Mr. Fortescue by William Westall (best books for 8th graders .TXT) 📕

were mere huts--roofs on stilts; others, "wattle and dab;" a few, brown-stone. To the most imposing of these we were conducted by our escort. Above the doorway, on either side of which stood a sentry, was an inscription: "Headquarters: General Griscelli."

The sergeant asked one of the sentries if the general was in, and receiving an answer in the affirmative he entered, leaving us outside. Presently he returned.

"The general will see you," he said; "be good enough to come in."

We went in, and after traversing a wide corridor were ushered into a large room, where an officer in undress uniform sat writing at a big table. Several other officers were lounging in easy-chairs, and smoking big cigars.

"Here are the prisoners, general," announced our conductor.

The man at the table, looking up, glanced first at Carmen, then at me.

"_Caramba!_" he exclaimed, with a stare of surprise, "you and I have met before, I think."

I returned the stare with interest, for though I recognized him I could hardly believe my own eyes.

"On the field of Salamanca?"

"Of course. You are the English officer who behaved so insolently and got me reprimanded." (This in French.)

"I did no more than my duty. It was you that behaved insolently."

"Take care what you say, senor, or _por Dios_--There is no English general to whom you can appeal for protection now. What are you doing here?"

"Not much good, I fear. Your men brought me: I had not the least desire to come, I assure you."

"You were caught on the hill yonder, surveying the town through a glass, and Sergeant Prim overheard part of a conversation which leaves no doubt that you are officers in Mejia's army. Besides, you were seen coming from the quarter where he encamped this morning. Is this so?"

Carmen and I exchanged glances. My worst fears were confirmed--we had been betrayed.

"Is this so? I repeat."

"It is."

"And have you, an English officer who has fought for Spain, actually sunk so low as to serve with a herd of ruffianly rebels?"

"At any rate, General Griscelli, I never deserted to the enemy."

The taunt stung him to the quick. Livid with rage he sprung from his chair and placed his hand on his sword.

"Do you know that you are in my power?" he exclaimed. "Had you uttered this insult in Spanish instead of in French, I would have strung you up without more ado."

"You insulted me first. If you are a true caballero give me the satisfaction which I have a right to demand."

"No, senor; I don't meet rebels on the field of honor. If they are common folk I hang them; if they are gentlemen I behead them."

"Which is in store for us, may I ask?"

"_Por Dios!_ you take it very coolly. Perhaps neither."

"You will let me go, then?"

"Let you go! Let you go! Yes, I _will_ let you go," laughing like a man who has made a telling joke, or conceived a brilliant idea.

"When?"

"Don't be impatient, senor; I should like to have the pleasure of your company for a day or two before we part. Perhaps after--What is the strength of Mejia's army?"

"I decline to say."

"I think I could make you say, though, if it were worth the trouble. As it happens, I know already. He has about two thousand infantry and one thousand cavalry. What has he come here for? Does the fool actually suppose that with a force like that he can capture San Felipe? Such presumption deserves punishment, and I shall give him a lesson he will not easily forget--if he lives to remember it. Your name and quality, senor" (to Carmen).

"Salvador Carmen, _teniente_ in the patriot army."

"I suppose you have heard how I treat patriots?"

"Yes, general, and I should like to treat you in the same way."

"You mean you would like to hang me. In that case you cannot complain if I hang you. However I won't hang you--to-day. I will either send you to the next world in the company of your general, or let you go with--"

"Senor Fortescue?"

"Thank you--with Senor Fortescue. That is all, I think. Take him to the guard-house, sergeant--Stay! If you will give me your parole not to leave the town without my permission, or make any attempt to escape, you may remain at large, Senor Fortescue."

"For how long?"

"Two days."

As the escape in the circumstances seemed quite out of the question, I gave my parole without hesitation, and asked the same favor for my companion.

"No" (sternly). "I could not believe a rebel Creole on his oath. Take him away, sergeant, and see that he is well guarded. If you let him escape I will hang you in his stead."

Despite our bonds Carmen and I contrived to shake hands, or rather, touch fingers, for it was little more.

"We shall meet again." I whispered. "If I had known that he would not take your parole I would not have given mine. Let courage be our watchword. _Hasta manana!_"

"Pray take a seat, Senor Fortescue, and we will have a talk about old times in Spain. Allow me to offer you a cigar--I beg your pardon, I was forgetting that my fellows had tied you up. Captain Guzman (to one of the loungers), will you kindly loose Mr. Fortescue? _Gracias!_ Now you can take a cigar, and here is a chair for you."

I was by no means sure that this sudden display of urbanity boded me good, but being a prisoner, and at Griscelli's mercy, I thought it as well to humor him, so accepted the cigar and seated myself by his side.

After a talk about the late war in Spain, in the course of which Griscelli told some wonderful stories of the feats he had performed there (for the man was egregiously vain) he led the conversation to the present war in South America, and tried to worm out of me where I had been and what I had done since my arrival in the country. I answered him courteously and diplomatically, taking good care to tell him nothing that I did not want to be known.

"I see," he said, "it was a love of adventure that brought you here--you English are always running after adventures. A caballero like you can have no sympathy with these rascally rebels."

"I beg your pardon; I do sympathize with the rebels; not, I confess, as warmly as I did at first, and if I had known as much as I know now, I think I should have hesitated to join them."

"How so?"

"They kill prisoners in cold blood, and conduct war more like savages than Christians."

"You are right, they do. Yes, killing prisoners in cold blood is a brutal practice! I am obliged to be severe sometimes, much to my regret. But there is only one way of dealing with a rebellion--you must stamp it out; civil war is not as other wars. Why not join us, Senor Fortescue? I will give you a command."

"That is quite out of the question, General Griscelli; I am not a mere soldier of fortune. I have eaten these people's salt, and though I don't like some of their ways, I wish well to their cause."

"Think better of it, senor. The alternative might not be agreeable."

"Whatever the alternative may be, my decision is irrevocable. And you said just now you would let me go."

"Oh, yes, I will let you go, since you insist on it" (smiling). "All the same, I think you will regret your decision--Mejia, of course, means to attack us. He can have come with no other object--by your advice?"

"Certainly not."

"That means he is acting against your advice. The man is mad. He thought of taking us by surprise, I suppose. Why, I knew he was on his way hither two days ago! And if he does not attack us to-night--and we are quite ready for him--I shall capture him and the whole of his army to-morrow. I want you to go with us and witness the operation--in the character of a spectator."

"And a prisoner?"

"If you choose to put it so."

"In that case, there is no more to be said, though for choice, I would rather not witness the discomfiture of my friends."

Griscelli gave an ironical smile, which I took to mean that it was precisely for this reason that he asked me to accompany him.

"Will you kindly receive Senor Fortescue, as your guest, Captain Guzman," he said, "take him to your quarters, give him his supper, and find him a bed."

"_Con mucho gusto._ Shall we go now, Senor Fortescue?"

I went, and spent a very pleasant evening with Captain Guzman, and several of his brother-officers, whom he invited to join us, for though the Spaniards of that age were frightfully cruel to their enemies, they were courteous to their guests, and as a guest I was treated. As, moreover, most of the men I met had served in the Peninsular war, we had quite enough to talk about without touching on topics whose discussion might have been incompatible with good fellowship.

When, at a late hour, I turned into the hammock provided for me by Guzman, it required an effort to realize that I was a prisoner. Why, I asked myself, had Griscelli, who was never known to spare a prisoner, whose face was both cruel and false, and who could bear me no good-will--why had this man treated me so courteously? Did he really mean to let me go, and if so, why; or was the promise made to the ear merely to be broken to the hope?

"Perhaps to-morrow will show," I thought, as I fell asleep; and I was not far out, for the day after did. Guzman, whose room I shared, wakened me long before daylight.

"The bugle has sounded the reveille, and the troops are mustering on the plaza," he said. "You had better rise and dress. The general has sent word that you are to go with us, and our horses are in the _patio_."

I got up at once, and after drinking a hasty cup of coffee, we mounted and joined Griscelli and his staff.

The troops were already under arms, and a few minutes later we marched, our departure being so timed, as I heard the general observe to one of his aides-de-camp, that we might reach the neighborhood of the rebel camp shortly before sunrise. His plan was well conceived, and, unless Mejia had been forewarned or was keeping a sharper lookout than he was in the habit of doing, I feared it would go ill with him.

The camping-ground was much better suited for concealment than defence. It lay in a hollow in the hills, in shape like a horse-shoe, with a single opening, looking east, and was commanded in every direction by wooded heights. Griscelli's plan was to occupy the heights with skirmishers, who, hidden behind the trees and bushes, could shoot down the rebels with comparative security. A force of infantry and cavalry would meanwhile take possession of the opening and cut off their retreat. In this way, thought Griscelli, the patriots would either be slaughtered to a man, or compelled to surrender at discretion.

I could not deny (though I did not say so) that he had good grounds for this opinion. The only