Without a table-cloth and with the very primitive implements of Ronda, the fried pork was very welcome; and when their dinner was over, as it was too dark to go out any more, they went down into the great public room on the ground floor of the inn, where round a bright wood-fire were gathered muleteers, other travellers and natives, both men and women.
It was a wonderful picturesque scene in the light of the fire, and Mr Stanforth’s sketching so delighted his subjects that they crowded round him, only anxious that he should draw them all, while the “English hidalgos” were objects of the greatest curiosity. The men came up to Jack and Cheriton, examining their clothes, their tobacco pouches and pipes; and one great fellow in a high hat, and brilliant-coloured shirt, looking so much like an ideal brigand that it was difficult to believe that he was only an olive-grower, after looking at Cheriton for some time, put out a very dirty hand, and touched his hair and cheek as if to assure himself that they were of the same substance as his own. Gipsy’s dress and demeanour interested them greatly, and one or two of them made her write her name on a bit of paper for them to keep.
The next day’s ride was fully discussed, and much information given as to route and destination. Then, at Cherry’s request, some of the muleteers sang to them wild half-melancholy airs, and one of the men danced a species of comic dance for their edification, and then the chief musician diffidently requested them to give a specimen of their national music. Gipsy laughed and looked shy; but her father laid down his pencil, and in a fine voice, and with feeling that told even in an unknown language, sang “Tom Bowling,” and then, as this gave great satisfaction, began “D’ye ken John Peel,” in the chorus of which his companions joined him.
“That,” he explained, “was a hunting song. Now he would give them a really national air;” and in the midst of this strange audience, he struck up the familiar notes of “God save the Queen.”
The English rose to their feet; the men lifted their hats, and all joined in and sang the old words with more patriotic fervour than at home they might have thought themselves capable of; and the Spaniards, with quick wit and ready courtesy, uncovered also, and when they had finished the musician picked out the notes on his guitar.
The weather next morning proving all that could be wished, Alvar and Jack, with a couple of guides, set off before daybreak on their ride into the mountains, intending to ascend on foot a certain peak from which the view was very fine, and which was accessible in the winter. The expedition had been entirely planned for Jack’s benefit, and perhaps he was not quite so grateful as he might have been. The others had no lack of occupation. They went down to the “Nereid’s Grotto,” a cave filled with clear emerald water, near which stand an old Moorish mill, built on rocks, fringed with masses of maidenhair fern. Mr Stanforth remained there sketching the building, white with a sort of dazzling eastern whiteness, the strange forms of cactus and aloe crowning the cliffs, and the washerwomen in gay handkerchiefs and scarlet petticoats kneeling on the flat stones by the river. Cheriton, with the ladies, went on their shopping expedition to find presents that might be sent home by Jack, and having found some silk handkerchiefs for his father, a wonderful sash for Nettie, and a striped rug for his grandmother, to whom Alvar intended to despatch some Spanish lace already bought in Seville, he helped Gipsy to choose a present for each of her numerous brothers and sisters, and himself hunted up smaller offerings for his friends of all degrees.
This occupied a long time, especially as the children followed them wherever they went, “as if one was the pied piper,” said Cherry; and afterwards they bought bread and fruit, and ate it for luncheon, and Gipsy reflected that in three weeks’ time she would be back in Kensington, very busy and rather gay, and would probably never buy pomegranates and melons in Ronda again in all her life.
Cheriton employed himself in the evening in writing to his father, while the Stanforths went down again to the mixed company below. He did not expect his brothers till late, and was not giving much heed to the time, when he looked up and saw Gipsy cross the room.
“Have they come back?” he said.
“No,” said Gipsy. “Don’t you think they ought to be here soon?”
Cherry glanced at his watch.
“Nine o’clock? Yes, I suppose they will be here directly, for the guides told us eight. People never get off mountains as soon as they expect they will. I’ll come down. I have finished my letter.”
Some time longer passed without any sign of an arrival, and the landlord of the inn, and some of the muleteers, began to say that either the Ingleses must have changed their route, or that something must have detained them till it was too dark to get down the mountains, so that they must be waiting till daylight to descend. Cheriton did not take alarm quickly; he knew that a very trifling change of path or weather would make this possible, and he was the first to say that they had better go to bed, and expect to see the wanderers in the morning; and Mr Stanforth, very anxious to avoid frightening him, chimed in with a cheerful augury to the same effect. But when Cheriton had left them, he said, anxiously, —
“I don’t like it; I am sure Alvar would not delay if he could help it – he would not cause so much anxiety.”
“But some very trifling matter might have detained them till after dark,” said Miss Weston.
“Oh, yes; I trust it may be so.”
Gipsy said nothing; but before her mind’s eye there rose a vision of more than one little wayside cross which she had been shown on their ride to Ronda, with the inscription, “Here died Don Luis or Don Pedro,” and the date.
These were erected, she was told, where travellers had been killed by saltiadores or brigands; but there were very few of such breakers of the law in Andalusia now. Still, their party had thought it right to carry arms. What if they had been driven to use them? – what if – ? Even to herself Gipsy could not finish the sentence; but she lay awake all night listening for an arrival, till her ears ached and burnt with the strain; till she heard in the night-time, that had hitherto seemed to her so silent, sounds innumerable; till she felt as if she could have heard their footsteps on the mountain side. And all the time the worst of it was that she heard nothing. And for fear that Miss Weston would guess at her terror, for speaking of it seemed to remove it from the vague regions of her imagination and give it new force, and also for fear of missing a sound, she lay as still as a mouse, till, spite of an occasional doze, the night seemed endless, and the most welcome thing in the world was the long-delayed winter dawn.
Gipsy was thankful to get up and dress and find out what was going on, and as soon as possible she ran downstairs and went out to the front of the inn. Her father was just before her, and Cheriton was standing talking to a group of guides and muleteers. He turned round and came up to them saying, —
“I have been making inquiries, and they say that if they kept to their intended route – and I feel sure that they would not change it – there is no reason to fear any dangerous accident such as one hears of on Swiss mountains. And the men all laugh at the notion of any brigandage nowadays. What I think is, that one of them may have got some slight hurt, twisted his foot, for instance, and been unable to get on; and if they don’t turn up in an hour or so I think we ought to go after them.” Cherry looked anxiously at Mr Stanforth as he spoke, as if, having worked up this view for his own benefit, he wanted to see others convinced by it also.
“Yes,” said Mr Stanforth, “I have been thinking of the possibility of strained ankles too.”
“You see,” said Cherry, “they must have left their mules somewhere; at least we shall fall in with them.”
“Ah – ah! they are coming,” cried Gipsy, with a scream of joy, as the sound of hoofs were heard along the street.
Cherry dashed forward, but as the party came into sight he stopped suddenly, then hurried on to meet them; for only Pedro, one of the mule-drivers who had accompanied them, appeared, riding one mule and leading the other.
In the sudden downfall, Gipsy’s very senses seemed to fail her; as she saw Cherry lay his hand on the mule as if to support himself, and look up, unable to frame a question; she could hardly hear the confusion of voices that followed.
Soon, however, she gathered that no terrible news had come – no news at all. Don Alvar and Don Juan had ascended the mountain with their guide José, and had never returned; and, after waiting for their descent in the early morning, Pedro had come back without them. What could have happened? They might have gone a long way round, in fact a three days’ route – there was no other, or they might have fallen from a precipice.
“In short, you know nothing about them. We must go and see,” interrupted Cherry, briefly; “at least, I will. What mules have you? Who is the best guide now in Ronda?”
“My dear boy,” said Mr Stanforth gently and reluctantly, “you must not try the mountain yourself. You know it must be done on foot, and the fatigue – ”
“How can I think of that now? What does it matter?” said Cherry, with the roughness of excessive pain. “It is far worse to wait.”
“Yes, but depend upon it, they are as anxious as you are. Certainly I shall go, and the guides; but, you see, speed is an object.”
“Oh, I shouldn’t cough and lose my breath now!” said Cherry. “Indeed, I can walk up hill.”
Mr Stanforth could hardly answer him, and he went on vehemently, —
“You know Alvar is much too fidgety; he thinks I can do nothing. But, at least, let us all ride to the foot of the mountain; perhaps we shall meet them yet.”
“Yes, that at any rate we will do. Give your orders, and then come and get some chocolate.”
Miss Weston had taken care that this was ready, and Cherry sat down and ate and drank, trying to put a good face on the matter before the ladies.
After they started on their ride he was very silent, and hardly spoke a word till they came to the little inn where the mules had been left the day before. Then he said very quietly to Mr Stanforth, —
“Perhaps I had better wait – I might hinder you.”
“I think it would be best,” said Mr Stanforth, with merciful absence of comment, for he knew what the sense of incapacity must have been to Cherry then.
The kindest thing was to start on the steep ascent at once. Miss Weston, in what Gipsy thought a cold-blooded manner, took out her drawing materials, and sat down to sketch the mountain peaks, Cheriton started from his silent watch of the ascending party, and asked Gipsy to take a little walk with him: and as she gladly came, they gathered plants and talked a little about the view, showing their terror by their utter silence on the real object of their thoughts. Then he exerted himself to get some lunch for them; so that the first hours of the day passed pretty well. But as the afternoon wore on, he sat down under a great walnut-tree, and watched the mountain – the great pitiless creature with its steep bare sides and snowy summits. He gave no outward sign of impatience, only watched as if he could not turn his eyes away; and Miss Weston, almost as anxious for him as for the missing ones, thought it best to leave him to follow his own bent.
No one was anxious about poor Gipsy, who wandered about, running out of sight in the vain hope of seeing something on the bare hill-side on her return.
At last, just as the wonderful violet and rose tints of the sunset began to colour the white peaks, Cheriton sprang to his feet, and pointed to the hill-side, where, far in the distance, were moving figures.
“How many?” he said, for, in the hurry of their start, they had left the field-glasses, which would have brought certainty a little sooner, behind.
“Oh, there are surely a great many,” said Gipsy.
Cheriton watched with the keen sight trained on his native moorlands; while the ladies counted and miscounted, and thought they saw Jack’s white puggaree.
“No,” said Cherry, “there are only Mr Stanforth and the two guides. I cannot wait,” he added, impetuously, and began to hurry up the hill, till he stopped perforce for want of breath.
“There can have been no accident; we have found no one – nothing whatever,” cried Mr Stanforth, as soon as he came within speaking distance. “They must have gone the other way; there is no trace.”
He spoke in a tone of would-be congratulation, but an ominous whisper passed among the guides, bandidas, and the utter blank was almost more terrifying than direct ill news.
“We must go back to Ronda, and see what can be done to-morrow.”
“But,” said Cherry, rather incoherently, “I don’t know – you see, I must take care of Jack.”
“Yes,” said Mr Stanforth, “but any little detention would not hurt either of them, and they must not find that you are knocked up. We can consult the authorities at Ronda.”
“Yes, thank you; I hope you are not over-tired,” said Cherry, half dreamily. “I? oh, no; I am quite well; but I can’t help being anxious.”
“No, it is very perplexing; but I feel quite hopeful of good news myself,” said Mr Stanforth.
But somehow the necessity of this assurance struck a sharper pang to Cherry’s heart than his own vague forebodings.
End of Volume Two
Chapter Eight.
Civis Romanus Sum
“The mightiest of all peoples under Heaven!”
“I tell you, you stupid, blundering blockheads, that he is my brother; and we are Englishmen, and we know nothing whatever of your Carlist brigands, or whoever they are! We are British subjects, and you had better let us go, or the British Government will know the reason why,” thundered Jack Lester, in exceedingly bad Spanish, interspersed with English epithets, at the top of his voice.
“Gentlemen, it is true; our passports are at Ronda; conduct us thither, if you will. We are travelling for pleasure only, and have no concern with any political matters at all,” said Alvar, in far more courteous accents.
The scene was the mountain side, the time evening, and Alvar and Jack were just beginning their descent, when they were confronted by an official, and surrounded by a small troop of soldiers in the government uniform. They had been suddenly encountered and stopped, and desired to produce their passports, and, these not being forthcoming, their account of themselves was met with civil incredulity, and they were desired to consider themselves under arrest.
“But – but don’t you see that you’re making an utter fool of yourself,” shouted Jack, in a fury. “I tell you this gentleman is my brother, and we are the sons of Mr Lester, of Oakby Hall, Westmoreland, and have nothing to do with your confounded Carlists. I’ll knock the first fellow down – ”
“Hush, Jack! Keep your temper,” whispered Alvar, in English. “Señor, I am the grandson of Señor Don Guzman de la Rosa, of Seville, well known as a friend to the government, and this is my half-brother from England.”
“One of the De la Rosas, señor, is exactly what we know you to be; but as for this extraordinary falsehood by which you call yourself an Englishman – and the brother of this gentleman – why, you make matters worse for yourselves for attempting it.”
“Ask the guide,” said Alvar.
“Ah, doubtless; the fellow was known as having been engaged in the late war. Come, señores, you may as well accompany me in silence.”
“Will you send a message by the direct route to Ronda, asking for our passports, and informing our friends of our safety?” said Alvar.
No, informing their friends was the last thing wished for. In the morning they would see.
“Do not resist, Jack,” said Alvar; “it is quite useless; we must come.”
“Don’t you hear he is talking English to me?” said Jack, as a last appeal, and, of course, a vain one.
“I am sure they haven’t got a magistrate’s warrant,” said Jack, as his alpenstock was taken away from him, and, closely guarded, he was made to precede Alvar down the hill, in a state of offended dignity and incredulous indignation. He was very angry, but not at all frightened; it was incredible that any Spanish officials should hurt him. Indeed, as he cooled down a little, the adventure might have been a good joke, but for the certainty that Cherry would be imagining them at the bottom of a precipice.
After walking for some way along a different road from the one they had come by, they stopped at a little wayside tavern, where they were given to understand that they were to pass the night.
“But it’s impossible; they can’t keep us here,” cried Jack. “Isn’t there a parish priest, or a magistrate, or a policeman, or some one to appeal to?”
“No one who could help us,” answered Alvar. “I do not think there is anything to be afraid of for ourselves; we can easily prove that we are English when we get to some town; it is of Cherry that I think – he will be so frightened.”
“You don’t think they’ll go and take him up?”
“Oh, no; I hope they will send to Ronda for our passports in the morning. But, Jack, do not fly in a passion. We must be very civil, and say we are quite willing to be detained in the service of the government.”
“I’m hanged if I say anything of the sort,” muttered Jack, whose prominent sensation was rage at the idea that he, an Englishman, a gentleman, a man with an address, and a card – though he had unluckily left it at home – should be subjected to such an indignity, stopped in his proceedings by a dozen trumpery Spaniards!
Alvar was not so full of a sense of the liberty of the subject; he felt sure that he was mistaken for Manoel, and more than suspected that the government might have been justified in detaining his cousin. He did not, however, wish to confide this to Jack, of whose prudence he was doubtful, and knew that if the worst came to the worst, his grandfather could get them out of the scrape.
There might be no danger, but it was very uncomfortable, and provisions being scarce in the emergency, the captain – who looked much more like a bandit than an officer – gave his prisoners no supper but a bit of bread. Alvar was Spaniard enough to endure the fasting, but Jack, after his day of mountain climbing, was ready to eat his fingers off with hunger; and as the hours wore on, began really to feel sick, wretched, and low-spirited, and though he preserved an unmoved demeanour, to wonder inwardly what his father would say if he knew where he was, and to remember that the Spaniards were a cruel people and invented the Inquisition! And then he wondered if Gipsy was thinking of him.
Moreover, it was very cold, and they were of course tired to begin with, so that, when at length the morning dawned, Alvar was startled to see how like Jack looked to Cheriton after a bad night, and made such representations to the captain that Englishmen could not bear cold and hunger, that he obtained a fair share of bread and a couple of onions – provisions which Jack enjoyed more than he would have done had he guessed what Alvar had said to procure them.
“I’m up to anything now,” he said. “If they would only let us put a note in the post for Cherry, it would be rather a lark after all.”
“I do not know where you will find a post-office,” said Alvar disconsolately, as they were marched off in an opposite direction to Ronda. “If Cherry only does not climb that mountain to look for us!”
“I should like to set this country to rights a little,” said Jack.
“That,” said Alvar dryly, “is what many have tried to do, but they have not succeeded.”
The prisoners were very well guarded, and though Alvar made more than one attempt to converse with the captain, he got scarcely any answer. Still, from the exceedingly curious glances with which he regarded them, Alvar suspected that he was not quite clear in his own mind as to their identity. After a long day’s march they struck down on a small Moorish-looking town, called Zahara, built beside a wide, quick-rushing river.
And now Alvar’s hopes rose, as here resided an acquaintance of his grandfather, a noted breeder of bulls, who knew him well, and had once seen Cheriton at Seville. Besides, the authorities of Zahara might be amenable to reason.
However, they could get no hearing that night, and were shut up in what Jack called the station-house, but which was really a round Moorish tower with horseshoe arches. Here Alvar obtained a piece of paper, and they concocted a full description of themselves, their travelling companions, and their destination, which Alvar signed with his full name, —
“Alvaro Guzman Lester, of Westmoreland, England,” and directed to El Señor Don Luis Pavieco, Zahara, and this he desired might be given to the local authorities. He also tried hard, but in vain, to get a note sent to Ronda.
They hoped that the early morning might produce Don Luis, but they saw nothing of any one but the soldier who brought them their food, which was still of the poorest.
Alvar’s patience began to give way at last; he walked up and down the room.
“Oh, I am mad when I think of my brother!” he exclaimed. “My poor Cheriton. What he will suffer!”
“Don’t you think they’ll let us out soon?” said Jack, who had subsided into a sort of glum despair.
“Oh, they will wait – and delay – and linger. It drives me mad!” he repeated vehemently, and throwing himself into a seat he hid his face in his arms on the table.
“Well,” said Jack, “it’s dogged as does it. I wish I hadn’t used up all my tobacco though.”
Early the next morning their door was opened at an unusual hour, and they were summoned into a sort of hall, where they found “el Capitano,” another officer in a respectable uniform, and, to Alvar’s joy, Don Luis Pavieco himself.
The thing was ended with ludicrous ease. Don Luis bowed to Alvar, and turning to the officer declared that Don Alvar Lester was perfectly well known to him, and that the other gentleman was certainly his half-brother and an Englishman. The officer bowed also, smiled, hoped that they had not been incommoded; it was a slight mistake.
“Mistake!” exclaimed Jack; “and pray, Alvar, what’s the Spanish for apology – damages?”
Alvar turned a deaf ear, and bowed and smiled with equal politeness.
“He had been sure that in due time the slight mistake would be rectified. Were they now free to go?”
“Yes;” and Don Luis interposed, begging them to come and get some breakfast with him while their horses could be got ready. Their guide? – oh, he was still detained on suspicion.
“Well,” ejaculated Jack, “they are the coolest hands. Incommoded! I should think we have been incommoded indeed!”
In the meantime no hint of how matters had really gone reached the anxious hearts at Ronda. The authorities had scouted the idea of brigands, and had revealed the existence of a dangerous ravine, some short distance from the mountain path. Doubtless the darkness had overtaken them, and they had been lost. The guides declared that nothing was more unlikely, as it was hardly possible to reach the ravine from the path, the rocks were so steep. A search was however made by some of the most active, it need not be said, in vain. Cheriton, afterwards, never could bear a reference to those days and nights of suspense – suspense lasting long enough to change the hope of good tidings into the dread of evil tidings, till he feared rather than longed for the sounds for which his whole being seemed to watch.
Nothing could exceed Mr Stanforth’s kindness to him, and he held up at first bravely, and submitted to his friend’s care. On the third morning they resolved that Don Guzman should be written to, and Cherry, who had been wandering about in an access of restless misery, tried to begin the letter; but he put down the pen, turning faint and dizzy, and unable to frame a sentence.
“I cannot,” he said faintly. “I cannot see.”
“You must lie down, my dear boy; you have had no rest. I will do it.”
“My father, too,” Cheriton said, with a painful effort at self-control. “I think – there’s no chance. I must try to do it; but – oh – Jack – Jack!”
He buried his face on his arms with a sob that seemed as if it would tear him to pieces.
“You must not write yet to your father,” said Mr Stanforth. “I do not give up hope. Courage, my boy!”
Suddenly a loud scream rang through the house, and an outburst of voices, and one raised joyously, —
“My brother – my brother – are you here? – we are safe!” and as Cherry started to his feet Alvar, followed by Jack, rushed into the room, and clasped him in his arms.
“Safe! yes, the abominable, idiotic brutes of soldiers! But we’re all right, Cherry. You mustn’t mind now.”
“Yes, we are here, and it is over.”
“Thank Heaven for His great mercy!” cried Mr Stanforth, almost bursting into tears as he grasped Alvar’s hand.
“Bandits, bandits?” cried half-a-dozen voices.
But Cherry could not speak a word; he only put out his hand and caught Jack’s, as if to feel sure of his presence also.
“Mi querido,” said Alvar in his gentle, natural tones, “all the terror is over – now you can rest. I think you had better go, Jack. I will take care of him,” he added.
“Yes,” said Mr Stanforth; “this has been far too much. Come, Jack – come and tell us all that has chanced.”