So exciting an incident immediately on his entrance into Saragossa had engrossed Jack's attention so thoroughly as to drive from his mind the matter which, until he turned the corner of the Casa Ximenez, had been giving him much concern. Where was Pepito? That mischievous but useful elf had been the life and soul of the sailors during their rapid voyage from Seville to the mouth of the Ebro. When they disembarked at Tortosa he had managed with great cleverness the hiring of horses on which to continue the journey overland, and had ridden with Jack across country until they reached the village of Mediana, some fifteen miles from Saragossa. There Jack learnt that Saragossa was closely invested on all sides by the French, and in particular that the Monte Torrero, an eminence on the south-west of the city, was in the hands of the enemy, who had made it the base of most vigorous and sustained operations.
It was clearly impossible to penetrate the French lines and enter the city on foot or horseback; the only other means was the river. Jack made anxious enquiry as to the chances of finding the waterway open. He learnt that in the early days of the siege several boats had eluded the vigilance of the French and come down the river, and that, only a fortnight before, Francisco Palafox, the brother of the captain-general in command, had escaped under cover of night and was now at large, endeavouring to raise a relief force. But the peasants of Mediana knew of no case of a boat going up-stream and passing the French batteries since Colonel Doyle had sent a number of new muskets into the city the day before the strict investment began. Further, in addition to a bridge of boats near the confluence of the tributary Huerba with the main stream, a boom had been thrown across the river a few hundred yards below this point, and it seemed most unlikely that now, in the seventh week of the siege, the French sentries would have so far relaxed their watchfulness as to allow the boom to be crossed or broken.
This was bad news, and Jack, for the moment, felt baffled. He discovered, however, that at this time of year Saragossa and the neighbouring district were covered at early morning with a thick mist from the river and the low-lying banks, and he felt that if he could take advantage of this fact he might slip into the city despite all the enemy's vigilance. At any rate he determined to make the attempt. A bargain was soon struck at a riverside village for the loan of a boat. The oars were carefully muffled, and after dark, on the night of January 31st, Jack started with high hope on the last stage of his long journey.
All went well. It was a pitch-dark night, and the strain of rowing a heavy craft against the stream necessitated frequent pulls-in to the bank for rest. But steady progress was made mile by mile, until, about five o'clock in the morning, sounds ahead indicated that the boat was drawing very near to the French encampments.
Every stroke of the oars was now made with infinite precaution, and the boat crawled along at a snail's pace. Pepito, in the bow, leant over to watch for the boom which blocked the waterway, and many times dipped his hands into the icy-cold water so that touch might not fail where sight was impossible. The air was raw and chilly, and Jack was delighted to learn, from his sensations in throat and eyes, that the mist of which his informant had spoken was an actuality.
It was drawing towards dawn. The darkness was yielding to a faint luminance that was not yet light, when suddenly, a few moments after Pepito had withdrawn his numbed hand from the water, the boat was pulled up with a jolt, and a harsh prolonged creak testified that its nose had come at last into contact with the boom—a heavy chain drawn across the river from bank to bank. Instantly there was a cry from the bank on their right: "Qui va la?" At that same moment, without the least hesitation, Pepito slipped noiselessly over the side of the boat into the water, caught the chain with one hand, and endeavoured to pull it down, whispering to his master to row over. But his puny strength was, of course, unavailing, and he crept back shivering into the bows. Jack, however, had at once divined the only possible solution of the problem. So heavy a chain must undoubtedly sag towards the middle of the stream. Was the middle to his right hand or his left? He pulled the boat sideways against the obstruction, and told Pepito to slip overboard and walk along the chain while he himself gently paddled. At a guess he moved to the right, and was soon gratified by Pepito's whispered announcement that the chain seemed to be sinking. When the water reached the boy's middle, Jack gently brought the boat's head to the stream, and with two vigorous strokes drove the unwieldy vessel across the boom. The boat's bottom scraped the massive links as it crossed; Pepito clambered in rather too hastily and slipped; the sounds caught the ears of the sentry on the bank, and another cry of "Qui va la?" penetrated the mist, followed by a shot. More voices were heard; more shots; and then from a point behind came the sound of a boat being run down the bank. Jack now plied his oars with might and main; cries, followed by shots, rang out from the other bank, and then, ahead and approaching him, he heard the straining of oars against rowlocks. There was no time for hesitation. Pulling hard on the left oar he headed for the bank, taking his chance, and in a few seconds grounded with a shock. In an instant he was out of the boat, and, followed closely by Pepito, started at a quick walk through the clinging fog in what he guessed must be the direction of the city.
They had not walked fifty yards when a terrific explosion rent the air, deafening their ears and almost knocking them backward. Immediately afterwards the thunder of heavy artillery broke out to their right, and the mist beyond them was fitfully illuminated by lurid flashes. Brought to a momentary stop, Jack again went forward, with eyes and ears painfully strained, every fantastic eddy of the mist presenting itself as a possible enemy. Suddenly he looked round to see that Pepito was with him. The boy was gone! Retracing his steps, he peered through the gloom, calling the gipsy's name softly. There was no answer, no sign of him. Five minutes were spent in fruitless search; then, within a few yards of him, Jack heard the tramp of men marching rapidly in file. With a mixed feeling of annoyance and anxiety he turned and made off in the opposite direction, crossed the district known as the Tanneries, and after wandering about for nearly an hour, dodging footsteps, and seeing with concern the mist clearing, arrived at the turning of the Casa Ximenez just in time to assist the young lady then so urgently needing assistance.
Still anxious about the safety of the gipsy boy, Jack felt, after leaving the house in the Coso, that he could do nothing at the moment, and his first duty was to present his despatch to General Palafox. The sounds of combat hurtled in the air; behind him clouds of smoke and flame bore witness to the success of the French bombardment. The street was full of men, women, citizens, soldiers, priests, hastening from point to point, all armed, all with fury and grim determination printed on their worn features. Stopping a boy who was hauling along a barrow filled with powder, Jack asked him where General Palafox could be found.
"In the Palace of the Inquisition, by the Portillo Gate," replied the boy in surprise, scarcely stopping to answer the question, and hurrying on again with his fatal load. Before he had gone fifty yards a bomb fell into the barrow, and, unknown to Jack, this little defender of Saragossa was blown into eternity.
Jack hastened along the street, climbing the barricades, shuddering as he saw the unburied corpses of the slain lying before every church door, wincing in spite of himself as the thunders of the cannonade resounded in his rear, and admiring the courage of the black-robed noble ladies, who went about the streets swiftly but quietly, some carrying aid to the wounded, others almost staggering beneath the weight of great bags of powder and ammunition tied to their waists. He hurried along the Coso, crossed the Calle del Hospital, pursued his way to the Portillo Gate, and at length, passing through a long covered approach, reached the Palace of the Inquisition—the Castle of Aljafferia, at the extreme north of the city, outside the walls. At the gate of the castle many people were going in and coming out. Jack joined the ingoing stream, and found himself within the stately halls of the old palace of the kings of Aragon, crowded with soldiers and people of all classes. Learning with some difficulty that the captain-general was in one of the smaller salons, he at length reached the room, and stood in presence of the man whom for months past he had been more than eager to see.