i have told you, my friends, how we held the english shut up for six months, from october, 1810, to march, 1811, within their lines of torres vedras. it was during this time that i hunted the fox in their company, and showed them that amidst all their sportsmen there was not one who could outride a hussar of conflans. when i galloped back into the french lines with the blood of the creature still moist upon my blade the outposts who had seen what i had done raised a frenzied cry in my honour, whilst these english hunters still yelled behind me, so that i had the applause of both armies. it made the tears rise to my eyes to feel that i had won the admiration of so many brave men. these english are generous foes. that very evening there came a packet under a white flag addressed “to the hussar officer who cut down the fox.” within, i found the fox itself in two pieces, as i had left it. there was a note also, short but hearty, as the english fashion is, to say that as i had slaughtered the fox it only remained for me to eat it. they could not know that it was not our french custom to eat foxes, and it showed their desire that he who had won the honours of the chase should also partake of the game. it is not for a frenchman to be outdone in politeness, and so i returned it to these brave hunters, and begged them to accept it as a side-dish for their next dejeuner de la chasse.

it is thus that chivalrous opponents make war.

i had brought back with me from my ride a clear plan of the english lines, and this i laid before massena that very evening.

i had hoped that it would lead him to attack, but all the marshals were at each other's throats, snapping and growling like so many hungry hounds. ney hated massena, and massena hated junot, and soult hated them all. for this reason, nothing was done. in the meantime food grew more and more scarce, and our beautiful cavalry was ruined for want of fodder. with the end of the winter we had swept the whole country bare, and nothing remained for us to eat, although we sent our forage parties far and wide. it was clear even to the bravest of us that the time had come to retreat. i was myself forced to admit it.

but retreat was not so easy. not only were the troops weak and exhausted from want of supplies, but the enemy had been much encouraged by our long inaction. of wellington we had no great fear. we had found him to be brave and cautious, but with little enterprise. besides, in that barren country his pursuit could not be rapid.

but on our flanks and in our rear there had gathered great numbers of portuguese militia, of armed peasants, and of guerillas. these people had kept a safe distance all the winter, but now that our horses were foundered they were as thick as flies all round our outposts, and no man's life was worth a sou when once he fell into their hands. i could name a dozen officers of my own acquaintance who were cut off during that time, and the luckiest was he who received a ball from behind a rock through his head or his heart. there were some whose deaths were so terrible that no report of them was ever allowed to reach their relatives. so frequent were these tragedies, and so much did they impress the imagination of the men, that it became very difficult to induce them to leave the camp.

there was one especial scoundrel, a guerilla chief named manuelo, “the smiler,” whose exploits filled our men with horror. he was a large, fat man of jovial aspect, and he lurked with a fierce gang among the mountains which lay upon our left flank. a volume might be written of this fellow's cruelties and brutalities, but he was certainly a man of power, for he organised his brigands in a manner which made it almost impossible for us to get through his country. this he did by imposing a severe discipline upon them and enforcing it by cruel penalties, a policy by which he made them formidable, but which had some unexpected results, as i will show you in my story. had he not flogged his own lieutenant—but you will hear of that when the time comes.

there were many difficulties in connection with a retreat, but it was very evident that there was no other possible course, and so massena began to quickly pass his baggage and his sick from torres novas, which was his headquarters, to coimbra, the first strong post on his line of communications. he could not do this unperceived, however, and at once the guerillas came swarming closer and closer upon our flanks. one of our divisions, that of clausel, with a brigade of montbrun's cavalry, was far to the south of the tagus, and it became very necessary to let them know that we were about to retreat, for otherwise they would be left unsupported in the very heart of the enemy's country. i remember wondering how massena would accomplish this, for simple couriers could not get through, and small parties would be certainly destroyed. in some way an order to fall back must be conveyed to these men, or france would be the weaker by fourteen thousand men. little did i think that it was i, colonel gerard, who was to have the honour of a deed which might have formed the crowning glory of any other man's life, and which stands high among those exploits which have made my own so famous.

at that time i was serving on massena's staff, and he had two other aides-de-camp, who were also very brave and intelligent officers. the name of one was cortex and of the other duplessis. they were senior to me in age, but junior in every other respect. cortex was a small, dark man, very quick and eager. he was a fine soldier, but he was ruined by his conceit. to take him at his own valuation, he was the first man in the army.

duplessis was a gascon, like myself, and he was a very fine fellow, as all gascon gentlemen are. we took it in turn, day about, to do duty, and it was cortex who was in attendance upon the morning of which i speak. i saw him at breakfast, but afterward neither he nor his horse was to be seen. all day massena was in his usual gloom, and he spent much of his time staring with his telescope at the english lines and at the shipping in the tagus.

he said nothing of the mission upon which he had sent our comrade, and it was not for us to ask him any questions.

that night, about twelve o'clock, i was standing outside the marshal's headquarters when he came out and stood motionless for half an hour, his arms folded upon his breast, staring through the darkness toward the east.

so rigid and intent was he that you might have believed the muffled figure and the cocked hat to have been the statue of the man. what he was looking for i could not imagine; but at last he gave a bitter curse, and, turning on his heel, he went back into the house, banging the door behind him.

next day the second aide-de-camp, duplessis, had an interview with massena in the morning, after which neither he nor his horse was seen again. that night, as i sat in the ante-room, the marshal passed me, and i observed him through the window standing and staring to the east exactly as he had done before. for fully half an hour he remained there, a black shadow in the gloom.

then he strode in, the door banged, and i heard his spurs and his scabbard jingling and clanking through the passage. at the best he was a savage old man, but when he was crossed i had almost as soon face the emperor himself. i heard him that night cursing and stamping above my head, but he did not send for me, and i knew him too well to go unsought.

next morning it was my turn, for i was the only aide-de-camp left. i was his favourite aide-de-camp. his heart went out always to a smart soldier. i declare that i think there were tears in his black eyes when he sent for me that morning.

“gerard,” said he. “come here!”

with a friendly gesture he took me by the sleeve and he led me to the open window which faced the east. beneath us was the infantry camp, and beyond that the lines of the cavalry with the long rows of picketed horses.

we could see the french outposts, and then a stretch of open country, intersected by vineyards. a range of hills lay beyond, with one well-marked peak towering above them. round the base of these hills was a broad belt of forest. a single road ran white and clear, dipping and rising until it passed through a gap in the hills.

“this,” said massena, pointing to the mountain, “is the sierra de merodal. do you perceive anything upon the top?”

i answered that i did not.

“now?” he asked, and he handed me his field-glass.

with its aid i perceived a small mound or cairn upon the crest.

“what you see,” said the marshal, “is a pile of logs which was placed there as a beacon. we laid it when the country was in our hands, and now, although we no longer hold it, the beacon remains undisturbed. gerard, that beacon must be lit to-night. france needs it, the emperor needs it, the army needs it. two of your comrades have gone to light it, but neither has made his way to the summit. to-day it is your turn, and i pray that you may have better luck.”

it is not for a soldier to ask the reason for his orders, and so i was about to hurry from the room, but the marshal laid his hand upon my shoulder and held me.

“you shall know all, and so learn how high is the cause for which you risk your life,” said he. “fifty miles to the south of us, on the other side of the tagus, is the army of general clausel. his camp is situated near a peak named the sierra d'ossa. on the summit of this peak is a beacon, and by this beacon he has a picket. it is agreed between us that when at midnight he shall see our signal-fire he shall light his own as an answer, and shall then at once fall back upon the main army. if he does not start at once i must go without him. for two days i have endeavoured to send him his message. it must reach him to-day, or his army will be left behind and destroyed.”

ah, my friends, how my heart swelled when i heard how high was the task which fortune had assigned to me!

if my life were spared, here was one more splendid new leaf for my laurel crown. if, on the other hand, i died, then it would be a death worthy of such a career. i said nothing, but i cannot doubt that all the noble thoughts that were in me shone in my face, for massena took my hand and wrung it.

“there is the hill and there the beacon,” said he.

“there is only this guerilla and his men between you and it. i cannot detach a large party for the enterprise and a small one would be seen and destroyed. therefore to you alone i commit it. carry it out in your own way, but at twelve o'clock this night let me see the fire upon the hill.”

“if it is not there,” said i, “then i pray you, marshal massena, to see that my effects are sold and the money sent to my mother.” so i raised my hand to my busby and turned upon my heel, my heart glowing at the thought of the great exploit which lay before me.

i sat in my own chamber for some little time considering how i had best take the matter in hand. the fact that neither cortex nor duplessis, who were very zealous and active officers, had succeeded in reaching the summit of the sierra de merodal, showed that the country was very closely watched by the guerillas. i reckoned out the distance upon a map. there were ten miles of open country to be crossed before reaching the hills. then came a belt of forest on the lower slopes of the mountain, which may have been three or four miles wide. and then there was the actual peak itself, of no very great height, but without any cover to conceal me. those were the three stages of my journey.

it seemed to me that once i had reached the shelter of the wood all would be easy, for i could lie concealed within its shadows and climb upward under the cover of night.

from eight till twelve would give me four hours of darkness in which to make the ascent. it was only the first stage, then, which i had seriously to consider.

over that flat country there lay the inviting white road, and i remembered that my comrades had both taken their horses. that was clearly their ruin, for nothing could be easier than for the brigands to keep watch upon the road, and to lay an ambush for all who passed along it. it would not be difficult for me to ride across country, and i was well horsed at that time, for i had not only violette and rataplan, who were two of the finest mounts in the army, but i had the splendid black english hunter which i had taken from sir cotton. however, after much thought, i determined to go upon foot, since i should then be in a better state to take advantage of any chance which might offer. as to my dress, i covered my hussar uniform with a long cloak, and i put a grey forage cap upon my head. you may ask me why i did not dress as a peasant, but i answer that a man of honour has no desire to die the death of a spy. it is one thing to be murdered, and it is another to be justly executed by the laws of war. i would not run the risk of such an end.

in the late afternoon i stole out of the camp and passed through the line of our pickets. beneath my cloak i had a field-glass and a pocket pistol, as well as my sword. in my pocket were tinder, flint, and steel.

for two or three miles i kept under cover of the vineyards, and made such good progress that my heart was high within me, and i thought to myself that it only needed a man of some brains to take the matter in hand to bring it easily to success. of course, cortex and duplessis galloping down the high-road would be easily seen, but the intelligent gerard lurking among the vines was quite another person. i dare say i had got as far as five miles before i met any check. at that point there is a small wine-house, round which i perceived some carts and a number of people, the first that i had seen. now that i was well outside the lines i knew that every person was my enemy, so i crouched lower while i stole along to a point from which i could get a better view of what was going on. i then perceived that these people were peasants, who were loading two waggons with empty wine-casks. i failed to see how they could either help or hinder me, so i continued upon my way.

but soon i understood that my task was not so simple as had appeared. as the ground rose the vineyards ceased, and i came upon a stretch of open country studded with low hills. crouching in a ditch i examined them with a glass, and i very soon perceived that there was a watcher upon every one of them, and that these people had a line of pickets and outposts thrown forward exactly like our own. i had heard of the discipline which was practised by this scoundrel whom they called “the smiler,” and this, no doubt, was an example of it.

between the hills there was a cordon of sentries, and though i worked some distance round to the flank i still found myself faced by the enemy. it was a puzzle what to do.

there was so little cover that a rat could hardly cross without being seen. of course, it would be easy enough to slip through at night, as i had done with the english at torres vedras, but i was still far from the mountain and i could not in that case reach it in time to light the midnight beacon. i lay in my ditch and i made a thousand plans, each more dangerous than the last. and then suddenly i had that flash of light which comes to the brave man who refuses to despair.

you remember i have mentioned that two waggons were loading up with empty casks at the inn. the heads of the oxen were turned to the east, and it was evident that those waggons were going in the direction which i desired. could i only conceal myself upon one of them, what better and easier way could i find of passing through the lines of the guerillas? so simple and so good was the plan that i could not restrain a cry of delight as it crossed my mind, and i hurried away instantly in the direction of the inn. there, from behind some bushes, i had a good look at what was going on upon the road.

there were three peasants with red montero caps loading the barrels, and they had completed one waggon and the lower tier of the other. a number of empty barrels still lay outside the wine-house waiting to be put on.

fortune was my friend—i have always said that she is a woman and cannot resist a dashing young hussar. as i watched, the three fellows went into the inn, for the day was hot and they were thirsty after their labour. quick as a flash i darted out from my hiding-place, climbed on to the waggon, and crept into one of the empty casks.

it had a bottom but no top, and it lay upon its side with the open end inward. there i crouched like a dog in its kennel, my knees drawn up to my chin, for the barrels were not very large and i am a well-grown man. as i lay there, out came the three peasants again, and presently i heard a crash upon the top of me which told that i had another barrel above me. they piled them upon the cart until i could not imagine how i was ever to get out again. however, it is time to think of crossing the vistula when you are over the rhine, and i had no doubt that if chance and my own wits had carried me so far they would carry me farther.

soon, when the waggon was full, they set forth upon their way, and i within my barrel chuckled at every step, for it was carrying me whither i wished to go. we travelled slowly, and the peasants walked beside the waggons.

this i knew, because i heard their voices close to me. they seemed to me to be very merry fellows, for they laughed heartily as they went. what the joke was i could not understand. though i speak their language fairly well i could not hear anything comic in the scraps of their conversation which met my ear.

i reckoned that at the rate of walking of a team of oxen we covered about two miles an hour. therefore, when i was sure that two and a half hours had passed—such hours, my friends, cramped, suffocated, and nearly poisoned with the fumes of the lees—when they had passed, i was sure that the dangerous open country was behind us, and that we were upon the edge of the forest and the mountain. so now i had to turn my mind upon how i was to get out of my barrel. i had thought of several ways, and was balancing one against the other when the question was decided for me in a very simple but unexpected manner.

the waggon stopped suddenly with a jerk, and i heard a number of gruff voices in excited talk. “where, where?” cried one. “on our cart,” said another. “who is he?” said a third. “a french officer; i saw his cap and his boots.” they all roared with laughter. “i was looking out of the window of the posada and i saw him spring into the cask like a toreador with a seville bull at his heels.” “which cask, then?” “it was this one,” said the fellow, and sure enough his fist struck the wood beside my head.

what a situation, my friends, for a man of my standing!

i blush now, after forty years, when i think of it.

to be trussed like a fowl and to listen helplessly to the rude laughter of these boors—to know, too, that my mission had come to an ignominious and even ridiculous end—i would have blessed the man who would have sent a bullet through the cask and freed me from my misery.

i heard the crashing of the barrels as they hurled them off the waggon, and then a couple of bearded faces and the muzzles of two guns looked in at me. they seized me by the sleeves of my coat, and they dragged me out into the daylight. a strange figure i must have looked as i stood blinking and gaping in the blinding sunlight.

my body was bent like a cripple's, for i could not straighten my stiff joints, and half my coat was as red as an english soldier's from the lees in which i had lain.

they laughed and laughed, these dogs, and as i tried to express by my bearing and gestures the contempt in which i held them their laughter grew all the louder. but even in these hard circumstances i bore myself like the man i am, and as i cast my eye slowly round i did not find that any of the laughers were very ready to face it.

that one glance round was enough to tell me exactly how i was situated. i had been betrayed by these peasants into the hands of an outpost of guerillas. there were eight of them, savage-looking, hairy creatures, with cotton handkerchiefs under their sombreros, and many-buttoned jackets with coloured sashes round the waist.

each had a gun and one or two pistols stuck in his girdle.

the leader, a great, bearded ruffian, held his gun against my ear while the others searched my pockets, taking from me my overcoat, my pistol, my glass, my sword, and, worst of all, my flint and steel and tinder. come what might, i was ruined, for i had no longer the means of lighting the beacon even if i should reach it.

eight of them, my friends, with three peasants, and i unarmed! was etienne gerard in despair? did he lose his wits? ah, you know me too well; but they did not know me yet, these dogs of brigands. never have i made so supreme and astounding an effort as at this very instant when all seemed lost. yet you might guess many times before you would hit upon the device by which i escaped them. listen and i will tell you.

they had dragged me from the waggon when they searched me, and i stood, still twisted and warped, in the midst of them. but the stiffness was wearing off, and already my mind was very actively looking out for some method of breaking away. it was a narrow pass in which the brigands had their outpost. it was bounded on the one hand by a steep mountain side. on the other the ground fell away in a very long slope, which ended in a bushy valley many hundreds of feet below. these fellows, you understand, were hardy mountaineers, who could travel either up hill or down very much quicker than i. they wore abarcas, or shoes of skin, tied on like sandals, which gave them a foothold everywhere. a less resolute man would have despaired. but in an instant i saw and used the strange chance which fortune had placed in my way. on the very edge of the slope was one of the wine-barrels. i moved slowly toward it, and then with a tiger spring i dived into it feet foremost, and with a roll of my body i tipped it over the side of the hill.

shall i ever forget that dreadful journey—how i bounded and crashed and whizzed down that terrible slope? i had dug in my knees and elbows, bunching my body into a compact bundle so as to steady it; but my head projected from the end, and it was a marvel that i did not dash out my brains. there were long, smooth slopes, and then came steeper scarps where the barrel ceased to roll, and sprang into the air like a goat, coming down with a rattle and crash which jarred every bone in my body. how the wind whistled in my ears, and my head turned and turned until i was sick and giddy and nearly senseless! then, with a swish and a great rasping and crackling of branches, i reached the bushes which i had seen so far below me. through them i broke my way, down a slope beyond, and deep into another patch of underwood, where, striking a sapling, my barrel flew to pieces. from amid a heap of staves and hoops i crawled out, my body aching in every inch of it, but my heart singing loudly with joy and my spirit high within me, for i knew how great was the feat which i had accomplished, and i already seemed to see the beacon blazing on the hill.

a horrible nausea had seized me from the tossing which i had undergone, and i felt as i did upon the ocean when first i experienced those movements of which the english have taken so perfidious an advantage. i had to sit for a few moments with my head upon my hands beside the ruins of my barrel. but there was no time for rest.

already i heard shouts above me which told that my pursuers were descending the hill. i dashed into the thickest part of the underwood, and i ran and ran until i was utterly exhausted. then i lay panting and listened with all my ears, but no sound came to them. i had shaken off my enemies.

when i had recovered my breath i travelled swiftly on, and waded knee-deep through several brooks, for it came into my head that they might follow me with dogs.

on gaining a clear place and looking round me, i found to my delight that in spite of my adventures i had not been much out of my way. above me towered the peak of merodal, with its bare and bold summit shooting out of the groves of dwarf oaks which shrouded its flanks.

these groves were the continuation of the cover under which i found myself, and it seemed to me that i had nothing to fear now until i reached the other side of the forest. at the same time i knew that every man's hand was against me, that i was unarmed, and that there were many people about me. i saw no one, but several times i heard shrill whistles, and once the sound of a gun in the distance.

it was hard work pushing one's way through the bushes, and so i was glad when i came to the larger trees and found a path which led between them. of course, i was too wise to walk upon it, but i kept near it and followed its course. i had gone some distance, and had, as i imagined, nearly reached the limit of the wood, when a strange, moaning sound fell upon my ears. at first i thought it was the cry of some animal, but then there came words, of which i only caught the french exclamation, “mon dieu!” with great caution i advanced in the direction from which the sound proceeded, and this is what i saw.

on a couch of dried leaves there was stretched a man dressed in the same grey uniform which i wore myself.

he was evidently horribly wounded, for he held a cloth to his breast which was crimson with his blood. a pool had formed all round his couch, and he lay in a haze of flies, whose buzzing and droning would certainly have called my attention if his groans had not come to my ear.

i lay for a moment, fearing some trap, and then, my pity and loyalty rising above all other feelings, i ran forward and knelt by his side. he turned a haggard face upon me, and it was duplessis, the man who had gone before me. it needed but one glance at his sunken cheeks and glazing eyes to tell me that he was dying.

“gerard!” said he; “gerard!”

i could but look my sympathy, but he, though the life was ebbing swiftly out of him, still kept his duty before him, like the gallant gentleman he was.

“the beacon, gerard! you will light it?”

“have you flint and steel?”

“it is here!”

“then i will light it to-night.”

“i die happy to hear you say so. they shot me, gerard. but you will tell the marshal that i did my best.”

“and cortex?”

“he was less fortunate. he fell into their hands and died horribly. if you see that you cannot get away, gerard, put a bullet into your own heart. don't die as cortex did.”

i could see that his breath was failing, and i bent low to catch his words.

“can you tell me anything which can help me in my task?” i asked.

“yes, yes; de pombal. he will help you. trust de pombal.” with the words his head fell back and he was dead.

“trust de pombal. it is good advice.” to my amazement a man was standing at the very side of me.

so absorbed had i been in my comrade's words and intent on his advice that he had crept up without my observing him. now i sprang to my feet and faced him. he was a tall, dark fellow, black-haired, black-eyed, black-bearded, with a long, sad face. in his hand he had a wine-bottle and over his shoulder was slung one of the trabucos or blunderbusses which these fellows bear. he made no effort to unsling it, and i understood that this was the man to whom my dead friend had commended me.

“alas, he is gone!” said he, bending over duplessis.

“he fled into the wood after he was shot, but i was fortunate enough to find where he had fallen and to make his last hours more easy. this couch was my making, and i had brought this wine to slake his thirst.”

“sir,” said i, “in the name of france i thank you. i am but a colonel of light cavalry, but i am etienne gerard, and the name stands for something in the french army. may i ask——”

“yes, sir, i am aloysius de pombal, younger brother of the famous nobleman of that name. at present i am the first lieutenant in the band of the guerilla chief who is usually known as manuelo, 'the smiler.'”

my word, i clapped my hand to the place where my pistol should have been, but the man only smiled at the gesture.

“i am his first lieutenant, but i am also his deadly enemy,” said he. he slipped off his jacket and pulled up his shirt as he spoke. “look at this!” he cried, and he turned upon me a back which was all scored and lacerated with red and purple weals. “this is what 'the smiler' has done to me, a man with the noblest blood of portugal in my veins. what i will do to 'the smiler' you have still to see.”

there was such fury in his eyes and in the grin of his white teeth that i could no longer doubt his truth, with that clotted and oozing back to corroborate his words.

“i have ten men sworn to stand by me,” said he. “in a few days i hope to join your army, when i have done my work here. in the meanwhile—” a strange change came over his face, and he suddenly slung his musket to the front: “hold up your hands, you french hound!” he yelled. “up with them, or i blow your head of!”

you start, my friends! you stare! think, then, how i stared and started at this sudden ending of our talk.

there was the black muzzle and there the dark, angry eyes behind it. what could i do? i was helpless. i raised my hands in the air. at the same moment voices sounded from all parts of the wood, there were crying and calling and rushing of many feet. a swarm of dreadful figures broke through the green bushes, a dozen hands seized me, and i, poor, luckless, frenzied i, was a prisoner once more. thank god, there was no pistol which i could have plucked from my belt and snapped at my own head. had i been armed at that moment i should not be sitting here in this cafe and telling you these old-world tales.

with grimy, hairy hands clutching me on every side i was led along the pathway through the wood, the villain de pombal giving directions to my captors. four of the brigands carried up the dead body of duplessis.

the shadows of evening were already falling when we cleared the forest and came out upon the mountain-side.

up this i was driven until we reached the headquarters of the guerillas, which lay in a cleft close to the summit of the mountain. there was the beacon which had cost me so much, a square stack of wood, immediately above our heads. below were two or three huts which had belonged, no doubt, to goatherds, and which were now used to shelter these rascals. into one of these i was cast, bound and helpless, and the dead body of my poor comrade was laid beside me.

i was lying there with the one thought still consuming me, how to wait a few hours and to get at that pile of fagots above my head, when the door of my prison opened and a man entered. had my hands been free i should have flown at his throat, for it was none other than de pombal. a couple of brigands were at his heels, but he ordered them back and closed the door behind him.

“you villain!” said i.

“hush!” he cried. “speak low, for i do not know who may be listening, and my life is at stake. i have some words to say to you, colonel gerard; i wish well to you, as i did to your dead companion. as i spoke to you beside his body i saw that we were surrounded, and that your capture was unavoidable. i should have shared your fate had i hesitated. i instantly captured you myself, so as to preserve the confidence of the band. your own sense will tell you that there was nothing else for me to do. i do not know now whether i can save you, but at least i will try.”

this was a new light upon the situation. i told him that i could not tell how far he spoke the truth, but that i would judge him by his actions.

“i ask nothing better,” said he. “a word of advice to you! the chief will see you now. speak him fair, or he will have you sawn between two planks. contradict nothing he says. give him such information as he wants. it is your only chance. if you can gain time something may come in our favour. now, i have no more time. come at once, or suspicion may be awakened.”

he helped me to rise, and then, opening the door, he dragged me out very roughly, and with the aid of the fellows outside he brutally pushed and thrust me to the place where the guerilla chief was seated, with his rude followers gathered round him.

a remarkable man was manuelo, “the smiler.” he was fat and florid and comfortable, with a big, clean-shaven face and a bald head, the very model of a kindly father of a family. as i looked at his honest smile i could scarcely believe that this was, indeed, the infamous ruffian whose name was a horror through the english army as well as our own. it is well known that trent, who was a british officer, afterward had the fellow hanged for his brutalities. he sat upon a boulder and he beamed upon me like one who meets an old acquaintance.

i observed, however, that one of his men leaned upon a long saw, and the sight was enough to cure me of all delusions.

“good evening, colonel gerard,” said he. “we have been highly honoured by general massena's staff: major cortex one day, colonel duplessis the next, and now colonel gerard. possibly the marshal himself may be induced to honour us with a visit. you have seen duplessis, i understand. cortex you will find nailed to a tree down yonder. it only remains to be decided how we can best dispose of yourself.”

it was not a cheering speech; but all the time his fat face was wreathed in smiles, and he lisped out his words in the most mincing and amiable fashion. now, however, he suddenly leaned forward, and i read a very real intensity in his eyes.

“colonel gerard,” said he, “i cannot promise you your life, for it is not our custom, but i can give you an easy death or i can give you a terrible one. which shall it be?”

“what do you wish me to do in exchange?”

“if you would die easy i ask you to give me truthful answers to the questions which i ask.”

a sudden thought flashed through my mind.

“you wish to kill me,” said i; “it cannot matter to you how i die. if i answer your questions, will you let me choose the manner of my own death?”

“yes, i will,” said he, “so long as it is before midnight to-night.”

“swear it!” i cried.

“the word of a portuguese gentleman is sufficient,” said he.

“not a word will i say until you have sworn it.”

he flushed with anger and his eyes swept round toward the saw. but he understood from my tone that i meant what i said, and that i was not a man to be bullied into submission. he pulled a cross from under his zammara or jacket of black sheepskin.

“i swear it,” said he.

oh, my joy as i heard the words! what an end—what an end for the first swordsman of france! i could have laughed with delight at the thought.

“now, your questions!” said i.

“you swear in turn to answer them truly?”

“i do, upon the honour of a gentleman and a soldier.”

it was, as you perceive, a terrible thing that i promised, but what was it compared to what i might gain by compliance?

“this is a very fair and a very interesting bargain,” said he, taking a note-book from his pocket.

“would you kindly turn your gaze toward the french camp?”

following the direction of his gesture, i turned and looked down upon the camp in the plain beneath us. in spite of the fifteen miles, one could in that clear atmosphere see every detail with the utmost distinctness.

there were the long squares of our tents and our huts, with the cavalry lines and the dark patches which marked the ten batteries of artillery. how sad to think of my magnificent regiment waiting down yonder, and to know that they would never see their colonel again! with one squadron of them i could have swept all these cut-throats off the face of the earth. my eager eyes filled with tears as i looked at the corner of the camp where i knew that there were eight hundred men, any one of whom would have died for his colonel. but my sadness vanished when i saw beyond the tents the plumes of smoke which marked the headquarters at torres novas. there was massena, and, please god, at the cost of my life his mission would that night be done. a spasm of pride and exultation filled my breast. i should have liked to have had a voice of thunder that i might call to them, “behold it is i, etienne gerard, who will die in order to save the army of clausel!” it was, indeed, sad to think that so noble a deed should be done, and that no one should be there to tell the tale.

“now,” said the brigand chief, “you see the camp and you see also the road which leads to coimbra. it is crowded with your fourgons and your ambulances. does this mean that massena is about to retreat?”

one could see the dark moving lines of waggons with an occasional flash of steel from the escort. there could, apart from my promise, be no indiscretion in admitting that which was already obvious.

“he will retreat,” said i.

“by coimbra?”

“i believe so.”

“but the army of clausel?”

i shrugged my shoulders.

“every path to the south is blocked. no message can reach them. if massena falls back the army of clausel is doomed.”

“it must take its chance,” said i.

“how many men has he?”

“i should say about fourteen thousand.”

“how much cavalry?”

“one brigade of montbrun's division.”

“what regiments?”

“the 4th chasseurs, the 9th hussars, and a regiment of cuirassiers.”

“quite right,” said he, looking at his note-book. “i can tell you speak the truth, and heaven help you if you don't.” then, division by division, he went over the whole army, asking the composition of each brigade.

need i tell you that i would have had my tongue torn out before i would have told him such things had i not a greater end in view? i would let him know all if i could but save the army of clausel.

at last he closed his note-book and replaced it in his pocket. “i am obliged to you for this information, which shall reach lord wellington to-morrow,” said he.

“you have done your share of the bargain; it is for me now to perform mine. how would you wish to die? as a soldier you would, no doubt, prefer to be shot, but some think that a jump over the merodal precipice is really an easier death. a good few have taken it, but we were, unfortunately, never able to get an opinion from them afterward. there is the saw, too, which does not appear to be popular. we could hang you, no doubt, but it would involve the inconvenience of going down to the wood. however, a promise is a promise, and you seem to be an excellent fellow, so we will spare no pains to meet your wishes.”

“you said,” i answered, “that i must die before midnight. i will choose, therefore, just one minute before that hour.”

“very good,” said he. “such clinging to life is rather childish, but your wishes shall be met.”

“as to the method,” i added, “i love a death which all the world can see. put me on yonder pile of fagots and burn me alive, as saints and martyrs have been burned before me. that is no common end, but one which an emperor might envy.”

the idea seemed to amuse him very much. “why not?” said he. “if massena has sent you to spy upon us, he may guess what the fire upon the mountain means.”

“exactly,” said i. “you have hit upon my very reason. he will guess, and all will know, that i have died a soldier's death.”

“i see no objection whatever,” said the brigand, with his abominable smile. “i will send some goat's flesh and wine into your hut. the sun is sinking and it is nearly eight o'clock. in four hours be ready for your end.”

it was a beautiful world to be leaving. i looked at the golden haze below, where the last rays of the sinking sun shone upon the blue waters of the winding tagus and gleamed upon the white sails of the english transports.

very beautiful it was, and very sad to leave; but there are things more beautiful than that. the death that is died for the sake of others, honour, and duty, and loyalty, and love—these are the beauties far brighter than any which the eye can see. my breast was filled with admiration for my own most noble conduct, and with wonder whether any soul would ever come to know how i had placed myself in the heart of the beacon which saved the army of clausel. i hoped so and i prayed so, for what a consolation it would be to my mother, what an example to the army, what a pride to my hussars! when de pombal came at last into my hut with the food and the wine, the first request i made him was that he would write an account of my death and send it to the french camp.

he answered not a word, but i ate my supper with a better appetite from the thought that my glorious fate would not be altogether unknown.

i had been there about two hours when the door opened again, and the chief stood looking in. i was in darkness, but a brigand with a torch stood beside him, and i saw his eyes and his teeth gleaming as he peered at me.

“ready?” he asked.

“it is not yet time.”

“you stand out for the last minute?”

“a promise is a promise.”

“very good. be it so. we have a little justice to do among ourselves, for one of my fellows has been misbehaving. we have a strict rule of our own which is no respecter of persons, as de pombal here could tell you. do you truss him and lay him on the faggots, de pombal, and i will return to see him die.”

de pombal and the man with the torch entered, while i heard the steps of the chief passing away. de pombal closed the door.

“colonel gerard,” said he, “you must trust this man, for he is one of my party. it is neck or nothing. we may save you yet. but i take a great risk, and i want a definite promise. if we save you, will you guarantee that we have a friendly reception in the french camp and that all the past will be forgotten?”

“i do guarantee it.”

“and i trust your honour. now, quick, quick, there is not an instant to lose! if this monster returns we shall die horribly, all three.”

i stared in amazement at what he did. catching up a long rope he wound it round the body of my dead comrade, and he tied a cloth round his mouth so as to almost cover his face.

“do you lie there!” he cried, and he laid me in the place of the dead body. “i have four of my men waiting, and they will place this upon the beacon.” he opened the door and gave an order. several of the brigands entered and bore out duplessis. for myself i remained upon the floor, with my mind in a turmoil of hope and wonder.

five minutes later de pombal and his men were back.

“you are laid upon the beacon,” said he; “i defy anyone in the world to say it is not you, and you are so gagged and bound that no one can expect you to speak or move. now, it only remains to carry forth the body of duplessis and to toss it over the merodal precipice.”

two of them seized me by the head and two by the heels, and carried me, stiff and inert, from the hut. as i came into the open air i could have cried out in my amazement. the moon had risen above the beacon, and there, clear outlined against its silver light, was the figure of the man stretched upon the top. the brigands were either in their camp or standing round the beacon, for none of them stopped or questioned our little party. de pombal led them in the direction of the precipice. at the brow we were out of sight, and there i was allowed to use my feet once more. de pombal pointed to a narrow, winding track.

“this is the way down,” said he, and then, suddenly,

“dios mio, what is that?”

a terrible cry had risen out of the woods beneath us.

i saw that de pombal was shivering like a frightened horse.

“it is that devil,” he whispered. “he is treating another as he treated me. but on, on, for heaven help us if he lays his hands upon us.”

one by one we crawled down the narrow goat track.

at the bottom of the cliff we were back in the woods once more. suddenly a yellow glare shone above us, and the black shadows of the tree-trunks started out in front.

they had fired the beacon behind us. even from where we stood we could see that impassive body amid the flames, and the black figures of the guerillas as they danced, howling like cannibals, round the pile. ha! how i shook my fist at them, the dogs, and how i vowed that one day my hussars and i would make the reckoning level!

de pombal knew how the outposts were placed and all the paths which led through the forest. but to avoid these villains we had to plunge among the hills and walk for many a weary mile. and yet how gladly would i have walked those extra leagues if only for one sight which they brought to my eyes! it may have been two o'clock in the morning when we halted upon the bare shoulder of a hill over which our path curled. looking back we saw the red glow of the embers of the beacon as if volcanic fires were bursting from the tall peak of merodal. and then, as i gazed, i saw something else—something which caused me to shriek with joy and to fall upon the ground, rolling in my delight. for, far away upon the southern horizon, there winked and twinkled one great yellow light, throbbing and flaming, the light of no house, the light of no star, but the answering beacon of mount d'ossa, which told that the army of clausel knew what etienne gerard had been sent to tell them.