CHAPTER IX.
WITH THE GUERILLAS.
It was on a fine morning at the end of March that a cortege ofmuleteers and mules left the little town of Alonqua. It was now fourmonths since the Scudamores left the army, and in the intervening timethey had tramped through a large portion of Spain. They had carriedwith them only a dozen or so little despatches done up in tiny rollsof the length and about the thickness of a bodkin, These were sewninside the lining of their coats, in the middle of the cloth whereit was doubled in at the seams, so that, even were the clothes to beexamined carefully and felt all over, the chances of detection wereslight indeed. They had each, on starting, half a dozen pieces ofSpanish gold coin sewn between the thicknesses of leather of the solesof each of their shoes, for they did not start in the beggar clothesin which they had first disguised themselves. Their clothes were,indeed, worn and somewhat patched, but were of stout material, andthey wore shoes, but no stockings. They had, indeed, the appearance ofSpanish boys of the peasant class. The weather in the north of Spainis often very cold in winter, and the boys felt that, with rags andbare feet, they should suffer severely. All that they had to say anddo had been learned by heart. The names and addresses of the agentsof the British Government at every town had been laboriously learnedbefore starting, and, as Peter said ruefully, it was worse than adozen Greek impositions.
At each place of any importance they would find the person to whomthey were instructed to apply, would accost him with some password,and would be put up by him while they remained there. When they hadgained the intelligence they required--of the number of French troopsin the place and its neighborhood, a knowledge always obtained bygoing round, counting the men on parade, or, in the case of smallvillages, finding out easily enough from a peasant the number,quartered there, they would write a report on the number theintentions as far as they could learn them, the amount of foodin store, and the sentiments of the population, would enclosethe despatch in a goose-quill and give it to their host, who wasresponsible for forwarding it.
In a great number of cases, indeed, the man to whom they wereaccredited was a muleteer. These men hated the French with a hatredeven more deep and deadly than that of other Spaniards, for, inaddition to the national causes of hatred, their mules were constantlybeing requisitioned or seized by the troops and they themselves forcedto accompany the army for long distances at a nominal rate of pay forthemselves and their animals. Then, too, they were in close connectionwith the guerillas, for whom they carried goods up into the mountainsfrom the towns, and when the chance came would leave their animals inthe mountains and join in cutting off an enemy's convoy. They acted asmessengers and spies too, and took their friends in the hills earlynews of intended movements of the enemy. Many a day had the boystraveled in the company of these muleteers, merry, careless fellows,singing and talking to their mules, apparently the best-natured ofmen, until something would be said which would recall the hated foe,and then their black eyes would flash, their fingers clutch theirknife-handles, and they would pour out long strings of deep Spanishoaths. Great was the surprise of these men on receiving the passwordfrom two boys, but they never hesitated an instant in taking them in,in giving them hospitality as long as they remained, and in eitheraccompanying them to the next town, or handing them over to the chargeof some comrade going in that direction. Not even to them did theScudamores ever betray that they were not what they were taken to be,two Spanish boys employed by the English commander as messengers.Often they were questioned how the English had come to entrustimportant communications to two boys, and their reply always was thattheir father and mother had fled to Portugal from the French, and wereliving there near the English lines, and that they had offered theirlives in case of their sons' treachery.
This system of hostages seemed probable enough to their questioners,and if the boys' fare was rather harder, and their treatment moreunceremonious than it would have been had they said that they wereBritish officers in disguise, they ran far less risk of detectionfrom an accidental word or sign. Indeed it would have been next toimpossible for them, had they desired it, to convince any one of theiridentity. There was no fear now of their accent betraying them. Sincethey had left the army they had never, even when alone together,spoken in English. They made the rule and kept to it for two reasons,the one being that they found that if they did not get into this habitof always speaking Spanish, they might inadvertently address eachother in English, and thus betray themselves; the second, that theywanted to learn to speak absolutely like natives. This they had in thefour months thoroughly learned to do. At first their pronunciationand occasional mistakes excited curiosity when asked questions asto the part of Spain from which they had come, but their constantcommunication with their muleteer friends had quite removed this, andfor the last two months not one person had doubted that they were notonly Spanish, but that they came from the northern provinces.
Hitherto they had journeyed principally between large towns and overcountry held by the French, but that part of their work was finished;they had accurately computed the number of the army with which Massenawas to advance shortly to besiege Ciudad Rodrigo, and they had now tocarry the despatches to the guerilla leaders. Hitherto they had not ina single instance excited suspicion. Not a Frenchman had asked thema question, and no adventure of anything like an exciting nature hadtaken place. They were now, however, entering into a country entirelydifferent from that which they had hitherto traversed. The northeastof Spain is wild and mountainous, and offers immense naturalfacilities for irregular warfare. Through the various passes of thePyrenees lead all the roads from France, whether to Vittoria on thegreat road to Madrid, or through Navarre to Catalonia. Here and therefortified towns still held out against the French, and the town ofGerona, in Catalonia, had only fallen after a six months' regularsiege, and a desperate defense which fully rivals that of Saragossa.Is it not a little singular that the Spaniards, who in the open fieldwere, with a few remarkable exceptions, absolutely contemptible, yetfrequently defended towns with wonderful fortitude, courage, anddesperation. It may, indeed, be said that in every siege where theSpaniards were commanded by brave and resolute chiefs they behavedadmirably. This great range of hill country was the stronghold of theguerillas, and every convoy from France had to be protected by a largeforce, and even then often suffered greatly from the harassing attacksof their active enemies.
The bands of the guerilla chiefs differed greatly in strength, varyingfrom merely ten or a dozen men to three or four thousand, and indeedeach band varied continually. The men, when not required, wouldscatter to their homes, cultivate their little patches of ground, andthrow down the spade and take up the rifle again when they heard of aconvoy to cut off, or an invading column to beat back. The bands, too,would vary in proportion to the renown of their chiefs. An energeticman, who, at the head of a handful, had performed some daring feats,would find himself a week afterwards the leader of many hundreds,while a chief who was slow and dilatory would find his band melt awaylike snow in summer.
The character of the warfare depended much upon the character of theFrench generals. A few of these kept the troops under their commandsternly in hand, would permit no plundering, and insisted upon theirfair treatment of the Spaniards. These in turn wanted nothing betterthan to remain quietly in their homes, and the guerilla bands wouldmelt away to nothing. Other generals, furious at the savage natureof the warfare, and the incessant toil and loss entailed upon theirtroops, allowed the latter to do as they pleased, and burning housesand dead bodies marked their course. Then the peasantry, now turnedguerillas, retaliated as savagely, giving no quarter, sacrificing allprisoners, and putting the wounded to death, sometimes with torture.On both sides horrible atrocities were committed.
The guerillas were armed partly with rifles and carbines, partly withmuskets landed on the coast by the British Government, who also, fromtime to time, sent powder and money to assist them to continue theirresistance to the French. Although nowhere really formidable, ye
t,being scattered over a great extent of country, these bands occupiedvery large bodies of French troops, who would otherwise havebeen disposable for general operations in the field. The Englishcommander-in-chief had, of course, no shadow of authority over theguerillas, or, indeed, over any of the Spanish troops, and hiscommunication to them simply asked what arms and ammunition theyrequired, and begged them to send him a list of the number of men theycould each throw on the French communications and lines of retreat incase he should find himself in a position to make a general advanceagainst them. He also recommended most strongly the bearers of thedespatch to their care. It was to the chief known as Nunez that theywere now bound. The mule train was nominally destined for Vittoria, towhich town the leader had got a pass, specifying the number of mulesand the nature of the goods they carried, from the French commandantat Alonqua, for no one was allowed to take the goods about the countrywithout a pass, in order to prevent supplies being forwarded to themountains. This pass, however, only mentioned twelve mules with fourdrivers, and this was the number which started from Alonqua. Anotherscore of mules, however, joined them at a short distance from the townwhere a by-road turned off. Some of these had gone out from the townunloaded, as if taken out to graze, others had not entered the town,but had come direct from the sea-coast by by-paths with powder, andhad been awaiting the departure of Garcias, the name of the leader ofthe party. They had eight men with them, all armed to the teeth.
"Is it all right, Garcias?"
"All right," the leader said; "they have sent out their squadrons onthe other road, so I think we are safe for to-day."
"What boys have you got there with you?"
"They have business with Nunez; letter from the coast."
The cavalcade was now in motion again, and wound gradually up into thehills. Presently they came to a point where four roads met. A clump oftrees grew hard by, and the boys gave a start of horror at seeing thebodies of six French soldiers swinging from them. "Ay, that's Nunez'swork, I expect," Garcias said coolly. "There were three of his menswinging there last week, so as a lesson he has hung up six of theFrench. He is a rough boy to play with, is Nunez."
At sunset the party slept in a small farm, and at daybreak continuedtheir journey. They were now in the heart of the mountains, and theirpath lay sometimes up deep ravines, sometimes along rocky ledges.At last, about midday, they entered a valley in which stood a smallvillage. "That's Nunez's head-quarters to-day," Garcias said;"to-morrow he may be no one knows where."
"But does he have to sally out by the wretched road by which we havecome?" Tom asked.
"No, no," Garcias replied; "he would not catch much prey that way.There are three other ways out of the valley. That winding path yousee there leads up to Santona. That road on the other side leads outon to the plain, and thence to Vittoria; while the footpath over thebrow opposite leads right down into the wide valley through which themain north road runs. So you see this is a handy spot. From that browwe can see the convoys going to and from France, and can pour downupon them if they are weak; while, if a column is sent in search ofus, we can vanish away long before they can catch us. Nunez does notuse the direct road over the brow for his attack, but follows theSantona or Vittoria road for a while, and then makes a swoop round. Hedoes not want to bring the French up to this village, for his familyand the families of many of the men live here."
As they approached the village, they found that there was a good dealof bustle going on. Armed men were coming out of the cottages, andgathering in a group round a rough stone cross, which stood in thecenter of a sort of green. "We are just in time," Garcias said; "Nunezis starting on some expedition or other."
When they reached the spot there were nearly two hundred menassembled. They greeted Garcias with shouts of welcome as he arrived."Ah, ah! Garcias, just in time. Our last skin of wine was emptied lastnight; we will bring some more up to-morrow; but if you had not comewe should have had to start thirsty, and that's unlucky besides beingunpleasant."
"Where is Nunez!" Garcias asked.
"Here he comes," was the reply; and the boys turning saw a figureapproaching, which by no means answered to the expectation of thecelebrated guerilla chief. He was small and almost humpbodied, butvery broad. His head seemed too large for his body, and a pair offierce eyes gleamed out from beneath his shaggy eyebrows. His mustachewas thin and bristly and his month wide, but with thin lips. The boyscould understand the reputation for cruelty and mercilessness whichattached to this sinister-looking figure, but there was none of thesavage power which they had expected to see in so celebrated a leader.
"Any news, Garcias?" he asked shortly, as he came up.
"None, captain, except that these boys have brought some despatchesfor you from the English Lord."
Nunez looked sharply at them, and held out his hand without speaking.Tom gave him the little quill.
The guerilla opened it, read the contents, and, saying briefly, "Ananswer to-morrow," strode on to his men, and in a few minutes theywere defiling out at the end of the valley.
"That hardly seems a strong enough body to attack a French convoy,Garcias," Tom remarked.
"No, it would not be, but there is only a part of his band here; therest will join him at some place agreed on--perhaps ten miles fromhere. I believe he has about thousand men under his orders. Now comealong; we shall be none the worse for dinner," and, leaving his men tounload the mules, he led the way into the little posada, or inn.
"Ah! Mother Morena," he said to an old woman who was crouching near ablazing wood fire, "warming yourself as usual; it's well you've a goodfire, for you will be able to get us some dinner all the more quickly.Twelve of us altogether, and all as hungry as wolves."
"Ah!" exclaimed the old woman crossly; "it seems as if I were never tohave an hour's quiet, just as all that roaring, greedy lot, with theirMother Morena here and Mother Morena there, and their grumbling atthe olla, and their curses and their quarrels, are off, and I think Iam going to have a quiet afternoon, then you come in with your twelvehungry wolves."
"Ah! mother, but wolves don't pay, and we do, you see."
The frugal supper over, the boys laid down on the benches, and weresoon asleep. The next day passed slowly, for the band were notexpected to return until late at night--perhaps not until the nextmorning, as the pass where the attack would be made was some fifteenmiles off, and the convoy might not pass there until late in theafternoon. The boys soon made friends with some of the women andchildren of the place, to whom they told stories of the great citiesof the plain, and of the great water which washed the shores of Spain.The greater portion of the Spanish peasantry are incredibly ignorant,and very few of the inhabitants of this village had ever gone beyondthe mountains. Walking about in the village, but apparently mixing butvery little in the games of the other children, were two little girls,whose gay dress of rich silk seemed strangely out of place in such aspot.
Tom asked one of the women who they were, and she replied, with a tossof the head, "They are the captain's children. The last time the bandwent out they found among the baggage and brought up here, the dressesof the children of some fine lady, and the captain kept them all aspart of his share, just as if there were no children in the villagewhom it would become a great deal better than those stuck-up littlethings. Not," she said, softening a little, "that they were not niceenough before they got these things; but since they came their headshave been quite turned by the finery and they are almost too grand tospeak to their old playfellows."
"Is their mother alive?"
"No, poor thing, she was killed by the French when the village shelived in was burned by them, because some of them were found hung inthe neighborhood. The captain was away at the time and the childrenwere out in the woods. When he came back he found them crying by theside of their mother's body, in the middle of the burning village. Sothen he took to the mountains, and he never spares a Frenchman whofalls into his hands. He has suffered, of course, but he brought itupon himself, for he had a ha
nd in hanging the French soldiers, andnow he is a devil. It will be bad for us all; for some day, when theFrench are not busy with other things, they will rout us out here, andthen who can blame them if they pay us for all the captain's deeds?Ah! me, they are terrible times, and Father Predo says he thinks theend of the world must be very near. I hope it will come before theFrench have time to hunt us down."
The boys had a hard struggle not to smile, but the woman spoke soearnestly and seriously, that they could only shake their heads ingrave commiseration for her trouble; and then Tom asked, "Is thecaptain very fond of the children?"
"He worships them," the woman said; "he has no heart and no pity forothers. He thinks no more of blood than I do of water; but he is astender as a woman with them. One of them was ill the other day--a merenothing, a little fever--and he sat by her bedside for eight dayswithout ever lying down."
"I suppose," Tom said, "they never bring prisoners up here?"
"Yes, they do," the woman said; "not common soldiers; they kill themat once; but sometimes officers, if they want to exchange them forsome of ours who may have been taken, or if they think they are likelyto get a high ransom for them. But there, it always comes to the samething; there, where you see that mound on the hillside, that's wherethey are. They blindfold them on their way up here, lest they mightfind their way back after all. Only one or two have ever gone downagain. I wish they would finish with them all down below; they aredevils and heretics these French; but I don't care about seeing themkilled. Many of us do, though, and we have not many diversions uphere, so I suppose it's all for the best."
"I wish that fellow had given us our answer before he went away,"Tom said to Peter when they were alone. "I hope he won't bring anyprisoners up here; these massacres are frightful, and one side seemsas bad as the other. Well, in another month we shall have finishedwith all this work, and be making for the frontier again. Shan't I beglad when we catch sight of the first red-coats!"
In the middle of the night the boys were roused by a general bustle,and found that a messenger had just arrived, saying that theexpedition had been successful, that a portion of the enemy had beencut off, their rear-guard destroyed, and that the whole band would beup soon after daylight. The village was astir early, but it was notuntil nine o'clock that the guerilla band arrived. The boys saw at aglance that they were stronger in numbers than when they started, andthat with them were some twenty or thirty baggage animals.
The women flocked out to meet them with shrill cries of welcome. Thebooty taken was not of any great value in money, but was more valuablethan gold to the guerillas.
Each one of the band carried, in addition to his own piece, a newFrench musket, while in the barrels on the mules were powder and ball;there were bales of cloth, and some cases of brandy and champagne, anda few boxes and portmanteaus of officers' baggage. In the rear of all,under a strong guard, were two French officers, both wounded, a ladyand a child of some seven or eight years old.
After a boisterous greeting to their wives, the band broke up, andscattered over the village, three or four men remaining to guard thecaptives, who were told to sit down against a wall.
The whole band were soon engaged in feasting, but no one paid theleast attention to the prisoners. The lady had sunk down exhausted,with the little girl nestled close to her, the officers faint and palefrom loss of blood, leaned against the wall. One of them asked theguards for some water, but the men paid no attention to the request,answering only with a savage curse. Tom and Peter, who were standingby, immediately went to the inn, filled a jug with water, and, takinga drinking horn and some bread, went back. One of the guards angrilyordered them back as they approached.
"I am not going to free them," Tom said, soothingly; "there can be noreason why they should die of thirst, if they are enemies."
"I am thirsty myself," one of the guard said, "and it does us good tosee them thirst."
"What, has no one brought you anything to drink?" Tom said, in a toneof surprise. "Here, Peter, you give this bread and water to theseprisoners; I will run to Mother Morena's and bring some wine for theguard."
The guard would not allow Peter to approach the captives until Tomarrived with a large jug of wine, and a cold fowl, which he hadobtained at the inn. These the Spaniards accepted, and allowed theboys to give the water to the prisoners. All drank eagerly, with everyexpression of thankfulness, the lady seizing Peter's hand and kissingit as he handed the horn to the child. The lady was a very bright,pretty woman, though now pale and worn with fatigue and emotion, andthe child was a lovely little creature.
The boys, on leaving the prisoners, hurried to Garcias.
"What are they going to do with the prisoners, Garcias?"
"They have brought them up here to exchange for Nunez's lieutenant,who was taken last week. One of the men went off last night toVittoria with a letter to offer to exchange. One of the officers is acolonel, and the young one a captain. The lady is, they say, the wifeof General Reynier."
"Then they are safe," Tom said joyfully, "for, of course the Frenchwould exchange a guerilla against three such prisoners."
"Yes," Garcias said, "they are safe if Vagas has not been shot beforethe messenger gets to Vittoria. The messenger will hear directly hegets there, and if they have finished Vagas, he will come straightback, for his letter will be of no use then."
"But the French would pay a ransom for them."
"Yes; but the captain is never fond of ransoming, and if the newscomes that Vagas is shot it is all up with them."
"But they will never murder a woman and child in cold blood!" Tomsaid, in tones of indignant horror.
"Women are killed on both sides," the muleteer said, placidly. "Idon't hold to it myself, but I don't know, after all, why a woman'slife is a bit more precious than a man's. Vagas's wife and childrenare here, too, and if the news comes of his death, she would stir theband up to kill the prisoners, even if the captain wanted to savethem, which he certainly will not do."
"When is the messenger expected back?"
"If he goes to Vittoria and finds Vagas is alive, and arranges forthe exchange, he won't be back till late to-night, perhaps not tillto-morrow; but, if he hears, either on the way or directly he getsthere, that he is dead, he may be back this afternoon." Soon afterthis conversation Garcias was sent for to the chief, and returnedwith a small note, which he handed to the boys as the answer to thedespatch, and urged them to go at once. The boys said that they couldnot leave until they saw the end of this terrible drama which waspassing before their eyes. It was early in the afternoon when a manwas seen coming along the path from Vittoria. A hundred eager eyesexamined him, and ere long it was declared as certain that it was themessenger. The boys' heart sank within them as they saw the fiercelook cast by the Spaniards in the direction of the prisoners, forevery one in the village was well aware of the meaning of this earlyreturn. The boys had arranged upon the course they would pursue, andthey at once hurried to Garcias.
"Please come with us at once to Nunez. We want to see him before themessenger arrives."
"I will come with you," Garcias said; "but if you think that anytalking of yours will persuade Nunez to move out of his way, you aremistaken. It is more likely to cost you your own lives, I can tellyou; however, I gave you the promise I would do my best for you whenyou started with me, and I will go with you now, though what you wantto interfere for here is more than I can make out. Pshaw! what matterstwo or three of these accursed French, more or less?"
As they neared the chief's house they saw him coming towards them. Hisbrow was as black as thunder; he was evidently prepared for the newsof his lieutenant's death.
"These messengers want to speak to you for a moment," Garcias said.
The chief stopped with an impatient gesture.
"Senor," Tom said, with a dignity which surprised the chief; "we arenot what we seem. We are two English officers, and we have come to begof you, to implore you, not to tarnish the cause for which you fightby shedding the blo
od of women and children."
The boys had agreed that it would be altogether hopeless to try tosave the French officers.
"British officers, indeed," exclaimed Nunez, "a likely story. Do youknow them as such, Garcias?"
"No," Garcias said bluntly, "I never guessed at it; but now they sayso, I think it's likely enough, for they don't seem to see things inthe same way as other people."
"I can give you proof of it," Tom said, calmly, pulling up the sleeveof his coat, and showing a cicatrix in his forearm. Taking a knifefrom his pocket, he cut into the skin, and drew forth a tiny silvertube. This he opened, and handed to Nunez a paper signed by LordWellington, declaring the bearers to be British officers, andrequesting all loyal Spaniards to give them every assistance.
The captain read it through, and flung it down. "You may be officers,"he said contemptuously; "but if you were Lord Wellington himself, Iwould not spare these accursed French. Listen!" and as he spoke a howlof rage ran from the other end of the village, and told too plainlythe nature of the tidings the messenger had brought.
"I again protest," Tom said firmly. "I protest, as a British officer,and in the name of humanity, against this cold-blooded murder of awoman and child. It is a disgrace to Spain, a disgrace to the cause,it is a brutal and cowardly act."
The guerilla furiously drew a pistol; but Garcias placed himselfbetween him and Tom. "I have promised him a safe conduct," he said,"and have given my word for his safety. He is only a boy, and a youngfool; don't trouble with him."
Fortunately at this moment, for the guerilla was still irresolutelyhandling his pistol, a crowd was seen coming towards them, headed bya woman who seemed frantic with rage and grief. All were shouting,"Death to the assassins! death to the French!" The chief at once movedforward to meet them.
Tom and Peter gave a significant glance towards each other, and thenTom turned to go back towards the house which Nunez inhabited, whilePeter hurried towards the spot where the prisoners were kept. Alreadya crowd was assembling who were talking threateningly at the Frenchofficers. Peter made his way through them until he stood by the lady,who, with her child clinging to her neck, looked in terror at theangry crowd, whose attention, however, was directed to the officers,who stood looking calmly indifferent to their threats and insults.
"Do you speak Spanish, madam?" Peter asked, leaning over her.
She shook her head.
"Do you speak English?" he asked, in that tongue.
"Yes, yes, a little." the lady said, eagerly; "who are you? What isthis fierce crowd about?"
"Hush!" Peter said. "I am a friend. Listen. In a few minutes they aregoing to shoot you all." The lady gave a stifled cry, and pressedher child close to her. "Remember, when they come to you, ask for apriest; gain a few minutes, and I hope to save you and the child."
So saying, he slipped away into the crowd again. He had scarcely doneso when Nunez arrived, accompanied by many of his men. The crowd fellback, and he strode up to the French officers. "French dogs," he said,"you are to die. I spared you to exchange, but your compatriots havemurdered my lieutenant, and so now it's your turn. You may thinkyourselves lucky that I shoot you, instead of hanging you. Take themto that wall," he said, pointing to one some twenty yards off.
The Frenchmen understood enough Spanish to know that their fate wassealed. Without a word they took each other's hands, and marchedproudly to the spot pointed out. Here, turning round, they looked withcalm courage at the Spaniards, who formed up with leveled muskets ata few paces distance. "Vive la France! Tirez," said the elder, in afirm, voice, and in a moment they fell back dead, pierced with a dozenballs.
Peter had turned away when Nunez appeared on the scene, to avoidseeing the murder, and with his eyes fixed in the direction in whichTom had gone, he listened almost breathlessly to what should come.The French lady had sat immovable, cowering over her child, while hercountrymen were taken away and murdered. As Nunez passed where shecrouched, he said to two of his men, "Put your muskets to their heads,and finish them!" As the men approached, she lifted up her face, paleas death, and said,--
"Un pretre, uno padre!"
"She wants a priest," the men said, drawing back; "she has a right toabsolution."
There was a murmur of assent from those around, and two or threestarted to the priest's house, situated only a few yards away, beingone of the end houses of the village. The priest soon appeared, cameup to the spot, and received orders to shrive the Frenchwoman. Heattempted a remonstrance, but was silenced by a threat from Nunez,and knowing from experience of such scenes that his influence wentfor nothing with Nunez and his fierce band, he bent over her, and thecrowd drew back, to let them speak unheard. At this moment, to Peter'sintense relief, he saw Tom approaching with the captain's two childrenwalking beside him. Absorbed in what was passing before them, no oneelse looked round, and Peter slipped away and joined his brother. Theycame within twenty yards of the crowd, and then paused.
"Wait a minute," Tom said to the children, "your father is busy."
In another minute Nunez shouted roughly, "There that will do; finishwith it and have done! I want to be off to my dinner."
Tom and Peter simultaneously drew out a large Spanish knife, and eachtook one of the children firmly by the shoulder.
"Stop! Senor Nunez!" Tom shouted in a loud, clear tone. "Stop! or byheaven there will be four victims instead of two! Let one of you lifta finger against these captives--let one of you come one step nearerto us--and, by the Holy Virgin, we will drive our knives into thesechildren's hearts!"
A cry of astonishment broke from the crowd, and one of agony and ragefrom Nunez, who tottered against a wall in horror at the danger inwhich his daughters were placed.
"Listen! all of you," Tom said, "we are English officers, we haveshown our papers to Nunez, and he knows it is so. We will not sufferthis murder of a mother and her child. If they are to die, we will diewith them; but these two children shall die too! Now, what is it tobe?"
A dozen of the guerillas leveled their guns at the two daring boys.
"No! no!" Nunez shrieked; "lower your guns. Don't hurt the children,senors. The captives shall not be hurt; I swear it! They shall gofree. Give me my children."
"Not if I know it," Tom said; "Do you think I could trust the word ofa man who would murder women and children in cold blood? No; thesegirls shall go with us as hostages, till we are safe under Frenchguard."
"They will tell them the way up here," said one of the woman in thegroup, "and then we shall be all killed."
"No," Tom said; "the lady shall swear not to tell the way up here. Sheshall swear on your priest's crucifix. We will give you our words asBritish officers."
"But how are the children to get back here again?" another asked, forNunez was so paralyzed that he could only gaze on the children, whowere crying bitterly, and implore them to stand quiet, and not try toget away. After more parleying the arrangements were completed. Thecrowd fell back on either side, so as to leave a large space round theFrench lady. Tom and Peter then went up to them with the little girls.The lady was sobbing with joy and excitement at this unexpectedrelief.
"Can you walk?" Tom asked her in English.
"Yes," she said, getting up hastily, but almost falling again.
"Garcias will go first, as guide. The priest will give you his arm,"Tom went on, "these two young women will go with you and carry yourchild if necessary. You will walk on, twenty yards ahead of us. Wefollow with these girls. No one is to follow us, or accompany us. Weare to go on like that till we come upon your outposts, and then thepriest and the two women will bring back Nunez's children."
"You will send them safe back, you swear?" asked Nunez, in tremuloustones.
"Psha!" Tom said contemptuously, "you don't suppose we arechild-murderers, like yourself."
"Remember!" the guerilla said, in a sudden burst of passion, "if youever cross my path again, I will--"
"Do terrible things no doubt," Tom said scornfully; "and do youbeware, too. It is
wild beasts like yourself who have brought disgraceand ruin on Spain. No defeat could dishonor and disgrace her as muchas your fiendish cruelty. It is in revenge for the deeds that you andthose like you do, that the French carry the sword and fire to yourvillages. We may drive the French out, but never will a country whichfights by murder and treachery become a great nation. Are you ready,Garcias!"
"I am ready," the muleteer said, stepping forward from the silent andscowling throng.
"We can trust you," Tom said heartily; "take us the short way straightdown into the valley; we may have the luck to come upon a passingFrench troop in an hour. Think of that, madam," he said to the Frenchlady, "let that give you strength and courage."
So saying, the procession set out in the order Tom had indicated,amidst the curses of the guerillas, who were furious at seeingthemselves thus bearded. At the brow of the hill Tom looked back, andsaw that the guerillas were still standing in a group, in front ofwhich he could distinguish the figure of Nunez. Taking off his hat,he waved an ironical farewell, and then followed the party downthe hillside into the broad valley below. They could see the roadstretching like a thread along it, but to their disappointment, nota figure was visible upon it. Now that there was no longer danger oftreachery, the party closed up together.
"How far is it to Vittoria, Garcias?"
"Twenty good miles, senor."
"But we shall never get there," Tom said in dismay. "I am sure thelady could not walk another five miles; she is quite exhausted now."
"You will not have to go five miles, senor. There is a body of fouror five hundred French in that large village you see there; it is notmore than three miles at most."
It was a weary journey, for the French lady, exhausted by fatigueand excitement, was often obliged to stop and sit down to rest, and,indeed, could not have got on at all had not Garcias on one side andthe padre on the other helped her on. At last, just as the sun wassetting, they approached the village, and could see the Frenchsentries at its entrance. When within a hundred yards they paused.
"We are safe now," Tom said; "it is not necessary for you to gofarther. Good-by, little ones; I am sorry we have given you such afright, but it was not our fault. Good-by, padre; I know that you willnot grudge your walk, for the sake of its saving the lives of theseunfortunates. Good-by, Garcias; thanks for your kindness and fidelity.I will report them when I return, and will, if I get a chance, sendyou a remembrance of our journey together."
"Good-by, senors," Garcias said, shaking them by the hand; "youEnglish are different to us, and I am not surprised now at yourGeneral holding Portugal against all the French armies." Then helowered his voice, so that the Spanish women standing by could nothear him. "Be on your guard, senors; don't move on from the villagewithout a strong convoy is going on; change your disguise, ifpossible; distrust every one you come across, and, in heaven's name,get back to your lines as soon as possible, for you may be assuredthat your steps will be dogged, and that you will be safe nowhere inSpain from Nunez's vengeance. The guerillas communicate with eachother, and you are doomed if you fall into the hands of any, except,perhaps, one or two of the greater chiefs. Be always on your guard;sleep with your eyes open. Remember, except in the middle of a Frenchregiment, you will never be really safe."
"Thanks, Garcias!" the boys said earnestly, "we will do our best tokeep our throats safe. At any rate, if we go down, it shall not be forwant of watchfulness!"
Another shake of the hands, and the party separated. The Spanish womanwho was carrying the sleeping French child handed her over to Tom, whotook her without waking her while Peter lent his arm to the Frenchlady.
"Madam," Tom said in English, "you will soon be among your friends. Iknow that you will keep your promise not to divulge the situation ofthe village you have left. I must ask you, also, to promise me notto say that we speak English, or to say anything which may create asuspicion that we are not what we seem. You will, of course, relateyour adventures, and speak of us merely as Spanish boys, who acted asthey did being moved by pity for you. We must accompany you for sometime, for Nunez will move heaven and earth to get us assassinated, andall we want is that you shall obtain permission for us to sleep in theguard-room, so as to be under shelter of French bayonets until we candecide upon our course of action."
The lady assented with a gesture, for she was too exhausted to speak,and as they reached the French sentries she tottered and sank down onthe ground insensible.