Steps were heard ascending the stairs, the door opened, and the priest, accompanied by a French officer and followed by a number of soldiers, entered the room.
"You are my prisoner, sir," the French officer said.
"I am afraid there is no doubt of that," Jack said, speaking in Spanish; "here is my sword, sir.

These two men are my orderlies, and, of course, also surrender.

You will observe that we are all in uniform, that we are taken on the soil of Arragon, and that I am here in pursuance of my duty as an officer of the English army." "You are alone ?" the officer asked.
"Yes," Jack said; "there are, so far as I know, no other British but ourselves in Arragon." "Then we were misinformed," the officer said; "the news was received last night that the Earl of Peterborough was himself here; and although it was but in the afternoon that we had heard that your general was at Valencia, his movements are so swift and erratic that, if we heard of him in Portugal one hour we should not be surprised to find him here the next." He stopped as shots were heard fired in the streets.
"You must excuse ceremony, sir," he said, "and mount at once with your men and accompany me.

In ten minutes we shall have the whole country buzzing round us like wasps; and now that the object of my ride is accomplished, I don't wish to throw away my men's lives." The horses were saddled without loss of time, and in two or three minutes Jack was trotting down the village in the midst of the French cavalry amid a scathing fire from behind the houses and walls.
The French officer rode at the head of his troop till well beyond the village, then reining in his horse, joined his prisoner.
"And now," he asked, "whom have I the honor of capturing ?" "I am Captain Stilwell," Jack replied, "one of the Earl of Peterborough's aides de camp." "I am Captain de Courcy," the French officer said; "happily, although the French and English have taken opposite sides on this question, we can esteem and honor each other as brave and civilized adversaries.

As for these Spanish scoundrels, they are no better than banditti; they murder us in our beds, they poison our wine, they as often as not burn us alive if we fall into their hands; they are savages, neither more nor less; and why Philip of Anjou, who could have had all the pleasures of life as a prince of the blood at Versailles, should covet the kingship of this country, passes my understanding.