Boys of the Light Brigade: A Story of Spain and the Peninsular WarStrang, Herbert
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Boys of the Light Brigade: A Story of Spain and the Peninsular War
Strang, Herbert
Peninsular War, 1807-1814 -- Juvenile fiction
Jack spoke quietly and politely as before, but he was watching the
fellow with the wariness of a hawk.
"’Tis cold for me also, caballero; a fire and warm drink await me
yonder. I am going to fight the accursed French, and it strikes me a
mule like yours will serve me well. I will trouble you, therefore, to
dismount, caballero. I perceive you are a tradesman from the town, and
you will admit the fighter is more useful to Spain than the shopkeeper.
If you will do me the honour to descend, I will mount in your place."
"Not so fast, my man," said Jack. "I don’t want to hurt you, but if you
continue to stand there you may come to grief when I whip up my mule."
Realizing from Jack’s firm tone that his object was not to be gained
without a struggle, the man suddenly threw off the fold of the cloak
enveloping his right arm, and with a guttural oath lifted a huge mallet
he carried in his hand, springing slightly aside to give his arm free
play. The movement was fatal to him. With a sharp dig in the groin
Jack swung the mule round in the same direction, and launched him full
at his assailant. Before the ponderous mallet had time to complete its
swing, the mule had struck the man square in the chest, and as he reeled
and fell under the blow Jack brought down his switch smartly across his
brow.
"That’s well saved, anyhow," said Jack grimly to himself as he cantered
on, and smiled as he heard the man’s curses pursuing him. The mule
seemed to share in his rider’s feelings, for as he trotted steadily on
he lifted his head high in the air, curled up his lip, and showed his
long yellow teeth, as though laughing at the man’s ignominious
overthrow. Jack let him have his way, and the animal kept up the same
pace unfalteringly, with never a slip or stumble, until he reached the
squalid streets of Medina del Campo. The curfew had just ceased
ringing, and the great market-square was quite deserted; but Jack
knocked at a house in which he saw a light, enquired the way to the
Posada de Oriente, and in a few minutes was standing within the doorway
of that hostelry. To judge by the various voices issuing from its
interior, it was entertaining a numerous company.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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