Boys of the Light Brigade: A Story of Spain and the Peninsular War

by Herbert Strang

  *CHAPTER XXXII*

  *The Prisoner at Bayonne*

  Running the Gauntlet--A Bait--Figments--Prophecy--Judas--At Large

  "You will excuse a little delay, monsieur le colonel. The letter fromMonsieur le Marechal Lannes is somewhat--indeed I may say very--unusual.We must assure ourselves that everything is en regle--a mere formality,but in official business we live by rule and regulation. Monsieur willunderstand."

  The lieutenant-general in command of the port of Bayonne leaned back inhis chair and smiled deprecatingly, at the same time eying his visitorwith no little keenness. The stranger was a Spanish officer in theFrench service, and as such to be distrusted; and although his mannerlacked nothing in ease and assurance, there was something in his bearingand expression that added to the Frenchman's instinctive suspicion. Butfrom motives of prudence he forbore to explain that he was detaining hisvisitor until an aide-de-camp had ransacked the archives for anundoubted autograph of Marshal Lannes with which the letter brought bythe Spaniard could be compared. For nearly half an hour the two chattedon indifferent subjects, the Spaniard growing more and more impatient,the Frenchman more and more apologetic. At last the aide-de-campentered, and handed a document to the general, which the latter keenlyscrutinized.

  "I am glad to say, monsieur," he said, rising, "that I find hisexcellency's letter perfectly in order. I am delighted to make theacquaintance of one who, as the marshal informs me, has done goodservice to the emperor and to France, and, let us hope, to Spain.Captain Broussier will see that you are granted the most completefacilities for a private interview with the man Jose Pinzon. Iunderstand that he is at present delirious--fever, monsieur, carries offtoo many of our prisoners,--but he has lucid intervals. For any serviceI may be able to render you, command me."

  Captain Broussier led the way from the general's quarters near the Placed'Armes, across the St. Esprit bridge that spanned the Adour, to thegrim citadel in which some hundreds of prisoners, Spanish, Portuguese,and English, were immured. Passing under the massive archway, theyentered the great courtyard in which the unhappy captives were allowedto take exercise; some were sitting, the picture of dejection; othersmaintaining the semblance of cheerfulness; many endeavouring to add, bybasket-weaving and similar light occupations possible within prisonwalls, to the wretched subsistence allowance doled out to Frenchprisoners of war. A group of Spaniards, looking up as the two officerspassed through the courtyard, caught sight of the afrancesado, and asthey did so their attitude underwent an instant and extraordinarychange. Listlessness gave place to the most intense interest; every manshowed, each in his own way, the most passionate hatred of thenew-comer. But for the presence of the two French sentries in thecourtyard, and half a dozen more in the guard-house beyond the gate,they would have thrown themselves upon him as he passed. He caught thelook of murder in their eyes and paled visibly, shrinking as if forprotection closer to his companion, who noted the action and its cause,and smiled questioningly.

  "Some men of--the opposite party--in Saragossa. Misguided, butdangerous; they bear me no good-will."

  "If appearances go for anything, monsieur, those basket knives of theirswould have some pretty work to do but for the bayonets of our menyonder."

  The Spaniard winced. He was clearly relieved when they passed from thecourtyard into a long corridor leading to the room used as a hospitalfor the prisoners. There were several occupants, many in the last stageof disease, and the captain, having directed that a screen should beplaced round the bed of the patient whom the visitor had come to see,left hastily. A visit to the hospital of the citadel was not withoutits dangers, for prison fever was no respecter of persons.

  Upon a low truckle-bed in one corner of the room a man, shrunken to askeleton, lay stretched, apparently at the point of death. He wasconscious, for the light in his eyes was clear although dim, but so weakwas his breathing, so wasted his figure, that at any moment it seemedthe wan flame of life might flicker out. He turned his gaze slowly uponthe stranger as he approached; then there came into his eyes the samelook of inextinguishable hatred that had transfigured the wretchedprisoners in the courtyard.

  "Traidor!"

  It was a mere movement of the lips, from which no sound issued; but thevisitor, already unnerved, started as if stung; his face flushed,bringing into relief the livid scar across his brow. Then, collectinghimself with an effort, he said, ignoring the unspoken insult:

  "It pains me, my good Jose, to find you thus--sick and a prisoner. Ihave come a long way to see you, to bring you freedom--for the sake ofold times. Fortunately I am not too late. A few more days in thisplace would have killed you; but we shall soon see what liberty and goodnursing will do, eh, my friend?"

  An eager light came into the sick man's eyes. In his feeble state hewas unable to grasp the full import of what his visitor was saying. Hewas only capable of mastering one idea at a time. The word "liberty"had sent a sudden flash of colour into his cheek. The mere prospect offreedom, dim though it was, had banished for a brief moment his mortalantipathy to the man beside him. The walls of his prison-house fellasunder; he saw himself once again among his own people, the trustedservant of a beloved mistress whom he had sworn to serve, and whom hiscapture had left unprotected, exposed to all the dangers of a besiegedcity. The other, watching him keenly, was quick to note the changedexpression of his face; and without giving the weakened intelligencetime for ordered thought, he continued in the same tone of kindlyinterest:

  "But I must first give you news of the senorita. I know, my good Jose,you care nothing for yourself. It is of her you think. I honour yourfidelity; it is because of that that I am here."

  "What of her? Tell me!" whispered the sick man. The voice was scarcelyaudible, but the eyes showed an agony of doubt and apprehension; he hadwholly forgotten his distrust. He moved as if to raise himself; but hewas unable to lift his head from the pillow.

  "Make your mind easy; she is well, quite well. I left her with the wifeof the old porter. She is a worthy woman, and devoted to the senorita.My influence with the government of King Joseph ensured the safety ofyour mistress after the fall of the city. She sends you the kindestmessages. When you did not return from that brave sortie, she fearedyou were dead, and she grieved. But I learnt that you were a prisoner,and when I told her she clasped her hands and cried for joy, and bade mecome at once to find you. 'Tell my good Jose that I shall know no peaceuntil I am assured of his safety. I pray for him. He is much in mythoughts.'"

  The sick man's eyes filled with tears. He would have lifted his hand todash them away, but his strength was unequal to the effort. The visitorcontinued, his accent carefully modulated, gentle, persuasive:

  "But, alas! my good friend, she is poor, very poor. The house inSaragossa is destroyed, burned during the siege. The house at Morata ispillaged by brigands. There is no rent from the estate; the people areall dispersed; and the good aunt is dead. The worthy porter and hiswife have scarcely enough to keep themselves. It is terrible, this war;would that all good Spaniards thought with me that it is best to makepeace with the king!"

  The speaker bent forward, intently watching the effect of these words.As he had expected, a look of keen distress crossed the prisoner's face.Again he strove to rise, as if by raising himself he could shake off hisintolerable weakness. He was suffering acutely. The visitor was silentfor a while, giving the imagination of the sick man full play. Then hecontinued:

  "I, alas! can do little to help. I am poor, my good Jose, miserablypoor. I have sacrificed all--you will know how. I would willinglyshare my last crust with the senorita, but in this fatal war so manythings may happen. I begged her to take shelter in a convent, but shewould not; brave girl, she would stay to help her people! 'Jose,' shesaid, 'could assist us if only he were free. He alone knows what mypoor father has done to provide for me. Go to him, Miguel; tell him ofour distress; he will find a means of helping us.'"

 
"What would you wish me to do?"

  The visitor, bending low, caught the whispered words. The man's cleareyes were upon him, and he checked the involuntary expression ofsatisfaction that crossed his face. But, instantaneous though it was,the sick man, strangely sensitive to shades of tone and manner, seemedto be instinctively aware of it, and the other was clearly ill at easeunder his searching gaze.

  "Well, my good Jose," he said hesitatingly, "your illness places us in adifficulty. I have here an order for your release" (he drew from hispocket a blue paper which might or might not be what he described); "Ihoped that we should have been able to return to Spain together. Youcould have then placed the senorita beyond the reach of want; for fromwhat she told me it is clear that your master left a large sum in yourcharge. But, alas! you are not at present able to travel. The best planthat I can think of is that you send the senorita instructions where shecan find her property--you can either write her a letter or give me themessage,--and I will see that you are released and nursed back tohealth. You can return to Spain when you are fit to travel."

  The sick man feebly shook his head, whispering:

  "I must not tell--anything. I swore it."

  "Yes, you swore it, and you have kept your oath. But it was never DonFernan's wish that the senorita should be allowed to--to starve whileher fortune remained hidden. It is your duty to be guided bycircumstances--by common sense."

  The other winced, but still replied: "I cannot; I swore it. Not tillthe war is over."

  Then, a ripple of impatience showing above his suave manner, the visitorsaid hastily:

  "Certainly, but the war is over; the fall of Saragossa finished the war.Joseph is again king in Madrid."

  "You are mistaken, Senor. If what you say is true, the war is only justbeginning." There was a light in the man's eyes, a fierce energy in hiswhispered words, that seemed first to embarrass, then to anger hisvisitor.

  "Well, my friend, if you will not listen to reason, if you prefer toallow your mistress to starve, I can do nothing more. I will give heryour message." He rose from his seat. "And I shall at least have thesatisfaction of being able to add that such an ungrateful rascal isdead; for in this hole you won't live another week, and you can't expectme to do anything for your release."

  "Stay!"

  The afrancesado caught the word and halted expectantly as he was turningaway. With a supreme effort the sick man had raised himself on hiselbow, and, struggling hard for breath, gasped out:

  "Liar! Traitor! Spy! Do you think--I do not--do not see you--for whatyou are? Go back--go back, accursed afrancesado, to those whohave--bought you. Out of my sight! The price of blood!--Judas!--thedoom of Judas--awaits you--the doom--of--Judas!"

  The afrancesado recoiled as at the stroke of a lash; then an ugly lookcrossed his face, and his hand sought the hilt of his knife. But evenas it did so the man sank back half insensible, the gleam of fierce ragefaded from his face, and while Miguel was hesitating whether to stay orgo, the prisoner began to talk in a low but distinct voice, as repeatinga lesson he had learned by heart.

  "Yes, Senor, dear master, I swear it. I will watch over the senorita aslong as I have life; I swear it. None shall ever know except the senorIngles. In the garden--the old--"

  His voice was dying away again into a whisper; the afrancesado benteagerly over him to catch the feeble tones, and when he rose a look ofmingled greed and malignant triumph shone in his eyes. He waited for awhile longer, while the sick man continued to babble in the same strain,his voice occasionally rising so that it could plainly be heard by thesufferers in the neighbouring beds. Murmurs arose, and, helpless asthey were, their mutterings struck the heart of the afrancesado with acold chill of dread. Rising, and throwing one hurried backward glanceat the now silent figure on the bed, he hastened from the room, pursuedby the vengeful glance of all who were conscious enough to recognizehim.

  An hour later the sick man opened his eyes and looked around, as thoughfearing to meet once more the traitor's malign glance.

  "What is that you were saying about a promise, and a garden, and asenorita?" whispered the prisoner in the next bed.

  "Saying! When?" he asked with a note of mortal anguish.

  "Just now, when the vile afrancesado was with you. Have you forgotten?"

  The man waited a moment, expecting a reply. None came; the man hadfainted.

  The afrancesado did not leave Bayonne that night as he intended.Stricken with the prison fever, he took to his bed, and there lay forseveral weeks, tended with unstinted care by his one-eyed servant. Whenhe recovered from his delirium he was eager to set out, as soon as hisstrength permitted, on his return journey to Spain, and was amazed tohear from the French commandant that he must consider himself aprisoner.

  "Nonsense!" he said; "la prisoner! What have you against me?"

  "The prisoner you talked with in the sick ward, monsieur--"

  "Is he dead?" asked Miguel eagerly.

  "He may be, but his body has not been recovered. His health rapidlymended from the day of your interview with him, and ten days ago heescaped by swimming the Adour--a marvellous feat for a man in hiscondition."

  "Escaped!" screamed Miguel, starting up. "I must go, I must go at once,before it is too late!"

  "Then you did not arrange the escape, monsieur?" said the Frenchman,surprised at the other's violence.

  "Arrange it! Am I a fool? Am I mad? Arrange the escape of my worstenemy! I must go! He has gone to rob me; he will ruin me; I must go,before it is too late!"

  His agitation was so sincere that, after a consultation among the Frenchofficers, the afrancesado was permitted, a few days later, to departwith his servant, and they rode southward out of Bayonne at a furiouspace, the stones clattering, the dust flying behind, and all who sawthem staring after them in amazement.