As the moments passed this latter thought became their only one in the presence of the immediate danger from the exulting Spaniards. Some of these, in the play of their humour, now began to thrash the bodies of the bound with their heavy wooden clubs; others thrust their torches very near to the faces of the prone men, or threatened them with their cuchillos. It is scarce possible, in fact, to believe that the end of the four would not have come quickly had there not been the intervention of one in authority, a giant of a man, in a capa edged with fur and a fine sombrero, at the sound of whose voice the mob fell back and stood silent. But he, coming up to Messenger and making him a profound bow, seemed to be finding apology; and when he had doffed his hat many times, he turned about and spoke to a man at his elbow, and at that the cords which held the necks and the ankles of the captives were cut, and the four of them were lifted into two boats which had been rowed to the sand during the mêlée.
The first of these, a pretty craft finished like a yacht's boat, took Messenger and Fisher; the second, a plainer ship, but one holding at least twenty men, had Burke and the nigger. And the boats being thus laden, the Spaniards rowed quickly up the bay, and Messenger's hope sank low when he observed that their course was for the lagoon he had fled from in the morning, and that the men who had debouched upon them were also those who had cried to one another in the door of the tunnel.
During this short voyage the boat which carried Burke fell rapidly behind the lighter craft wherein Messenger was, he sitting at the stern with the big man beside him, and Fisher lying, in the greatest state of fear he had ever known, at the bows. Both of them now had the shackles of the rope only upon their hands, yet thought of any attempt to turn the situation by leaping from the boat was out of their minds, and would, at the best, have been idle thought. As for the elder man, his quick-scheming mind already ran upon a dozen ways and means, yet he could shape nothing until time should tell him more explicitly how the position lay; and, in the expectation of light, he turned to the Spaniard and asked him in French—
"Where are you taking us?"
"Sabe Dios, quien sabe," replied the fellow stoically.
Messenger, not having a phrase of Spanish to understand the sarcasm, ventured the thing again, this time in English.
"Do you belong to the palace on the hill?"
The man responded with a "Perdone, señor," and another smile, showing, had there been light by which to see them, a fine row of brown teeth. Then he pointed with abundant gesticulation toward the haven, and seemed to wish to say that the position of the prisoners caused suffering to himself. But Messenger, believing that he was understood, went on with his talk.
"You seem to have a pretty collection of vagabonds at your beck and call," said he. "I'm afraid this will cost you dear. We're expecting a ship from Ferrol to-morrow, and the English consul there will know where to look for us. You play a dangerous game!"
To his intense surprise the Spaniard laughed right out at this remark.
"Possibly," said he, in the English of the Palais Royal—"possibly; but we play him with the pistol in the pocket, señor. Your pardon, I speak what the English call the warning—you be exhorted of me and take him."
"Oh, then, you're the chief," said Messenger, looking at him closely, "and the owner of the place, I presume?"
"It is mine, and yet—as you speak—it is not mine. I serve my mistress there are thirty years; I will serve her thirty more—ojala!"
"Are we going to her now?"
"No, se sabe. I tell you in the come-and-by" (he meant the by-and-by). "I am but the servant; the servant cannot make speak when the mistress does not speak—not at all, by no means!"
Messenger observed at this the cunning of the man, and lapsed into silence. The boat had now swung round into the creek of the sea; and they began to row through a great gorge which rose up, infinitely grand in the moonlight, to a height of at least three hundred feet above the beach. The steep and stony walls of this were half hid by the pines and clinging plants which thrived generously upon it; yet there were stretches where the quartz-like ore gave a sheen as of burnished silver, and the lagoon itself shone like a mirror where the soft light fell. For the third part of a mile, at the least, the boat glided silently below the home of eagles and the wood-capped peaks, meeting no other craft; nor was there any sign of men until, with a sudden turn, the mouth of the tunnel came to their view, and a dozen rough fellows, gathered upon the small wall at the edge, hailed the boat^s crew, and were answered with a hail again.
"Hola! que tal?" The cry was repeated thrice, and each time the echo of the sound boomed in the tunnel, and seemed to roll away to the very heart of the hills. At its second repetition the boat had come up to a great cave-like aperture, and, being rowed straight on, a weighty darkness closed the scene from the men's eyes; and they could distinguish only the glitter of rude lamps, which showed, in their limited aureola, walls green with slime, and water which shone black as the environing darkness. But, and this after the fashion of the creek without, the tunnel trended, when it had continued for some two hundred yards, sharply to the right; and as the boat swung round on the bend she came up to a small wooden platform in the wall, and there was held by a couple of seamen who carried lanterns in their hands, and appeared to be waiting for the party.
The exchange of greeting between the Spaniards was very brief. The man in authority at once stepped upon the platform and bade the Englishmen follow him through a wicket of iron set in the rock; and when they had so done, they were in a narrow passage of brick feebly lighted by oil lamps. The passage inclined upward at a very sharp angle, and was so low that a stooping posture was necessary to those who walked in it; but the Spaniards set a quick pace up the incline, and presently they emerged upon a stone court-yard with exceeding high walls; and thence, passing another gate into a block of buildings, they continued through several corridors until at last they stood within the castle itself, as they surmised; and the guide bade them wait in the charge of three of the others who had accompanied him.
So far as Messenger could observe in the dim light the building in which they now were had walls of immense thickness, and betrayed its age in every arch and pillar. Above them a roof of stone sculptured with rich tracery gave evidence of Moorish influence, and the slender columns which supported it had much of the delicacy which is conspicuous at Granada. Yet the vast hall, or ante-room, or whatever it was, possessed scant ornament of furniture, though towering gates, emblazoned with shining brass, and many images with lamps burning upon them, were a testimony of abiding care. The aspect of it, indeed, was one of sumptuous luxury, and led the imagination on quickly to depict gorgeous scenes behind the gates, whence came the murmur of fountains splashing and the low hum of voices.
In this hall the two prisoners—for Burke and the nigger were not brought there—waited for the space of ten minutes, standing moodily before their guides. At the end of that time one of the brass gates was opened, and the Spaniard returned, beckoning them to follow him. Nor did he appear to anticipate any attempt to escape, being alone with them after they had passed from the hall, and stopping a moment to cut the ropes which bound their hands. They were now in a lofty passage lit by lamps of bronze, and so thickly carpeted that the footfall was noiseless; a passage upon whose walls strange allegories, depicted with the brilliant colouring of the Spanish school, were lavished; and from the great corridor they passed to a circular and gilt-domed ante-chamber, where fountains bubbled up from the outstretched arms of nereids; and light fell cunningly upon marble basins and the sun-fish which swarmed in them. Never had either of them seen a chamber so perfect in its harmonious colouring, so seductive in its lounges, so suggestive of ultimate placidity of life; but hardly had they come into it when the great Spaniard threw open curtains which hid one of the panels of its apse, and the pair of them stood in the presence of the Spanish woman.
The room was a lofty one, lighted by many candles set in a chandelier of Venetian glass; its panelled walls were decorated by sombre portraits. At its upper end an archway hung with curtains cut it off from a smaller apartment, which was just seen through open woodwork delicately carved; and there was a gallery running along one of its sides with other doors leading