In a few minutes they returned and informed me that the whole picket had surrendered, and awaited my further orders. After a short consultation with Sergeant Hanley, I told the officer to call upon his men to come out one by one, each leading his horse, but leaving his sword in the yard. There was just room in the passage for a man and horse to pass. My order was obeyed; and as each dragoon passed through the door his carbine was taken from him, the butt smashed, and the pieces thrown aside. In this manner the whole picket—numbering twenty-eight sous-officiers and troopers—passed out, and formed up in ranks of four; each man standing at his horse's head, and his stirrups being crossed over his saddle. As soon as all the Frenchmen were out of the yard I gave the word to march, and we moved off; Sergeant Hanley and a German hussar heading the little column, three men riding on either flank, and Harry Symes and I, with the officer—whom I allowed to ride—between us, bringing up the rear.
"You are our prisoner."
The French dragoons marched very slowly, and it was nearly dark before we came in sight of the village where we had baited our horses on the way to Blanchez Sancho. The French officer now expressed his surprise that we had not fallen in with the brigade. I returned an evasive answer, and thinking it would be well to halt at the village for the night—at the pace we were travelling we should not have reached Arevalo before daybreak—I called Sergeant Hanley and told him to gallop on to the village and request our friend the alcalde to provide a secure resting-place for our prisoners, and, if possible, refreshment for man and beast.
"I fear the officer suspects that the brigade is not so near at hand as we led him to believe," I said in an undertone, "and it would be a risky job to march all these prisoners to Arevalo by night."
"True, sir," was the reply; "if they took it into their heads to make a sudden rush we'd have a warm time with 'em. I'll see the alcalde, sir, and arrange for their accommodation to-night, and then get a dozen or so of the villagers to come back with me and help guard 'em until we reach the village. There's nothing like being on the safe side!"
He then galloped off, and returned in about an hour's time accompanied by a score of villagers armed with sticks, pitchforks, and one or two old fowling-pieces.
"Mais, m'sieur! who are these rascals?" cried the Frenchman in some alarm.
"Do not fear, lieutenant," I answered, "these good people are the 'brigade'; they have come to escort you to the village."