Chapter V: Part 5

When we received that wireless message from the _Hercules_, nobody had the slightest idea that _La Buena Presidente_ had actually been collared by the insurgents, so you can imagine how happy I felt when the Skipper came off and told me. He was as pleased as I was. 'Fine chap, your brother! The Provisional Government isn't in the running with him. He's the boss.'

He told me, too, that Gerald wanted me to ride out to the front with him that very night, gave me forty-eight hours' leave, and, fearfully excited, I dashed below. Bigge, Montague, Perkins, the Forlorn Hope and the Shadow, Dr. Clegg--nearly every one, in fact--came along to have a word with me, whilst I tumbled into riding breeches, flannel shirt, and jacket--they would all have given anything to be going too. The Angel and Bob filled my 'baccy' pouch, and I stuffed some sandwiches into a haversack; the Angel lent me his panama hat, and then I jumped into the skiff, and was just shoving off when O'Leary came running down the ladder.

'The petty officers, sir, are going to ask leave to-morrow, sir. I'm thinking that that 'ere 'ydraulic machinery kind of wants a little putting together, sir.'

'What the dickens d'you mean by delaying my skiff? Shove off in that boat or you can swim ashore,' the Commander bellowed at me, from the top of the ladder, as a parting shot.

I was so happy that I can hardly describe how I felt when I did get ashore. It was just getting dark, and the last of those packing-cases was being carried away by a crowd of men still chanting, '_Viva los Inglesas! Viva La Buena Presidente!_' and the little messenger who had brought Gerald's letter to Princes' Town was waiting for me, with a broad smile on his face. He was dressed very smartly as a groom, with a clean white shirt and clean white duck riding breeches. He had one of Gerald's old polo helmets on his head and a brilliant red sash twisted round his waist, but his feet and legs below the breeches were bare. He looked very proud of his finery, and guided me quickly to the Club, along dark narrow streets, and across the square, where hundreds of natives were lighting camp fires.

Gerald was there.

'Come along, the horses will be round in a minute. You will do all right,' he said, glancing at my rig-out. He introduced me to several Englishmen; they all shook hands; we toasted _La Buena Presidente_ and Captain Pelayo, the _Hector_, 'Old Tin Eye,' and the King. My head was in a whirl; horses came round; I sprang on one, half-a-dozen chaps were round me making my stirrup-leathers comfortable; Gerald was helped into his saddle (his right arm was still in a sling); some one sang out from the dark Club verandah, 'Three cheers for the two Wilsons,' and off we cantered, the little groom, with his red sash, on ahead, and half-a-dozen natives clattering behind us on more horses.

My horse was one of Gerald's own--Jim--a grand little stallion with a mouth as soft as anything, and he arched his neck, snorted, and danced about like a kitten. 'I wish you'd given me an English saddle,' I told Gerald presently, for this one was a huge native thing with a back to it and a big raised pommel in front. It was impossible to fall out of it, except sideways, and you could not do that very easily, because the stirrups were such a queer shape that your feet couldn't slip out of them. But every other second either the back or the front part thumped against me.

'Lean well back, Billums, you'll find it all right then--you'll be glad of it soon--we've got a twenty-mile ride in front of us.'

I did get used to it in time.

It was absolutely dark now; Jim had stopped cantering and had fallen into an amble; we got into some lanes under trees, and fireflies were darting from side to side ahead of us. It was simply grand, and I jolly well wished old Ginger was there with us; he would have enjoyed it immensely. I was so annoyed, and despised myself so much for having quarrelled with him, that it really made me miserable every time I thought of him. At the top of a ridge we stopped, Gerald wanted to speak to some native soldiers who silently stole past us in the darkness, and got me to fill his pipe for him. Off we went again, the soldiers cheering my brother and the big ship which was coming to knock the Santa Cruz Navy out of time; down a hill we clattered, splashed through a ford, trotted uphill, and then suddenly plunged into absolute darkness.

'We're in the forest, Billums,' Gerald sang out; 'old Zorilla's in the middle of it. You'll hear bullets before the sunrise.'

I didn't feel quite so enthusiastic about bullets just then--it was too gloomy under those trees--and it was lucky that the horses could see where they were going, for we ourselves could not.

We kept on meeting long strings of pack mules on their way back from the front, and some of them were carrying wounded men. It was jolly disconcerting at first, because they came upon you so suddenly, and made so little noise--the men being barefooted and the mules unshod. On ahead we'd hear our little messenger-groom sing out something, and then we'd come right on the long string of dark shadows, the mules breathing heavily under their creaking packs as they shuffled past.

Gerald told me they were clearing the country of food, and were taking it all into San Fernando.

'How did you learn all this war business?' I asked him, after he had told me his plans.

'Common sense, Billums, common sense!'

There was no need for me to ask him why he'd left his rubber plantation.

'Getting enough excitement?' I asked.

'Not yet,' he said, stopping for me to fill his pipe again.

'Do you know,' he said presently, 'that, nearly three hundred years ago, twenty-two Spanish cavaliers rode along this road, as we are riding to-night, to capture Santa Cruz city. San Fernando was a fortified Spanish settlement then, and a native ruled in Santa Cruz. He'd collared the Governor's daughter; she'd been shipwrecked somewhere up the coast whilst on her way to Spain, and the twenty-two in their armour--fancy armour in this climate--riding their big Spanish horses, with a couple of hundred native bowmen in their quilted cotton armour[#] to help them, actually sacked the town. They stopped there, too, and built the fort of San Sebastian.'

[#] In those days the natives wore thick quilted coats, stuffed with cotton fibre, as a defence against sword-cuts.

'Did they rescue the girl?'

'Yes,' Gerald told me. He was full of such stories--the good news about _La Buena Presidente_ had made him quite talkative--and you can imagine how the glamour of the past chivalry excited me. I almost imagined to myself that I was in armour, and should presently have to put lance in rest and charge through crowded ranks of archers and swordsmen.

At about nine o'clock that night we crossed a small stream, and stopped at a _Posada_, or wayside inn--very cheerful it looked under the trees, with a blazing log-fire gleaming through the open windows. People came hurrying out to take our horses, and Gerald and I had a grand feed. They cooked a ripping omelette, and their home-made bread was grand.

'Feeling better now?' Gerald asked me, as I stretched myself and asked for another omelette.

Before we had finished, a lot of officers rode up and came in--all very courteous--and I looked at them curiously; for they had just come back from the firing line, and their white cotton or blue-striped uniforms were covered with mud. When they first came into the room they all stared at the two of us, not quite knowing, for a moment, which was which. One of them, who particularly attracted me, was very short and fat with bandy legs. He had a broad-brimmed, soft felt hat on his head, the front turned up, his face and neck almost hidden by great bushy black whiskers, and he was so stout that his sword-belt wouldn't meet, and was fastened with cord. He had jolly, twinkling eyes, as black as night, and in the flickering shadows of the wood-fire looked like a gnome or goblin under that huge hat. He was very proudly handing round a large revolver for every one to look at, showing grand white teeth as he smiled, and shrugged his shoulders and spread his hands. Gerald handed it to me: 'He captured a cavalry officer this morning, and bagged this.'

The little 'Gnome' drew his stool across and explained its action. It was a Webley-Foster automatic revolver, and as I had not seen one before, I was jolly interested. I liked the little chap very much, and could just imagine him tackling one of those beautifully dressed dandies of cavalry officers we had seen at Santa Cruz.

These officers had come to tell Gerald how everything was progressing at the front, and they seemed to be holding a council of war, or rather listening to what Gerald had to tell them; for my brother was laying down the law pretty considerably.

At last everything was satisfactorily settled, there was more bowing, and most of them rode off again into the forest.

'Everything going on all right,' Gerald told me. 'Come along; hope you aren't getting stiff.'

We left the cheerful fire; the innkeeper refused any money; my brother sang out, 'Jose! Jose!'; the little groom with the red sash brought our horses round, and, with the 'Gnome' and three or four other officers, we were just going to mount when a dozen little _machetos_ came up, leading some men. As they got into the light I saw that these were regular troops, and had yellow and green rosettes on their hats, tall, gaunt, hungry-looking chaps they were, and very much relieved when they saw my brother. He spoke to them and the excited little chaps guarding them, and then off we started.

'Deserters,' he told me. 'They all have the same tale; not enough food.'

Although 'deserter' has a horrid sound to it, I felt sorry for them, they looked so miserable, and meeting them seemed to make Zorilla's army, of which I had heard so much, much more real. I watched them being taken away to San Fernando, till they were lost in the darkness.

A full moon had risen whilst we were having our meal, and where the trees did not meet across the road there were patches of very comforting light. However, the moonlight on the road made the forest on either side of us look blacker and more forbidding than ever, and when two of the officers turned into it, by a path their horses seemed to know, I felt jolly glad I wasn't going with them.

'We had a bit of a scrap this afternoon, Billums,' Gerald told me, 'and lost a few people. Old Zorilla fought his way along to another clearing, but we captured some more of his cavalry, and he's left a field-gun behind him. The horses and rifles will be very useful to us.'

'How far off is he now?' I asked excitedly.

'About eight miles: Zorilla has halted for the night and our people are all round him again. He can't move till daylight. He has only advanced four miles since yesterday; his men are so played out, and his horses too. I can't understand him. It seems absolute folly to do what he is trying to do, especially as his chaps are deserting.'

My supper had made me rather sleepy, but presently, a long way in front of us, I heard the report of a rifle, and sat up so quickly that I bumped my back against that wretched saddle.

'That was a rifle! That's the first I've heard fired in war,' I cried out, and I felt fearfully excited, wondering where the bullet had gone. You bet that my ears were tingling to hear more, but none came for some time, only the crackling and rustling of dead branches snapping in the darkness on either side of us. Then three or four went off, still a long way ahead, and as each one cracked I could not help thinking: 'I wonder what that hit.'

Without meaning to do so, I dug my heels into Jim's ribs and made him go faster, but my brother sang out, 'No hurry, Billums,' and I pulled him back. I believe the little stallion was getting as excited as I was.

Away to the left there were some more shots, and then suddenly, right in our faces, a red glare shone through the trees, coming and going so quickly that I'd only time to say 'Oh!' before it had disappeared, and almost immediately afterwards there was another brighter glare and a tearing bursting noise. It didn't seem a hundred yards ahead of us, and the little stallion, Jim, began jumping about.

'What was that?' I sang out, though I knew perfectly well that it was a shell, but couldn't help singing out, my nerves were so jumpy. A scraggy spluttering volley came back from the trees, and then all was still again.

'Zorilla is firing a field-gun down the road,' my brother said; 'I wonder what good he thinks he is doing.'

I heard a crash and a noise of breaking branches. 'What's that, Gerald?'

'My chaps are cutting down trees to haul across the road,' he answered; 'making a barricade.'

That glare--more distinct now, and right in front of us--showed up again, and a shell came tearing and crashing through the trees on one side of us, and we heard a soft 'plump' as it buried itself in the ground without bursting. There was the crash of another volley, and then nothing but darkness and silence.

'Our chaps see them when they fire that gun, and let "rip" with their rifles,' Gerald told me. His coolness irritated me, for my nerves were tingling all over with excitement and the funny feeling inside me of being under fire for the first time. I rather wondered whether Ginger would have felt as--well--nervous if he had been here. I'd never known him frightened at anything. A little further along a couple of wagons slowed up in a patch of moonlight at the side of the road, some ragged little natives hovering round them. Gerald stopped a moment to speak to a white-faced officer, and on we went again. 'That's our only doctor, Billums; we keep him pretty busy.' If that was the doctor I knew that we must be close to the firing line, and my heart began thumping very rapidly. We could only go very slowly now, because the road was blocked with wagons and mules jumbled together.

'Jump off, Billums; keep close to me!' Gerald sang out cheerily.

I was jolly glad to be on my feet again, and followed him, Jose taking the horses. On each side of us I heard axes chipping, a tree fell with a crash quite close to me, and then we got up to the barricade which they were building across the road. Men were swarming here, some dragging more trees out of the forest, others cutting off small branches with their _machetes_.

'The field-gun is right ahead,' my brother said; 'they'll be firing again in a minute or two.' He'd hardly spoken before I saw the glare of it, heard the dull bang, and a shell burst overhead. It lighted us for a second; I saw hundreds of the little brown chaps in their white shirts scurrying about among the trees, and then a regular hail of shrapnel bullets spattered on the road and against the tree-trunks, more rifles went off, and bullets sang past. Behind me a mule screamed, fell on the ground with a thud, and began kicking. I felt myself wriggling up against the barricade for shelter, but Gerald sang out for me, and I followed him round it to the road, in between it and the gun. I didn't like being there, in the open, a little bit.

'Must do it, Billums--we're the only Englishmen here--must go to the outpost lines--they're a hundred yards ahead of us--come on,' and he began striding along the road, very conspicuous in his white clothes, and, as far as I knew, walking straight towards that field-gun.

I found myself trying to walk _behind_ him, but pulled myself together and walked by his _side_. 'We're at the edge of the clearing now,' he said; 'bear off to the right,' and you may guess how glad I was to step off the road. We wormed our way in among the trees, and Gerald had just whispered, 'We're right in the skirmishing line,' when a rifle went off not two yards from me, and I jumped almost out of my skin. Rifle firing burst out to right and left--I could see the little spurts of flame among the trees--and then a very short way in front and below hundreds of rifles went off and bullets flew past, branches and leaves falling down behind me.

Gerald pulled me round some thick undergrowth and whispered, 'Look down there.' I peered through and could see nothing at first, but our people fired again, and immediately I saw hundreds of little spurts of fire--a whole line of them. Then that field-gun fired--the flash seemed almost in my face--and for a second I saw the glitter of the gun itself and the dark figures of the men fighting it.

'The whole of Zorilla's army is there,' Gerald was saying, when we heard cheering running far into the woods on each side, down below, and then sweeping far away--it seemed to be running round a huge circle. I could hear '_Viva La Buena Presidente! Viva La Buena Presidente!_'

'They've heard the good news; old Zorilla will pretty well guess what it means. Like a shot, Billums?' and Gerald sang out to the native crouched down beside us. He gave me his rifle with a soft cooing '_Buenos, Senor!_' and I leant it against a branch and tried to see something to shoot at, my fingers trembling with excitement. 'Wait till you see the flashes of their next volley, and try and get your sights on,' Gerald said, and I knew that he was smiling. I didn't wait, I thought I saw something, and fired, the recoil bumping my shoulder because I hadn't held the rifle closely enough. It seemed to start every one else firing, and the regulars began firing volleys; you could see the ring of rifle spurts below us, thousands of them, and bullets were flying overhead, pit-patting against the trees, and cutting off branches and leaves.

'"Any one assisting the aforesaid Gerald Wilson will be----"' Gerald chuckled.

'Shut up, you ass,' I sang out. The native gave me another cartridge, and, the field-gun blazing again, I just had time to get my sights more or less 'on' and fire, which started all our chaps easing off too.

'Can't afford to keep you in the firing line,' Gerald chuckled, and took me back. 'You've made my people waste about two hundred rounds, and I can't afford to waste one. Listen to Zorilla's chaps. You'd imagine they had millions to blaze away.

'Something's wrong, Billums; I can't make it out. He usually keeps quite quiet, he's too clever at this game to throw away a single round. You'd imagine from that field-gun firing down the road, and from all those volleys he's firing, that he means to advance this way.'

He was talking as coolly as a cucumber; I was sweating with excitement. 'There's a mule track through the forest from here to El Castellar, and I believe he means to break away there. That's why I came out to-night--to make sure which way he's going. We'll know soon.' We got back behind the barricade, and several hundred of the little brown, whited-coated men began gathering there, gliding noiselessly out from the trees. The moon was hidden now, and it was pitch dark, so that I couldn't see them, except for a moment when the field-gun fired, but only hear them murmuring to each other all round me.

To know that there were four thousand regulars standing by to attack us, in the dark, was anything but comforting, and the bullets whipping past were not any too comforting either. All this while Gerald had been talking to some officers, the 'Gnome' among them, but now they went away, and he came to me.

'This excitement enough?'

'I should think it was,' I told him--rather too much if I had told him the truth. I supposed I should get used to it, but suddenly to find myself in the middle of a fight, in a forest, in the dark, was just a little bit too trying, especially when not a soul, except Gerald, could understand a word I said.

Just then I heard a lot of firing much farther away on our front, and some messengers came dashing up, singing out, '_Yuesencia_![#] _Don Geraldio_!'

[#] 'Yuesencia' is a contraction for 'excellencia.'

'It's just as I thought, Billums; that firing at us was all a bluff. Zorilla has broken through our chaps on the right and is marching along the track to El Castellan.'

Somebody brought a lantern, and he began scribbling orders, tearing the pages out of a note book and handing them to messengers, who ran off. He was doing it quite calmly, and was actually smiling. Some officers sitting on the ground, with their swords over their knees, looked absolutely played out, but they roused themselves when Gerald spoke to them, got on their feet, and took their natives into the forest again.

'If these messengers do their work in time,' he said, 'Zorilla will never get through to El Castellan. I've turned on the _machetos_. We'll go round there and see how things are going.'

I shuddered to think of these little chaps, with their awful-looking _machetes_, gliding among the trees all round them.

He had just sent for our horses, when another bare-footed messenger came panting into the light and was led up to him.

Something glittered in his hand; he held it out to Gerald, and what do you think it was? My cigarette case!

'It's mine,' I sang out; 'I changed cases with Navarro, Zorilla's fat little A.D.C., when he was decent to me in San Sebastian.'

'Well, he's a prisoner now and badly wounded,' Gerald said, after he'd spoken to the man. 'He's sent it to me hoping I shall recognise it and do something for him. He was in command of a foraging party we cut off this morning, and is lying with the rest of the wounded in some hut about two miles away--so this man says.'

Well, it was up to me to do something for him, and I told Gerald so.

'Right you are,' Gerald nodded. 'This chap will show you the way. You'll be as safe as a house with your yellow head of hair. Do what you like. He's badly wounded, I fancy. Get back here by daylight, and if you don't find me, make your way into San Fernando.'

I looked at my watch by the lantern light. It was ten minutes to one, and there would be another two hours and a half before daylight.

In five minutes I was on my horse, the man who'd brought my cigarette case was leading him, and we had plunged into the forest to the left of the road, Gerald going away to the right, after Zorilla. How the little chap found his way I don't know, but he did somehow or other, cutting through the brushwood with his _machete_, and jabbering to me in Spanish all the time.

The bush and the fallen trees were so treacherous that, after Jim had stumbled badly once or twice, and was trembling with fright, I got off and helped to lead him too, and wished I'd left him behind.

Now I had a job of my own to do, I didn't mind the beastly darkness, and gradually gave up jumping with funk whenever some natives glided past, speaking softly to my little chap, and then hurrying away to the right. I'd hear, '_Yuesencia!_' '_Hermano!_' '_Don Geraldio!_' and they'd disappear.

The field-gun had stopped firing, but rifle firing was continuous, and seemed to be travelling away towards El Castellan.

Once we met quite a large party, with an officer, all hurrying after Zorilla, and he would not let us pass till he'd struck a match and seen my face. That was enough for him, and he passed on, full of apologies.

This made me think, more than ever, what a 'boss' old Gerald was, and what a 'boss' I was, too, simply because I had the same coloured hair.

Somehow or other, after barking my shins and elbows a dozen times, we got to a small clearing, where there was a kind of a hut and a jolly welcome light burning in it.

Some one shouted, '_Quien Vive!_' my guide answered, '_Paisano! La Buena Presidente!_' and a score of natives thronged round us, bowing, taking my horse, and saying, '_Buenas_,'[#] _Yuesencia!_' I went into the hut, and found about fifteen men lying on the ground or propped up against the wall--cavalry men all of them--and I spotted my little friend, although he'd grown a scraggy beard.

[#] Short for 'buenas noches!' = good-evening.

He was as white as a sheet, and seemed rather 'off his head.' '_El Medico_,' he sang out, as I went in--all of them sang out, '_El Medico_,' holding out their hands to make me notice them.

'William Wilson,' I said, and held out the cigarette case he'd sent me, but he only looked at it vacantly, muttered, '_El Medico!_' again, and his chin dropped on his chest I thought he was dying, and was in a terrible stew. I couldn't see any wound about him, and felt his arms; they were all right, and I felt his legs. Ugh! then I knew, for half-way above his left knee the bone was sticking through a rent in his breeches and they were sticky with blood. He groaned when I touched it, muttering, '_El Medico_'--'_San Fernando!_' '_Ag-ua! Agua!_'

One of the _machetos_ brought him some water.

I scratched my head, I didn't know what to do, and he went on rambling, '_Zorilla_,' '_El Castellar_,' '_William Wilson_,' '_Don Geraldio_'--'_El Medico_'--'_San Fernando_.'

'All right, old chap, I'll get you to San Fernando if I can,' I said to myself.

Well, I knew enough about 'first aid' to lash the two legs firmly together, and somehow managed to make the natives understand that I wanted a stretcher. They made a rough litter out of branches in next to no time. I found a blanket tied to the saddle of a dead horse outside the hut, and covered the litter with it, and then I told off four of the most sturdy of the _machete_ men to carry him. They obeyed me like lambs.

I hated to have to leave these other wounded men there--they cried piteously when they saw me going--but there were not enough natives to carry them, so I could not help it. I would try and get Gerald to send for them.

Phew! it was bad enough for me, but poor little Navarro, in his stretcher, had a most awful time as we stumbled back through the forest--he was shrieking with agony,--and when we struck the old Spanish road again, after a most fearful time struggling among trees and brushwood, he was quite delirious. You can imagine how thankful I was to feel it under my feet, and, leaving him on his litter by the roadside, and tying my horse to a tree, I tramped down towards the barricade.

It was just getting light enough for me to see some empty deserted wagons standing at the roadside and the fallen tree-trunks dragged across it, but there was not a single living man there, only one or two dead men hanging across the barricade, with their _machetes_ still in their hands.

I had not heard the field-gun firing for at least an hour, the rifle firing had died away almost as long ago, and it was quite plain that every one had followed Zorilla towards El Castellar.

I climbed round the barricade and walked rather nervously down towards where the field-gun had been, and stopped because the weirdest sounds were coming up from below.

*CHAPTER VIII*

*Zorilla loses his Guns*

_Written by Sub-Lieutenant William Wilson, R.N._

As I stood there, rather nervous and uncertain what to do, listening to the queer noises which were coming up from the clearing, where Zorilla's army had camped the night before, I heard the sound of naked feet, and stepped back among the dark trees. There was just sufficient grey light for me to see the road, and, as I watched it, two natives, breathing very heavily, hurried past me. They were weighed down with all sort of things; one had a saddle over his head and a huge cavalry sword under his arm, and the other had covered himself from head to foot with a blue cavalry cloak.

I guessed now what those noises were, and felt certain that Gerald's people were busy in the clearing looting the camp. I don't quite know why I went down there, but I did, and it was a most extraordinary sight in the uncertain light. First I came to that field-gun which had fired at us, its wheels and small shields white with bullet-marks. An empty ammunition limber was standing behind it, and the naked bodies of two dead men lay close by, mixed up with some dead mules. I stepped across them, and came upon a lot of regulars sitting at each side of the road, quite a couple of hundred of them, with their hands tied behind their backs. Poor wretches, they looked as if they expected death at any moment.

Hundreds of natives were swarming round some wagons, hauling boxes out, forcing them open with their _machetes_ and scattering the contents on the ground; and a dozen of them were fighting over a case of brandy, breaking the necks off the bottles, and cutting their faces and hands in their struggles to drink some of the stuff. Nobody was taking the slightest notice of two field-guns, with their limbers and mule teams, which were standing in the road a few yards further down. The little half-drunken brutes were simply looting as hard as they could, not even troubling to pick up the rifles which lay about in hundreds. I felt sure that Gerald had sent them to take the guns into San Fernando, and, jolly angry, strode down between the two rows of prisoners, who, seeing me, thought I was Gerald, and began singing out a whining '_Don Geraldio! Don Geraldio!_' I saw by their uniforms that they belonged to the same regiment as those fellows who had collared me in Santa Cruz, and that didn't make me love them any more, but their mistaking me for Gerald gave me an idea.

Close by, an officer lay drunk as a fiddler, another had broken the neck of a champagne bottle, and was trying to swallow the stuff before it bubbled all away. I seized him by the neck, knocked the bottle out of his hand, and shook him.

He turned round, looked at me, and fell on his knees in absolute terror. I jerked him to his feet, singing out, 'San Fernando!' sweeping my arm round the camp, pointing to the guns, and then along the road towards the barricade.

'San Fernando!' I roared. He had a revolver in his belt, I pulled it out--it was unloaded, but that did not matter--and ran up to the wagons, kicking and cuffing the miserable wretches. They shrieked out, '_Don Geraldio!_' and bolted, but two of them.--rather drunk they were--came for me with their _machetes_, and didn't stop when I pointed the revolver at them.

It was a jolly awkward moment, but I gave the first a blow on the point of his jaw, which knocked him flying, and before the second could get at me, there were shouts of '_Yuesencia! Yuesencia!_' and the officer from whom I had taken the champagne bottle cut him down, clean from the top of his skull to his mouth. He did it with a _machete_. More officers--half fuddled--came running up, and whether they thought I was Gerald or not, they were in a hopeless fright, and began to lay about them with the flat of their swords, and soon got their natives into order, although I saw a good many of them stealing away among the trees, laden with spoil.

Ugh! the brutes had evidently killed all the wounded. It was a perfectly sickening sight. I was beside myself with rage.

Then just as some mules were being hitched to that first field-gun, I saw a native trying to lead away a big black horse. The poor beast was limping badly every step he took, and the man was beating him cruelly. I rushed across, and the man saw me coming, and ran off. The horse had a very elaborate head-stall and blue saddle-cloth, and I felt certain that I had seen him somewhere before. 'Poor old fellow,' I said, stroking his nose. He was simply sweating with pain, and seemed to know I was a friend. I rubbed my hand down his legs, and looked at his feet, and soon found what the mischief was. One of his rear shoes was half off, and a projecting nail had made a gash in his frog, so no wonder the poor old chap was in such pain.

I found a bayonet and managed to lever the shoe off altogether, and then led him up to the field-gun. He came along as gently as a lamb, still limping a bit, but I do believe he was grateful, and as I led him between the lines of prisoners, one of them got quite excited, struggling to his knees, then to his feet, singing out, '_Yuesencia! El General! General Zorilla! Caballo del General Zorilla._'

Ah! now I knew. He was the very horse on which Bob, the 'Angel,' and I had seen Zorilla ride across the square at Santa Cruz. He seemed to know the prisoner, so I thought he might have been his groom, and undid the cord round his arms. Directly they were free, he threw them round the horse's neck and loved him.

'_San Fernando!_' I said, pointing up the road, and he nodded, '_Bueno, Senor! Bueno, Yuesencia!_' and was as pleased as Punch.

The officers had, meanwhile, found enough mules for all three guns, and I sent them rumbling and rattling up towards the barricade, which the natives were already hauling away. You may bet your life I was jolly glad to see them make a start, for I knew that they were worth all the world to Gerald, and there was always the chance of some of Zorilla's regulars turning up and recapturing them.

There were not mules enough for all the wagons--I felt perfectly certain that the natives had simply bolted into the forest with a lot of them--but there were sufficient for four, and I chose two, full of field-gun ammunition, and sent them up the road, and then we set about and collected all the rifles lying on the ground, and as many boxes of rifle ammunition as we could stow on another two, and I felt jolly pleased with myself when all four were jolting on their way to San Fernando. I made the officers understand that the prisoners' arms were to be untied, but it wasn't till I began cutting the cords adrift myself that they, rather sullenly, ordered their men to release the others. You can just imagine how gratefully they looked at me, and I felt certain that they wouldn't be such fools as to try and escape, with five hundred fierce little _machetos_ all round them, and thousands more in the forest. It was quite light by the time every one was under way, and I began to feel most horribly hungry and tired. Up above in the clear sky a number of vultures were slowly circling round and round with their long necks stretching downwards, waiting till we went away before they came down for their horrible feast, and as I left the clearing, and looked back, I saw any number of the little brown men sneaking out of the woods again to carry on looting, but I couldn't be bothered with them, and they would keep those vultures away. I had rescued all that was most valuable, and wanted to get back to San Fernando as quickly as possible.

When we got up to where poor little Navarro was lying, by the roadside, I gave him some brandy from a bottle I'd stowed away in a wagon; it did him a power of good, and he now seemed quite sensible, looking very miserable when he saw the guns coming along.

'The horse of _El General_,' he said sadly, as the black horse limped past with the groom.

I put him on top of one of the wagons, but the jolting was so painful that he had to be carried on the litter again. He knew me all right now, and I gave him back my cigarette case, pulling his own out of my pocket to show him.

'San Sebastian,' he said, smiling; 'I remember always.'

Well, off we went, the three guns and the four wagons on ahead, the two hundred prisoners, surrounded by the little _machetos_, marching behind them, and Navarro, on his litter, the groom with Zorilla's black horse, and myself, on my little stallion, 'Jim,' bringing up the rear. I'd found some ammunition for that revolver, and had loaded it, but my face and yellowish hair was all that was wanted to make any one obey me, and I rode along on my tired little horse, absolutely bossing the show.

You may laugh if you like, but there I was in charge of the whole blooming crowd, feeling simply dead tired, but kept awake by the excitement of it.

'Any one assisting the aforesaid Gerald Wilson----' kept running through my head, and I grinned every time I thought of it.

At about ten or half-past we came to that wayside inn where Gerald and I had had those omelettes last night. It was most appallingly hot, and, though there was no food there, I determined to halt for an hour to rest the mules and men.

The prisoners lay down at the sides of the roads, under the shade, the little _machetos_ curled up under the trees, and went to sleep in a twinkling, the officers went into the inn, and Navarro's stretcher was laid down outside it, in the shade of the projecting roof. I could hardly keep my eyes open, and dare not even sit down for fear of falling asleep, because I wasn't going to trust those officers again. They didn't look in the least pleased (of course by this time they knew that I wasn't Gerald), and a good many of their men had a sullen look on their faces, which I didn't like a little bit. Still, so long as I kept my eye on them I wasn't afraid of them playing the fool, and I spent that hour walking up and down the line of guns and wagons with their dejected mule teams, passing a word or two occasionally with Navarro, who was much brighter now, sitting up on his litter smoking a cigarette.

I thanked him for the letter which he had written to me from Santa Cruz, warning me about that ex-police agent. 'Very bad man--he will never cease from revenge--next time you see him kill him,' he said; and I rather wish that I hadn't mentioned it, because I hated thinking of the little brute. Of course he was as anxious to get to San Fernando as I was; he wanted to see a doctor as soon as possible, and have his broken leg looked after.

At the end of the hour I tried to push on again, but I'm hanged if I could. I walked up to the inn and sang out, 'San Fernando!' to the officers sitting inside it, with half-empty bottles of wine in front of them, but they shook their heads and didn't even stand up. This, I knew well enough, was meant to be rude. Only the chap who had killed the native as he was going for me, the one whom I had prevented drinking that champagne, stood up and came out, shaking his head, and jabbering Spanish. '_Mucho caliente! Mucho caliente!_'

'He say no go San Fernando till night,' Navarro explained. 'Too hot.'

Well, as I've told you before, I've got a beastly bad temper: I wasn't going to stand any nonsense, and I was inside that place in a twinkling.

'San Fernando!' I shouted, pointed to the blazing white road, where the mules were lying panting in the glare.

They only smiled.

I pulled my revolver out and roared again, but they only pulled theirs out and shook their heads.

I knew that I was up against something 'tough,' and I don't know what would have happened if I hadn't heard my name called.

Navarro was beckoning to me, and I went out, the officers laughing, and only that one following me.

'Prisoners obey me--give them rifles--I want El Medico--San Fernando--quick,' and he pointed to where the regulars were all lying asleep.

I knew well enough what he meant, and was in such a towering rage that I'd have taken any risk. I held out my hand, he held out his, and we shook.

'Right you are, old chap, I'll trust them.'

He jabbered to the officer who had followed me, and then said, 'Take me to prisoners,' so we picked up the litter and carried him to where they were, the other officers laughing, and not even getting up from their benches to see what was going to happen.

Then he introduced the officer to me. 'Don Pedro de Castilio--Senor William Wilson,' and we bowed to each other. I thought it an awful waste of time when every second mattered, and what we had to do had to be done quickly.

He went among the regulars, waking them, and half-a-dozen glided to a wagon and came back with rifles. Don Pedro took four of them along to the inn, and I saw them pointing their rifles through the windows.

'Don Pedro make them prisoners,' Navarro whispered, with his eyes gleaming.

That was a jolly smart move, and the officers never made a sound. If they'd sung out or fired a shot, we should have had the _machetos_ round us in a second.

As fast as the other two woke their comrades, they stole away and got rifles, some of them bringing back a box of ammunition.

Not a _macheto_ moved, and you bet I kept my eyes skinned lest they should wake, handing out ammunition as fast as the regulars came up for it. By the time I had seventy or eighty armed, I made them climb on top of the four wagons, so that they could defend themselves better in case the little forest-men tried to rush us with their _machetes_; I lifted Navarro on top of one of them too.

One of these wagons was right in front of the inn, so that my five young friends inside it had about twenty rifle-muzzles to look at. Still not a macheto stirred--they seemed dead to the world--so I went across to the inn.

It was they who were up against something 'tough' now, and they knew it, stood up, began unbuckling their sword-belts, and were just going to hand them to me, when I heard cries of '_Senor! Senor!_' heard men running, and, looking over my shoulder, saw the rest of the regulars swarming round the wagon with the rifles in it, making a tremendous noise as they pulled them out. I ran along the road, and, as I ran, I saw the _machetos_, under the trees, all rising to their feet, gripping those horrid _machetes_.

I pointed to the wagons, there was no need for orders, the regulars simply scrambled on top of them like drowning rats on a log, running from wagon to wagon to find room, and crawling underneath them when they couldn't. I jumped across to where Jim, my horse, was standing, got on him, and pulled him into the middle of the road.

The little _machetos_ hadn't quite got the hang of affairs, and looked half-dazed to see the regulars on top of the wagons and the rifles pointing at them.

I roared out, 'San Fernando! San Fernando!' but they were too startled to obey; and Don Pedro and his four men, too frightened to stay where they were any longer, bolted for the nearest wagon, the officers bursting out after them, and plunging into the forest among their own men.

'San Fernando!' I shouted, pointing down the road, and some of the little forest-men seemed to want to obey, but I saw those contemptible officers going in among them and dragging them back.

My aunt! I was in a jolly awkward fix. If they only made a rush, my chaps would simply be eaten up. I dare not get them down from the wagons to stir up the mules, for I felt absolutely certain that that would only be the signal for a massacre. We couldn't move the wagons till the guns went on--the road was not broad enough to pass them--and the leading one was at least a couple of hundred yards away. I saw a lot of the _machetos_ dart across the road ahead of us, and my heart went thump, for I thought they were making ready for a rush, but the little brutes simply unhitched the leading gun's mule teams and led them into the forest.

Well, that was checkmate with a vengeance.

One of the officers now came up to the wagon on which Navarro was sitting and spoke to him. He sang out to me, and I went across.

'He say, "No go San Fernando till night; if soldiers no give up rifles, _machetos_ kill them. Officers tell _machetos_, soldiers take guns to Zorilla."'

He was in a funk himself; the trees on both sides of us were simply swarming with the fierce little men, and I didn't know what to do, my brain seemed all woolly, but I dare not let the regulars throw their rifles down.

'Oh! that I knew Spanish and could talk to the little chaps and explain things,' I was thinking, when there was the sound of a horse galloping along the road, behind us, and the 'Gnome' dashed up. I was glad to see him, if you like.

He looked at the regulars on top of the wagons, timidly pointing their rifles across the road, and at the crowds of _machetos_ in the woods, and didn't know what to think of it. Before he'd caught sight of me, I saw one of the officers running to him. I knew he'd tell him lies, so I cantered up to him too. He looked startled to see me, but quite pleased, and I made him come to the wagon where Navarro sat. 'Tell him--ex-plain,' I sang out. They seemed to know each other very well.

You should have seen him after he and Navarro had talked for a few seconds. He was in a towering rage, and he rode backwards and forwards along the edge of the road, evidently telling the officers exactly what he thought of them, and I knew that things were going right, because Navarro looked so chirpy and the officers so ashamed of themselves. The regulars, too, began to put up their rifles, and those who had crawled under the wagons crawled out again. Then, at last, the little forest-men stuck their _machetes_ back into their belts, and a couple of hundred of them came along, looking like naughty children, and took charge of the mule teams. My aunt! I was so relieved and thankful and tired and hungry and hot all at the same time that I would have done any mortal thing for my fat little 'Gnome.'

He sent the officers and the rest of their men away into the forest--to rejoin Gerald, I suppose--and jolly glad I was to see the last of them. Then we shoved off, rattling down the road, and you may guess that I never wanted to see that inn again. The 'Gnome' stopped with us for about a mile, and then, taking off his hat to me, galloped on ahead, leaving me with no one to question my authority any more.

Still, I didn't feel in the least sure that those other fellows wouldn't come back, so, with help from Navarro and Don Pedro, I got the two hundred regulars into some sort of order, fifty of them well in front of the guns as an advance guard, fifty between the guns and the wagons, fifty as a rear guard, and the remainder riding on the wagons themselves.

I wanted to make the little forest-men, who were leading the mules, give up their _machetes_, and explained that to Navarro, but he smiled, shook his head, and said, '_Machetos_ good men now,' so I had to be satisfied.

We tramped along like this, the mules getting slower and slower, till half-past one, when a violent thunderstorm made it almost as dark as night, and wetted us to the skin. It was jolly refreshing whilst it lasted, cooled the air splendidly, and afterwards we got along much faster. By three o'clock we were out of the forest; I had nothing to fear from the forest-men, and was as happy as a king. We rumbled down to the stream, splashed through the ford, after a lot of trouble with the mules, who would fill themselves with water before they'd come on, breasted the slope again, and got on top of the ridge looking down over San Fernando.

You can jolly well imagine how glad I was to see it, and the old _Hector_ lying offshore. From here it was simply a triumphal procession. The 'Gnome' must have let the people know what had happened, for they met us in hundreds, flocking round me, trying to lead my horse, even to kiss my gaiters, dancing and shouting and clapping their hands, and fighting for the honour of holding on to the gun traces. '_Viva los canones! Viva los Inglesas!_' they shouted, and dragged the guns along, much to the relief of the mules.

The cathedral bells were clanging joyously when we marched into the square, I in front, Navarro on his litter beside me, Zorilla's charger behind us, then the two hundred regulars walking in front of the leading gun. You can guess how jolly important I felt, for the whole population had turned out, huzzahing and throwing their hats in the air, and on the steps and verandah of the Club were a lot of the _Hector_ chaps and the Skipper himself.

As I took off my panama hat to salute him, he sang out, 'Good lad! Good lad!' and Navarro, seeing them, called out, '_El Medico!_'

Clegg, our Surgeon, was leaning over the verandah, so I stopped and had him taken in there. 'Look after him, will you?' I called out to Clegg; 'his leg's badly broken,' and on we went again.

The regulars, in their hated uniforms, were a bit of a puzzle to the crowd, but they thought they had deserted to the insurgents, and soon swarmed round them, shouting, '_Viva los cazedores!_' tearing off their own green and black rosettes and pinning them on the soldiers' sleeves. Many of them had already got rid of their green and yellow badges, and you may bet your life they didn't object to the black and green ones, so long as their skins were safe.