The Marquis of Bolibar Read Online Free PDF

said one of the guerrillas. "The town is against us. The citizens scowl at us, the women turn their backs on us, the dogs bark at us—"
    "And the landlords serve us sour wine," grumbled another.
    "But for military reasons," said the captain, "the possession of La Bisbal is of the utmost importance to us. If the French hold the town, they can take General Cuesta in the flank and rear whenever his troops make a move."
    "Then General Cuesta must send us reinforcements," Saracho exclaimed. "He has the Princesa and Santa Fe Regiments and half the Santiago Cavalry. He must—"
    "He'll send us not a single man or cart-horse. He himself is in difficulty, and you know full well that one cripple seldom helps another across the road. What's to be done, Colonel?"
    "How can I tell you when I myself have no idea?" Saracho said sullenly, staring at his fingers. The guerrillas around the fire set up a clamour when they saw how perplexed, irresolute and at odds their commanders were. Some cried out that the war was lost and they wanted to go home, others that they had no wish to go home and fetch firewood for their wives, and one man ran to his donkey and proceeded to saddle it as if he meant to set off for his village without delay.
    All at once, a voice made itself heard above the hubbub. It belonged to the Marquis of Bolibar.
    "If you're willing to obey me, Colonel, I know what to do."
    On hearing these words in his lair, Lieutenant von Röhn once more fell prey to the mysterious sense of dread inspired in him by his very first glimpse of the Marquis's face and eyes. Heedless of the danger that he might be discovered, he thrust his head through the skylight rather than miss a word. His thirst and pain had vanished: his one thought was that fate had ordained him to overhear and foil the schemes of the Marquis of Bolibar.
    Such were the clamour and commotion made by the guerrillas, who continued to argue whether it was better to fight on or disband, that Röhn could not at first catch what passed between the Marquis and the other two. After a short while, however, Saracho bade his men be silent, accompanying the order with oaths and imprecations, and the din ceased abruptly.
    "Please continue, Your Grace," the captain said, very courteously. Saracho's demeanour, too, had undergone a sudden and complete transformation. He betrayed no lingering trace of scorn, hatred or ill-will as he stood there in a respectful, almost subservient attitude. All three men - the British officer, the rebel commander, and Lieutenant von Röhn-bent an expectant gaze on the Marquis of Bolibar.
     

THREE SIGNALS
    At this point in his narrative Lieutenant von Röhn gave a description of the sinister spectacle presented by this nocturnal conference, which had deeply imprinted itself upon his mind. He recalled how Saracho, squatting down like a goblin, stoked the fire with brushwood — for the night was cold — and looked up at the Marquis intently as he did so; how the British officer, whose impassive face belied his obvious excitement, paid no heed when his scarlet cloak slipped from his shoulders and fell to the ground; how the guerrillas crowded around the fire, in part so as to hear what was said, in part because of the chill night air; and how the cork oak bearing the Madonna, which had been uprooted and half toppled by the wind, seemed to lean toward the Marquis and hang upon his every word. Indeed, the lieutenant fancied in his fearful and feverish state of mind that Christ and the Virgin were in league with the guerrillas and privy to their conspiracy.
    Standing in their midst, the Marquis of Bolibar acquainted the others with his murderous plans.
    "You will send your men home, Colonel Saracho," he commanded. "You will order them home to their fields and vineyards, their fish ponds and mule stables. Your cannon and powder waggons you will hide in readiness for the time when we are stronger than the Germans."
    "And when will that time come?" Saracho inquired