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"You see that fire," the enraged guerilla said, "there you shall be

roasted! English pig that you are! But not yet. That were too quick

a death! Here," he said to his followers, "make a little fire by the

side of the big one--there under the arm of that tree; and put on

plenty of green leaves: we will smoke our pig a bit before we roast

him!"

Peter still eyed him unflinchingly. He was determined that no pain

should wring a complaint or prayer for mercy. Even now he did not

quite despair, for he thought that he had just one chance of life. He

was sure that Tom would move heaven and earth to save him. He reckoned

that he would at once guess who had carried him off, and with what

object; and he felt that Tom would be certain to set off to his

rescue. All this he had reflected over in his long days of weary

suffering, and from the moment that he was unbandaged, and propped

against the tree, he had listened attentively for any unusual sound.

How Tom could rescue him he did not see. He was so utterly crippled,

from his long confinement, that he knew that it would be hours,

perhaps days, before he could walk a step; yet, still he thought it

possible that Tom might try; and he feared more than he hoped, for he

trembled lest, if Tom were really there, that he would do some rash

thing, which would involve him in his fate. "Whether Tom is here or

not," Peter thought as he looked unflinchingly at Nunez, "one thing

is certain, if I know my brother, you will not have many days to live

after me, for Tom will follow you all over Spain, but he will avenge

me at last!" Such were Peter's thoughts, and so likely did he think it

that Tom was present, that he was scarcely surprised when he heard, as

from the ground behind him, a well-known voice.

"Massa Peter, you keep up your heart. Sam here, Massa Tom he be here

in another half hour with French soldiers. If dey go to kill you

before dat, Sam play dem trick. Can you run, Massa Peter, if I cut de

cord?"

"No, Sam."

"Dat bad job. Neber mind, Massa Peter, you keep up your heart. Sam

keep quiet as long as he can, but when de worst come Sam do de trick

all right."

"Don't show yourself, Sam. It would only cost you your life, and

couldn't help me; besides, it would put them on their guard. They

won't kill me yet. They will smoke me, and so on, but they will make

it last as long as they can."

Peter was able to say this, for at the moment Nunez was occupied in

rolling and lighting a second cigarette. Peter received no answer, for

Sam, seeing some guerillas bringing sticks and leaves to make a fire,

as Nunez, had ordered, crept back again into the deep shadow behind.

The fire was now giving out volumes of smoke, a guerilla climbed up

the tree and slung a rope over it, and three others approached Peter.

His heart beat rapidly; but it was with hope, not fear. He knew, from

the words of Nunez, that at present he was not going to be burned,

but, as he guessed, to be hung over the smoke until he was insensible,

and then brought to life again with buckets of water, only to have the

suffocation repeated, until it pleased Nunez to try some fresh mode of

torture.

It was as he imagined. The rope was attached to his legs, and amid

the cheers of the guerillas, two men hauled upon the other end until

Peter swung, head downwards, over the fire. There was no flame, but

dense volumes of pungent smoke rose in his face. For a moment his eyes

smarted with agony, then a choking sensation seized him, his blood

seemed to rush into his head, and his veins to be bursting: and there

was a confused din in his ears and a last throb of pain, and then he

was insensible.

"That's enough for the present," Nunez said; "cut him down."

The men advanced to do so, but paused, with astonishment, for from

behind the great fire was a loud yell--"Yah, yah, yah!"--each louder

than the last, and then, leaping through the flames appeared, as they

supposed, the devil. Sam's appearance was indeed amply sufficient to

strike horror in the minds of a band of intensely superstitious men.

He had entirely stripped himself, with the exception of his sandals,

which he had retained in order to be able to run freely; on his head

were two great horns; in one hand he held a fork, and in the other

what appeared to be his tail, but which really belonged to the

slaughtered bullock. From his month, his horns, and the end of his

tail poured volumes of fire, arising, it needs not to say, from the

squibs he had prepared. The great white circles round the eyes added

to the ghastliness of his appearance, and seeing the terrible figure

leap apparently from the flames, it is no wonder that a scream of

terror rose from the guerillas. Whatever a Spanish peasant may believe

about saints and angels, he believes yet more implicitly in a devil.

Black, with horns, and a tail--and here he was--with these appendages

tipped with fire! Those who were able turned and fled in terror, those

who were too frightened to run fell on their knees and screamed for

mercy, while one or two fell insensible from fear. Taking the squibs

from his mouth, and giving one more startling yell, to quicken the

fugitives, Sam made two strides to where Peter was hanging, cut the

rope, and lowered him down.

Nunez had at first joined in the flight, but looking over his shoulder

he saw what Sam was doing. His rage and frenzy, at the thought of

being cheated of his victim, even by the evil one himself, overcame

his fear, and he rushed back, shouting, "He is mine! He is mine! I

won't give him to you!" and fired a pistol almost in Sam's face. The

ball carried away a portion of one of Sam's ears, and with a yell,

even more thrilling than those he had given before, he plunged his

pitchfork into the body of the guerilla, then, exerting all his

immense strength, he lifted him upon it, as if he had been a truss of

straw, took three steps to the great bonfire and cast the brigand into

it.

There was a volume of sparks, a tumbling together of big logs, and the

most cruel of the Spanish guerillas had ceased to exist.

This awful sight completed the discomfiture of the guerillas--some

hearing their chief's shouts and the sound o his pistol had looked

round, but the sight of the gigantic fiend casting him into the fire

was too much for them. With cries of horror and fear they continued

their flight; a few of them, who had fallen on their knees, gained

strength enough, from fear, to rise and fly; the rest lay on their

faces. Sam saw that for the present all was clear, and lifting up

Peter's still insensible body, as if it had no weight whatever, he

turned and went at a brisk trot out of the village, then over the

crest and down towards the fire.

Then he heard a ring of metal in front of him, and a voice said, "_Qui

vive_!" while another voice said, "Is that you, Sam?"

"Bress de Lord! Massa Tom, dis is me sure enough: and what is much

better, here is Massa Peter."

"Thank God!" Tom said fervently. "Is he hurt? Why don't you speak,

Peter?"

"He all right, Massa Tom. He talk in a minute or two. Now smoke choke

him, he better presently. Here, massa, you take him down to fire, pour

a little brandy down his throat. Now, massa officer, I lead de way

back to village."

As Tom took Peter in his arms a sudden fire of musketry was heard down

on the road.

"Our fellows have got them," Jules said. "I don't know what has

alarmed them, but they are running away!"

"Push forward," General Reynier said, "and give no quarter! Jules,

keep by the negro, and see that he comes to no harm. The men might

mistake him for a guerilla."

The night was pitch dark, and the extraordinary appearance of Sam

could not be perceived until after scouring the village and shooting

the few wretches whom they found there, they gathered round the

fire. Before reaching it, however, Sam had slipped away for a moment

into the hut where he had stripped; here he quickly dressed himself,

removed the paint from his face, and rejoined the group, who were not

a little surprised at seeing his black face.

In a short time the parties who had been posted on all the various

roads came in, and it was found that they had between them killed

some thirty or forty of the brigands, and had brought in two or three

prisoners.

"Have you killed or taken Nunez?" General Reynier asked. "Our work is

only half done if that scoundrel has escaped."

"I have asked the prisoners," one of the officers said, "and they tell

an extraordinary story, that the devil has just thrown him into the

fire!"

"What do they mean by such folly as that," the general asked angrily.

"Were they making fun of you?"

"No, sir, they were certainly serious enough over it, and they were

all running for their lives when they fell into our hands; they had

been horribly frightened at something."

"Ask that fellow there," the general said, pointing to a prisoner who

had been brought in by another detachment, "he cannot have spoken to

the others."

The man was brought forward, and then Jules asked him in Spanish:

"What were you all running away for?"

The man gave a glance of horror at the fire. "The devil came with his

pitchfork, fire came out of his mouth, his tail and his horns were

tipped with sparks, the captain fired at him, of course the bullet did

no good, and the devil put his fork into him, carried him to the fire,

and threw him in."

Jules and some of the other young officers burst out laughing, but the

general said:--

"Humph! We can easily prove a portion of the story. See if there are

any human remains in that fire."

The wind was blowing the other way, but as a sergeant went up to the

fire in obedience to the general's order, he said:--

"There is a great smell of burnt flesh here, and, sapristi, yes," as

he tossed over the logs with his foot "there is a body here, sir,

pretty well burnt up."

"It's a curious story," the general said. "Where is that negro,

perhaps he can enlighten us?"

But Sam had already left to look after Peter.

"Jules, put these fellows against that wall and give them a volley,

then march the men down to the wood where their horses are. We will

bivouac here for the night."

A party now brought up Peter, who had quite come round, but was unable

to stand, or indeed to move his arms, so injured was he by the ropes,

which had completely cut their way into his flesh. However, he was

cheerful and bright, and able really to enjoy the supper which was

soon prepared. That done, General Reynier said:--

"Captain Scudamore, will you call your black man when he has finished

his supper, which, no doubt, he needs? I want him to tell me what took

place before we arrived. The prisoners were full of some cock-and-bull

story, that the devil had stuck his fork into their captain and

pitched him into the fire, and the story is corroborated, at least to

the extent of the fact that, on turning the fire over, we found a body

there."

Sam, called and questioned, told the whole story, which Tom translated

as he went on to the French officers, and it was received with a

chorus of laughter at the thought of the oddity of Sam's appearance,

and of the brigands' terror, and with warm admiration for the able

stratagem and courage shown by the black.

Tom was delighted, and Peter, who had until now been entirely ignorant

of the manner in which he had been saved, feebly pressed Sam's hand

and said a few words of gratitude and thanks, which so delighted Sam

that he retired to cry quietly.

The next day they moved down to Vittoria, where Peter was tenderly

nursed by Madame Reynier. A week later he was fit to sit on horseback,

and the next day, after a hearty and affectionate parting, they

started to rejoin their own army. Both were now dressed as Spanish

gentlemen, and Jules, with four troopers accompanied them as an

escort.

They made a long detour to avoid the French army in the field under

Clausel, and at last came within sight of the British outposts. Here

Jules and his escort halted, and after a warm embrace with the merry

young Frenchman, they rode forward, and, after the usual parleying

with the pickets, were passed forward to the officer commanding the

post. He happened to be well known to them, and after the first

surprise, and a few words of explanation, they rode on towards the

head-quarters of the army besieging Burgos.

CHAPTER XIX.

VITTORIA.

General Clausel fell back as Wellington advanced to Burgos, and the

British laid siege to the castle of that place. Like all Wellington's

sieges this was commenced with a wholly insufficient train of

artillery, and without the time necessary to carry out regular siege

operations. A considerable portion of the army were posted so as to

watch Clausel. The place was badly fortified, but the French under

Governor Dubreton defended themselves with immense skill and courage,

the English assaults were repulsed, successful sorties were made by

the garrison, and at last, after the failure of the fourth assault,

the siege was given up, and the allied armies turned their faces once

more towards Portugal.

It was time; the operations in the south upon which Wellington had

relied to keep at least a portion of the French forces engaged, had

failed signally, and the French generals were bringing up their

troops from all parts of Spain, and General Souham, having under him

Generals Clausel, Maucune, and Foy, with a force far superior to

that of the British, advanced to give battle. Then Wellington, whose

Anglo-Portuguese troops were much weakened by sickness, fell back

rapidly, sending orders to General Hill, who commanded the troops left