his hand into his pocket and produced a second buckle, the exact fellow of the first."Now I have two," he said."So I see. One isn't much use without the other. I suppose you will want them sewn on your shoes now. You found that too, eh?""No, I cut it off. Señor thinks they are the buckles a poor Busno would wear?""Well, no; they are a little unusual for a guerrillero, certainly. But he may have been a bandit first.""No, no. They were not his. Señor, listen as I tell. I find in the room one buckle; I think I know it. I put it in my pocket. I go out at once into the streets to look. What do I see? I see a man walk; one shoe has a buckle, the other shoe has not. I open my eyes wide; I say to myself: 'Ho! ho! That is what I thought!' But I was not sure. I wait. A time comes. I see the one-buckle Señor go into the Café Arcos. I follow; big Jorge Arcos knows me now. I keep much in the dark; Señor One-buckle must not see me. But I see him; I see his foot; I am under the table. I put buckle one next to buckle two; they are brothers. I take my knife and cut off buckle two. It is Señor No-buckle now! Señor knows?"Jack had been impressed, not so much by the gipsy's story as by the solemnity of his manner of telling it."You have something more to tell me. What is it?""Señor One-buckle, Señor No-buckle—who is it? One-buckle, I find it under the dead man in the tall house; two-buckle, I cut it from the shoe of—of the master of Señor One-eye.""Señor Priego?""Sí, Señor!"CHAPTER XXVIWanted: Don Miguel PriegoCircumstantial Evidence—A Council of War—Miguel's Despatch—A Statement of Facts—The Inevitable Inference—Shambles—In the Belfry—Without Guile—The People's CurseJack had had so many evidences of Pepito's sagacity that he could not doubt the accuracy of the boy's report. The shoe buckles almost certainly belonged to Don Miguel. From this one seed of fact sprang a whole sheaf of problems. Miguel had been in the room when the guerrillero was murdered; he may not have dealt the blow himself, but certainly he was there. Then why was he there? Had he learnt that the man was an afrancesado and gone personally to serve him as every good Spaniard would wish to serve a traitor? That was improbable, for the murder had been committed in secret, no report had been made of it, and Miguel was not the man to let slip the chance of adding to his popularity by ridding the city of a domestic foe. No, he had not gone to the house as an enemy; could he have gone to it as a friend? What bond of union could there be between Don Miguel Priego, in civil life a well-to-do merchant and now also major in Palafox's hussars, and a poor obscure peasant who had no standing whatever as a citizen or a soldier?Suddenly the idea came to him: could Miguel have visited the man because he was an afrancesado? The suggestion was like the letting out of a flood. Jack recalled the suspicious entry of Miguel and his man into Saragossa; the strange tale about an overpowered sentry; the curious reappearance of a sentinel in the French trenches almost immediately afterwards. Had Miguel got in, not in spite of the French, but with their connivance? His rapid journey across country from Seville: how could that be accounted for unless he had been helped through the districts in French occupation, and provided with relays of post-horses at every stage? The inevitable conclusion was that Miguel was himself an afrancesado, and had come into the city on some traitorous errand. Knowing that the guerrillero was of the same kidney, he had visited him for some purpose of his own. A quarrel had arisen; during the struggle one of his buckles had been wrenched off, and it lay unnoticed on the floor. It was improbable that Miguel himself had dealt Quintanar the fatal blow; but, remembering Perez, the one-eyed man, Jack was in little doubt where to look for the assassin.There was only one thing wanted to complete his assurance of Miguel's treachery. Miguel had certainly brought to Palafox a despatch from the Supreme Junta at Seville. If he were a true Spaniard, and had really gained admittance to the city by a hazardous feat of arms, the despatch must have been intact when Palafox received it. On the other hand, if Miguel was a spy, in the pay of the French, it was little likely that they would have allowed a despatch to pass through their lines without mastering its contents. In that case they must have found means to open and read it, without leaving anything to arouse suspicion in the mind of Palafox when he received it. How was that possible? Palafox would certainly have remarked any sign of tampering with the seal; the despatch could not have been opened without tampering with the seal, and that— Stay! Jack vaguely remembered having read somewhere that a seal could be removed by dexterously slipping a thin hot blade between it and the paper. Had that been done with Miguel's despatch? The question had no sooner formed itself in Jack's mind than conviction flashed upon him; he felt absolutely sure that the man he had always so much disliked on personal grounds was a renegade and a traitor.Next morning he rose from his bed unrefreshed, but with a plan of action formed. He made his dispositions for the continued defence of his district with keenness and care. Then, somewhat after one o'clock, he left the work in charge of Don Cristobal, and made his way by narrow lanes towards the other end of the city. The streets were almost entirely deserted now; only a few brave women and ministering priests went about fearlessly on errands of mercy. All the men were engaged on the ramparts or in the houses, striving with dogged energy to hinder the creeping advance of the French. He had crossed the part of the city most in danger from bombardment or mines when he met Tio Jorge, whom he had not seen for a few days."Tio," he said, "can you come with me? I am going to see the general, and I should like you to be with me.""Assuredly, Señor. And in truth, I think it well you should have a friend with you, for the murmurs against you are growing stronger. It is whispered that an afrancesado was lately slain in your quarter, and men are saying that he was not the only one there. They are puzzled, for if you are an afrancesado, as some think, why are you fighting the French so desperately every day? I only tell you what they think and say, Señor; it is well I am your friend."Jack set his lips; he traced this to Miguel's inveterate malice. Hurrying along with the big peasant, he arrived at the Aljafferia Castle, and was admitted after some delay to Palafox's room. The general had now taken to his bed; the fever had gained a terrible hold upon him, and but for his indomitable spirit he would probably ere this have died. He was surrounded by a group of his advisers, among them Don Basilio, Santiago Sass, Padre Consolacion, and General San March, who, having failed to hold the Monte Torrero against the French in the early days of the siege, had since been under a cloud. The priests scowled at Jack as he approached; the lean Santiago Sass and the rotund Padre Consolacion looked at him with equal distrust."Come, Tio Jorge," said General San March, "you are in time to support me. I have been asking the captain-general to allow me to lead a sortie across the Ebro, now that the French are weakened there by the withdrawal of so many men.""Useless, useless!" cried Palafox from his bed."Useless, Señores!" echoed Tio Jorge. "What men have we now for sorties? Three weeks ago, yes; but now—most of our men can hardly stagger under the weight of their muskets. The time for sorties is past; but let us hope the French are withdrawn from San Lazaro by news of our brothers coming to aid us—""And we will never give in, never give in!" cried Santiago Sass. "No, not even though traitors within our walls give the gates to the enemy."Tio Jorge was on the point of resenting, on Jack's behalf, the glare with which the priest accompanied these words; but Jack laid his hand on the man's arm, and, advancing to the bedside, spoke to the worn figure lying there."You remember, Señor, the despatch that was brought to you from the Supreme Junta, little more than a week ago, by one of your officers who made his way by night through the French lines?""I remember it.""You have that despatch still?""I have. Why do you ask?""Pardon me, Señor, you will see in a few moments. You observed nothing unusual about the seal?""Nothing.""It was the usual seal of the Junta," put in Don Basilio. "I have the despatch.""Will you allow me to look at it?"The chaplain hesitated; he appeared to be about to ask a question, but Tio Jorge interposed."The despatch, Señor Padre! The Señor has a reason; I know it not, but he fought with me by the Casa Ximenez, and what he says, por Dios! there is sense in it.""Produce the despatch, Padre," said Palafox.Don Basilio went to a cabinet, and after a little search found the despatch and handed it to Jack. The seal was broken across the middle. Jack examined the edges carefully, lifting the wax slightly with his thumb nail. He looked up."It is as I thought," he said. "Will Don Basilio look?"The priest took the paper and looked at it with an air of puzzlement and surprise."I see red wax and paper," he said coldly. "What of that?""Do you not see, Señor Padre, a slight browning of the paper beneath, as though it had been scorched?"The chaplain scrutinized the seal again. The other priests watched him in silence; Palafox kept his burning eyes fixed on Jack; and Tio Jorge stood with his lips parted as though wondering what deep mystery was concerned here."I do see a faint coloration," said Don Basilio at length; "a light tinge at the edge of the wax, becoming a little darker beneath the seal. What then?""This, Señor. The paper, I suggest, was scorched by the passage of a hot keen blade beneath the seal."There was a painful silence. Then Tio Jorge cried, "Por Dios! that explains everything. It is all clear. The man that brought it is a villain, an afrancesado, Señores! And 'tis he who has sought to harm the brave English Señor here! Death to all traitors! Death to Don Miguel Priego!""Stay, stay!" said Padre Consolacion, his round face wearing a look of concern. "This is a terrible charge to bring against a reputable citizen of Saragossa.""One of my own hussars," murmured Palafox."He was my pupil," continued the padre. "I have known him since he was an infant. I knew his father, an estimable man; he cannot be a traitor. If the despatch was opened, it must have been without his knowledge. Of that I am sure.""The evidence is not sufficient—not sufficient," said Palafox. "You must be mistaken, Señor Lumsden.""I am sorry, Señores," returned Jack; "but will you bear with me while I put certain facts before you? You remember how strangely Don Miguel made his entrance into the city some days ago? He had overcome a sentinel, he and his man, and came by night across the Huerba, scaling our ramparts by the aid of muskets held out to him by two of Don Casimir's men. I was present, Señores, at the time. I had just gone to take over the command with which the Señor Capitan-general honoured me, and was walking along the ramparts with Don Casimir Ulloa, who told me how amazed he was to see no sentinel in the French trenches, where for many nights before a sentinel had never failed to be. Even as he spoke we saw two figures creep down the slope and approach the walls. They, as you know, were Don Miguel Priego and his man. They forded the river, clambered up the slope on our side, and were assisted over our ramparts, and we heard from Don Miguel's lips the story he told the general afterwards.""It was a bold feat," interjected Padre Consolacion. "Don Miguel was ever a man of daring.""But, Señores," continued Jack, "no sooner was Don Miguel safely within our walls than, in the French lines opposite, a sentinel suddenly reappeared. Had the Frenchman, slain by Don Miguel, come to life again? Why had Don Casimir heard no sound? Would the discovery of their dead sentinel have been regarded by the French as an ordinary accident, of no more account than the finding of a dead rat? And now we find that the despatch brought by Don Miguel had been opened. Is it not natural to conclude that it was opened by the French, and that the temporary absence of the sentinel was part of an arrangement between them and Don Miguel to give colour to his story?""Surmise! All baseless surmise!" said Padre Consolacion."One thing more," went on Jack quietly. "The other night a man was murdered in my quarter of the city. He was assassinated in his room at the top of a lofty house. In that room was found this pass through the French lines, and this drawing of our defences."Everyone started as Jack produced the papers."Besides these, there was found this shoe-buckle, that had been torn off in the man's scuffle with his assailant. Two days afterwards the fellow-buckle was brought to me, and Don Miguel Priego was seen in the streets with shoes which had both lost their buckles. It was this that convinced me. Had Don Miguel reason to dispute with an afrancesado unless—""Enough!" cried Santiago Sass. "It is clear he is a proved villain! To the gallows with him! Where is he? With my own hand will I hang him in the midst of the Coso! To the gallows! To the gallows!"And, gathering his cassock about him, the priest rushed madly from the room. Almost before the door was closed behind him a tremendous explosion set the whole building vibrating, and caused Palafox almost to jump from his bed."My convent!" cried Padre Consolacion. "It is my convent at last! Tio Jorge, come; they will have need of us.""And of me!" cried Palafox, springing up."Stay, José," said Don Basilio, "you are not fit to go out.""Do not stay me, Padre," answered Palafox, clasping his cloak, and with trembling fingers buckling on his sword. "I must go; I must share the dangers of my people."The chaplain made no further protest, and soon Palafox, accompanied by San March, Tio Jorge, and Jack, was hastening towards the scene of one of the most awful catastrophes that ever befell a beleaguered city. The French, undetected by the defenders, had driven a mine beneath the great Franciscan convent, and charged it with 3000 pounds of powder. The convent was at the moment full of fighting-men; the cellars were occupied by many families of citizens; and one part of the building was crammed with 400 workpeople, men and women, who were there engaged in making clothes for the soldiers. All these perished when the mine was fired; and when Palafox arrived on the scene, the whole district for many yards around was strewn not merely with broken masonry, but with mutilated human remains.All thought of Don Miguel's treason was for the moment banished by the hideous spectacle. Yet, awful as the damage was, the Spaniards had not awaited the arrival of their leaders before attempting reprisals. A wide opening had been made by the explosion, in the wall near the porch; the pavement of the church of San Francisco had been torn up; altars, pulpits, columns, arches, lay in shattered fragments; but Spaniards had rushed in from the streets, and, barricading themselves behind the ruins, were showering bullets upon the incoming French. Some had climbed into the galleries; others had mounted by a narrow spiral staircase into the belfry, which had strangely withstood the shock; and from these elevated positions they poured murderous volleys upon the invaders. As the rays of sunlight streamed through the broken stained-glass windows, they fell upon groups of furious combatants, imparting varied tints to the clouds of smoke and dust that rolled through the shattered nave, and glinting on the bayonets of the French infantry as they pressed desperately forward. The Spaniards fought with the fury of despair. Inspirited by the presence of their idolized general, by the heroic efforts of Tio Jorge, and the fiery exhortations of Padre Consolacion and Santiago Sass, who had soon appeared on the scene, they defended every nook and corner with obstinate tenacity, and when night put an end to the terrible conflict, had succeeded, at a huge cost, in driving the French from a portion of the building.Jack had climbed into the belfry along with a body of peasants under the command of a French émigré, the Comte de Fleury. He was almost overcome by the sickening sight. All around, the roofs of the neighbouring houses were covered with dismembered limbs; the gutters, through which for eight centuries nothing but rain had streamed, now ran red with blood, that poured into the street as if from the mouths of the dragons, vultures, and winged monsters that decorated the Gothic walls. He could not help exclaiming at the folly of maintaining a resistance against such heavy odds. It was terrible enough that soldiers, whose duty brought them face to face with sudden death, should fall by hundreds to the French arms; but innocent and helpless citizens, young boys and girls, were all included in this late carnage, and Jack shuddered at the dire results of what he could now only regard as sheer obstinacy and blind rage.Creeping down when the din was over, and French and Spaniards alike were resting from the fray, he found that Palafox, in a complete state of collapse, was being carried back to his bed. Along with Tio Jorge, Jack accompanied the sad group. The halls of the Aljafferia Castle were thronged with some of the more substantial merchants who were yet left alive. They had come to plead with the general to ask for terms from the French. But at the first suggestion there arose such an outcry from the peasants and the poorer citizens, incited by their priests, that the merchants were in danger of being torn limb from limb. No voice was louder than that of Santiago Sass in demanding that the defence should be still continued. The French who had withdrawn from the eastern suburbs had not yet reappeared, and the priest vehemently declared that the catastrophe at the Franciscan convent was the turning-point of the siege, and that from that moment the hand of Our Lady of the Pillar would work wonders on behalf of her city. Backed up by him, the people clamoured for a proclamation to be issued, enjoining still more strenuous resistance, and not till this had been drawn up by Don Basilio, and Palafox had affixed his tremulous signature, did the crowd disperse.Jack remained for some time in the castle. He wished he was older and more experienced. He then might have pointed out to some of the bitterest of the Junta what fearful hardship they were bringing on the city by their insensate resistance. But he saw that they were in no temper to listen to expostulations from anyone, and he dared not speak his thoughts even to his friend Tio Jorge. He was about to return to his own district when he saw Padre Consolacion enter with a brisker step than was usual with him. The priest came straight towards him."Señor, Señor," he said, with a mingled look of regret and indignation, "he that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor endureth a reproach against his neighbour, he shall never be moved. I knew it could not be true; I knew the boy I taught at my knee could not be a traitor; I knew—""Señor Padre," interrupted Jack, "you don't mean to say you have told him?""Indeed, and what more natural? Is it right to condemn unheard? Should I not ask of the man himself what—""Come to the general!" shouted Tio Jorge, catching the priest by the arm. "Come to the general! He must know of what you have done."They made their way to Palafox's room, where none but Don Basilio remained with him."Don José needs sleep," said the chaplain, meeting them at the door. "What do you want with him?""Caramba, Padre!" cried Tio Jorge, "he must know whether the man be a traitor or not. Listen to Padre Consolacion!"The priest seemed amazed at the fuss Tio Jorge was making."I went, Señores, to find Don Miguel Priego, to ask him, on his honour, whether there was a word of truth in the English Señor's story. He was indignant, as I knew he would be. He demanded to know why he, a loyal son of Spain, should be suspected on such flimsy grounds. He scoffed when I spoke of the scorched paper, and—""You told him that, Padre?" said Palafox, raising himself on his elbow."I did, of course, and he flew into a passion, and said that with morning light he would come and meet his accuser and give him the lie to his face.""Send for him now; bring him here instantly. Shall there be treason in our midst? Tio Jorge, do you go and command Don Miguel Priego instantly to my presence."It was an hour before Tio Jorge returned."Proof! Proof of treason!" he cried furiously. "He is gone; he and his man. See what your meddling did, Señor Padre! No sooner was your back turned than the accursed afrancesado fled.""Fled!" echoed the priest in consternation."'Meet his accuser—give him the lie to his face', you said," exclaimed Tio Jorge with bitter mockery, "'with morning light'! He is gone, and even now, I doubt not, is making merry with the French who have hired him. A curse light on him! May he die by a traitor's hand, even as he is a traitor!""Write, Don Basilio," said Palafox, "write a proclamation! Proclaim Miguel Priego to all men a traitor, and call upon all true men to seize upon him and bring him before us to suffer the penalty of his crime. My unhappy country! Let me die, let me die!"He turned his face to the wall. The stern chaplain wrote a proclamation; within an hour printed copies were distributed throughout the town, and the name of Miguel Priego, hitherto lauded to the skies, was now hissed with venomous hate by every loyal citizen of Saragossa.CHAPTER XXVIIThe Eleventh HourTantaene Irae?—Taking thought—Pepito's Charge—Horrors of the Siege—Beyond the River—A Ring of Steel—Unconquered Still—Patriots AllWith morning light the French completed their capture of the Franciscan convent. By a series of desperate charges they cleared the vast ruins of the Spaniards who had held their position during the night, the brave Comte de Fleury and his men were bayoneted on the narrow stairway of the bell-tower, and with one final rush the French pursued the fleeing remnant of the defenders to the very edge of the Coso.Not long afterwards the French outposts beyond the Aljafferia Castle were surprised to see a strange and motley procession issue from the Portillo Gate. A mob of peasants—for the most part women and children—ragged, famished, fever-stricken, almost mad, rushed pell-mell towards the French lines, preferring to die by the hands of the enemy rather than endure longer the terrors of the beleaguered city. Reaching the outposts, they begged to be allowed to pass through towards their village homes; this being refused, they implored the French to kill them, not to drive them back. But the marshal would not forgo this opportunity of teaching the obstinate defenders a lesson. He ordered the poor creatures to be fed, and then sent back to the city, hoping thereby to impress the Spaniards both with his humanity and with the abundance of his stores.When news of this incident was brought to Jack, he read it at once as a sign that the inevitable end could not now be long delayed. Heroic as the defence had been, the strain upon poor human nature was too heavy to be borne, and though the priests and the mob-leaders were still vehemently opposed to surrender, it was clear that only surrender would save the city from the most horrible of fates. Not even the most violent fanatic would have the heart to prolong the struggle for more than a few days.Things being still quiet in his own quarter, Jack determined to see Juanita, and advise her upon her course when the city fell. He left Don Cristobal in charge, and made his tortuous way around the captured part of the town towards the northern end of the city. Pepito accompanied him.Juanita was looking pale and worn. Her aunt was seriously ill, and the girl had spent sleepless nights in watching her."Oh, Jack, Jack," she cried, "surely the end must come now! It is wicked of our Junta to hold out longer. The people are dying like flies. Two were carried out of this very house yesterday. Are we all to die?""General Palafox must capitulate soon," said Jack, "and that is what I wanted to see you about. Have you thought of what you will do when the capitulation takes place?""Why, you will be with me; you will look after my poor aunt and me.""No, I shall be a prisoner.""A prisoner! Oh, but you must escape! It will be easy to escape in the confusion. What shall we do if you are a prisoner, Jack?""I can't run away. I have to defend my quarter till the last. And then—well, it's the fortune of war—the French will make sure of all the officers, you may depend on that. But about yourself, Juanita; you won't be in any danger—except from Miguel.""Why from Miguel? Won't he be a prisoner too?"Jack laughed grimly."Miguel has taken care of that. Last night he disappeared from Saragossa—just in time to escape being gibbeted as an afrancesado, a traitor, and a spy."Juanita's eyes blazed, her cheeks flamed with the hot Spanish blood."Kill him! Kill him, Jack!" she cried. "He was a traitor to my father; he is a traitor to Spain! Oh, if I were a man!"Jack was amazed at the girl's fury."I don't think I'd like to soil my hands with him," he said quietly. "Besides, he will keep out of my way. But don't you see, Juanita, that he will come in with the French, and then—I'm afraid he might bother you, you know."Juanita drew herself up with a proud air."I could borrow a knife!" she said. "A Spanish girl is not afraid to die.""Don't talk like that. What need is there for you to die? I shall have to give you orders, as I give my men. Señorita Juanita Alvarez, you are to make your way, after the capitulation, to some place of safety, where I will find you—"You, a prisoner?""Oh, I don't mean to remain a prisoner! I shall say good-bye to my captors at the earliest possible moment, and then find you, and we will steal our way to the coast, and find a ship and sail for England. Mother will be glad to see you.""I have always wanted to see England," said Juanita musingly. "But what about my property—that all this mystery is about?""We don't know where it is; but, you remember, a duplicate letter was sent to father in London, and we can find out all about it there. And then, when the war is over, no doubt father will come back with you and put everything straight. And then—""Well, Señor?" said Juanita archly."Oh, then I suppose you'll marry a Don—of some sort—""How dare you, Señor Lumsden!" she cried with flashing eyes.Jack looked astonished at her sudden anger."But never mind that," he went on. "The question is, is there anywhere that you can go to when the city falls?""Ay de mí! Our old country house near Morata was shut up months ago; only one old man remains in charge. The garden must now be a waste. But I have friends at Calatayud, some miles farther away, and I could stay with them. It is quite sixty miles distant. Could I get there safely?""I think so. After the siege many peasants will be returning to their homes. I will enquire if any are going in that direction, and will let you know if I find some respectable people with whom you might travel. Your old duenna would, of course, go with you. And then I thought of lending you a special friend of my own, who has done me many a good turn; he is outside now—a young gipsy boy who—"Pepito! Oh, he and I are good friends!""You know him, then?""Of course I do. He comes to see me every day, and talks about you all the time. Strange to say, he thinks a great deal of you, Jack.""Poor little chap! I owe him a good deal. Well, he shall go with you, and you will make your way to Calatayud, and I will come to you there in—let me see, under a week. I shall have had enough of the Frenchmen in a week.""But suppose you can't escape, Jack?""Never fear," said Jack with a smile. "That is all arranged, then?""Yes, I suppose so," replied Juanita doubtfully. "You will be sure to find me, Jack?""Unless you hide away—like your treasure."Returning to his quarter he found that the French had still made no further attempt upon it. The situation indeed, remained unchanged for several days. They were so fully occupied in pushing the advantage they had gained in the direction of the Coso that they could afford to leave Jack's little block of buildings for the present. They continued to occupy the ruins facing the Casa Vallejo, and Jack discovered, by observations made from the roofs of the Casas Tobar and Alvarez, that a considerable body of troops was held ready in Santa Engracia to reinforce any point that should be threatened by the Spaniards.Though his own position was thus left unmolested, every few hours brought news of the steady progress the enemy were making elsewhere. One after another the blocks of buildings adjacent to the Franciscan convent fell into their hands. Jack saw that, even if he could hold his own in front, the French were gradually creeping around his flank, and that in the course of a few days he would be attacked from the east as well as the north. On February 12th Don Casimir sent for the gun he had lent. An urgent message had come from Palafox asking for all artillery that could be spared. It was needed for the defence of the Coso. The French had established two batteries among the ruins of the convent, one of which raked the Coso, while the other commanded the street leading to the bridge across the river. Jack had already withdrawn Don Casimir's gun from the direct view of the French, and he trusted that its total disappearance from his defences would remain for some time undiscovered.But although he was not seriously pressed, he was alarmed to see how his small force had dwindled and was still dwindling in numbers. A few fell by the musket-shots of the French; far more dropped out through sickness, and of these almost none recovered. A form of typhus fever had broken out in the city, attacking especially the guerrilleros from the country and wounded soldiers who had no fixed homes. The Countess Bureta was dead; many of the other ladies who had nobly done their best in nursing the sick and wounded had perished; the stock of medicines was exhausted. Many invalids lay untended on the stone pavements of the courtyards, with nothing but a little straw for their beds. In the intervals of fighting the worn survivors were to be seen sitting on stone benches, shivering in spite of their cloaks, their hands scarcely able to hold their weapons. So weak were they that the slightest wound proved fatal. Jack was sick at heart as he saw his ranks depleted day by day through the loss of some stalwart guerrillero or seasoned tirador who had succumbed to an enemy more terrible than the French.Once or twice he thought of finding relief in leading a desperate sortie on the enemy's entrenchments. But consideration showed him the futility of any such move. He might inflict some loss on the French, but even if he drove them from their advanced position, he could not hope to retain the ground he might thus win. His efforts must be confined to defensive work; he must hold his own, as he had hitherto succeeded in doing. He had now been for a fortnight in command of the Casa Alvarez district, and during that period the French had not made any real progress. Indeed, they had lost very heavily in men, and had suffered so many disasters from the Spanish mines that they appeared for the present to have suspended all mining operations in Jack's quarter.As the days passed by without any serious demonstration against his position, Jack inferred that the French, like the Spaniards, were suffering from the long-continued strain. The force under Marshal Lannes' command was evidently not sufficient to maintain a simultaneous attack on all the points at which they had effected an entrance into the city. On the 13th the corps sent out to drive away the army collected by Francisco Palafox returned to the siege; their mere appearance had been sufficient to scatter the relieving army of which the Saragossans had expected so much. It was at once apparent that the interrupted attack on the San Lazaro suburb was to be actively pressed. The French entrenchments were pushed closer to the river; heavy siege-guns were brought into position, and epaulements were constructed across all the roads by which the Spaniards holding the suburb could escape.On February 18th a vigorous bombardment was commenced. No fewer than fifty-two guns opened fire at daybreak, the main point of attack being the San Lazaro convent, which commanded the bridge across the Ebro, the sole link between the city and the suburb. The effect of the bombardment was stupendous. Roofs crashed in beneath the bursting bombs, the crackle of flames was mingled with the clang of alarm-bells from every belfry, the whole city shook as with an earthquake. The Spanish batteries responded vigorously. The Spaniards fought for every inch of ground in the streets, but they were steadily beaten back. A breach was made in the convent wall; the French rushed in, massacring the monks who dauntlessly opposed them, cutting down without mercy crowds of men, women, and children who had sought a refuge in the church itself. The yells of the combatants were mingled with the screams of the wounded and dying, and not till every one of the occupants of the convent was slain did the hideous clamour cease.Retreat to the city was now cut off, and scattered bands of Spaniards wandered frantically about, seeking a means of escape and finding none. Three hundred, led by a bold fellow named Fernando Gonzalez, succeeded in running the gauntlet of the French fusillade and forcing their way across the bridge into Saragossa. Many who sought to escape by the river were drowned, and 3000 who tried to make their way along the bank towards the country were headed off by a regiment of French cavalry and compelled to lay down their arms. Palafox himself, though so ill that he could scarcely stand, came at the head of his troops to the succour of the suburb, but his efforts were vain. The French remained masters of the position, and were now able to place their guns so as to command the northern part of the city, which hitherto had been almost untouched.While this terrible struggle had been in progress, the Spaniards had suffered a serious disaster elsewhere. At three in the afternoon three huge mines, charged with more than two tons of powder, were exploded beneath the University, which was carried with a rush. With it fell several buildings in its neighbourhood, and in the evening the French penetrated to the Coso, where they gained several houses, among them one which had repulsed no fewer than ten previous assaults. The Spaniards lost ground also near the Trinity convent, and the district known as the Tanneries began to suffer severely from the new French works thrown up in the captured suburb of San Lazaro.That night Jack held a serious consultation with Don Cristobal and several of his more trusty men. The successes won by the French in other parts of the town would no doubt encourage them to make a renewed attack on the only quarter along its outer rim which had yet withstood them."I am not going to give it up without a tussle," said Jack resolutely. "If they bring artillery to bear, our barricades must fall; but we still have the houses opposite. The Y mines in Tobar and Vega will do enormous damage if the French get in there. I rather suspect they will fight shy of the houses and try to rush in from the streets. All that we can do with our little force is to man the windows and roofs of the houses and delay them as long as possible."It was a pathetic sight to see the unquenched eagerness of the haggard crowd. Not one faltered; all were as resolute as though it were the first day of the siege. Jack arranged with them for their respective posts on the morrow, and waited anxiously for daylight.About twelve o'clock on February 20th Tio Jorge and Jorge Arcos were staying their hunger in the latter's café with a mess of boiled rice and half-baked corn-meal. Their begrimed, black-bearded faces wore a look of savage gloom. No one was with them. Outside, in the Coso, not a living person was to be seen."By all the saints, I vow I will not surrender!" Tio Jorge was saying."Nor I!" replied his friend. "Nor would the general himself, but that he is ill. Had he been well, no one could have persuaded him to beg for terms from the French dog. When I heard it last night I could not believe the news. For two months we have fought; shall we yield now? I for one will not yield; I will die rather!""And we could have told the general it would be of no use. We have killed too many of the accursed French for them to let us march away. I could have laughed when Señor Casseillas came back after his journey to the French camp, and said that we must lay down our arms without conditions. And the general is dying! God have his soul! He has given the command to San March. Ay, 'twas San March who lost the Monte Torrero—curse him! But the Junta!—the saints be praised our brave padres are members of the Junta, and will not let the others yield. Traitors, por Dios! I myself will shoot any man, high or low, who counsels surrender. But Don Basilio, and Padre Consolacion, and Padre Santiago Sass—ah, they will never yield! The priests of Spain are men, mi amigo!""Yes; they will fight and—"A shattering explosion from the other side of the Coso interrupted him."Where is that?" cried Tio Jorge, starting up. Running to the door he saw, beyond the Franciscan convent, a cascade of dust and stones darkening the air. "'Tis towards the Casa Alvarez," he cried, "where the English Señor still holds out. The dogs are attacking there. Come, Jorge Arcos, we can do nothing elsewhere; come, and let us help the brave Englishman!"Together they left the café. The crash of the explosion had drawn others to the street, and as the two leaders hurried along, past the barricades, up narrow by-ways, pursuing a roundabout course towards the Huerba, they were joined by ones and twos and threes, who came in answer to their hail. At the corner of a lane near the Seminary thirty men who had escaped with Fernando Gonzalez from San Lazaro swelled their numbers."To the Casa Alvarez!" shouted Tio Jorge.A second explosion made him hasten still more eagerly."To the Casa Alvarez!" he repeated. "War to the knife!"
Pepito approached jauntily, twirling a small silver buckle round on his finger.
"Well, what is the mischief now?" asked Jack with a smile.
"That is for Señor to say," replied Pepito gravely.
"You found that buckle, I suppose. Well, it looks a very good silver buckle; what is there to explain?"
"I found it in the tall house. It was under the dead man. I saw it when they took him away."
"Yes. What then?"
Pepito put his hand into his pocket and produced a second buckle, the exact fellow of the first.
"Now I have two," he said.
"So I see. One isn't much use without the other. I suppose you will want them sewn on your shoes now. You found that too, eh?"
"No, I cut it off. Señor thinks they are the buckles a poor Busno would wear?"
"Well, no; they are a little unusual for a guerrillero, certainly. But he may have been a bandit first."
"No, no. They were not his. Señor, listen as I tell. I find in the room one buckle; I think I know it. I put it in my pocket. I go out at once into the streets to look. What do I see? I see a man walk; one shoe has a buckle, the other shoe has not. I open my eyes wide; I say to myself: 'Ho! ho! That is what I thought!' But I was not sure. I wait. A time comes. I see the one-buckle Señor go into the Café Arcos. I follow; big Jorge Arcos knows me now. I keep much in the dark; Señor One-buckle must not see me. But I see him; I see his foot; I am under the table. I put buckle one next to buckle two; they are brothers. I take my knife and cut off buckle two. It is Señor No-buckle now! Señor knows?"
Jack had been impressed, not so much by the gipsy's story as by the solemnity of his manner of telling it.
"You have something more to tell me. What is it?"
"Señor One-buckle, Señor No-buckle—who is it? One-buckle, I find it under the dead man in the tall house; two-buckle, I cut it from the shoe of—of the master of Señor One-eye."
"Señor Priego?"
"Sí, Señor!"
CHAPTER XXVI
Wanted: Don Miguel Priego
Circumstantial Evidence—A Council of War—Miguel's Despatch—A Statement of Facts—The Inevitable Inference—Shambles—In the Belfry—Without Guile—The People's Curse
Jack had had so many evidences of Pepito's sagacity that he could not doubt the accuracy of the boy's report. The shoe buckles almost certainly belonged to Don Miguel. From this one seed of fact sprang a whole sheaf of problems. Miguel had been in the room when the guerrillero was murdered; he may not have dealt the blow himself, but certainly he was there. Then why was he there? Had he learnt that the man was an afrancesado and gone personally to serve him as every good Spaniard would wish to serve a traitor? That was improbable, for the murder had been committed in secret, no report had been made of it, and Miguel was not the man to let slip the chance of adding to his popularity by ridding the city of a domestic foe. No, he had not gone to the house as an enemy; could he have gone to it as a friend? What bond of union could there be between Don Miguel Priego, in civil life a well-to-do merchant and now also major in Palafox's hussars, and a poor obscure peasant who had no standing whatever as a citizen or a soldier?
Suddenly the idea came to him: could Miguel have visited the man because he was an afrancesado? The suggestion was like the letting out of a flood. Jack recalled the suspicious entry of Miguel and his man into Saragossa; the strange tale about an overpowered sentry; the curious reappearance of a sentinel in the French trenches almost immediately afterwards. Had Miguel got in, not in spite of the French, but with their connivance? His rapid journey across country from Seville: how could that be accounted for unless he had been helped through the districts in French occupation, and provided with relays of post-horses at every stage? The inevitable conclusion was that Miguel was himself an afrancesado, and had come into the city on some traitorous errand. Knowing that the guerrillero was of the same kidney, he had visited him for some purpose of his own. A quarrel had arisen; during the struggle one of his buckles had been wrenched off, and it lay unnoticed on the floor. It was improbable that Miguel himself had dealt Quintanar the fatal blow; but, remembering Perez, the one-eyed man, Jack was in little doubt where to look for the assassin.
There was only one thing wanted to complete his assurance of Miguel's treachery. Miguel had certainly brought to Palafox a despatch from the Supreme Junta at Seville. If he were a true Spaniard, and had really gained admittance to the city by a hazardous feat of arms, the despatch must have been intact when Palafox received it. On the other hand, if Miguel was a spy, in the pay of the French, it was little likely that they would have allowed a despatch to pass through their lines without mastering its contents. In that case they must have found means to open and read it, without leaving anything to arouse suspicion in the mind of Palafox when he received it. How was that possible? Palafox would certainly have remarked any sign of tampering with the seal; the despatch could not have been opened without tampering with the seal, and that— Stay! Jack vaguely remembered having read somewhere that a seal could be removed by dexterously slipping a thin hot blade between it and the paper. Had that been done with Miguel's despatch? The question had no sooner formed itself in Jack's mind than conviction flashed upon him; he felt absolutely sure that the man he had always so much disliked on personal grounds was a renegade and a traitor.
Next morning he rose from his bed unrefreshed, but with a plan of action formed. He made his dispositions for the continued defence of his district with keenness and care. Then, somewhat after one o'clock, he left the work in charge of Don Cristobal, and made his way by narrow lanes towards the other end of the city. The streets were almost entirely deserted now; only a few brave women and ministering priests went about fearlessly on errands of mercy. All the men were engaged on the ramparts or in the houses, striving with dogged energy to hinder the creeping advance of the French. He had crossed the part of the city most in danger from bombardment or mines when he met Tio Jorge, whom he had not seen for a few days.
"Tio," he said, "can you come with me? I am going to see the general, and I should like you to be with me."
"Assuredly, Señor. And in truth, I think it well you should have a friend with you, for the murmurs against you are growing stronger. It is whispered that an afrancesado was lately slain in your quarter, and men are saying that he was not the only one there. They are puzzled, for if you are an afrancesado, as some think, why are you fighting the French so desperately every day? I only tell you what they think and say, Señor; it is well I am your friend."
Jack set his lips; he traced this to Miguel's inveterate malice. Hurrying along with the big peasant, he arrived at the Aljafferia Castle, and was admitted after some delay to Palafox's room. The general had now taken to his bed; the fever had gained a terrible hold upon him, and but for his indomitable spirit he would probably ere this have died. He was surrounded by a group of his advisers, among them Don Basilio, Santiago Sass, Padre Consolacion, and General San March, who, having failed to hold the Monte Torrero against the French in the early days of the siege, had since been under a cloud. The priests scowled at Jack as he approached; the lean Santiago Sass and the rotund Padre Consolacion looked at him with equal distrust.
"Come, Tio Jorge," said General San March, "you are in time to support me. I have been asking the captain-general to allow me to lead a sortie across the Ebro, now that the French are weakened there by the withdrawal of so many men."
"Useless, useless!" cried Palafox from his bed.
"Useless, Señores!" echoed Tio Jorge. "What men have we now for sorties? Three weeks ago, yes; but now—most of our men can hardly stagger under the weight of their muskets. The time for sorties is past; but let us hope the French are withdrawn from San Lazaro by news of our brothers coming to aid us—"
"And we will never give in, never give in!" cried Santiago Sass. "No, not even though traitors within our walls give the gates to the enemy."
Tio Jorge was on the point of resenting, on Jack's behalf, the glare with which the priest accompanied these words; but Jack laid his hand on the man's arm, and, advancing to the bedside, spoke to the worn figure lying there.
"You remember, Señor, the despatch that was brought to you from the Supreme Junta, little more than a week ago, by one of your officers who made his way by night through the French lines?"
"I remember it."
"You have that despatch still?"
"I have. Why do you ask?"
"Pardon me, Señor, you will see in a few moments. You observed nothing unusual about the seal?"
"Nothing."
"It was the usual seal of the Junta," put in Don Basilio. "I have the despatch."
"Will you allow me to look at it?"
The chaplain hesitated; he appeared to be about to ask a question, but Tio Jorge interposed.
"The despatch, Señor Padre! The Señor has a reason; I know it not, but he fought with me by the Casa Ximenez, and what he says, por Dios! there is sense in it."
"Produce the despatch, Padre," said Palafox.
Don Basilio went to a cabinet, and after a little search found the despatch and handed it to Jack. The seal was broken across the middle. Jack examined the edges carefully, lifting the wax slightly with his thumb nail. He looked up.
"It is as I thought," he said. "Will Don Basilio look?"
The priest took the paper and looked at it with an air of puzzlement and surprise.
"I see red wax and paper," he said coldly. "What of that?"
"Do you not see, Señor Padre, a slight browning of the paper beneath, as though it had been scorched?"
The chaplain scrutinized the seal again. The other priests watched him in silence; Palafox kept his burning eyes fixed on Jack; and Tio Jorge stood with his lips parted as though wondering what deep mystery was concerned here.
"I do see a faint coloration," said Don Basilio at length; "a light tinge at the edge of the wax, becoming a little darker beneath the seal. What then?"
"This, Señor. The paper, I suggest, was scorched by the passage of a hot keen blade beneath the seal."
There was a painful silence. Then Tio Jorge cried, "Por Dios! that explains everything. It is all clear. The man that brought it is a villain, an afrancesado, Señores! And 'tis he who has sought to harm the brave English Señor here! Death to all traitors! Death to Don Miguel Priego!"
"Stay, stay!" said Padre Consolacion, his round face wearing a look of concern. "This is a terrible charge to bring against a reputable citizen of Saragossa."
"One of my own hussars," murmured Palafox.
"He was my pupil," continued the padre. "I have known him since he was an infant. I knew his father, an estimable man; he cannot be a traitor. If the despatch was opened, it must have been without his knowledge. Of that I am sure."
"The evidence is not sufficient—not sufficient," said Palafox. "You must be mistaken, Señor Lumsden."
"I am sorry, Señores," returned Jack; "but will you bear with me while I put certain facts before you? You remember how strangely Don Miguel made his entrance into the city some days ago? He had overcome a sentinel, he and his man, and came by night across the Huerba, scaling our ramparts by the aid of muskets held out to him by two of Don Casimir's men. I was present, Señores, at the time. I had just gone to take over the command with which the Señor Capitan-general honoured me, and was walking along the ramparts with Don Casimir Ulloa, who told me how amazed he was to see no sentinel in the French trenches, where for many nights before a sentinel had never failed to be. Even as he spoke we saw two figures creep down the slope and approach the walls. They, as you know, were Don Miguel Priego and his man. They forded the river, clambered up the slope on our side, and were assisted over our ramparts, and we heard from Don Miguel's lips the story he told the general afterwards."
"It was a bold feat," interjected Padre Consolacion. "Don Miguel was ever a man of daring."
"But, Señores," continued Jack, "no sooner was Don Miguel safely within our walls than, in the French lines opposite, a sentinel suddenly reappeared. Had the Frenchman, slain by Don Miguel, come to life again? Why had Don Casimir heard no sound? Would the discovery of their dead sentinel have been regarded by the French as an ordinary accident, of no more account than the finding of a dead rat? And now we find that the despatch brought by Don Miguel had been opened. Is it not natural to conclude that it was opened by the French, and that the temporary absence of the sentinel was part of an arrangement between them and Don Miguel to give colour to his story?"
"Surmise! All baseless surmise!" said Padre Consolacion.
"One thing more," went on Jack quietly. "The other night a man was murdered in my quarter of the city. He was assassinated in his room at the top of a lofty house. In that room was found this pass through the French lines, and this drawing of our defences."
Everyone started as Jack produced the papers.
"Besides these, there was found this shoe-buckle, that had been torn off in the man's scuffle with his assailant. Two days afterwards the fellow-buckle was brought to me, and Don Miguel Priego was seen in the streets with shoes which had both lost their buckles. It was this that convinced me. Had Don Miguel reason to dispute with an afrancesado unless—"
"Enough!" cried Santiago Sass. "It is clear he is a proved villain! To the gallows with him! Where is he? With my own hand will I hang him in the midst of the Coso! To the gallows! To the gallows!"
And, gathering his cassock about him, the priest rushed madly from the room. Almost before the door was closed behind him a tremendous explosion set the whole building vibrating, and caused Palafox almost to jump from his bed.
"My convent!" cried Padre Consolacion. "It is my convent at last! Tio Jorge, come; they will have need of us."
"And of me!" cried Palafox, springing up.
"Stay, José," said Don Basilio, "you are not fit to go out."
"Do not stay me, Padre," answered Palafox, clasping his cloak, and with trembling fingers buckling on his sword. "I must go; I must share the dangers of my people."
The chaplain made no further protest, and soon Palafox, accompanied by San March, Tio Jorge, and Jack, was hastening towards the scene of one of the most awful catastrophes that ever befell a beleaguered city. The French, undetected by the defenders, had driven a mine beneath the great Franciscan convent, and charged it with 3000 pounds of powder. The convent was at the moment full of fighting-men; the cellars were occupied by many families of citizens; and one part of the building was crammed with 400 workpeople, men and women, who were there engaged in making clothes for the soldiers. All these perished when the mine was fired; and when Palafox arrived on the scene, the whole district for many yards around was strewn not merely with broken masonry, but with mutilated human remains.
All thought of Don Miguel's treason was for the moment banished by the hideous spectacle. Yet, awful as the damage was, the Spaniards had not awaited the arrival of their leaders before attempting reprisals. A wide opening had been made by the explosion, in the wall near the porch; the pavement of the church of San Francisco had been torn up; altars, pulpits, columns, arches, lay in shattered fragments; but Spaniards had rushed in from the streets, and, barricading themselves behind the ruins, were showering bullets upon the incoming French. Some had climbed into the galleries; others had mounted by a narrow spiral staircase into the belfry, which had strangely withstood the shock; and from these elevated positions they poured murderous volleys upon the invaders. As the rays of sunlight streamed through the broken stained-glass windows, they fell upon groups of furious combatants, imparting varied tints to the clouds of smoke and dust that rolled through the shattered nave, and glinting on the bayonets of the French infantry as they pressed desperately forward. The Spaniards fought with the fury of despair. Inspirited by the presence of their idolized general, by the heroic efforts of Tio Jorge, and the fiery exhortations of Padre Consolacion and Santiago Sass, who had soon appeared on the scene, they defended every nook and corner with obstinate tenacity, and when night put an end to the terrible conflict, had succeeded, at a huge cost, in driving the French from a portion of the building.
Jack had climbed into the belfry along with a body of peasants under the command of a French émigré, the Comte de Fleury. He was almost overcome by the sickening sight. All around, the roofs of the neighbouring houses were covered with dismembered limbs; the gutters, through which for eight centuries nothing but rain had streamed, now ran red with blood, that poured into the street as if from the mouths of the dragons, vultures, and winged monsters that decorated the Gothic walls. He could not help exclaiming at the folly of maintaining a resistance against such heavy odds. It was terrible enough that soldiers, whose duty brought them face to face with sudden death, should fall by hundreds to the French arms; but innocent and helpless citizens, young boys and girls, were all included in this late carnage, and Jack shuddered at the dire results of what he could now only regard as sheer obstinacy and blind rage.
Creeping down when the din was over, and French and Spaniards alike were resting from the fray, he found that Palafox, in a complete state of collapse, was being carried back to his bed. Along with Tio Jorge, Jack accompanied the sad group. The halls of the Aljafferia Castle were thronged with some of the more substantial merchants who were yet left alive. They had come to plead with the general to ask for terms from the French. But at the first suggestion there arose such an outcry from the peasants and the poorer citizens, incited by their priests, that the merchants were in danger of being torn limb from limb. No voice was louder than that of Santiago Sass in demanding that the defence should be still continued. The French who had withdrawn from the eastern suburbs had not yet reappeared, and the priest vehemently declared that the catastrophe at the Franciscan convent was the turning-point of the siege, and that from that moment the hand of Our Lady of the Pillar would work wonders on behalf of her city. Backed up by him, the people clamoured for a proclamation to be issued, enjoining still more strenuous resistance, and not till this had been drawn up by Don Basilio, and Palafox had affixed his tremulous signature, did the crowd disperse.
Jack remained for some time in the castle. He wished he was older and more experienced. He then might have pointed out to some of the bitterest of the Junta what fearful hardship they were bringing on the city by their insensate resistance. But he saw that they were in no temper to listen to expostulations from anyone, and he dared not speak his thoughts even to his friend Tio Jorge. He was about to return to his own district when he saw Padre Consolacion enter with a brisker step than was usual with him. The priest came straight towards him.
"Señor, Señor," he said, with a mingled look of regret and indignation, "he that backbiteth not with his tongue, nor endureth a reproach against his neighbour, he shall never be moved. I knew it could not be true; I knew the boy I taught at my knee could not be a traitor; I knew—"
"Señor Padre," interrupted Jack, "you don't mean to say you have told him?"
"Indeed, and what more natural? Is it right to condemn unheard? Should I not ask of the man himself what—"
"Come to the general!" shouted Tio Jorge, catching the priest by the arm. "Come to the general! He must know of what you have done."
They made their way to Palafox's room, where none but Don Basilio remained with him.
"Don José needs sleep," said the chaplain, meeting them at the door. "What do you want with him?"
"Caramba, Padre!" cried Tio Jorge, "he must know whether the man be a traitor or not. Listen to Padre Consolacion!"
The priest seemed amazed at the fuss Tio Jorge was making.
"I went, Señores, to find Don Miguel Priego, to ask him, on his honour, whether there was a word of truth in the English Señor's story. He was indignant, as I knew he would be. He demanded to know why he, a loyal son of Spain, should be suspected on such flimsy grounds. He scoffed when I spoke of the scorched paper, and—"
"You told him that, Padre?" said Palafox, raising himself on his elbow.
"I did, of course, and he flew into a passion, and said that with morning light he would come and meet his accuser and give him the lie to his face."
"Send for him now; bring him here instantly. Shall there be treason in our midst? Tio Jorge, do you go and command Don Miguel Priego instantly to my presence."
It was an hour before Tio Jorge returned.
"Proof! Proof of treason!" he cried furiously. "He is gone; he and his man. See what your meddling did, Señor Padre! No sooner was your back turned than the accursed afrancesado fled."
"Fled!" echoed the priest in consternation.
"'Meet his accuser—give him the lie to his face', you said," exclaimed Tio Jorge with bitter mockery, "'with morning light'! He is gone, and even now, I doubt not, is making merry with the French who have hired him. A curse light on him! May he die by a traitor's hand, even as he is a traitor!"
"Write, Don Basilio," said Palafox, "write a proclamation! Proclaim Miguel Priego to all men a traitor, and call upon all true men to seize upon him and bring him before us to suffer the penalty of his crime. My unhappy country! Let me die, let me die!"
He turned his face to the wall. The stern chaplain wrote a proclamation; within an hour printed copies were distributed throughout the town, and the name of Miguel Priego, hitherto lauded to the skies, was now hissed with venomous hate by every loyal citizen of Saragossa.
CHAPTER XXVII
The Eleventh Hour
Tantaene Irae?—Taking thought—Pepito's Charge—Horrors of the Siege—Beyond the River—A Ring of Steel—Unconquered Still—Patriots All
With morning light the French completed their capture of the Franciscan convent. By a series of desperate charges they cleared the vast ruins of the Spaniards who had held their position during the night, the brave Comte de Fleury and his men were bayoneted on the narrow stairway of the bell-tower, and with one final rush the French pursued the fleeing remnant of the defenders to the very edge of the Coso.
Not long afterwards the French outposts beyond the Aljafferia Castle were surprised to see a strange and motley procession issue from the Portillo Gate. A mob of peasants—for the most part women and children—ragged, famished, fever-stricken, almost mad, rushed pell-mell towards the French lines, preferring to die by the hands of the enemy rather than endure longer the terrors of the beleaguered city. Reaching the outposts, they begged to be allowed to pass through towards their village homes; this being refused, they implored the French to kill them, not to drive them back. But the marshal would not forgo this opportunity of teaching the obstinate defenders a lesson. He ordered the poor creatures to be fed, and then sent back to the city, hoping thereby to impress the Spaniards both with his humanity and with the abundance of his stores.
When news of this incident was brought to Jack, he read it at once as a sign that the inevitable end could not now be long delayed. Heroic as the defence had been, the strain upon poor human nature was too heavy to be borne, and though the priests and the mob-leaders were still vehemently opposed to surrender, it was clear that only surrender would save the city from the most horrible of fates. Not even the most violent fanatic would have the heart to prolong the struggle for more than a few days.
Things being still quiet in his own quarter, Jack determined to see Juanita, and advise her upon her course when the city fell. He left Don Cristobal in charge, and made his tortuous way around the captured part of the town towards the northern end of the city. Pepito accompanied him.
Juanita was looking pale and worn. Her aunt was seriously ill, and the girl had spent sleepless nights in watching her.
"Oh, Jack, Jack," she cried, "surely the end must come now! It is wicked of our Junta to hold out longer. The people are dying like flies. Two were carried out of this very house yesterday. Are we all to die?"
"General Palafox must capitulate soon," said Jack, "and that is what I wanted to see you about. Have you thought of what you will do when the capitulation takes place?"
"Why, you will be with me; you will look after my poor aunt and me."
"No, I shall be a prisoner."
"A prisoner! Oh, but you must escape! It will be easy to escape in the confusion. What shall we do if you are a prisoner, Jack?"
"I can't run away. I have to defend my quarter till the last. And then—well, it's the fortune of war—the French will make sure of all the officers, you may depend on that. But about yourself, Juanita; you won't be in any danger—except from Miguel."
"Why from Miguel? Won't he be a prisoner too?"
Jack laughed grimly.
"Miguel has taken care of that. Last night he disappeared from Saragossa—just in time to escape being gibbeted as an afrancesado, a traitor, and a spy."
Juanita's eyes blazed, her cheeks flamed with the hot Spanish blood.
"Kill him! Kill him, Jack!" she cried. "He was a traitor to my father; he is a traitor to Spain! Oh, if I were a man!"
Jack was amazed at the girl's fury.
"I don't think I'd like to soil my hands with him," he said quietly. "Besides, he will keep out of my way. But don't you see, Juanita, that he will come in with the French, and then—I'm afraid he might bother you, you know."
Juanita drew herself up with a proud air.
"I could borrow a knife!" she said. "A Spanish girl is not afraid to die."
"Don't talk like that. What need is there for you to die? I shall have to give you orders, as I give my men. Señorita Juanita Alvarez, you are to make your way, after the capitulation, to some place of safety, where I will find you—
"You, a prisoner?"
"Oh, I don't mean to remain a prisoner! I shall say good-bye to my captors at the earliest possible moment, and then find you, and we will steal our way to the coast, and find a ship and sail for England. Mother will be glad to see you."
"I have always wanted to see England," said Juanita musingly. "But what about my property—that all this mystery is about?"
"We don't know where it is; but, you remember, a duplicate letter was sent to father in London, and we can find out all about it there. And then, when the war is over, no doubt father will come back with you and put everything straight. And then—"
"Well, Señor?" said Juanita archly.
"Oh, then I suppose you'll marry a Don—of some sort—"
"How dare you, Señor Lumsden!" she cried with flashing eyes.
Jack looked astonished at her sudden anger.
"But never mind that," he went on. "The question is, is there anywhere that you can go to when the city falls?"
"Ay de mí! Our old country house near Morata was shut up months ago; only one old man remains in charge. The garden must now be a waste. But I have friends at Calatayud, some miles farther away, and I could stay with them. It is quite sixty miles distant. Could I get there safely?"
"I think so. After the siege many peasants will be returning to their homes. I will enquire if any are going in that direction, and will let you know if I find some respectable people with whom you might travel. Your old duenna would, of course, go with you. And then I thought of lending you a special friend of my own, who has done me many a good turn; he is outside now—a young gipsy boy who—
"Pepito! Oh, he and I are good friends!"
"You know him, then?"
"Of course I do. He comes to see me every day, and talks about you all the time. Strange to say, he thinks a great deal of you, Jack."
"Poor little chap! I owe him a good deal. Well, he shall go with you, and you will make your way to Calatayud, and I will come to you there in—let me see, under a week. I shall have had enough of the Frenchmen in a week."
"But suppose you can't escape, Jack?"
"Never fear," said Jack with a smile. "That is all arranged, then?"
"Yes, I suppose so," replied Juanita doubtfully. "You will be sure to find me, Jack?"
"Unless you hide away—like your treasure."
Returning to his quarter he found that the French had still made no further attempt upon it. The situation indeed, remained unchanged for several days. They were so fully occupied in pushing the advantage they had gained in the direction of the Coso that they could afford to leave Jack's little block of buildings for the present. They continued to occupy the ruins facing the Casa Vallejo, and Jack discovered, by observations made from the roofs of the Casas Tobar and Alvarez, that a considerable body of troops was held ready in Santa Engracia to reinforce any point that should be threatened by the Spaniards.
Though his own position was thus left unmolested, every few hours brought news of the steady progress the enemy were making elsewhere. One after another the blocks of buildings adjacent to the Franciscan convent fell into their hands. Jack saw that, even if he could hold his own in front, the French were gradually creeping around his flank, and that in the course of a few days he would be attacked from the east as well as the north. On February 12th Don Casimir sent for the gun he had lent. An urgent message had come from Palafox asking for all artillery that could be spared. It was needed for the defence of the Coso. The French had established two batteries among the ruins of the convent, one of which raked the Coso, while the other commanded the street leading to the bridge across the river. Jack had already withdrawn Don Casimir's gun from the direct view of the French, and he trusted that its total disappearance from his defences would remain for some time undiscovered.
But although he was not seriously pressed, he was alarmed to see how his small force had dwindled and was still dwindling in numbers. A few fell by the musket-shots of the French; far more dropped out through sickness, and of these almost none recovered. A form of typhus fever had broken out in the city, attacking especially the guerrilleros from the country and wounded soldiers who had no fixed homes. The Countess Bureta was dead; many of the other ladies who had nobly done their best in nursing the sick and wounded had perished; the stock of medicines was exhausted. Many invalids lay untended on the stone pavements of the courtyards, with nothing but a little straw for their beds. In the intervals of fighting the worn survivors were to be seen sitting on stone benches, shivering in spite of their cloaks, their hands scarcely able to hold their weapons. So weak were they that the slightest wound proved fatal. Jack was sick at heart as he saw his ranks depleted day by day through the loss of some stalwart guerrillero or seasoned tirador who had succumbed to an enemy more terrible than the French.
Once or twice he thought of finding relief in leading a desperate sortie on the enemy's entrenchments. But consideration showed him the futility of any such move. He might inflict some loss on the French, but even if he drove them from their advanced position, he could not hope to retain the ground he might thus win. His efforts must be confined to defensive work; he must hold his own, as he had hitherto succeeded in doing. He had now been for a fortnight in command of the Casa Alvarez district, and during that period the French had not made any real progress. Indeed, they had lost very heavily in men, and had suffered so many disasters from the Spanish mines that they appeared for the present to have suspended all mining operations in Jack's quarter.
As the days passed by without any serious demonstration against his position, Jack inferred that the French, like the Spaniards, were suffering from the long-continued strain. The force under Marshal Lannes' command was evidently not sufficient to maintain a simultaneous attack on all the points at which they had effected an entrance into the city. On the 13th the corps sent out to drive away the army collected by Francisco Palafox returned to the siege; their mere appearance had been sufficient to scatter the relieving army of which the Saragossans had expected so much. It was at once apparent that the interrupted attack on the San Lazaro suburb was to be actively pressed. The French entrenchments were pushed closer to the river; heavy siege-guns were brought into position, and epaulements were constructed across all the roads by which the Spaniards holding the suburb could escape.
On February 18th a vigorous bombardment was commenced. No fewer than fifty-two guns opened fire at daybreak, the main point of attack being the San Lazaro convent, which commanded the bridge across the Ebro, the sole link between the city and the suburb. The effect of the bombardment was stupendous. Roofs crashed in beneath the bursting bombs, the crackle of flames was mingled with the clang of alarm-bells from every belfry, the whole city shook as with an earthquake. The Spanish batteries responded vigorously. The Spaniards fought for every inch of ground in the streets, but they were steadily beaten back. A breach was made in the convent wall; the French rushed in, massacring the monks who dauntlessly opposed them, cutting down without mercy crowds of men, women, and children who had sought a refuge in the church itself. The yells of the combatants were mingled with the screams of the wounded and dying, and not till every one of the occupants of the convent was slain did the hideous clamour cease.
Retreat to the city was now cut off, and scattered bands of Spaniards wandered frantically about, seeking a means of escape and finding none. Three hundred, led by a bold fellow named Fernando Gonzalez, succeeded in running the gauntlet of the French fusillade and forcing their way across the bridge into Saragossa. Many who sought to escape by the river were drowned, and 3000 who tried to make their way along the bank towards the country were headed off by a regiment of French cavalry and compelled to lay down their arms. Palafox himself, though so ill that he could scarcely stand, came at the head of his troops to the succour of the suburb, but his efforts were vain. The French remained masters of the position, and were now able to place their guns so as to command the northern part of the city, which hitherto had been almost untouched.
While this terrible struggle had been in progress, the Spaniards had suffered a serious disaster elsewhere. At three in the afternoon three huge mines, charged with more than two tons of powder, were exploded beneath the University, which was carried with a rush. With it fell several buildings in its neighbourhood, and in the evening the French penetrated to the Coso, where they gained several houses, among them one which had repulsed no fewer than ten previous assaults. The Spaniards lost ground also near the Trinity convent, and the district known as the Tanneries began to suffer severely from the new French works thrown up in the captured suburb of San Lazaro.
That night Jack held a serious consultation with Don Cristobal and several of his more trusty men. The successes won by the French in other parts of the town would no doubt encourage them to make a renewed attack on the only quarter along its outer rim which had yet withstood them.
"I am not going to give it up without a tussle," said Jack resolutely. "If they bring artillery to bear, our barricades must fall; but we still have the houses opposite. The Y mines in Tobar and Vega will do enormous damage if the French get in there. I rather suspect they will fight shy of the houses and try to rush in from the streets. All that we can do with our little force is to man the windows and roofs of the houses and delay them as long as possible."
It was a pathetic sight to see the unquenched eagerness of the haggard crowd. Not one faltered; all were as resolute as though it were the first day of the siege. Jack arranged with them for their respective posts on the morrow, and waited anxiously for daylight.
About twelve o'clock on February 20th Tio Jorge and Jorge Arcos were staying their hunger in the latter's café with a mess of boiled rice and half-baked corn-meal. Their begrimed, black-bearded faces wore a look of savage gloom. No one was with them. Outside, in the Coso, not a living person was to be seen.
"By all the saints, I vow I will not surrender!" Tio Jorge was saying.
"Nor I!" replied his friend. "Nor would the general himself, but that he is ill. Had he been well, no one could have persuaded him to beg for terms from the French dog. When I heard it last night I could not believe the news. For two months we have fought; shall we yield now? I for one will not yield; I will die rather!"
"And we could have told the general it would be of no use. We have killed too many of the accursed French for them to let us march away. I could have laughed when Señor Casseillas came back after his journey to the French camp, and said that we must lay down our arms without conditions. And the general is dying! God have his soul! He has given the command to San March. Ay, 'twas San March who lost the Monte Torrero—curse him! But the Junta!—the saints be praised our brave padres are members of the Junta, and will not let the others yield. Traitors, por Dios! I myself will shoot any man, high or low, who counsels surrender. But Don Basilio, and Padre Consolacion, and Padre Santiago Sass—ah, they will never yield! The priests of Spain are men, mi amigo!"
"Yes; they will fight and—"
A shattering explosion from the other side of the Coso interrupted him.
"Where is that?" cried Tio Jorge, starting up. Running to the door he saw, beyond the Franciscan convent, a cascade of dust and stones darkening the air. "'Tis towards the Casa Alvarez," he cried, "where the English Señor still holds out. The dogs are attacking there. Come, Jorge Arcos, we can do nothing elsewhere; come, and let us help the brave Englishman!"
Together they left the café. The crash of the explosion had drawn others to the street, and as the two leaders hurried along, past the barricades, up narrow by-ways, pursuing a roundabout course towards the Huerba, they were joined by ones and twos and threes, who came in answer to their hail. At the corner of a lane near the Seminary thirty men who had escaped with Fernando Gonzalez from San Lazaro swelled their numbers.
"To the Casa Alvarez!" shouted Tio Jorge.
A second explosion made him hasten still more eagerly.
"To the Casa Alvarez!" he repeated. "War to the knife!"