Chapter XX A Day With Tio Jorge
A Barricade—Battering-Rams—A Lull—A Way In—On the Stairs—The Day’s Work—A Triumph—Pepito’s Watch
At the end of the covered way leading to the Portillo Gate Jack found Tio Jorge giving instructions to a group of armed citizens, who went off one by one on various errands. Seizing a favourable opportunity, Jack went up to the big Spaniard, and in a few rapid words acquainted him with his own position and intentions. Jorge scanned him for a moment with quick, penetrating glance, then said:
“Señor will want a musket. There is a stand of arms at the corner yonder.”
In two minutes Jack, armed with a musket of British make—one of those opportunely thrown into the town by Colonel Doyle the day before the siege opened,—was hastening along by the side of Tio Jorge into the city. On entering the streets, the Spaniard summoned to join him small bodies of citizens who were gathered at certain points to act as reinforcements and reserves. Soon he was at the head of a considerable troop, all of the artisan class, for in these days of stress every able-bodied man in the city was transformed into a fighter.
As they ran, their ears were deafened by a loud explosion on the right. The air was darkened with dust; broken slates and stones came hurtling down upon their heads; but the eager citizens pressed on with an indifference that showed how much accustomed they were to such incidents.
“A block of houses blown up between here and the Santa Engracia convent,” said Tio Jorge in answer to a question of Jack’s. “But that is not our business. The French will hold the ruins, but they’ll get no farther. Our men will beat them back. ’Tis more dangerous towards San Agustin. The French have gained more there in this one day than in weeks on the Santa Engracia side. Hombres,” he cried to the men with him, “hasten, hasten! The French are over the barricades, and we must drive them out at all costs.”
They ran on. Even in the rush and excitement Jack was struck by the scenes of horror in the streets. At one point two corpses swung slowly on gibbets erected by the door of a church. Tio Jorge pointed to one of them, a look of grim exultation on his face.
“He was my school-fellow,” he said, “and my friend; but I hanged him. So perish all who falter and counsel surrender!”
Wounded men were being carried to the hospitals by women; some were limping or crawling with shattered limbs and ghastly faces. Women and children ran hither and thither, some carrying goods from houses threatened by the enemy, others food and ammunition for the fighters. Though many of them bore only too manifest signs of sickness and privation, they all seemed animated by the same spirit of fierce determination, and a gleam lit up their worn features whenever Tio Jorge, as he passed, threw them a word of encouragement.
All the way along the Coso the sounds of firing in the eastern quarter of the city came more and more distinctly on the ear. Dense clouds of smoke rolled towards them, and Jack heard the crackle of flames, still invisible. A messenger with blackened face came towards Tio Jorge, and announced that the French had captured three blocks of buildings beyond the Casa Ximenez, and were slowly but surely gaining ground. The Spaniard, bellowing out fierce maledictions on the enemy, hastened his stride, and in a few minutes reached a street leading to the university. Here the Spaniards had entrenched themselves behind a barricade, where they endeavoured to find cover from the musket-shots fired from houses on both sides of the streets. The French, borrowing the tactics of the besieged, had occupied these houses, and were shooting from windows and loopholes bored in the walls.
The lean figure of the frenzied Santiago Sass was conspicuous among the defenders of the barricade. Disdaining all artifice, he stood erect, a mark for every bullet, yet unhurt, uttering derisive shouts, and mingling his battle-cry with quotations from the Psalms. Seeing Tio Jorge approach at the head of his men, the priest hailed him with loud acclaim.
“Twice,” he cried, “twice, Tio Jorge, have we already beaten back the men of Belial. The hand of the Lord is heavy upon them!”
“And shall be heavier!” cried Tio Jorge. “We must over the barricade, hombres.”
Instantly Santiago Sass mounted the entrenchment, and was first on the other side, his long cassock flying loose as he led the charge, musket in hand. Tio Jorge and Jack were but a yard behind him, and with a great shout the Spaniards swarmed over and dashed furiously at the French advancing to the attack. Nothing could withstand their rush. The French gave way, but instead of retreating down the street they disappeared into the houses on either side, bolted the doors behind them, and went to swell the numbers of those who already occupied posts of vantage within. In vain the frenzied Spaniards beat on the doors with their clubbed muskets; the massive panels were unyielding, and a rain of bullets fell from above, thinning the Spanish ranks moment by moment.
“Poles, bring poles!” shouted Tio Jorge.
Instantly men ran off, some of them only to drop on the way. The survivors returned by and by with poles and beams, with which as battering-rams they drove at the fast-closed doors. They were shot down almost to a man; but the places of those that fell were at once taken. A door here and there was burst in, and the heroic Spaniards sprang into the gardens and patios, only to be killed or wounded before ever they came to close quarters with the French.
From the first Tio Jorge had selected as the special object of his attack a large house on the right of the barricade. It was evidently held by a considerable force of the enemy. But all assaults upon its thick door had proved ineffectual. Even when a heavy beam was brought up as a battering-ram it could not be used with effect, for the door was at such an angle to the barricade that it could only be struck obliquely unless the bearers of the beam advanced for several yards into the open, where so many of their comrades had already been struck down. Tio Jorge ordered his men to make an attempt to drive in the door from the angle of the barricade. Before the beam could be thrown across, one of the men carrying it was shot. The rest persevered, hauled it over, and made for the door. A sheet of flame burst from the windows above; six of the men were hit. The weight of the beam being now unequally distributed, the other men were dragged down, or tripped over the bodies of the slain.
Jack had accompanied them. Feeling a sharp pain in his left arm, and seeing that nothing could be done at the moment, he ran back to the barricade, narrowly escaping being hit by flying bullets. Behind the barricade he found Tio Jorge with a few others, the only survivors of the band which had come up with such ardour and enthusiasm. The leader was furious, railing at fate and at the failure of the men to back up their comrades, and shouting for more men to come to his assistance. Meanwhile, as Jack stood by endeavouring to bind up what proved to be a slight flesh wound, a lady came from the corner of the street, bearing food and wine. Seeing what Jack was about, she placed her baskets on the ground, calling upon the men to help themselves, and then with quick deft hands completed the bandaging which Jack had clumsily begun.
“You look tired,” she said. “Take some food, Señor.”
Jack was only too glad to eat and drink. It was the first food that had passed his lips since he left the boat. Tio Jorge, too, ate like a famished man.
“Gracias, Contessa,” he said in a softer voice than was usual with him.
When all had eaten and drunk, the lady picked up her baskets and moved away without hurry towards another part of the city.
“Who is she, hombre?” asked Jack.
“The noble Contessa de Bureta, Señor; a delicate, frail lady, as you see, but as fearless as—as I myself.”
There was a breathing-space, during which the men rested, awaiting reinforcements, and rejoiced that the French were contenting themselves with their work from the houses, and made no further attempt at present to storm the barricade. Jack took stock of the situation. The house on the right could not be taken by assault; it was occupied in too great force by skilled marksmen. To ram the door by a direct blow was impossible, as experience had proved; the fire from the houses was so deadly that no bearers could live through it. While Jack was pondering, the little band had been reinforced by other citizens, and Tio Jorge was on the point of ordering another attack. But he had uttered only a few words of vehement encouragement when Jack interposed.
“Give me ten men, and I think in a few minutes we could drive the French from yonder house without great loss.”
Tio Jorge looked doubtingly at Jack’s eager face. They were crouching behind the barricade, and there was a temporary lull in the firing.
“How will you do that?” asked the Spaniard.
“Attack them from above.”
“Impossible! impossible! If you got to the roofs you could not get into the houses, for the trap-doors are all towards the street. You would be seen from the houses on the opposite side, and shot down at once.”
“Still, I think it is possible. I have a plan.”
“Well, then, go, Señor, in the name of Our Lady of the Pillar, and I will remain here and fire on the French to cover your movements.”
Accompanied by ten men hastily selected by Tio Jorge, Jack made his way to the rear, and came to a house which had not yet fallen into the hands of the French. Gaining admittance, he led his men upstairs to the attic floor, clambered out by the trap-door, and, before the enemy had caught sight of him, succeeded in crawling over the sloping roof to the opposite side. Two or three men had followed him safely. Then the move was seen, and bullets began to patter on the roof, so that the other men had to follow Jack at great risk. All but one managed to crawl over and join him without hurt, and the nine stood with him on the farther side of the roof, sheltered by the low parapet from any shots that might come from that direction.
Then he led them quickly on to the roof of the adjoining house, which was occupied by the French. Immediately over an attic window he cautiously started to loosen the tiles, the Spaniards eagerly following his example as they perceived his intentions. After the first two or three tiles had been gently prised out, the rest came away easily. Half the men were employed in lifting the tiles, while the others took them from their hands, and laid them quietly in heaps at the foot of the parapet. Under the tiles were the joists, and as these were not connected by matchboard, it was an easier matter than Jack had expected to break an opening into the room below. It was empty. Such little noise as had been made on the roof had evidently been drowned by the continuous firing in the houses and streets. Jack handed his musket to the man next him, and, catching hold of one of the joists, swung lightly down into the room. The man handed him his musket, then followed him, to be followed in turn by all his comrades. In little more than ten minutes after their arrival on the roof the ten stood together in the attic.
“Now, hombres,” said Jack, “we have to clear them out room by room.”
Followed by the Spaniards, he dashed from the attic down the stairs into the first room on the floor below. At the window were three men, so intent on firing at the barricade that they were not aware of their danger until the invaders were upon them. When they turned and saw their enemies they had no thought of surrender. In this bitter war surrender to a Spaniard was only another name for death. But before they could bring their muskets to the shoulder the Spaniards were at their throats. They fell. Instantly the victors rushed to another room. In a few minutes all the occupants of that floor were disposed off.
By this time the rest of the garrison had taken the alarm. Many of the French had left their posts, and were crowding downstairs in a panic, believing that a large force of Spaniards had gained a lodgment in the house. Tio Jorge below inferred from the slackening of the enemy’s fire that the bold attempt had been successful. Without losing an instant he ordered some of his men to make another onslaught with the beam on the door, and sent others round to the back of the house, where a narrow lane was at present clear of the French, to intercept any who should endeavour to escape there. Panic had now seized the French in the house. Fearing to be taken in front and rear, most rushed downstairs towards the back entrance, a few obstinately refusing to stir, and calling on their comrades to stand firm. But Jack and his men poured in pursuit, shouting, to keep up the illusion of their being a numerous body. Below, the door at last fell in with a crash before the strokes of the ram. Tio Jorge burst in, and found only a small knot of French between himself and Jack’s men. The execution was swift and sure. Of all the French who had used that house as their fortress only those escaped who, fleeing out by the back door, cut their way through the Spaniards sent by Tio Jorge to intercept them.
This brilliant success, won by citizens without the help of the soldiery, wrought the spirits of the people to a high pitch of exultation. Santiago Sass, who had escaped in all his wild peregrinations without a scratch, rejoined Tio Jorge’s band, and rolled out sonorous sentences in jubilant frenzy. But the Spaniards were not satisfied with the first triumph of the day. There were other blocks of houses in possession of the French. After a brief respite, during which reinforcements of soldiers and citizens came up in considerable numbers, the defenders set to work systematically to dislodge the French from the positions so hardly won. The housetop device was put in practice wherever access could be obtained. For hours the struggle continued, and Jack, who worked as hard as any man, was struck with admiration of the untiring enthusiasm of the Spaniards. Fighting from barricade to barricade, and from house to house, they retook position after position, until, as early dusk fell, the French had been cleared out of all the houses and forced back to their impregnable position in the Santa Monica and San Agustin convents.
The din of combat died down. Jack had arrived at the Casa Ximenez, the scene of his adventure in the morning. Entering the house, he found many signs of its temporary occupation by the French, but the fighting had been so intense and so persistent that they had had no time to perpetrate the wanton mischief and destruction which usually marked their progress. Jack went through the house to make sure that none of the French were left, and, entering one of the rooms, he guessed by the character of its furniture and appointments that it belonged to the young lady whom he had assisted earlier in the day. The French had been so much occupied in the lower rooms that they had left this room untouched. There were a few trinkets on the dressing-table. Jack put these into his pocket, knowing that the Señorita would be glad to receive anything of value that could be rescued. Then, descending into the patio, he found that Tio Jorge had already told off a company of his men to occupy the house during the night, in preparation for the renewed attack which was undoubtedly to be expected in the morning.
“Come, Señor,” shouted the big fellow, “we will now go to the captain-general and tell him what we have done for Saragossa this day. And your part, por Dios! is one that no Saragossan will forget. Come!”
They left the house. The sounds of bombardment and musketry had ceased; parties of the citizens were moving about collecting the dead and wounded; women and children were emerging for a breath of air from the close cellars in which they had sheltered during the day. As Tio Jorge and Jack passed into the street, they became aware, from the attitude of a group of soldiers and citizens all looking in one direction, that something unusual was attracting their attention. Looking up the street, towards the same end at which he had entered it nearly twelve hours before, Jack saw, by the light of the torches carried by search-parties, a small figure advancing—the figure of a boy, with a Frenchman’s képi many sizes too large for him almost obliterating his head, a Frenchman’s sword dangling from his belt, its point trailing a yard behind him along the cobbles, and a Frenchman’s musket weighing down his shoulder. The boy was staggering along under his burdens, yet contrived to maintain an air of jauntiness and assurance that held the Spaniards spell-bound with surprise and curiosity.
“The imp again!” ejaculated Jack with a smile.
The boy caught sight of him, and, endeavouring to hasten his step, tripped over his sword and fell headlong, rising a moment after without musket or képi, and revealing the swarthy face and unkempt hair of Pepito.
“Here I am, Señor,” he said with his enigmatical smile. “Not lost, Señor.”
“So I see. And what have you been doing? What do you mean by giving me the slip like that, and making me think the French had got you?”
Pepito looked aggrieved. He took out of his vest the silver watch Jack had given him at Seville, and held it dangling by its chain.
“Señor’s gift; should it get wet? Never. I got into the water; not the watch. No, I put it on one of the thwarts. We got out of the boat. Señor went so fast that I forgot the watch. It was Señor’s fault. I went back for it, Señor; I got it; then when I came away—ha! I hear the march of men. I stop; I hide; all day long from my deep hole I see the French shoot with their big guns across the river. I wait; I think, what if Señor is dead? I wish I had come with him, and let the watch get wet. Then, wonder of wonders! the Busne drive the French back. They go by my hole; one falls; then all is quiet, and I steal out and get these things from the dead man, and I come in and have Señor as well as the watch.”
Jack could hardly find fault with the boy for wishing to preserve his own gift. Explaining to Tio Jorge that Pepito was a servant of his, he turned to resume his interrupted journey northward, and bade Pepito follow him closely.