The frigate continued her cruise further to the south; she touched at several places, and Lord Claymore or Morton went constantly on shore to urge the Spanish authorities and the people to take up arms, and to assist in organising their forces. From the information the captain received, he considered it important to communicate with some influential people a short way in the interior. He gave his instructions to Morton, therefore, and directed him to take two men as a body-guard, and to set off at once. Ronald selected Truefitt and Doull, the first for his steadiness and the other for his cool courage, and having procured a guide and a horse, and two wretched mules which had been too decrepit for the enemy to carry off, proceeded on his mission.
Ronald and his guide rode on ahead, the two seamen following. Neither of them were better horsemen than are sailors in general, but they were at all events able to stick on, in spite of the kicks and stumbles and flounders their animals occasionally gave; each was armed with a good thick stick, besides a cutlass by his side and a brace of pistols in his belt. “This is a pleasanter sort of a cruise, mate, to my notion, than we’ve had the chance of for many a day,” observed Doull.
“Keep up on your four legs, you brute, now. The people here, though, seems to me to be an outlandish set; did you ever hear such a rum way of speaking as they’ve got? they all seem to have got lumps of biscuit or duff, or something of that sort, down their throats.”
“That’s the way they have. Different people speak a different lingo, just as different animals make different noises,” answered Job, sententiously. “I can’t say as how I likes these Dons; they’ve too stuck up and stand clear a manner about them to please me.”
“That’s my notion, too, Job,” said Bob. “I like the Mounseers a precious sight better; when one is friends with them, they take to our ways a hundred-fold better than these Dons. They’ll talk and laugh away, and drink too, with a fellow, just for all the world as if they were as regular born Christians as we are. That’s what a Don will never do; he won’t drink with you, he won’t talk to you, he won’t laugh or dance, and what’s more, he won’t fight with you; and that’s what the Mounseers never refuses to do, and that’s why I likes them.”
Morton enjoyed the change very much, from his usual life on board ship; he had not the same objection to the Spaniards as had his followers, and as he had now sufficiently mastered their language to converse with ease, he was never at a loss for amusement, and was able to obtain all the information he required about the country. Three days were consumed in reaching his destination; the French, he found, had lately been in that part of the country, but had retired northward. The people were anxious to drive the French out of their country, but they wanted arms, and money, and leaders.
Ronald was treated with great courtesy wherever he appeared, and he felt himself a much more important personage than he had ever before been. He had concluded the work on which he had been sent, and was about to return to his ship, when one of the Spanish officials informed him that he had received notification of the approach of a British commissioner, a military officer, to assist them in organising their forces.
“He must be a great man, an important person,” observed the Spaniard; “for he travels with many attendants, and his wife and family. No Spanish ladies would dream of travelling about the country at a time like this.”
Morton considered that it would be his duty to communicate with the commissioner, and hearing that he was only a day’s journey off, he set out to meet him. The village at which he arrived in the afternoon, like most in Spain, consisted of neat, low, white-washed houses, with bright, red-tiled roofs, most of them having massive wooden verandahs and trellis-work in front, forming arbours, over which vines in rich profusion were taught to trail. The interior, at all events, had a neat and clean appearance, but several blackened ruins, loop-holed walls, the upper part of which were thickly bespattered with bullet-marks, showed that it had been lately the scene of, perhaps, a brief but desperate encounter between the hostile forces. The inn where the British commissioner was said to be was pointed out to him. It was a long low building like the rest in the place; the ground floor being divided into two compartments, one serving as a kitchen and common eating-room, the other as a stable and sleeping-place for the muleteers; the upper part consisted of one large room, with dormitories roughly partitioned off round it. An English cavalry soldier was doing duty as sentry at the door. He informed Morton that the colonel had gone out with some of the authorities in the neighbourhood, but that the ladies were upstairs.
While Ronald was doubting what he should do, another man appeared and begged that he would walk up and remain till the colonel returned. Handing the bridle to his attendants with directions to them to wait for him, he threw himself off his horse, and followed the servant through the dark smoky kitchen to the stairs leading to the upper floor. His heart beat more quickly than usual, for he had a hope, though a faint one, that he was about once more to meet Edda Armytage, yet again he thought it very improbable that Colonel Armytage would bring her and her mother, accustomed as they had been to all the luxuries of life, into a part of the country in which travelling was so inconvenient and dangerous. Still they were in Spain. Of that Mrs Edmonstone had assured Glover. He sprang up the steps. The door was opened. He walked in with more than usual precipitation. At one end of the room were several persons with cloaks over their shoulders, and, hat in hand, sitting silent and solemn, evidently waiting the return of the commissioner. At the further end, in the deep window recess, sat two ladies. The back of one was turned towards him. The other was looking down at a piece of work on which she was engaged. Though jaded and looking very sad, her countenance was, he was certain, that of Mrs Armytage. His quick step roused both the ladies. They turned round. In an instant Edda’s hand was placed in his. The rich blood mantled in her cheeks, her eyes sparkled with pleasure. She forgot everything but the happiness of again meeting him. Mrs Armytage received him most cordially. The Spaniards looked on at what was taking place, and twirled their moustachios. They thought the young stranger officer a very happy fellow. After the first greetings were over, and Ronald had explained how he came to be at the place, Mrs Armytage told him that Colonel Armytage had met with considerable pecuniary losses, and that when he received the appointment he now held, he wished her to accompany him, and that Edda had insisted on not being left behind.
“We knew that there were inconveniences to be encountered, though we did not suppose that there were any dangers to be feared to which we would not gladly submit for the sake of accompanying Colonel Armytage, who so much requires our care,” observed Mrs Armytage. “The inconveniences are more ridiculous than disagreeable, and I fully believe Edda enjoys them; and as to dangers, we have found none hitherto, and rather look for them to add zest to the interest of the journey.”
Mrs Armytage went on speaking in this strain for some time, when she became very grave. Ronald suspected that, although she might not have been unwilling to come, it was not only her husband’s state of health which had induced her to accompany him. He knew how selfish and tyrannical Colonel Armytage always was, and he suspected that he had not given his wife the choice of remaining behind. Edda, as she watched her mother’s countenance, grew silent, and a shade of melancholy also stole over her features. Mrs Armytage at last spoke.
“We are truly glad to see you again, Mr Morton, and you know how high you stand in both Edda’s estimation and mine. Nothing you have ever done has forfeited our regard, but I dread that when Colonel Armytage returns he will not treat you in the way that we would desire. You know that he is irritable, and that when he has taken up a prejudice it is difficult to eradicate it. He has not got over the objections which he formerly expressed to you. Earnestly do I wish that he would. But you are generous and noble-minded; you will not think unkindly of us because one we are bound to obey treats you unjustly. I know that I describe my daughter’s feelings, and I speak thus because I feel that it is due to you to say it.”
While her mother was speaking, Edda looked up imploringly at Ronald. He could not help perceiving that her countenance wore an expression of tenderness and love towards him, and it was a sore trial for him to promise compliance with the unjust demands which her father might make on him. Mrs Armytage had spoken as she felt she was bound to do. In her heart she rebelled against her husband’s commands. Edda was old enough both to judge and act for herself, she considered. She had perfect confidence in her sense and discretion. Scarcely conscious of what she was doing, she rose from her seat and went to her room, leaving her daughter and Ronald together. The window recess was very deep; Edda had retired into it, and was thus concealed from the view of the people at the other end of the room. Ronald stood with his back towards them.
“Edda, I have never ceased to think of you, to ground all my expectations of earthly happiness on the hopes of making you mine,” he exclaimed in a low deep voice. “You require no assurances of my love and my constancy; then promise me that you will not consent to become another’s whatever may occur. I dare not ask you to disobey your father, and marry me against his will; but for your own sake, for mine, I do entreat you not to yield to his authority so far as to marry one you cannot love. I have hopes, great hopes that his objections to me may be removed; but till they are so, I dread lest he should compel you to give your hand to some one else. The promise I ask will give you strength to resist any unjust exercise of authority. No one holds in more respect than I do the duty of the obedience of a child to a parent; but in this case it would, I am certain, work woe to you, sorrow to your mother, and ultimate regret to your father. You will be firm, Edda? Promise me.”
“Indeed, indeed I will,” answered Miss Armytage. “Most faithfully and unreservedly I promise you that.”
At that moment there was a commotion among the people at the other end of the room, and a scraping of their feet on the floor as they rose from their seats. They simultaneously began to bow with a formal air; the noise they had created made Ronald turn his head, and as he did so, he saw an officer in full uniform entering the room, followed by a number of persons in various costumes. A second glance told Ronald that Colonel Armytage was before him.
Ronald at once advanced to meet him, and said, “I am an officer of his Majesty’s ship ‘Imperious.’ I was sent by my captain to communicate with the people in this district, and hearing that you were in the neighbourhood, I considered it my duty to inform you of what I have done.”
“In that light I am perfectly ready to receive you sir,” said the colonel, with a stiff bow. “But you will have the goodness to proceed at once with your narrative: you see that there are a number of people waiting to transact business with me, and that my time is short.”
Ronald felt a disagreeable sensation at his heart as the colonel was speaking, but he overcame his feelings, and at once entered on the business which had brought him to the place.
The manner of Colonel Armytage was stiff and ungracious in the extreme. Ronald had done everything so well, and gave so clear an account of all the arrangements he had made, that the colonel could not do otherwise than express himself satisfied. At length he rose, and said in a formal way, “I think now, sir, our business is ended. You will, I conclude, at once return to your ship, and express to Lord Claymore my satisfaction at the arrangements which have been made. His lordship will, however, see the necessity of leaving to me the task which he has hitherto performed so efficiently.”
Edda had not dared to stir from her seat, but had continued with her head bent down over some work, only venturing at times to cast a furtive glance at her father and Ronald, to ascertain how they got on together. Mrs Armytage soon afterwards joined her, and continued equally silent, her countenance exhibiting still greater anxiety and nervousness.
The colonel ceased speaking, and looked as if he expected the young officer to make his bow and walk straight out at the door, but Ronald felt that he must risk everything rather than take his departure without exchanging another word with Edda. He therefore, as soon as he rose, observing that Colonel Armytage had beckoned to one of the Spaniards to advance, said quietly, “I will pay my respects to Mrs and Miss Armytage before I go.”
Before the colonel could reply he had crossed the room to them.
“Mrs Armytage, whatever happens, I entreat you to think favourably of me,” he said; and then he took Edda’s hand, willingly given him, and he whispered, “Farewell, dearest; we shall meet, I trust, ere long, again, when I have hopes that some of the difficulties which now surround us may be surmounted. Your promise, though we were interrupted before the whole was given, has afforded joy and contentment to my heart.”
“Oh, but I give it entirely,” Edda exclaimed, eagerly. “No power shall make me break it, believe me Ronald.”
“You will be benighted, sir, and brigandage is rife,” exclaimed Colonel Armytage, looking up with an angry glance, which Edda observed, but Ronald did not.
“Go, go!” she exclaimed. “Heaven protect you?”
Morton shook hands with Mrs Armytage, bowed to the colonel, and walked with as much dignity as he could command out of the room.
He threw himself on his horse, and rather than remain in the place he determined to ride back to a village he had passed on his way there, where he might find refreshment and rest both for man and beast during the night.
As Ronald passed the group of Spaniards, he saw one of those who had come in with Colonel Armytage stare very hard at him. It struck him at the moment that he recollected the man’s features. He had just mounted his horse, when the person in question rushed down the steps, and grasped him by the hand.
“I am ashamed, my brave friend, that I should not at once have known you!” exclaimed the Spaniard. “But we both of us look to much greater advantage than we did on the day we stormed the fort, when we were covered with gunpowder and blood. But you must not go; come to my house, it is not many leagues off. You can be spared from your ship for a day or two longer.”
Ronald thanked his friend Don Josef very warmly, but assured him that it was his duty to make the best of his way to the coast, as the ship would be standing in to take him.
“How unfortunate!” said the Spaniard. “I have to see your commissioner—he seems a very great man—or I would accompany you all the way, and we might stop at the houses of some of my friends. Still I must go a little way with you. Wait a moment; I will send for my horse: it is a poor animal—the only one those thieving French have left me. But a day of retribution is coming, and soon, I hope.”
The steed was brought out; it was a far better animal than Ronald expected to see. The Spaniard mounted, and the cavalcade moved on.
The village was soon left behind. Ronald’s new friend, however, had not accompanied him more than a league when he said he must return, or he should miss his interview altogether with the commissioner. He had given Morton during that time a great deal of information as to the state of the country, and the temper of the people generally. One feeling seemed to pervade all classes—the deepest hatred of their late master, and a desire to be free.
“Better times may arrive, the country may be restored to peace, prosperity may be her lot, and then I trust that you will come and visit me at my home, and receive the thanks of my wife and children for the benefit you conferred on me.”
Saying this with the usual complimentary Spanish expressions, Don Josef turned his horse’s head, and rode back towards the village from which they had started, while Ronald continued his journey.
The sun had set some short time when Ronald, with his companions, reached the village where the guide told him he could obtain shelter and refreshment. The village itself was small and mean, and the only house of entertainment it possessed offered but few attractions to the travellers to remain there. However, as their beasts required rest, they were compelled to dismount, and while the guide with the boys of the inn led the animals into the stables, Ronald and the two seamen walked into the common room, which served as dining-hall, kitchen, and apparently the sleeping-place of the family, as well as of a numerous family of fowls. A very unattractive dame, who presided over the culinary department of the establishment, was now engaged in preparing supper for a very mixed and somewhat suspicious-looking company, who were seated at a long table, on benches at one side of the room. None of them rose as the strangers entered, and the few who condescended to pay them any attention scowled at them from under their brows, as if resenting their appearance as an intrusion. Ronald was very little moved by the want of courtesy with which he was received, but, walking up to the presiding genius of the place, he inquired, in the best Spanish he could command, whether he and his followers could have beds and food. The old woman looked up with a sinister expression without speaking, while she continued stirring the pot boiling on the huge wood fire. Her eyes were bleared with the smoke, and her face was wrinkled and dried, with a few white hairs straggling over her brow, while the long yellow tusks which protruded beyond her thin lips gave her a peculiarly hag-like look. Ronald repeated his question.
“Food?—yes, and good enough for any one,” she answered in a low croaking voice; “but for beds, the enemy carried them off, and everything in the house. There is space enough and to spare, upstairs, for a taller man than you to stretch his legs. You can go and look when you have a mind; your valise will serve you as a pillow, and a sack with some straw must be your mattress. Many a better man has slept in a worse bed.”
“I do not doubt it,” answered Ronald, calmly. “My men and I will manage well enough, but we are hungry, and shall be glad of food.”
“All in good time,” said the old woman, somewhat softening her tone, and pleased at being spoken to in her own language. “You may carry your baggage upstairs, and select any corner you like for your sleeping-place. The girl will be in and give you a light presently. See that there are no holes in the roof above you, in case it should rain. You will find it warmer too if you avoid those in the floor beneath you.”
The old woman said this evidently with serious good-will. Ronald thanked her, and directly afterwards a stout buxom girl came from the further end of the hall, with a brass oil lamp in her hand. Taking the advice of the old woman, Ronald went upstairs to select a corner where he and his party might rest a night. The apartment consisted of the entire upper floor, but as the old woman had warned him, it contained not a particle of furniture, though, from its appearance, there was little doubt that there would be a large number of inhabitants. In several places through the roof he could see the stars shining, while the faint rays of light, and odours anything but faint, which came up through the floor, showed the numerous holes and rents which time had made in the boards.
“This is a rum place for our lieutenant to sleep in,” observed Bob Doull to Job; “and as to the gentry below there, they are as cut-throat a crew as I ever set eyes on. I’ll not let his valise go out of my hands, for it would be whipped up pretty smartly by one of these fellows, and we should never see more of it. Looking at the land from aboard the frigate, I never should have thought it was such an outlandish sort of a country. Should you, Job?”
“Can’t say much for their manners. May be they are better than they look,” answered the elder seaman; “but if it came to a scrimmage, I can’t say but what I wouldn’t mind tackling a dozen of them.”
These remarks were made while Morton was taking a survey of the unpromising apartment. It had apparently been used as a barrack by the French when, not long ago, they occupied the village, and very little trouble had since been taken to clean it out. Morton asked the girl if his surmise was not correct.
“Yes, the demons! they have been here, and Heaven’s curse go with them!” she answered, with startling fierceness. “It was dark when you rode in, or you would have seen the number of houses burnt down, vineyards and orange-groves rooted up for firewood; but that was not all the harm they did. Woe, unutterable woe, they inflicted on thousands. I had a lover, to whom I was betrothed; they slew him, and me they rendered wretched. But I need not tell my own griefs. Thousands have suffered as much as I have. There, señor, that corner you will find the freest from inconvenience. Place your valise and saddle-bags there—they will be safe. We are honest, though our accursed foes have made us poor indeed.”
The poor girl’s dark eyes flashed fire as she spoke. Ronald felt sure that he might trust her entirely. He ordered Bob and Job, therefore, to deposit his scanty baggage in the corner indicated, and to follow him below.
“What! does the lieutenant think he’ll ever see them again if we does?” observed Bob.
“Orders is orders,” answered Job; “but just you keep a bright look out on the stair while we’re below, and as soon as we’ve stowed away some grub, we’ll take it watch and watch, and go up and sit on ’em. The Dons will find it a hard job to carry them off then, I’ll allow.”
Satisfied with their arrangements, the two seamen followed their officer. He took his seat at one end of the table, and, as he did so, he fancied the other guests seemed to regard him with more friendly glances than before. Not a minute had elapsed before Maria placed before him a smoking puchero (a dish to be found from one end of Spain to the other, composed of various sorts of meats minced with spices). There was a soup also, of a reddish tinge, from being coloured with saffron, and sausages rather too strong of garlic, and very white bread, and two dishes of vegetables, one of which was of garbanzos, a sort of haricot beans. There was wine also, and brandy; indeed, the inhabitants must have managed cleverly to hide their stores from their invaders to enable them to produce so good a supply. Job and Bob did not conceal their astonishment; the viands suited their taste, and they did ample justice to them.
Though Ronald was in love, and had just cause to be anxious as to its result, and though he had only just parted from his mistress, yet he was a sailor; he had been a midshipman, and he had always a remarkably good appetite; and now, much to his surprise (for when he stopped at the door of the inn he had no thoughts of eating), he felt every inclination to do justice to the feast set before him.
“He’ll do,” observed Job to Bob, as they sat at a respectful distance from their officer. “At first I could not tell what had come over him as he got on his horse after he’d been talking to that young lady up at the window. Whenever I sees a man able to take his grub, whatever’s the matter with him, I knows it’s all right.”
Ronald had addressed some of the Spaniards near him. They listened respectfully. He spoke to them of the tyranny to which Spain had been so long subject; of the sufferings she had endured; of the only means of freedom—the rising of the whole nation, as a man, to throw off the yoke. “The English will help you, but they can only help, remember. It is you who must do the work,” he added.
“True, true! the cabaliero speaks well!” resounded from all parts of the room.
“It is to urge you to rise in arms, to drive the invaders from your country that I have come among you,” said Ronald. He warmed on the subject. His hearers grew enthusiastic.
“We have arms! we have arms!” they shouted. “We will bring them forth; we have powder and shot. The enemy are not far off. We will go and meet them. We will drive them before us like sheep.”
Ronald was satisfied with the effect of his address. He knew perfectly well that in the morning, after they had cleaned their arms and filled their pouches with powder, they would stop and consider before they advanced to meet the enemy. Altogether, he felt that the evening had not been ill-spent, and at the end of it the very people who had, when he came among them, cast on him such sinister looks, now regarded him with the greatest respect. It was late before he threw himself down on a sack of straw in a corner of the upper room, wrapped up in his cloak. Though the room was occupied by a large portion of the rest of the guests, who kept up a concert of snores all night long, he managed to sleep soundly till daylight.
The next morning after breakfast, having bid farewell to his new friends, he continued his journey. Nothing would induce his horse to go out of a walk, while the mules refused to proceed at a faster rate than their more noble companions, so that their progress was of necessity slow. As they proceeded the sad traces of warfare were everywhere visible. Whole farmsteads burnt to the ground, houses in ruins, churches unroofed, groves of orange and olive trees cut down, fences destroyed, and fields once fertile returning to a state of nature, and overrun with weeds. The guide looked at them as objects to which he was well accustomed, but now and then he ground his teeth and swore vengeance on the heads of the fell invaders of his country.
Job had been remarking where the devastating hand of war had passed, and had counted up the objects destroyed. At length he gave expression to his thoughts.
“Well, to my mind, it’s a mortal pity people take to fighting on shore. Why don’t they stick to their ships, and always have it out afloat? that’s the sensible thing, and then the only harm’s done to the ships and the men who has the fun of the thing, and gets the honour and glory, and that’s all natural and right.”
Bob heartily joined in with Job’s notion.
“If I was a king, I wouldn’t let ’em,” he remarked. “I’d say, just you let the farms, and the gardens, and the women and children, and the churches alone; and if you wants to tight, by all manner of means fight it out, but keep afloat, and don’t come here.”
The seamen had been conversing for some time in this strain, when the clatter of a horse’s hoof was heard behind them, and turning their heads they saw the same Spaniard who had accompanied them on their way the day before. They told Morton, who turned his horse’s head to meet him.
“Thank heaven that my steed has carried me so well, and that I have come up to you,” exclaimed Don Josef. “There is work for you; your aid is wanted; you will not refuse it, I know? But come, ride back with me as fast as your beast’s legs will move, and I will tell you. Give him the spur! spare him not; I may supply you with a better soon. The French are at no great distance from this; secure as they fancy themselves, we have spies among them to inform us of all their movements. After daybreak this morning, one of the spies arrived, and brought me notice that the enemy were advancing, and that they having heard that a British commissioner was in the neighbourhood, had resolved to carry him off. On hearing this, I instantly set out to warn your countryman of the danger to which he was exposed, but on my way I met a person who informed me that he and his party had set forth at a very early hour, and were actually advancing in the very direction where they would encounter the enemy. I, on this, instantly sent forth a person to warn him of his danger, and galloped after you, to entreat you to head a party, of strength sufficient to meet the enemy. I directed all the men in the district to assemble in arms; they want a leader, however, in whom they may have confidence. I have told them that they would find one in you, and they believe me. You will come, will you not?”
“Indeed, I will!” answered Ronald, belabouring his horse, and digging his spurs into his flanks with an energy proportioned to his anxiety. So eager was he, that for some time he could scarcely ask questions. One thought alone occupied his mind: Edda was in danger, and there was a possibility that he might preserve her from it.
The party soon got back to the village, where, in front of the inn, a large number of men with arms in their hands were assembled. They received Morton as he rode up with loud vivas. He had won their regards the previous evening by the way he had addressed them, and Don Josef had been telling them what a gallant fellow he was. They were, therefore, now prepared to place the most implicit confidence in him, and to hail him as a leader in the enterprise Don Josef had projected. The Spaniard had been giving him an exact account of all the information he had received, and of the plans he had formed. Ronald thought them excellent; there was, however, no time to be lost. Messengers with the fiery cross—at least a message of the same import—had been sent round to all the neighbourhood, and armed men were coming in from every direction. When their numbers were counted, Morton found himself at the head of a guerilla band, mustering upwards of three hundred men, cavalry and infantry. They varied more in their arms than in their costume, and though many were somewhat ragged, when massed together and all looking fierce and eager for the fight, they had a very warlike appearance.
The great object was to overtake Colonel Armytage before he could reach the spot where the ambush was supposed to be placed; he travelled with only a small escort of a dozen troopers, merely sufficient for protection against any brigands who might be roving through the country. As to the French, he had fancied that they were at a considerable distance, and had no fear of falling in with them: he ought of course to have been better informed. The truth was, that though formal and dignified, and so far fitted to have intercourse with the Spaniards, his manners were not sufficiently conciliatory to have gained their affections, and they consequently neglected to give him the information on many points which it was most important for him to obtain.
Job and Bob exchanged a few passing remarks as they bumped along in a way to which they were not at all accustomed, and which caused their words to come out like shot from guns irregularly served in action, or the pantings of a broken-down steam-engine; only such an invention was not known in those days.
“I’d sooner be serving my gun aboard the frigate than be on the top of this here brute,” observed Bob. “But it’s no odds, I suppose; if we catches the Mounseers, and drubs them, we shall ride back on their backs—eh, Job?”
“Not so sure of that; they’ll sham lame and refuse to carry us,” answered the other seaman. “But I say, Bob, what a hurry our lieutenant’s in; to my mind, it’s all about that young lady at the window; mark my words, there’ll be a splice some day or other, and good luck to him too; a finer-hearted fellow never stepped, for all he’s a boatswain’s son. There’s some men born to be officers, and he’s one of ’em.”
People seldom dream of the way in which they and their acts are discussed by their inferiors.
Don Josef now told Ronald that they were approaching the spot where he hoped to overtake Colonel Armytage and his party, but no traces of them could be seen. They must have proceeded faster than Don Josef had calculated. “On, on!” was the cry. They met a peasant, a half-witted fellow; he had seen such a party—a carriage with ladies, a waggon and some horsemen—pass an hour before.
“We shall be too late, I fear,” exclaimed Don Josef; “but on, my friends; we may still overtake the enemy.”
The party redoubled their speed; never had Ronald been worked up to such a pitch of anxiety and eagerness.
The sound of shots was heard; the road wound among low broken cliffs, and trees growing thickly together; it was a likely place for an assault; so frequent were the bends made by the road that seldom was there a direct view of more than a hundred yards. Horse and foot rushed on, till Ronald remembering that their impetuosity might do more harm than good, halted them; and begging Don Josef to remain with them and not to advance till summoned, rode on with the two seamen, and six other men, of the best-equipped and best-mounted of the party. Now again he pushed on as rapidly as he could. How his heart beat! Should he be in time to rescue his friends? If not, how would they be treated? His eagerness prompted him to shout to his men, but he recollected caution was necessary, and restrained himself. Again the rattle of musketry was heard, and dropping shots, and even the shouts of the combatants reached his ears; he was close to them; a carriage was the first object which met his view. The mule which dragged it had drawn it against the side of the cliff, against which it lay half upset. Before it were a party of men drawn up across the pass, and bravely contending against a whole host who appeared beyond. It was evident, however, the small band would be quickly overpowered, for men were seen climbing the cliff with muskets in hand, belonging to the opposite party. By their dress, and the rapidity with which they climbed the cliffs, they seemed to be seamen. Ronald’s plans were formed in a moment; he instantly despatched the most trusty of his party to direct Don Josef to send a hundred men up the cliffs, so as to gain a higher level than the French, and to advance with all rapidity with the rest. Putting spurs to his horse, Ronald, with his small body of companions, darted on, shouting in English and Spanish, “To the rescue! to the rescue! Do not give way—a strong force is at hand!”
He had neither been heard nor seen by the commissioner’s escort: at that moment they wavered and drew back. Once losing ground, the French dashed in among them; while some of the latter engaged each of them in single combat, a French officer and several others made their way to the carriage; Ronald and his band galloped on. At that moment only were they discovered. A shriek was heard. The Frenchmen were dragging the ladies from their carriage. Ronald repeated the shouts he had already uttered. Among the French were sailors as well as soldiers.
“We’ll tackle them,” cried Job.
“What business has they to be here?” exclaimed Bob.
The French officer was in naval uniform, and Ronald, even at that distance, recognised Alfonse Gerardin.
Mrs Armytage and her daughter shrieked for help; they fancied they had been attacked by bandits. They had been more alarmed for the safety of Colonel Armytage than for their own; he was nowhere to be seen.
“Fear not, my beloved Edda; you and your mother are in perfect safety,” said Alfonse Gerardin, who had thrown himself from his horse. He was now endeavouring to draw her, with as little violence as possible, from the carriage. “I have sought for you through many lands; I have found you at last, and we will never again part.”
These expressions frightened Edda far more than any threats would have done. There was a concentrated energy and determination in the way he spoke them that made her feel that he would keep his word.
“Oh, spare me! spare me!” she exclaimed. “You are not a brigand; you do not war with women. Let us go free, and hasten to the assistance of my father. You expressed friendship for him. Prove it now.”
“I will, Edda, I swear; but you cannot remain here. Any moment you may be sacrificed. The shot are falling thickly around. It is hopeless to expect help from any one but me.”
At that moment Edda saw him change colour, and then she heard the sound of a voice which she knew full well—“To the rescue! to the rescue!” while Bob and Job shouted, “Down with the Mounseers; down with them!”
Edda saw Ronald coming. She struggled to free herself; while Alfonse, having leapt on his horse, was attempting to lift her up on the saddle; but he was not a good horseman, and it seemed doubtful whether he would succeed.
While some of his followers were endeavouring to carry off Mrs Armytage, in obedience to his orders, the others were facing about to defend themselves against the approaching enemy. When the French saw the small body of men led by Morton, those who had faced to meet them boldly advanced. Morton dashed forward. His great object was to reach Alfonse Gerardin. He saw nothing else, he thought of nothing else but Edda Armytage in his power.
“Release her, or you die!” he shouted.
Truefitt and Doull meantime had each singled out a French seaman, and with hearty good-will were attacking them with their cutlasses. So fierce was their onslaught that they drove them back into the midst of the mêlée, where Colonel Armytage’s troopers were still holding their own against their foes. The French were, however, pressing them very hard. Alfonse looked round and saw that the way was open to him. In another moment Ronald Morton would be at his side. He stooped down, and throwing his arms round Edda, by a violent effort lifted her off the ground and placed her on his saddle.
“Retreat, men!” he shouted, “Let alone the other lady.”
He was galloping off, but Ronald digging his spurs into his horse’s flanks, and cutting down a French soldier, who attempted to stop him, was in another instant by the side of the young lieutenant. Gerardin saw him coming with uplifted sword. He raised his own weapon to defend himself, while he still held Edda with his left arm. He knew that Ronald would not dare to fire; he doubted whether he would even venture to strike, for fear of injuring Miss Armytage. Ronald’s eye was practised, his nerves were well strung.
“Release her, villain!—madman!” he shouted again. He saw what Alfonse, who had to turn his head to look at him, did not see, Truefitt and Doull springing across the road. Bob seized the horse’s head; the animal reared. Gerardin, in attempting to seize the rein, loosened his hold of Edda, and she would have fallen to the ground had not Truefitt caught her. The enemy were gathering thickly around. Bob, seeing what had happened, let go the rein to defend his own head, as well as his shipmate’s, from the blows showered on them. Morton, too, was attacked on all sides. He did not seek for revenge. Gerardin’s horse sprang forward and saved his rider from the only blow aimed at him by Morton. All these events had passed within a few seconds of time. At that instant the Frenchmen uttered a cry of “Retreat!—retreat! Sauve qui peut!” They had good reason for so doing; for the cliffs on either side appeared covered with guerillas, who began firing down upon them, while a strong band was seen advancing at full speed along the road.
“Ronald Morton, I hate you!” exclaimed Gerardin, turning round in his saddle, and shaking his clenched fist at the English lieutenant. “You have foiled me again and again. I know you, and who you are; you stand between me and my birthright; you shall not foil me again. I have before sought your life; the next time we meet we will not separate till one or the other dies.”
These last words were uttered as, surrounded by the survivors of his band, he was galloping off. The advantage of having sent the Spaniards to crown the height was now apparent. They drove the French riflemen down to the main body, and the enemy, not being able to ascertain the number opposed to them, gave way before a very inferior and undisciplined force. Ronald did not attempt to follow them till he had placed Edda in safety by the side of her mother, whom he found half fainting in the carriage. Then telling her that he would go in search of Colonel Armytage, he leapt on his horse and joined Don Josef and the surviving troopers who were moving on in pursuit of the enemy. He had not gone far before he fancied that he could distinguish Colonel Armytage mounted on a horse among the French, and drooping as if badly wounded.
The road sloped considerably in front. The French were descending the steep. Calling to his companions to charge, he led the way, attacking the rear-guard of the enemy with irresistible impetuosity. Down they went before the Spanish blades like corn before the sickle. Those in front endeavoured to fly. Some few turned to withstand their opponents, but they, too, gave way, and Ronald and his followers fought on till they reached the prize the French fancied they had secured: the person to capture whom the expedition had apparently been despatched. The colonel, who had been secured to his horse, was almost insensible, and seemed not at all aware by whom he had been rescued. The French, meantime, when they discovered the small number of the guerilla band opposed to them halted, and seemed about to return; but Ronald showed so bold a front that they apparently thought better of it, and on finding that they were not again attacked, formed in order, and continued their retreat.
Ronald observed, as he rode back, that although there were numbers of dead on the road, there was not a wounded man alive among them.
Ronald Morton’s heart beat high with hope when he rode back, and was able to announce to Mrs Armytage and Edda that he had recovered Colonel Armytage. “Though wounded and faint from loss of blood, I trust that he is not seriously hurt,” he added.
He received an ample reward in the look of love and gratitude which Edda gave him.
Before the arrival of the colonel, the carriage was got up, the traces were repaired, the mules caught, and everything was in readiness to move. Don Josef, who now came up, insisted on their returning to his house.
“Even if the enemy were not in the neighbourhood,” he observed, “it would be useless for the commissioner to proceed further, utterly unable as he is to attend to business.”
After a time Colonel Armytage yielded an unwilling consent to the arrangement, he had learned that Don Josef was Morton’s friend, and he was evidently doubting in his mind how he should treat Morton himself. He had just rendered him a great service, and the very man whom he had once favoured as the suitor of his daughter, and who had promised to come and claim her when circumstances would allow him, he had seen in the ranks of the enemy, and he now learned had also attempted to carry off his daughter. These thoughts occupied his mind as the carriage moved on in the centre of the party. Ronald had too correct notions of generalship not to march in true military order. He sent forward an advanced guard, and kept a rear guard at some distance to give timely notice of the approach of an enemy, should they be pursued. He himself was everywhere, seeing that his newly-raised band of guerillas were attending to their duty, though he did not fail, whenever he passed, to make inquiries at the carriage-window as to how Colonel Armytage was bearing his journey.
It was dark when the country-house of Don Josef was reached. He literally made his house the home of the foreigners, for he made them occupy all the best rooms, and retired himself to a small chamber remote from all the rest. It was one of those glorious nights which in no part of Europe are seen to greater advantage than in the clear atmosphere of Spain. The moon, in full lustre, shone out from a sky undimmed by a single cloud, and every object on which its light fell stood out clear and defined, casting the darkest of shadows behind it.
When the guerilla band had been refreshed they assembled in the patio, or yard in front of the house, and gave vent to their satisfaction at their victory in patriotic songs. It was great enjoyment to Morton to find himself again by the side of Edda, and to feel that he had just conferred so great a benefit on her father that he could scarcely refuse his consent to their union. He little knew the unyielding nature of the man with whom he had to deal. Both Edda and Ronald referred to the threats they had heard uttered by Alfonse Gerardin.
“I cannot understand him,” she said, “who he is, nor what he is. My father certainly favoured his suit in a way I could not fancy he would do that of a person of whom he knew nothing, while he treats you, whom he does know, with evident dislike. I cannot conceal it from myself. You know the pain it must give me. Nor can I help owning that my father is acting a cruel and wrong part.”
Ronald knew how near the enemy were, and would have been anxious for the safety of his friends had not Don Josef assured him that he had sent out scouts to watch their movements, and to give the earliest notice of their approach.
The next day a surgeon arrived, who pronounced the wounds Colonel Armytage had received to be in no way dangerous, but expressed his opinion that he would be unfit for a long time to perform the duties intrusted to him. Of this the colonel himself seemed to be fully aware, and he accordingly at once wrote to beg that he might be superseded.
In the afternoon a scout arrived with the information that the French were retreating northward. This was accounted for by the rumour of the approach of a strong Spanish force.
Ronald would gladly have remained to watch over the safety of Edda and her parents, and Don Josef did not fail to employ every argument he could think of to persuade him that he would be right in so doing. He had, however, been absent from his ship much longer than had been intended; and though he could give a very good account of the way he had employed his time, and he knew that his captain would be perfectly satisfied, he felt sure that she would be employed in some work in which he would wish to take a part. Edda had too high a sense of the duty of an officer to attempt for a moment to detain him, though her sad looks showed how much she felt the parting. She talked hopefully of the future; of the happiness which might be in store for them when her father’s objections were overcome.
“They must be conquered some day,” she exclaimed. “Why should he object on the score of birth? We are cousins, though distant ones, and as for fortune, I have never been ambitious, and shall be well content to share what you may have, till— You know some day, Ronald, Lunnasting in all probability will be mine. I am not greedy of it. I would gladly see it belong to my long-lost cousin, poor aunt Hilda’s son, if he could be found; but after the lapse of so many years, that is not likely. Indeed, it is for your sake alone, Ronald, that I should prize it.”
Ronald pressed her to his heart. “Thanks, thanks, generous one,” he whispered. “We may yet obtain ample fortune to satisfy our wishes. Of that I have little fear.”
The tears came into Mrs Armytage’s eyes when Ronald wished her farewell. It appeared to her as if the only person to whom she could look with confidence for protection and support was about to leave her, for even should Colonel Armytage recover his health, his temper was not likely to improve, while, should he grow worse, she would be left in a still more helpless condition.
Ten days more passed, and a fine brig stood into the harbour. The master came on shore, and finding out Colonel Armytage, announced himself as Captain Carlton, of the “Helen,” bound direct for London. Nothing could be more convenient; every arrangement was soon concluded; the colonel and his family went on board; the generous Don Josef bade them farewell, and with a favourable breeze, a course was shaped for the Straits of Gibraltar.
The “Helen” remained only a couple of days at Gibraltar. Colonel Armytage refused to go on shore, or to allow his wife or daughter to go. They were glad, therefore, once more to be at sea. The weather continued fine, and the wind favourable, and there was every promise of a prosperous voyage. The wind was from the south-east, and as the “Helen” ran along the coast of Portugal the sea was perfectly smooth, except that a slight ripple played over its surface, on which the sun sparkled with dazzling brilliancy. An awning was spread, under which the ladies sat, and when the rock of Lisbon rose in view and the pine-crowned heights of Cintra, just then especially notorious, not for its beauty, not for its orange groves, but on account of the disgraceful treaty which had there lately been concluded, even Colonel Armytage condescended to come on deck, and to admire the beauty of the scene. Through their glasses the Cork convent could be seen perched on its lofty crags, and below them to the north the mass of odd-looking buildings known as the palace of Mafra, containing a royal residence, a monastery, barracks, and a church. Further north, little more could be seen than a long line of yellow sand, with pine-covered hills.
“Now, ladies, I think you have seen enough of Portugal,” said Captain Carlton. “We’ll haul off the shore, if you please; for, to tell you the truth, it’s a treacherous coast, which I’m in no way fond of. From here, right away till we come to Vigo in Spain, there is not a single harbour into which a ship can run for shelter; I don’t say that it’s a disgrace to the people—they didn’t make the coast; it was so formed for some good reason, I doubt not, but still I always like to give it a wide berth.”
The fine weather continued till the “Helen” had passed Cape Ortegal, and was fairly in the Bay of Biscay. The wind then increased, and became variable, and dark clouds were seen banking up in the south-western horizon. The kind old captain became less cheerful than usual. The brig no longer glided on smoothly and sedately as before, but began to roll and pitch with the rising sea. The ladies came on deck, but were unable to read and work as they had previously done, but Edda declared that she enjoyed the change, and found amusement in looking at the dancing seas, and in watching a shoal of porpoises which went careering along, sporting and rolling and keeping way with the brig without effort.
“Ah, young lady, you are looking at those fellows, are you?” said Captain Carlton. “Just watch how they go along. Now I have heard people on shore talk of a porpoise as a fat, heavy creature who hasn’t got any spirit in him, just like a hog, for instance, wallowing in the mud. I should like to see the race-horse which could keep up with them. They would beat that gallant frigate which passed us the other day, and as to this brig you see, they swim round and round her as if she was at anchor, and we are going a good seven knots through the water. People fancy when they see their black tails when they dive that they are rolling along, but the truth is, there isn’t a creature darts quicker through its native element than a porpoise.”
The captain’s lecture on the much-maligned fish was suddenly brought to a close by a cry from the masthead of a sail on the larboard-quarter. In war time merchantmen keep a sharp look-out, or ought to do so, that they may have timely notice to enable them to avoid an enemy. On the present occasion all Captain Carlton could do was to make more sail and to continue the same course he had been steering. As there were threatenings of a stiff breeze, if not of a gale, the hands were ordered to stand by to take it in again, should it be necessary.
The stranger gained rapidly on the brig, and as she was pronounced to be a large ship, then a man-of-war from the squareness of her yards, and at length a frigate—
“Could she be the ‘Imperious?’” Edda ventured to ask.
The old captain shook his head.
“No, my dear young lady,” he answered gravely; “it goes to my heart to alarm you, but the truth must be spoken. I am very much afraid that the stranger is an enemy.”
Edda’s heart sunk within her. English prisoners, she knew, whether combatants or not, were detained in France for years, and the Emperor had shown his intention of keeping them till he had attained the objects he sought.
Mrs Armytage fainted when she heard the report, and the colonel came on deck to ascertain its truth. He evidently did not like the look of things.
“Cannot you make this craft of yours sail faster?” he asked, in an angry tone of the master.
“It is the people who built her, sir, are to blame, not me. I am doing, and will do, all a seaman can accomplish to escape the enemy; I have no wish to be taken. I have a wife and family waiting my return home, and Heaven have mercy on them! we shall be utterly ruined if the brig is taken.”
Colonel Armytage was silent; the chances of escape seemed small indeed. Still pressed as she was with a far larger amount of canvas than the master would have ventured to carry under ordinary circumstances, the brig tore through the rising seas at a greater rate than had ever before probably been got out of her.
The master stood watching the masts and spars with an anxious eye. They bent and cracked with the greatly increased strain to which they were exposed; the weather-shrouds and stays were tautened to the utmost. At length the master turned round to Edda and Mrs Armytage, who, having recovered from her first alarm, had come up on deck.
“My dear young lady, and you, ma’am, do go below, let me pray you; this is no place for you,” he said, with deep earnestness. “Any moment we may have the masts and spars rattling down on our heads, or the enemy’s shot flying along our decks. Please Heaven, while the masts stand we’ll hold on. They can but take us in the end; but, dear ladies, do go below. We shall act more like men if we know that you are safe.”
Thus urged, most unwillingly Edda and her mother retired to the cabin. The colonel, however, remained on deck.
“It shall never be said that where danger was present I was absent,” he remarked.
“Maybe, but you would be of much more use looking after your wife and daughter in the cabin,” muttered the honest old captain.
Edda and Mrs Armytage went into their own cabin. They knelt down. They could not strive like men, but they could pray that the ship might be preserved from the threatened danger, or, if it was Heaven’s will that it should overtake her, that they might have strength given them to bear whatever it was their lot to suffer.
The breeze was freshening rapidly, the movement of the brig increased as she plunged with a violent jerk into one sea, and then rose up the watery ridge only to sink down again into another watery valley. Still on she tore. The master was keeping his word. On a sudden there was a cry; then followed a fearful crash.
“Oh, my father! he may have been killed,” exclaimed Edda, as she rushed on deck.
Both the masts had gone by the board, and the brig lay a helpless wreck on the tossing waters. The frigate was close to them. For an instant a wild hope rose in Edda’s heart. Was she after all the “Imperious?”
The hope was soon banished. The flag of France flew out from the stranger’s peak. Edda looked round for her father, trembling with fear. He had fallen, and lay on the deck unable to rise. She rushed towards him, all his unkindness, his harshness and injustice forgotten. She attempted to lift him up; but her strength was unequal to the task. He soon somewhat recovered.
“I am not materially injured, I fancy,” he said at length. “This is a fearful accident; I was struck by a falling block, and was stunned. I shall be myself again directly. But where is the master? What has become of the crew?”
Edda gazed horror-struck at the spectacle which met her sight. Several of the men lay crushed under the masts and heavy spars which had fallen on the deck, a few who had leaped below were returning to their assistance, but Captain Carlton was nowhere to be seen. Just then a cry struck Edda’s ears; she gazed out on the foam-covered sea. Among the wildly leaping waves she caught sight of the old master’s countenance—it was turned towards the brig with a look of agony. He was swimming bravely, sorely buffeted as he was by the seas. The effort was beyond his strength. With a wild cry he threw up his arms, and the next sea rolled over his head.
Edda would have sunk with horror had not the call of duty supported her.
“Father! oh come below! we can do nothing to help ourselves, and shall be safe there,” she exclaimed, in an imploring tone.
“No, no, girl; I must be on deck to receive our captors. See, they are coming!”
He raised himself to his feet, and was pointing to the frigate, which, having passed to windward of the dismasted brig, was now hove-to. A boat was at that instant being lowered from her side.
“Then I will not leave you, father,” said his daughter, clinging to the bulwarks near him.
The boat from the French frigate approached; she came close to the brig, but it was both difficult and dangerous for the crew to get on board. More than once they made the attempt, and each time the boat was driven off again by the sea; at last they shouted to the English seamen to come and help them. The surviving crew of the brig had gone below, as is the practice of seamen likely to be captured, to put on their best clothing and to secure any valuables belonging to them. At last they appeared, and with their assistance and the ropes they hove-to the boat, and the Frenchmen succeeded in getting on board. Their officer was the first up the side. Edda looked at him, and almost shrieked with terror when she recognised Alfonse Gerardin.