Mr. Fortescue by William Westall

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"I am greatly indebted to you and Senor Carera--more than I can say. You
are risking your lives to save mine."

"That is nothing, my dear sir. I often risk my life twenty times in a day.
And what matters it? We are all under sentence of death. A few years and
there will be an end of us."

Salvador Carmen may have been twenty-six or twenty-eight years old. He was
of middle height and athletic build, yet wiry withal, in splendid
condition, and as hard as nails. Though darker than the average Spaniard,
his short, wavy hair and powerful, clear-cut features showed that his
blood was free from negro or Indian taint. His face bespoke a strange
mixture of gentleness and resolution, melancholy and ferocity, as if an
originally fine nature had been annealed by fiery trials, and perhaps
perverted by some terrible wrong.

"Yes, senor, we carry our lives in our hands in this most unhappy
country," he continued, after a short pause. "Three years ago I was one of
a family of eight, and no happier family could be found in the whole
_capitanio-general_ of Caracas.... Of those eight, seven are gone; I am
the only one left. Four were killed in the great earthquake. Then my
father took part in the revolutionary movement, and to save his life had
to leave his home. One night he returned in disguise to see my mother. I
happened to be away at the time; but my brother Tomas was there, and the
police getting wind of my father's arrival, arrested both them and him. My
father was condemned as a rebel; my mother and brother were condemned for
harboring him, and all were strangled together on the plaza there."

"Good heaven! Can such things be?" I said, as much moved by his grief as
by his tale of horror.

"I saw them die. Oh, my God! I saw them die, and yet I live to tell the
tale!" exclaimed Carmen, in a tone of intense sadness. "But"--fiercely--"I
have taken a terrible revenge. With my own hand have I slain more than a
hundred European Spaniards, and I have sworn to slay as many as there were
hairs on my mother's head.... But enough of this! The night is upon us. It
is time to make ready. When the zambo comes in, I shall seize him by the
throat and threaten him with my dagger. While I hold him you must stuff
this cloth into his mouth, take off his shirt and trousers--he has no
other garments--and put them on over your own. That done, we will bind him
with this cord, and lock him in with his own key. Are you ready?"

"I am ready."

Carmen knocked loudly at the door.

Two minutes later the door opens, and as the zambo closes it behind him,
Carmen seizes him by the throat and pushes him against the wall.

"A word, a whisper, and you are a dead man!" he hisses, sternly, at the
same time drawing his dagger. "Open your mouth, or, _per Dios_--The cloth,
senor. Now, off with your shirt and trousers."

The turnkey obeys without the least attempt at resistance. The shaking of
his limbs as I help him to undress shows that he is half frightened to
death.

Then Carmen, still gripping the man's throat and threatening him with his
dagger, makes him lie down, and I bind his arms with the cord.

That done, I slip the man's trousers and shirt over my own, don his
sombrero, and take his key.

"So far, well," says Carmen, "if we only get safely through the _patio_
and pass the guard! Put the sombrero over your face, imitate the zambo's
shuffling gait, and walk carelessly by my side, as if you were conducting
me to the gate and a short way down the street. Have you your dagger!
Good! Open the door and let us go forth. One word more! If it comes to a
fight, back to back. Try to grasp the muskets with your left and stab with
your right--upward!"

CHAPTER XI.

OUT OF THE LION'S MOUTH.

As the short sunset of the tropics had now merged into complete darkness,
we crossed the _patio_ without being noticed; but near the gateway several
soldiers of the guard were seated round a small table, playing at cards by
the light of a flickering lamp.

"Hello! Who goes there?" said one of them, looking up. "Pablo, the
turnkey, and a friar! Won't you take a hand, Pablo? You won a _real_ from
me last night; I want my revenge."

"He is going with me as far as the plaza. It is dark, and I am very
near-sighted," put in Carmen, with ready presence of mind. "He will be
back in a few minutes, and then he will give you your revenge, won't you,
Pablo?"

"_Si, padre, con mucho gusto_," I answered, mimicking the deep guttural of
the zambo.

"Good! I shall expect you in a few minutes," said the soldier. "_Buene
noche, padre!_"

"Good-night, my son."

"Now for the sentry," murmured Carmen; "luckily we have the password,
otherwise it might be awkward."

"We must try to slip past him."

But it was not to be. As we step through the gateway into the street, the
man turns right about face and we are seen.

"_Halte! Quien vive?_" he cried.

"Friends."

"Advance, friends, and give the countersign."

"As you see, I am a friar. I have been shriving a condemned prisoner. You
surely do not expect me to give the countersign!" said Carmen, going close
up to him.

"Certainly not, _padre_. But who is that with you?"

"Pablo, the turnkey."

"Advance and give the countersign, Pablo."

"Baylen."

"Wrong; it has been changed within the last ten minutes. You must go back
and get it, friend Pablo."

"It is not worth the trouble. He is only seeing me to the end of the
street," pleaded Carmen.

"I shall not let him go another step without the countersign," returned
the sentry, doggedly. "I am not sure that I ought to let you go either,
father. He has only to ask--"

A sudden movement of Carmen's arm, a gleam of steel in the darkness, the
soldier's musket falls from his grasp, and with a deep groan he sinks
heavily on the ground.

"Quick, senor, or we shall be taken! Round the corner! We must not run;
that would attract attention. A sharp walk. Good! Keep close to the wall.
Two minutes more and we shall be safe. A narrow escape! If the sentry had
made you go back or called the guard, all would have been lost."

"How was it? Did you stab him?"

"To the heart. He has mounted guard for the last time. So much the better.
It is an enemy and a Spaniard the less."

"All the same, Senor Carmen, I would rather kill my enemies in fair fight
than in cold blood."

"I also; but there are occasions. As likely as not this soldier would have
been in the firing party told off to shoot you to-morrow morning. There
would not have been much fair fight in that. And had I not killed him, we
should both have been tried by drum-head court-martial, and shot or
strangled to-night. This way. Now, I defy them to catch us."

As he spoke, Carmen plunged into a heap of ruins by the wayside, with the
intricacies of which, despite the darkness, he appeared to be quite
familiar.

"Nobody will disturb us here," he said at length, pausing under the shadow
of a broken wall. "These are the ruins of the Church of Alta Gracia,
which, in its fall during the great earthquake, killed several hundred
worshippers. People say they are haunted; after dark nobody will come near
them. But we must not stay many minutes. Take off the zambo's shirt and
trousers, and put on your shoes and stockings--there they are--and I shall
doff my cloak of religion."

"What next?"

"We must make off with all speed and by devious ways--though I think we
have quite thrown our pursuers off the scent--to a house in the outskirts
belonging to a friend of the cause, where we shall find horses, and start
for the llanos before the moon rises, and the hue and cry can be raised."

"What is the journey?"

"That depends on circumstances. Four or five days, perhaps. _Vamanos!_
Time presses."

We left the ruins at the side opposite to that at which we had entered
them, and after traversing several by-streets and narrow lanes reached the
open country, and walked on rapidly till we came to a lonesome house in a
large garden.

Carmen went up to the door, whistled softly, and knocked thrice.

"Who is there?" asked a voice from within.

"Salvador."

On this the gate of the _patio_, wide enough to admit a man on horseback,
was thrown open, and the next moment I was in the arms of Senor Carera.

"Out of the lion's mouth!" he exclaimed, as he kissed me on both cheeks.
"I was dying of anxiety. But, thank Heaven and the Holy Virgin, you are
safe."

"I have also to thank you and Senor Carmen; and I do thank you with all my
heart."

"Say no more. We could not have done less. You were our guest. You
rendered us a great service. Had we let you perish without an effort to
save you, we should have been eternally disgraced. But come in and refresh
yourselves. Your stay here must be brief, and we can talk while we eat."

As we sat at table, Carmen told the story of my rescue.

"It was well done," said our host, thoughtfully, "very well done. Yet I
regret you had to kill the sentry. But for that you might have had a
little sleep, and started after midnight. As it is, you must set off
forthwith and get well on the road before the news of the escape gets
noised abroad. And everything is ready. All your things are here, Senor
Fortescue. You can select what you want for the journey and leave the rest
in my charge."

"All my things here! How did you manage that, Senor Carera?"

"By sending a man, whom I could trust, in the character of a messenger
from the prison with a note to the _posadero_, as from you, asking him to
deliver your baggage and receipt your bill."

"That was very good of you, Senor Carera. A thousand thanks. How much--"

"How much! That is my affair. You are my guest, remember. Your baggage is
in the next room, and while you make your preparations, I will see to the
saddling of the horses."

A very few minutes sufficed to put on my riding boots, get my pistols, and
make up my scanty kit. When I went outside, the horses were waiting in the
_patio_, each of them held by a black groom. Everything was in order. A
_cobija_ was strapped behind either saddle, both of which were furnished
with holsters and bags.

"I have had some _tasajo_ (dried beef) put in the saddle-bags, as much as
will keep you going three or four days," said Senor Carera. "You won't
find many hotels on the road. And you will want a sword, Mr. Fortescue. Do
me the favor to accept this as a souvenir of our friendship. It is a fine
Toledo blade, with a history. An ancestor of mine wore it at the battle of
Lepanto. It may bend but will never break, and has an edge like a razor. I
give it to you to be used against my country's enemies, and I am sure you
will never draw it without cause, nor sheathe it without honor."

I thanked my host warmly for his timely gift, and, as I buckled the
historic weapon to my side, glanced at the horse which he had placed at my
disposal. It was a beautiful flea-bitten gray, with a small, fiery head,
arched neck, sloping shoulders, deep chest, powerful quarters, well-bent
hocks, and "clean" shapely legs--a very model of a horse, and as it
seemed, in perfect condition.

"Ah, you may look at Pizarro as long as you like, Senor Fortescue, and he
is well worth looking at; but you will never tire him," said Carera. "What
will you do if you meet the patrol, Salvador?"

"Evade them if we can, charge them if we cannot."

"By all means the former, if possible, and then you may not be pursued.
And now, Senor, I trust you will not hold me wanting in hospitality if I
urge you to mount; but your lives are in jeopardy, and there may be death
in delay. Put out the lights, men, and open the gates. _Adios_, Senor
Fortescue! _Adios_, my dear Salvador. We shall meet again in happier
times. God guard you, and bring you safe to your journey's end."

And then we rode forth into the night.

"We had better take to the open country at once, and strike the road about
a few miles farther on. It is rather risky, for we shall have to get over
several rifts made by the earthquake and cross a stream with high banks.
But if we take to the road straightway, we are almost sure to meet a
patrol. We may meet one in any case; but the farther from the city the
encounter takes place, the greater will be our chance of getting through."

"You know best. Lead on, and I will follow. Are these rifts you speak of
wide?"

"They are easily jumpable by daylight; but how we shall do them in the
dark, I don't know. However, these horses are as nimble as cats, and
almost as keen-sighted. I think, if we leave it to them, they will carry
us safely over. The sky is a little clearer, too, and that will count in
our favor. This way!"

We sped on as swiftly and silently as the spectre horseman of the story,
for Venezuelan horses being unshod and their favorite pace a gliding run
(much less fatiguing for horse and rider than the high trot of Europe)
they move as noiselessly over grass as a man in slippers.

"Look out!" cried Carmen, reining in his horse. "We are not far from the
first grip. Don't you see something like a black streak running across the
grass? That is it."

"How wide, do you suppose?"

"Eight or ten feet. Don't try to guide your horse. He won't refuse. Let
him have his head and take it in his own way. Go first; my horse likes a
lead."

Pizarro went to the edge of the rift, stretched out his head as if to
measure the distance, and then, springing over as lightly as a deer,
landed safely on the other side. The next moment Carmen was with me. After
two or three more grips (all of unknown depth, and one smelling strongly
of sulphur) had been surmounted in the same way, we came to the stream.
The bank was so steep and slippery that the horses had to slide down it on
their haunches (after the manner of South American horses). But having got
in, we had to get out. This proved no easy task, and it was only after we
had floundered in the brook for twenty minutes or more, that Carmen found
a place where he thought it might be possible to make our exit. And such a
place! We were forced to dismount, climb up almost on our hands and knees,
and let the horses scramble after us as they best could.

"That is the last of our difficulties," said Carmen, as we got into our
saddles. "In ten minutes we strike the road, and then we shall have a free
course for several hours."

"How about the patrols? Do you think we have given them the slip?"

"I do. They don't often come as far as this."

We reached the road at a point where it was level with the fields; and a
few miles farther on entered a defile, bounded on the left by a deep
ravine, on the right by a rocky height.

And then there occurred a startling phenomenon. As the moon rose above the
Silla of Caracas, the entire savanna below us seemed to take fire, streams
as of lava began to run up (not down) the sides of the hills, throwing a
lurid glare over the sleeping city, and bringing into strong relief the
rugged mountains which walled in the plain.

"Good heavens, what is that!" I exclaimed.

"It is the time of drought, and the peons are firing the grass to improve
the land," said Carmen. "I wish they had not done it just now, though.
However, it is, perhaps, quite as well. If the light makes us more visible
to others, it also makes others more visible to us. Hark! What is that?
Did you not hear something?"

"I did. The neighing of a horse. Halt! Let us listen."

"The neighing of a horse and something more."

"Men's voices and the rattle of accoutrements. The patrol, after all. What
shall we do? To turn back would be fatal. The ravine is too deep to
descend. Climbing those rocks is out of the question. There is but one
alternative--we must charge right through them."

"How many men does a patrol generally consist of?"

"Sometimes two, sometimes four."

"May it not be a squadron on the march?"

"It may. No matter. We must charge them, all the same. Better die sword in
hand than be garroted on the plaza. We have one great advantage. We shall
take these fellows by surprise. Let us wait here in the shade, and the
moment they round that corner, go at them, full gallop."

The words were scarcely spoken, when two dragoons came in sight, then two
more.

"Four!" murmured Carmen. "The odds are not too great. We shall do it. Are
you ready? Now!"

The dragoons, surprised by our sudden appearance, pulled up and stood
stock-still, as if doubtful whether our intentions were hostile or
friendly; and we were at them almost before they had drawn their swords.

As I charged the foremost Spaniard, his horse swerved from the road, and
rolled with his rider into the ravine. The second, profiting by his
comrade's disaster, gave us the slip and galloped toward Caracas. This
left us face to face with the other two, and in little more than as many
minutes I had run my man through, and Carmen had hurled his to the ground
with a cleft skull.

"I thought we should do it," he said as he sheathed his sword. "But before
we ride on let us see who the fellows are, for, 'pon my soul, they have
not the looks of a patrol from Caracas."

As he spoke, Carmen dismounted and closely examined the prostrate men's
facings.

"_Caramba!_ They belong to the regiment of Irun."

"I remember them. They were in Murillo's _corp d'armee_ at Vittoria."

"I wish they were at Vittoria now. Their headquarters are at La Victoria!
Worse luck!"

"Why?"

"Because there may be more of them. You suggested just now the possibility
of a squadron. How if we meet a regiment?"

"We should be in rather a bad scrape."

"We are in a bad scrape, _amigo mio_. Unless, I am greatly mistaken the
regiment of Irun, or, at any rate, a squadron of it is on the march
hitherward. If they started at sunrise and rested during the heat of the
day, this is about the time the advance-guard would be here. Having no
enemy to fear in these parts, they would naturally break up into small
detachments; there has been no rain for weeks, and the dust raised by a
large body of horsemen is simply stifling. However, we may as well go
forward to certain death as go back to it. Besides, I hate going back in
any circumstances. And we have just one chance. We must hurry on and ride
for our lives."

"I don't quite see that. We shall meet them all the sooner."

Carmen made some reply which I failed to catch, and as the way was rough
and Pizarro required all my attention, I did not repeat the question.

We passed rapidly up the brow, and when we reached more even ground, put
our horses to the gallop and went on, up hill and down dale, until Carmen,
uttering an exclamation, pulled his horse into a walk.

"I think we can get down here," he said.

We had reached a place where, although the mountain to our right was still
precipitous, the ravine seemed narrower and the sides less steep.

"I think we can," repeated Carmen. "At any rate, we must try."

And with that he dismounted, and leading his horse to the brink of the
ravine, incontinently disappeared.

"Come on! It will do!" he cried, dragging his horse after him.

I followed with Pizarro, who missing his footing landed on his head. As
for myself, I rolled from top to bottom, the descent being much steeper
than I had expected.

CHAPTER XII.

BETWEEN TWO FIRES.

The ravine was filled with shrubs and trees, through which we partly
forced, partly threaded our way, until we reached a spot where we were
invisible from the road.

"Now off with your _cobija_ and throw it over your horse's head," said
Carmen. "If they don't hear they won't neigh, and a single neigh might be
our ruin."

"You mean to stay here until the troops have gone past?"

"Exactly, I knew there was a good hiding-place hereabout, and that if we
reached it before the troops came up we should be safe. If there be any
more of them they will pass us in a few minutes. Now, if you will hitch
Pizarro to that tree--oh, you have done so already. Good! Well, let us
return to the road and watch. We can hide in the grass, or behind the
bushes."

We returned accordingly, and choosing a place where we could see without
being seen, we lay down and listened, exchanging now and then a whispered
remark.

"Hist!" said Carmen, presently, putting his ear to the ground. He had been
so long on the war-path and lived so much in the open air, that his senses
were almost as acute as those of a wild animal.

"They are coming!"

Soon the hum of voices, the neighing of steeds, and the clang of steel
fell on my ear, and peering between the branches I could see a group of
shadows moving toward us. Then the shadows, taking form and substance,
became six horsemen. They passed within a few feet of our hiding-place. We
heard their talk, saw their faces in the moonlight, and Carmen whispered
that he could distinguish the facings of their uniforms.

"It is as I feared," he muttered, "the entire regiment of Irun, shifting
their quarters to Caracas. We are prisoners here for an hour or two. Well,
it is perhaps better to have them behind than before us."

"What will happen when they find the bodies of the two troopers?"

"That is precisely the question I am asking myself. But not having met us
they will naturally conclude that we have gone on toward Caracas."

"Unless they are differently informed by the man who escaped us."

"I don't think he would be in any hurry to turn back. He went off at a
devil of a pace."

"He might turn back for all that, when he recovered from his scare. He
could not help seeing that we were only two, and if he informs the others
they will know of a surety that we are hiding in the ravine."

"And then there would be a hunt. However, at the speed they are riding it
will take them an hour or more to reach the scene of our skirmish, and
then there is coming back. Everything depends on how soon the last of them
go by. If we have only a few minutes start they will never overtake us,
and once on the other side of Los Teycos we shall be safe both from
discovery and pursuit. European cavalry are of no use in a Venezuelan
forest; and I don't think these Irun fellows have any blood-hounds."

"Blood-hounds! You surely don't mean to say that the Spaniards use
blood-hounds?"

"I mean nothing else. General Griscelli, who holds the chief command in
the district of San Felipe, keeps a pack of blood-hounds, which he got
from Cuba. But, though a Spanish general, Griscelli is not a Spaniard
born. He is either a Corsican or an Italian. I believe he was originally
in the French army, and when Dupont surrendered at Baylen he went over to
the other side, and accepted a commission from the King of Spain."

"Not a very good record, that."

"And he is not a good man. He outvies even the Spaniards in cruelty. A
very able general, though. He has given us a deal of trouble. Down with
your head! Here comes some more."

A whole troop this time. They pass in a cloud of dust. After a short
interval another detachment sweeps by; then another and another.

"_Gracias a Dios!_ they are putting on more speed. At this rate we shall
soon be at liberty. But, _caramba_, how they might have been trapped,
Senor Fortescue! A few men on that height hurling down rocks, the defile
lined with sharp-shooters, half a hundred of Mejia's _llaneros_ to cut off
their retreat, and the regiment of Irun could be destroyed to a man."

"Or taken prisoners."

"I don't think there would be many prisoners," said Carmen, grimly. "These
must almost be the last, I think--they are. See! Here come the tag-rag and
bobtail."

The tag-rag and bob-tail consisted of a string of loaded mules with their
_arrieros_, a dozen women riding mules, and as many men on foot.

"Let us get out of this hole while we may, and before any of them come
back. Once on the road and mounted, we shall at least be able to fight;
but down here--"

"All the same, this hole has served our turn well. However, I quite agree
with you that the best thing we can do is to get out of it quickly."

This was more easily said than done. It was like climbing up a precipice.
Pizarro slipped back three times. Carmen's mare did no better. In the end
we had to dismount, fasten two lariats to each saddle, and haul while the
horses scrambled. A little help goes a long way in such circumstances.

All this both made noise and caused delay, and it was with a decided sense
of relief that we found ourselves once more in the saddle and _en route_.

"We have lost more time than I reckoned on," said Carmen, as we galloped
through the pass. "If any of the dragoons had turned back--However, they
did not, and, as our horses are both fresher than theirs and carry less
weight, they will have no chance of overtaking us if they do; and, as the
whole of the regiment has gone on, there is no chance of meeting any more
of them--_Caramba!_ Halt!"

"What is it?" I asked, pulling up short.

"I spoke too soon. More are coming. Don't you hear them?"

"Yes; and I see shadows in the distance."

"The shadows are soldiers, and we shall have to charge them whether they
be few or many, _amigo mio_; so say your prayers and draw your Toledo. But
first let us shake hands, we may never--"

"I am quite ready to charge by your side, Carmen; but would it not be
better, think you, to try what a little strategy will do?"

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