José Palafox was barely thirty years of age, a tall man with dark complexion, heavy brown moustache and whiskers, and kindling eyes—kindling now, alas! with the flame of disease as well as of patriotic ardour. He was seated at a table on which papers were outspread. Every now and then his frame was racked with coughing. At his right hand stood a grim-visaged priest, Don Basilio Bogiero, his chaplain, whose fiery zeal in the defence of the city was equal to his own. Around were others of the notable men of the place, whom Jack came to know before many days had passed—the parish priest Santiago Sass, the burly peasants known to the whole populace as Uncle George and Uncle Marin, who had already proved their valour at the first siege of Saragossa, six months before. Making his way through the throng, he came to the table, and, bowing to the general, presented him with the despatch he had run such risks to deliver.
"From the British minister, Señor?" said Palafox in surprise, looking keenly at Jack.
He broke the seal, and showed the handwriting to Don Basilio, who nodded in answer to his mute enquiry. The general then rapidly cast his eyes over the despatch; Jack, watching him, saw his features twitch as he read. Collecting himself, he folded it up and placed it in his pocket.
"My brothers," he said aloud, "this is good news."
A shout interrupted him.
"Good news! good news!" rang from lip to lip. Santiago Sass crossed himself and cried: "Praise to our Lady of the Pillar!" Don Basilio watched everything with his fierce eyes.
"Yes, my brothers, good news!" continued Palafox. "The great English general, Sir Moore, has smitten the hosts of the accursed French; an army three times his own he has smitten and scattered to the winds of heaven. The traitor, the regicide, Bonaparte, has fled to France, and our brethren in all parts of Spain are massing to march to our assistance. Praise to the noble English! Praise to our noble allies! Praise to the great and noble Moore!"
"Praise to Our Lady of the Pillar!" shouted Santiago Sass.
The room rang with exultant cries, some in praise of Moore and the English, others in adoring gratitude towards the patron saint of the city. The fervour of religious enthusiasm was all the intenser because of the general belief that the extraordinary failure of the first siege, six months before, had been due to the miraculous interposition of Our Lady.
While the exultation was at its height, Palafox whispered a few words in the ear of Don Basilio, rose from his chair, and beckoned Jack to follow him into a small inner room. There, having shut the door, he asked: