“Blood-hounds! You surely don’t mean to say that the Spaniards use blood-hounds?”
“I mean nothing else. General Griscelli, who holds the chief command in the district of San Felipe, keeps a pack of blood-hounds, which he got from Cuba. But, though a Spanish general, Griscelli is not a Spaniard born. He is either a Corsican or an Italian. I believe he was originally in the French army, and when Dupont surrendered at Baylen he went over to the other side, and accepted a commission from the King of Spain.”
“Not a very good record, that.”
“And he is not a good man. He outvies even the Spaniards in cruelty. A very able general, though. He has given us a deal of trouble. Down with your head! Here comes some more.”
A whole troop this time. They pass in a cloud of dust. After a short interval another detachment sweeps by; then another and another.
“Gracias a Dios! they are putting on more speed. At this rate we shall soon be at liberty. But, caramba, how they might have been trapped, Señor Fortescue! A few men on that height hurling down rocks, the defile lined with sharp-shooters, half a hundred of Mejia’s llaneros to cut off their retreat, and the regiment of Irun could be destroyed to a man.”
“Or taken prisoners.”
“I don’t think there would be many prisoners,” said Carmen, grimly. “These must almost be the last, I think—they are. See! Here come the tag-rag and bobtail.”
The tag-rag and bob-tail consisted of a string of loaded mules with their arrieros, a dozen women riding mules, and as many men on foot.
“Let us get out of this hole while we may, and before any of them come back. Once on the road and mounted, we shall at least be able to fight; but down here—”