Chapter 20: Salamanca.
"She is a lucky girl, Terence," Ryan said, as they quitted theshop. "She will be the envy of all the peasant girls in theneighbourhood, when she goes to church in all that finery, to bemarried to her muleteer."
"It has only cost about twenty pounds, and I value my freedom at avery much higher price than that, Dick. If I had not escaped, Ishould not have been in that affair with Moras that got me mypromotion and, at the present time, should be in some prison inFrance."
"You would not have got your majority, I grant, Terence; butwherever they shut you up, it is morally certain that you wouldhave been out of it, long before this. I don't think anything lessthan being chained hand and foot, and kept in an undergrounddungeon, would suffice to hold you."
"I hope that I shall never have to try that experiment, Dicky,"Terence laughed; "and now, I think you had better go into thishotel, and order lunch for us both. It is just as well not toattract attention, by two of us riding to that lane. We have notdone with Marmont, yet, and it may be that the French will bemasters of Salamanca again, before long, and it is just as well notto get the old man or the girl talked about. I will leave my horsehere, too. See that both of them get a good feed; they have not hadovermuch since we crossed the Aqueda."
As there were a good many British officers in the town, no specialattention was given to Terence as he walked along through thestreet, which was gay with flags. When he reached the house in thelane, the old man was standing at the door.
"Nita is in now, senor. She has not told me why you wanted to seeher. She said it was better that she should not do so, but shethought she knew who it was."
The girl clapped her hands, as he entered the room to which the oldman pointed.
"Then it is you, Senor Colonello. I wondered, when we heard theEnglish were coming, if you would be with them. Of course, I heardfrom Garcia that you had gone safely on board a ship at Cadiz. ThenI wondered whether, if you did come here, you would remember me."
"Then that was very bad of you, Nita. You ought to have been quitesure that I should remember you. If I had not done so, I shouldhave been an ungrateful rascal, and should have deserved to die inthe next French prison I got into."
"How well you speak Spanish now, senor!"
"Yes; that was principally due to Garcia, but partly from havingbeen in Spain for six weeks, last autumn. I was with Moras, and wegave the French a regular scare."
"Then it was you, senor! We heard that an English officer was incommand of the troops who cut all the roads, and took numbers ofFrench prisoners, and defeated 5000 of their troops and, as theysaid, nearly captured Valladolid and Burgos."
"That was an exaggeration, Nita. Still, we managed to do them agood deal of damage, and kept the French in this part of thecountry pretty busy.
"And now, Nita, I have come to fulfil my promise," and he handedher the box in which the jeweller had packed up his purchases.
"These are for your wedding, Nita, and if it comes off while we arein this part of the country, I shall come and dance at it."
The girl uttered cries of delight, as she opened parcel afterparcel.
"Oh, senor, it is too much, too much altogether!" she cried, as shelaid them all out on the table before her.
"Not a bit of it," Terence said. "But for you, I should be inprison now. If they had been ten times as many, and ten times ascostly, I should still have felt your debtor, all my life.
"And where is Garcia now?"
"He has gone to join Morillo," she said. "He always said that, assoon as the English came to our help, he should go out; so, sixweeks ago, he sold all his mules and bought a gun, and went off."
"I am sorry not to have seen him," Terence said. "And now, Nita,when he returns you are to give him this little box. It contains apresent to help you both to start housekeeping, in good style. Yousee that I have put your name and his both on it. No one can saywhat may happen in war. Remember that this is your joint property;and if, by ill fortune, he should not come back again, then itbecomes yours."
"Oh, senor, you are altogether too good! Oh, I am a lucky girl! Iam sure that no maid ever went to church before with such splendidornaments. How envious all the girls will be of me!"
"And I expect the men will be equally envious of Garcia, Nita. Now,if you will take my advice, you will not show these things toanyone at present; but will hide them in the box, in some very safeplace, until you are quite sure that the French will never comeback again. If your neighbours saw them, some ill-natured personmight tell the French that you had received them from an Englishofficer, and then it might be supposed that you had been acting asa spy for us; so it is better that you should tell no one, not evenyour uncle--that is, if you have not already mentioned it to him."
"I have never told him," the girl said. "He is a good man and verykind; but he is very timid, and afraid of getting into trouble. Ifhe asks me who you are and what you wanted, I shall tell him thatyou are an English officer who was in prison, in the convent; thatyou always bought your fruit of me, and said, if you ever came toSalamanca again, you would find me out."
"That will do very well. Now I will say goodbye, Nita. If we remainhere after the French have retreated, I will come and see youagain; for there will be so many English officers here that I wouldnot be noticed. But there may be a battle any day; or Marmont mayfall back, and we should follow him; so that I may not get anopportunity again."
"I hope you will come, I do hope you will come! I will bury allthese things, this evening, in the ground in the kitchen, after myuncle has gone to bed."
"Well, goodbye, Nita. I must be off now, as I have a friend withme. When you see Garcia, you can tell him that you have given me akiss. I am sure he won't mind."
"I should not care if he did," the girl said saucily, as she heldup her face. "Goodbye, senor. I shall always think of you, and praythe Virgin to watch over you."
After Marmont fell back across the Douro there was a pause in theoperations and, as the British army was quartered in and aroundSalamanca, the city soon swarmed with British soldiers; andpresented a scene exactly similar to that which it had worn whenoccupied by Moore's army, nearly four years before.
"What fun it was, Terence," Ryan said, "when we frightened theplace out of its very senses, by the report that the French wereentering the town!"
"That is all very well, Dick; but I think that you and I were justas much frightened as the Spaniards were, when we saw how the thinghad succeeded, and that all our troops were called out. There is nosaying what they would have done to us, had they found out whostarted the report. The very least thing that would have happenedwould have been to be tried by court martial, and dismissed fromthe service; and I am by no means sure that worse than that wouldnot have befallen us."
"Yes, it would have been an awful business, if we had been foundout. Still, it was a game, wasn't it? What an awful funk they werein! It was the funniest thing I ever saw. Things have changed sincethen, Terence, and I am afraid we have quite done with jokes ofthat sort."
"I should hope so, Dick. I think that I can answer for myself, butI am by no means sure as to you."
"I like that," Ryan said indignantly. "You were always the leaderin mischief. I believe you would be, now, if you had the chance."
"I don't know," Terence replied, a little more seriously than hehad before spoken. "I have been through a wonderful number ofadventures, since then; and I don't pretend that I have not enjoyedthem in something of the same spirit in which we enjoyed the fun weused to have together; but you see, I have had an immense deal ofresponsibility. I have two thousand men under me and, though Bulland Macwitty are good men, so far as the carrying out of an ordergoes, they are still too much troopers, seldom make a suggestion,and never really discuss any plan I suggest; so that theresponsibility of the lives of all these men really rests entirelyupon my shoulders. It has been only when I have been separated fromthem, as when I was a prisoner, that I have been able to enjoy anadventure in the same sor
t of way that we used to do, together."
"I little thought then, Terence, that in three years and a half,for that is about what it is, I should be a captain and you amajor--for I don't count your Portuguese rank one, way or theother."
"Of course, you have had two more years' regimental work than Ihave had. It would have been much better for me if I had had alonger spell of it, too. Of course, I have been extraordinarilyfortunate, and it has been very jolly; but I am sure it would havebeen better for me to have had more experience as a subaltern,before all this began."
"Well, I cannot say I see it, Terence. At any rate, you have had alot more regimental work than most officers; for you had to formyour regiment, teach them discipline, and everything else; and Idon't think that you would have done it so well, if you had beenground down into the regular regimental pattern, and had come tothink that powder and pipe clay were actual indispensables inturning out soldiers."
The quiet time at Salamanca lasted a little over a fortnight for,in the beginning of July, Lord Wellington heard that, in obedienceto King Joseph's reiterated orders, Marmont, having receivedreinforcements, was preparing to recross the Douro; that Soult wason the point of advancing into Portugal; and that the king himself,with a large army, was on the way to join Marmont.
The latter, indeed, was not to have moved till the king joined himbut, believing that his own army was ample for the purpose; andeager to gain a victory, unhampered by the king's presence, hesuddenly crossed at Tordesillas, and it was only by his masterlymovements, and a sharp fight at Castile, that Wellington succeededin concentrating his army on the Aqueda. The British general drewup his army in order of battle, on the heights of Vallesa; but theposition was a strong one, Marmont knew the country perfectly and,instead of advancing to the attack, he started at daybreak on the20th, marched rapidly up the river, and crossed it before anyopposition could be offered, and then marched for the Tormes. Bythis movement he had turned Wellington's right flank, was as nearSalamanca as were the British, and had it in his power, unlesschecked, to place himself on the road between Salamanca and Ciudad,and so to cut their line of retreat.
Seeing his position thus turned, Wellington made a correspondingmovement, and the two armies marched along lines of hills parallelwith each other, the guns on both sides occasionally firing. Allday long they were but a short distance apart and, at any moment,the battle might have been brought on. But Wellington had noopportunity for fighting, except at a disadvantage; and Marmont,having gained the object for which he had manoeuvred, was wellcontent to maintain his advantage. At nightfall the British were onthe heights of Cabeca and Aldea Rubia, and so secured their formerposition at San Christoval.
Marmont, however, had reached a point that gave him the command ofthe ford at Huerta; and had it in his power to cross the Tormeswhen he pleased, and either to recross at Salamanca, or to cut theroad to Ciudad. He had proved, too, that his army could outmarchthe British for, although they had already made a march of somedistance, when the race began, he had gained ground throughout theday, in spite of the efforts of the British to keep abreast of him.Moreover, Marmont now had his junction with the king's army,approaching from Madrid, securely established; and could eitherwait for his arrival, or give battle if he saw a favourableopportunity.
Wellington's position was grave. He had not only to consider hisadversary's force, but the whole course of the war, which adisaster would imperil. He had the safety of the whole Peninsula toconsider, and a defeat would not only entail the loss of theadvantage he had gained in Spain, but would probably decide thefate of Portugal, also. He determined, however, to cover Salamancatill the last moment, in hopes that Marmont might make some errorthat would afford him an opportunity of dealing a heavy blow.
The next morning the allies occupied their old position at SanChristoval, while the French took possession of Alba; whence theSpaniards had been withdrawn, without notice, to Wellington. Theevening before, the British general had sent a despatch to theSpanish commander, saying that he feared that he should be unableto hold his position. The messenger was captured by the Frenchcavalry; and Marmont, believing that Wellington was about toretreat, and fearing that he might escape him, determined to fightrather than wait for the arrival of the king.
The French crossed the Tormes by the fords of Huerta and Alba, theBritish by other fords above Salamanca. This movement was performedwhile a terrible storm raged. Many men and horses of the 5thDragoon Guards were killed by the lightning; while hundreds of thepicketed horses broke their ropes, and galloped wildly about.
Plan of the Forts and Operations round Salamanca.]
The position of the British army in the morning was very similar tothat occupied by a portion of it, when besieging the forts ofSalamanca; extending from the ford of Santa Marta to the heightsnear the village of Arapiles. This line covered Salamanca; but itwas open to Marmont to march round Wellington's right, and so cuthis communications with Ciudad. During the night, Wellington heardthat the French would be joined, in the course of two days, bytwenty guns and 2000 cavalry; and resolved to retire before thesecame up, unless Marmont afforded him some opportunity of fightingto advantage.
The latter, however, was too confident of victory to wait for thearrival of this reinforcement, still less for that of the king and,at daybreak, he took possession of a village close to the British,thereby showing that he was resolved to force on a battle.
Near this were two detached hills, called the Arapiles orHermanitos. They were steep and rugged. As the French were seenapproaching, a Portuguese regiment was sent to seize them; andthese gained the one nearest to them, while the French tookpossession of the second. The 7th division assailed the heightfirst, and gained and captured half of it.
Had Wellington now wished to retire, it would have been at oncedifficult and dangerous to attempt the movement. His line was along one, and it would have been impossible to withdraw, withoutrunning the risk of being attacked while in movement, and drivenback upon the Tormes. Ignorant of Marmont's precise intentions--forthe main body of the French army was almost hidden in thewoods--Wellington could only wait until their plans were developed.He therefore contented himself with placing the 4th division on aslope behind the village of Arapiles, which was held by the lightcompanies of the Guards. The 5th and 6th divisions were massedbehind the hill, where a deep depression hid them from the sight ofthe enemy.
For some time things remained quiet, except that the French andBritish batteries, on the top of the two Hermanitos, kept up a duelwith each other. During the pause, the French cavalry had againcrossed the Tormes, by one of the fords used in the night by theBritish; and had taken post at Aldea Tejarda, thus placingthemselves between the British army and the road to Ciudad. Thismovement, however, had been covered by the woods.
About twelve o'clock, fearing that Wellington would assail theHermanito held by him, Marmont brought up two divisions to thatpoint; and stood ready to oppose an attack which Wellington,indeed, had been preparing--but had abandoned the idea, fearingthat such a movement would draw the whole army into a battle, on adisadvantageous line. The French marshal, however, fearing thatWellington would retreat by the Ciudad road, before he could placea sufficient force on that line to oppose the movement, sentGeneral Maucune with two divisions, covered by fifty guns andsupported by cavalry, to move along the southern ridge of the basinand menace that road; holding in hand six divisions, in readinessto fall upon the village of Arapiles, should the British interferewith Maucune's movement.
The British line had now pivoted round, until its position extendedfrom the Hermanito to near Aldea Tejarda.
In order to occupy the attention of the British, and prevent themfrom moving, the French force attacked the village of Arapiles, anda fierce struggle took place. Had Marmont waited until Clausel'sdivision, still behind, came up and occupied the ridge, so as toconnect the French main army with Maucune's division, theirposition would have been unassailable; but the fear that Wellingtonmight escape had overcome his pruden
ce and, as Maucune advanced, agreat gap was left between his division and that of Marmont.
As soon as Wellington perceived the mistake, he saw that hisopportunity had come. Orders were despatched in all directions and,suddenly, the two divisions, hidden from the sight of the Frenchbehind the Hermanito, dashed down into the valley; where two otherdivisions joined them. The 4th and 5th were in front, withBradford's Portuguese; and the 6th and 7th formed the second line;while the Spanish troops marched between them and the 3rd division,forming the extreme right at Aldea Tejarda. The light divisions ofPack's Portuguese and the heavy cavalry remained in reserve, onhigh ground behind them. In spite of a storm of bullets fromMaucune's guns, the leading divisions marched steadily forward and,while the third division dashed across the valley and, climbing theridge, barred his progress, the main line advanced to attack hisflank.
Marmont, seeing the terrible danger in which Maucune was involved,sent officer after officer to hasten up the troops from the forestand, with his centre, prepared to attack the English Hermanito, andto drive them from that portion of the village they still held; butas he was hurrying to join Maucune a shell exploded near him,hurling him to the ground with a broken arm, and two deep wounds inhis side. This misfortune was fatal to the French chances.Confusion ensued, and the movements of the troops were paralyzed.
It was about five o'clock when the 3rd division, under Pakenham,fell upon Maucune's leading division; and two batteries ofartillery suddenly opened fire, on their flank, from the oppositeheight. Having no expectation of such a stroke; and believing thatthe British were, ere this, in full retreat along the Ciudad road,the French were hurrying forward, lengthening out into a long,straggling line.
The onslaught of Pakenham's division was irresistible, supported asit was by guns and cavalry. Nevertheless, the French borethemselves gallantly, forming line as they marched forward, whiletheir guns poured showers of grape into the approaching infantry.Nothing, however, could stop them. Pressing forward, they broke thehalf-formed lines into fragments, and drove them back in confusionupon the columns behind. The French cavalry endeavoured to checkthe British advance, by a charge on their flank; but were repulsedby the infantry, and the British light horsemen charged, and drovethem off the field.
Pushing forward, Pakenham came upon the second half of the divisionthey had defeated, formed up on the wooded heights; one face beingopposed to him, and the other to the 5th division, Bradford'sPortuguese, and a mass of cavalry moving across the basin. TheFrench had been already driven out of Arapiles, and were engaged inaction with the 4th division; but the battle was to some extentretrieved, for Clausel's division had arrived from the forest andreinforced Maucune; and spread across the basin, joining hands withthe divisions massed near the French Hermanito.
Marmont had been carried off the field. Bonnet, who had succeededhim, was disabled; and the chief command devolved on Clausel, ageneral of talent, possessing great coolness and presence of mind.His dispositions were excellent, but his troops were broken up intolines, columns, and squares. A strong wind raised the sandy soil inclouds of dust, the sinking sun shone full in the faces of histroops and, at once, concealed the movements of their enemies fromthem, and prevented them from acting with any unity.
Suddenly, two heavy bodies of light and heavy cavalry broke fromthe cloud of dust and fell upon them. Twelve hundred Frenchmen weretrampled down and, as the cavalry rode on, the third division ranforward, at the double, through the gap that they had formed. Lineafter line of the French infantry was broken and scattered, andfive of their guns captured by one of the squadrons. Two thousandprisoners were taken, and the three divisions that Maucune hadcommanded were a mass of fugitives.
In the meantime, a terrible battle was raging in the centre. HereClausel had gathered three fresh divisions and, behind these, thefugitives from the left rallied. He placed three others, supportedby the whole of the cavalry, to cover the retreat; while yetanother remained behind the French Hermanito. Pack's Portuguesewere advancing against it, and arrived nearly at the summit, whenthe French reserves leapt from the rocks and opened a tremendousfire on their front and left flank; and the Portuguese were drivendown the hill, with much loss. Almost at the same moment, one ofthe regiments of the 4th division were suddenly charged by 1200French soldiers, hidden behind a declivity, and driven back withheavy loss.
For a moment, it seemed that the fate of the battle might yet bechanged; but Wellington had the strongest reserve, the sixthdivision was brought up and, though the French fought obstinately,Clausel was obliged to abandon the Hermanito; and the army began tofall back, the movement being covered by their guns and the gallantcharges of their cavalry.
The whole of the British reserves were now brought into action, andhotly pressed them; but, for the most part maintaining their order,the French fell back into the woods and, favoured by the darkness,and nobly covered by Maucune, who had been strongly reinforced,they drew off with comparatively little loss, thanks to theSpaniards' abandonment of the fort guarding the ford at Alba.
Believing that the French must make for the ford of Huerta,Wellington had greatly strengthened his force on that side and,after a long march to the ford, was bitterly disappointed, onarriving there at midnight, to find that there was no sign of theenemy; although it was not until morning that he learned that theyhad passed unmolested over the ford of Alba. Had it not been forthe Spanish disobedience and folly, Marmont's whole army would havehad no resource but to surrender.
Marmont's strength when the fight began was 42,000 infantry andcavalry, and 74 guns. Wellington had 46,000 infantry and cavalry,and 60 pieces; but this included a considerable Spanish force andone of their batteries, and 10,000 Portuguese who, however, couldnot be reckoned as good troops. The pursuit of the French was takenup hotly next morning, and they were chased for forty miles thatday but, the next morning, they eluded their pursuers, marched toValladolid, drew off the garrison there, and left it to be occupiedby the British the following day.
The Minho regiment had been, two days before the battle, attachedto the 6th division. For a time, being in the second line, theylooked on, impatient spectators of the fight; but, at the crisis ofthe battle, they were brought up to check Clausel's impetuouscounter attack, and nowhere was the struggle fiercer. Hulse'sbrigade, to which they were attached, bore more than its share ofthe fighting; and the 11th and the 61st, together, had but 160 menand officers left when the battle was over. The Portuguese foughtvaliantly, and the fact that their countrymen had been defeated, intheir attempt to capture the French Hermanito, inspired them with afierce determination to show that Portuguese troops could fight aswell as their allies. They pushed forward well abreast of the otherregiments of the brigade, and suffered equally.
In vain the French attempted to check their advance. Showers ofgrape swept their ranks; volleys of musketry, at a distance of buta few yards, withered up their front lines and, for a time, ahand-to-hand fight with bayonets raged. In the terrible roar ofartillery and musketry, words of command were unheard; but the menmechanically filled up the gaps in their ranks, and the one thoughtof all was to press forward until, at length, the French yieldedand fell sullenly back, disputing every yard of the ground, and afresh division took up the pursuit.
The order to halt was given. The men looked round, confused anddazed, as if waking from a dream. Grimed with powder, soaked withperspiration, breathless and haggard, many seemed scarcely able tokeep their feet; and every limb trembled at the sudden cessation ofthe terrible strain. Then, as they looked round their ranks and tothe ground they had passed over, now so thickly dotted with thedark uniforms, hoarse sobs broke from them; and men who had goneunflinchingly through the terrible struggle burst into tears. Theregiment had gone into action over 2000 strong. Scarce 1200remained unwounded. Of the officers, Bull had fallen, desperatelywounded; Macwitty had been shot through the head.
A shell had struck Terence's horse.]
A shell had struck Terence's horse and, bursting, had carried offth
e rider's leg above the knee. The men near him uttered asimultaneous cry as he fell and, regardless of the fight, obliviousto the storm of shot and shell, had knelt beside him. Terence wasperfectly sensible.
"Do one of you give me my flask out of my holster," he said, "andanother cut off the leg of my trousers, as high as you can abovethe wound. That is right. Now for the bandages."
As every soldier in the regiment carried one in his hat, half adozen of these were at once produced.
"Is it bleeding much?" he asked.
"Not much, colonel."
"That is fortunate. Now find a smooth round stone. Lay it on theinside of the leg, just below where you have cut the trousers.
"Now put a bandage round and round, as tightly as you can do it.That is right.
"Now take the ramrod of one of my pistols, put it through thebandage, and then twist it. You need not be afraid of hurting me;my leg is quite numbed, at present. That is right.
"Put another bandage on, so as to hold the ramrod in its place. Nowfetch a flannel shirt from my valise, fold it up so as to make apad that will go over the wound, and bandage it there firmly.
"Give me another drink, for I feel faint."
When all was done, he said:
"Put my valise under my head, and throw my cloak over me. Thankyou, I shall do very well now. Go forward and join the regiment.
"I am done for, this time," he thought to himself, when the menleft him. "Still, I may pull through. There are many who have had aleg shot off and recovered, and there is no reason why I should notdo so. There has not been any great loss of blood. I suppose thatsomething has been smashed up, so that it cannot bleed.
"Ah, here comes the doctor!"
The doctor was one of several medical students who had enlisted inthe regiment, fighting and drilling with the rest but, whenoccasion offered, acting as surgeons.
"I have just heard the news, Colonel. The regiment is heartbrokenbut, in their fury, they went at the French facing them andscattered them like sheep. Canovas, who told me, said that you werenot bleeding much, and that he and the others had bandaged you upaccording to your instructions.
"Let me see. It could not have been better," he said.
He felt Terence's pulse.
"Wonderfully good, considering what a smash you have had. Yourvitality must be marvellous and, unless your wound breaks outbleeding badly, I have every hope that you will get over it. Robasand Salinas will be here in a minute, with a stretcher for you; andwe will get you to some quiet spot, out of the line of fire."
Almost immediately, four men came up with the stretcher and, by thesurgeon's orders, carried Terence to a quiet spot, sheltered by aspur of the hill from the fire.
"There is nothing more you can do for me now, doctor?"
"Nothing. It would be madness to take the bandages off, atpresent."
"Then please go back to the others. There must be numbers there whowant your aid far more than I do.
"You can stay with me, Leon; but first go back to where my horse islying, and bring here the saddle and the two blankets strappedbehind it. I don't feel any pain to speak of, but it seems to mebitterly cold."
The man presently returned with the saddle and blankets. Two othersaccompanied him. Both had been hit too seriously to continue withthe regiment. Their wounds had been already bandaged.
"We thought that we should like to be near you, colonel, if you donot mind."
"Not at all. First, do each of you take a sip at my flask.
"Leon, I wish you would find a few sticks, and try to make a fire.It would be cheerful, although it might not give much warmth."
It was dark now. It was five o'clock when the 3rd division threwitself across Maucune's line of march, and the battle had begun. Itwas dark long before it ended but, during the three hours it hadlasted, the French had lost a marshal, seven generals, and 12,500men and officers, killed, wounded, or prisoners; while on theBritish side a field marshal, four generals, and nearly 6000officers and soldiers were killed or wounded. Indeed, the battleitself was concentrated into an hour's hard fighting; and a Frenchofficer, describing it, said that 40,000 men were defeated in fortyminutes.
Presently the din of battle died out and, as soon as it did so,Herrara and Ryan both hurried to the side of Terence.
"My dear Terence," Ryan said, dropping on his knees beside him,"this is terrible. When I heard the news I was almost besidemyself. As to the men, terrible as their loss is, they talk of noone but you."
"I think I shall pull through all right, Ryan. At any rate, thedoctor says he thinks I shall, and I think so myself. I am heartilyglad that you and Herrara have gone through it all right. What areour losses?"
"I don't know, yet. We have not had time to count, but not far fromhalf our number. Macwitty is killed, Bull desperately wounded.Fully half the company officers are killed."
"That is terrible indeed, Ryan. Poor fellows! Poor fellows!
"Well, I should say, Herrara, that if you get no orders to join inthe pursuit, you had best get all the wounded collected and broughthere, and let the regiment light fires and bivouac. There is nochance of getting medical assistance, outside the regiment,tonight. Of course, all the British surgeons will have their handsfull with their own men. Still, I only suggest this, for of courseyou are now in command."
The wounded had all fallen within a comparatively short distance,and many were able to walk in. The rest were carried, each in ablanket, with four men at the corners. Under Ryan's directions, theunwounded scattered over the hillside and soon brought back a largesupply of bushes and faggots. A number of fires were lighted, andthe four surviving medical students, and one older surgeon, at oncebegan the work of attending the wounded; taking the more seriouscases first, leaving the less important ones to be bandaged bytheir comrades. Many wounded men from other regiments, attracted bythe light of the fires, came up; and these, too, received what aidthe Portuguese could give them.
The next morning Terence was carried down, at daybreak, on astretcher to Salamanca; where the town was in a state of thewildest excitement over the victory. As they entered the gates, anofficer asked the bearers:
"Who is it?"
"Colonel O'Connor, of the Minho regiment."
The officer knew Terence personally.
"I am sorry, indeed, to see you here, O'Connor. Not very serious, Ihope?"
"A leg cut clean off above the knee, with the fragment of a shell,Percival; but I fancy that I am going to get over it."
"Carry him to the convent of Saint Bernard," the officer said, tothe Portuguese captain who was in command of the party, whichconsisted of 400 men carrying 100 wounded. "All officers are to betaken there, the others to the San Martin convent.
"I will look in and see you as soon as I can, O'Connor; and hope tofind you going on well."
But few wounded officers had as yet been brought in and, as soon asTerence was carried into a ward, two of the staff surgeons examinedhis wound.
"You are doing wonderfully well, colonel," the senior officer said."You must have received good surgical attention, immediately onbeing wounded. Judging by your pulse, you can have lost but littleblood."
"It hardly bled at all, Doctor, and I had it bandaged up by two ofmy own men. I have seen a good many serious wounds, in the courseof the last four years; and know pretty well what ought to bedone."
"It has been uncommonly well done, anyhow. I think we had betternot disturb the bandages, for a few days. If no bleeding sets in bythat time, clots of blood will have formed, and you will becomparatively safe.
"Your pulse is very quiet. Your men must have carried you down verycarefully."
"If I had been a basket of eggs, they could not have taken morecare of me. I was scarcely conscious of any movement."
"Well, you have youth and good health and good spirits in yourfavour. If all our patients took things as cheerfully as you do,there would not be so many of them slip through our hands."
Bull, who had been brought in immediately after T
erence, was nextattended to. He was unconscious. He had been struck by a round shotin the shoulder, which had not only smashed the bone, but almostcarried away the upper part of the arm.
"An ugly wound," the surgeon said to his colleague. "At any rate,we may as well take off the arm while he is unconscious. It willsave him a second shock, and we can better bandage the wound whenit is removed."
A low moan was the only sign that the wounded man had anyconsciousness that the operation was being performed.
"Will he get over it, Doctor?" Terence asked, when the surgeon hadfinished.
"There is just a chance, but it is a faint one. Has he been a soberman?"
"Very; I can answer for the last four years, at any rate. All thePortuguese officers were abstemious men; and I think that Bull feltthat it would not do for him, commanding a battalion, to be lesssober than they were."
"That increases his chance. Men who drink have everything againstthem when they get a severe wound; but he has lost a great deal ofblood, and the shock has, of course, been a terrible one."
An orderly was told to administer a few spoonfuls of brandy andwater, and the surgeon then moved on to the next bed.
Chapter 21: Home Again.
The next morning, one of the surgeons brought a basketful of fruitto Terence.
"There is a young woman outside, colonel," he said, with a slightsmile, "who was crying so bitterly that I was really obliged tobring this fruit up to you. She said you would know who she was,and was heartbroken that she could not be allowed to come up tonurse you. She said that she had heard, from one of your men, ofyour wound. I told her that it was quite impossible that anycivilian should enter the hospital, but said that I would take herfruit up and, if she would come every day at five o'clock in theafternoon, when we went off duty for an hour, I would tell her howyou were going on."
"She used to sell fruit to the prisoners here," Terence said, "andit was entirely by her aid that I effected my escape, last year;and she got a muleteer, to whom she is engaged, to take me downfrom here to Cadiz. I bought her a present when we entered the townand, the other day, told her I hoped to dance at her wedding beforelong. However, that engagement will not come off. My dancing daysare over."
The surgeon felt his pulse.
"There is very little fever," he said. "So far you are going onmarvellously; but you must not be disappointed if you get a sharpturn, presently. You can hardly expect to get through a wound likethis without having a touch, and perhaps a severe one, of fever."
"Is there any harm in my eating fruit?"
"I would not eat any, but you can drink some of the juice, mixedwith water. I hope we shall have everything comfortable by tonight;of course, we are all in the rough, at present. Although many ofthe doctors of the town have been helping us, I don't think thereis one medical officer in the army who has taken off his coat sincethe wounded began to come in, yesterday morning."
That night Terence's wound became very painful. Inflammation,accompanied of course with fever, set in and, for a fortnight, hewas very ill. At the end of that time matters began to mend, andthe wound soon assumed a healthy appearance. An operation had beenperformed, and the projecting bone cut off.
There were dire sufferings in Salamanca. Six thousand wounded hadto be cared for, the French prisoners and their guards fed; and thearmy had no organization to meet so great a strain. Numbers oflives that might have been saved, by care and proper attention,were lost; and the spirit of discontent and insubordination, whichhad its origin in the excesses committed in the sack of thefortresses, rapidly increased.
The news from the front, after a time, seemed more satisfactory.Clausel had been hotly pursued. Had the king with his army joinedhim, as he might have done, he would have been in a position toagain attack the enemy with greatly superior numbers; but Josephhesitated, and delayed until it was no longer possible. The Britisharmy crossed the mountains, and the king was obliged to retire fromMadrid and evacuate the capital; which was entered by Wellington onthe 25th of August.
Early in September, the chief surgeon said to Terence:
"There is a convoy of sick going down, at the end of the week. Ithink that it would be best for you to go with them. In the firstplace, the air of this town is not favourable for recoveries. Insome of the hospitals a large number of men have been carried offby the fever, which so often breaks out when the conditions arebad. In the next place, I am privately informed, by the governor,that he has received orders from the general to send all who arecapable of bearing the journey across the frontier, as soon aspossible. Another battle may be fought, at any moment. Thereinforcements that have come from England are nothing likesufficient to replace the gaps in the army.
"The French generals are collecting their forces, and it is certainthat Wellington will not be able to withstand their combinationand, if he should be compelled to retreat, it is all important thathe should not be hampered by the necessity of carrying off hugeconvoys of wounded. The difficulties of transport are alreadyenormous; and it is, therefore, for many reasons desirable that allwho are sufficiently convalescent to march, and all for whomtransport can be provided, should start without delay."
"I should be very glad, Doctor. I have not seemed to gain strength,for the last week or ten days; but I believe that, if I were in theopen air, I should gain ground rapidly."
Nita had been allowed to come up several times to see Terence,since his convalescence began; and the last time she had called hadtold him that Garcia had returned, being altogether dissatisfiedwith the feeble proceedings of the guerilla chief. She came up thatafternoon, soon after the doctor left, and he told her the newsthat he had received. The next day she told Terence that Garcia hadarranged with her father for his waggon and two bullocks, and thathe himself would drive it to Lisbon, if necessary.
"They are fine bullocks, sir," she said, "and there is no fear oftheir breaking down. Last night I was talking to one of yoursergeants, who comes to me every day for news of you. He says thathe and about forty of your men are going down with the convoy. Allare able to walk. It is so difficult to get carts that onlyofficers who cannot walk are to be taken, this time."
"It is very good of Garcia and your father, Nita, but I shouldmanage just as well as the others."
"That may be, senor, but it is better to have a friend with you whoknows the country. There may be difficulty in getting provisions,and they say that there is a good deal of plundering along theroads; for troops that have lately come up have behaved so badlythat the peasants declare they will have revenge, and treat them asenemies if they have the opportunity. Altogether, it is as well tohave a friend with you."
Terence told the surgeon next morning what had been arranged, andsaid:
"So we shall have room for one more, Doctor. Is Major Bull wellenough to go with me? He could travel in my waggon, which is sureto be large enough for two to lie in, comfortably."
"Certainly he can. He is making a slow recovery, and I should beglad to send him away, only I have no room for him. If he goes withyou, I can send another officer down, also, in the place you wouldhave had."
Accordingly, on the Saturday morning the convoy started. Bull andTerence met for the first time, since the day of the battle; as theformer had been removed to another room, after the operation. Hewas extremely weak, still, and had to be carried down and placed inthe waggon by the side of Terence. Garcia had been greatly affectedat the latter's appearance.
"I should scarce have known you again, senor."
"I am pulled down a bit, Garcia, but by the time we get to ourjourney's end, you will see that I shall be a very different man.How comfortable you have made the waggon!"
"I have done what I could, senor. At the bottom are six sacks ofcorn, for it may be that forage will run short. Then I have filledit with hay, and there are enough rugs to lie on, and to cover youwell over at night; and down among the sacks is a good-sized boxwith some good wine, two hams of Nita's father's curing, and astock of sausages, and other things for t
he journey."
Nita came to say goodbye, and wept unrestrainedly at the parting.She and Garcia had opened the little box, and found in it fiftysovereigns; and had agreed to be married, as soon as Garciareturned from his journey. As the train of thirty waggons--of whichten contained provisions for use on the road--issued from thegates, they were joined by the convalescents, four hundred innumber. All able to do so carried their arms, the muskets of theremainder being placed on the provision waggons.
"Have you heard from the regiment, Bull?" Terence asked, after theyhad talked over their time in hospital, and their comrades who hadfallen.
"No, sir. There is no one I should expect to write to me."
"I had a letter from Ryan, yesterday," Terence said. "He tells methat they have had no fighting since we left. They form only onebattalion now, and he says the state of things in Madrid isdreadful. The people are dying of hunger, and the British officershave subscribed and started soup kitchens; and that he, with theother Portuguese regiments, were to march the next day, with threeBritish divisions and the cavalry, to join General Clinton, who wasfalling back before Clausel."
"'We all miss you horribly, Terence. Herrara does his best, but hehas not the influence over the men that you had. If we have to fallback into Portugal again, which seems to me quite possible, forlittle more than 20,000 men are fit to carry arms, I fancy thatthere won't be a great many left round the colours by the spring.
"'Upon my word, I can hardly blame them, Terence. More than half ofthose who originally joined have fallen and, no doubt, the poorfellows think that they have done more than their share towardsdefending their country.'"
By very short marches, the convoy made its way to the frontier. TheBritish convalescents remained at Guarda, the Portuguese marchedfor Pinhel, and the carts with the wounded officers continued theirjourney to Lisbon. The distance travelled had been over two hundredand fifty miles and, including halts, they had taken five weeks toperform it. Terence gained strength greatly during the journey, andBull had so far recovered that he was able to get out and walk,sometimes, by the side of the waggon.
Garcia had been indefatigable in his efforts for their comfort.Every day he formed an arbour over their waggon, with freshly-cutboughs brought in by the soldiers of the regiment; and this keptoff the rays of the sun, and the flies. At the villages at whichthey stopped, most of the wounded were accommodated in the houses;but Terence and Bull preferred to sleep in the waggon, the haybeing always freshly shaken out for them, in the evening. Thesupplies they carried were most useful in eking out the rations,and Garcia proved himself an excellent cook. Altogether, thejourney had been a pleasant one.
On arriving at Lisbon, they were taken to the principal hospital.Here the few who would be fit for service again were admitted,while the rest were ordered to be taken down, at once, to ahospital transport lying in the river. At the landing place theysaid goodbye to Garcia, who refused firmly any remuneration for hisservices, or for the hire of the waggon; and then Terence waslifted into a boat and, with several other wounded, was taken onboard the transport.
The surgeon came at once to examine him.
"Do you wish to be taken below, colonel?" he asked Terence.
"Certainly not," Terence said. "I can sit up here, and can enjoymyself as much as ever I could; and the air from the sea will domore for me than any tonics you can give me, Doctor."
He was placed in a comfortable deck chair, and Bull had anotherbeside him. There were many officers already on board, and Terencepresently perceived, in one who was stumping about on a wooden leg,a figure he recognized. He was passing on without recognition, whenTerence exclaimed:
"Why, O'Grady, is it yourself?"
"Terence O'Connor, by the powers!" O'Grady shouted. "Sure, I didn'tknow you at first. It is meself, true enough, or what there is leftof me. It is glad I am to see you, though in a poor plight. Thenews came to me that you had lost a leg. There was, at first, noone in the hospital knew where you were, and I was not able to moveabout, meself, to make inquiries; and when I found out, before Icame away, they said you were very bad, and that even if I couldget to you--which I could not, for I had not been fitted with a newleg, then--I should not be able to see you.
"It is just like my luck. I was hit by one of the first shotsfired, and lost all the fun of the fight."
"Where were you hit, O'Grady?"
"Right in the shin. Faith, I went down so sudden that I thought Ihad trod in a hole; and I was making a scramble to get up again,when young Dawson said:
"'Lie still, O'Grady, they have shot the foot off ye.'
"And so they had, and divil a bit could I find where it had goneto. As I was about the first man hit, they carried me off the fieldat once, and put me in a waggon and, as soon as it was full, I wastaken down to Salamanca. I only stopped there three weeks, and Ihave been here now more than two months, and my leg is all rightagain. But I am a lop-sided creature, though it is lucky that it ismy left arm and leg that have gone. I was always a good hopper,when I was a boy; so that, if this wooden thing breaks, I think Ishould be able to get about pretty well."
"This is Major Bull, O'Grady. Don't you know him?"
"Faith, I did not know him; but now you tell me who it is, Irecognize him. How are you, major?"
"I am getting on, Captain O'Grady."
"Major," O'Grady corrected. "I got my step at Salamanca; both ourmajors were killed. So I shall get a dacent pension: a major'spension, and so much for a leg and arm. That is not so bad, youknow."
"Well, I have no reason to grumble," Bull said. "If I had been withmy old regiment and got this hurt, a shilling a day would have beenthe outside. Now I shall get lieutenant's pension, and so much formy arm and shoulder."
"I have no doubt you will get another step, Bull. After the way theregiment suffered, and with poor Macwitty killed, and you and Iboth badly wounded, they are sure to give you your step," andindeed when, on their arrival, they saw the Gazette, they foundthat both had been promoted.
"I suppose it is all for the best," O'Grady said. "At any rate, Ishall be able to drink dacent whisky for the rest of me life, andnot have to be fretting meself with Spanish spirit; though I don'tsay there was no virtue in it, when you couldn't get anythingbetter."
Three days later, the vessel sailed for England. At PlymouthTerence, O'Grady, and several other of the Irish officers left her;Bull promising Terence that, when he was quite restored to health,he would come and pay him a visit.
Terence and his companion sailed the next day for Dublin. O'Gradyhad no relations whom he was particularly anxious to see andtherefore, at Terence's earnest invitation, he took a place withhim in a coach--to leave in three days, as both had to buy civilianclothes, and to report themselves at headquarters.
"What are you going to do about a leg, Terence?"
"I can do nothing, at present. My stump is a great deal too tender,still, for me to bear anything of that sort. But I will buy a pairof crutches."
This was, indeed, the first thing done on landing, Terence findingit inconvenient in the extreme to have to be carried whenever hewanted to move, even a few yards. He had written home two or threetimes from the hospital, telling them how he was getting on; for heknew that when his name appeared among the list of dangerouslywounded, his father and cousin would be in a state of great anxietyuntil they received news of him; and as soon as they had takentheir places in the coach he dropped them a line, saying when theymight expect him.
They had met with contrary winds on their voyage home, but thethree weeks at sea had done great things for Terence and, exceptfor the pinned-up trousers leg, he looked almost himself again.
"Be jabers, Terence," O'Grady said, as the coach drove intoAthlone, "one might think that it was only yesterday that we wentaway. There are the old shops, and the same people standing attheir doors to see the coach come in; and I think I could sweareven to that cock, standing at the gate leading into the stables.What games we had here. Who would have thought that, when we cameback
, you would be my senior officer!"
When fifteen miles beyond Athlone there was a hail, and the coachsuddenly stopped. O'Grady looked out of the window.
"It's your father, Terence, and the prettiest girl I have seensince we left the ould country."
He opened the door and got out.
"Hooroo, major! Here we are, safe and sound. We didn't expect tomeet you for another eight miles."
Major O'Connor was hurrying to the door, but the girl was therebefore him.
"Welcome home, Terence! Welcome home!" she exclaimed, smilingthrough her tears, as she leaned into the coach and held out bothher hands to him, and then drew aside to make room for his father.
"Welcome home, Terence!" the latter said, as he wrung his hand. "Idid not think it would have been like this, but it might have beenworse."
"A great deal worse, father. Now, will you and the guard help meout? This is the most difficult business I have to do."
It was with some difficulty he was got out of the coach. As soon ashe had steadied himself on his crutches, Mary came up again, threwher arms round his neck, and kissed him.
"We are cousins, you know, Terence," she said, "and as your armsare occupied, I have to take the initiative."
She was half laughing and half crying.
The guard hurried to get the portmanteaus out of the boot. As soonas he had placed them in the road he shouted to the coachman, andclimbed up on to his post as the vehicle drove on; the passengerson the roof giving hearty cheers for the two disabled officers. Bythis time, the major was heartily shaking hands with O'Grady.
"I saw in the Gazette that you were hit again, O'Grady."
"Yes. I left one little memento of meself in Portugal, and it wasonly right that I should lave another in Spain. It has beenworrying me a good deal, because I should have liked to havebrought them home to be buried in the same grave with me, so as tohave everything handy together. How they are ever to be collectedwhen the time comes bothers me entirely, when I can't even pointout where they are to be found."
"You have not lost your good spirits anyhow, O'Grady."
"I never shall, I hope, O'Connor; and even if I had been inclinedto, Terence would have brought them back again."
As they stood chatting, a manservant had placed the portmanteaus onthe box of a pretty open carriage, drawn by two horses.
"This is our state carriage, Terence, though we don't use it veryoften for, when I go about by myself, I ride. Mary has a ponycarriage, and drives herself about.
"You remember Pat Cassidy, don't you?"
"Of course I do, now I look at him," Terence said. "It's your oldsoldier servant," and he shook hands with the man. "He did not comehome with you, did he, father?"
"No, he was badly wounded at Talavera, and invalided home. Theythought that he would not be fit for service again, and sodischarged him; and he found his way here, and glad enough I was tohave him."
Aided by his father and O'Grady, Terence took his place in thecarriage. His father seated himself by his side, while Mary andO'Grady had the opposite seat.
"There is one advantage in losing legs," O'Grady said. "We can stowaway much more comfortably in a carriage. Is this the nearest pointto your place?"
"Yes. It is four miles nearer than Ballyhovey, so we thought thatwe might as well meet you here, and more comfortably than meetingyou in the town. It was Mary's suggestion. I think she would nothave liked to have kissed Terence in the public street."
"Nonsense, uncle!" Mary said indignantly. "Of course I should havekissed him, anywhere. Are we not cousins? And didn't he save mefrom being shut up in a nunnery, all my life?"
"All right, Mary, it is quite right that you should kiss him;still, I should say that it was pleasanter to do so when you hadnot a couple of score of loafers looking on, who would not knowthat he was your cousin, and had saved you from a convent."
"You are looking well, father," Terence said, to turn theconversation.
"Never was better in my life, lad, except that I am obliged to becareful with my leg; but after all, it may be that, though itseemed hard to me at the time, it is as well that I left theregiment when I did. Quite half the officers have been killed,since then. Vimiera accounted for some of them. Major Harrison wentthere, and gave me my step. Talavera made several more vacancies,and Salamanca cost us ten officers, including poor O'Driscoll. I amlucky to have come off as well as I did. It did not seem a verycheerful lookout, at first; but since this young woman arrived, andtook possession of me, I am as happy and contented as a man canbe."
"I deny altogether having taken possession of you, uncle. I let youhave your way very much, and only interfere for your own good."
"You will have another patient to look after now, dear, and to fussover."
"I will do my best," she said softly, leaning forward and puttingher hand on that of Terence. "I know that it will be terribly dullfor you, at first--after being constantly on the move for the lastfive years, and always full of excitement and adventure--to have tokeep quiet and do nothing."
"I shall get on very well," he said. "Just as first, of course, Ishall not be able to get about very much, but I shall soon learn touse my crutches; and I hope, before very long, to get a leg of somesort; and I don't see why I should not be able to ride again, aftera bit. If I cannot do it any other way, I must take to a sidesaddle. I can have a leg made specially for riding, with a crook atthe knee."
Mary laughed, while the tears came in her eyes.
"Why, bless me, Mary," he went on, "the loss of a leg is nothing,when you are accustomed to it. I shall be able, as I have said, toride, drive, shoot, fish, and all sorts of things. The only thingthat I shall be cut off from, as far as I can see, is dancing; butas I have never had a chance of dancing, since the last ball theregiment gave at Athlone, the loss will not be a very grievous one.
"Look at O'Grady. There he is, much worse off than I am, as he hasno one to make any particular fuss about him. He is getting oncapitally and, indeed, stumped about the deck so much, coming home,that the captain begged him to have a pad of leather put on to thebottom of his leg, to save the decks. O'Grady is a philosopher, andI shall try to follow his example."
"Why should one bother oneself, Miss O'Connor, when bothering won'thelp? When the war is over, I shall buy Tim Doolan, my soldierservant, out. He is a vile, drunken villain; but I understand him,and he understands me, and he blubbered so, when he carried me offthe field, that I had to promise him that, if a French bullet didnot carry him off, I would send for him when the war was over.
"'You know you can't do without me, yer honour,' the scoundrelsaid.
"'I can do better without you than with you, Tim,' says I. 'Ye arealways getting me into trouble, with your drunken ways. Ye wouldhave been flogged a dozen times, if I hadn't screened you. Take upyour musket and join your regiment. You rascal, you are smelling ofdrink now, and divil a drop, except water, is there in me flask.'
"'I did it for your own good,' says he. 'Ye know that spiritsalways heats your blood, and water would be the best for you, whenthe fighting began; so I just sacrificed meself.
"'For,' says I to meself, 'if ye get fighting a little wild, Tim,it don't matter a bit; but the captain will have to keep cool, soit is best that you should drink up the spirits, and fill the flaskup with water to quench his thirst.'"
"'Be off, ye black villain,' I said, 'or I will strike you.'"
"'You will never be able to do without me, Captain,' says he,picking up his musket; and with that he trudged away and, for aughtI know, he never came out of the battle alive."
The others laughed.
"They were always quarrelling, Mary," Terence said. "But I agreewith Tim that his master will find it very hard to do without him,especially about one o'clock in the morning."
"I am ashamed of you, Terence," O'Grady said, earnestly; "takingaway me character, when I have come down here as your guest."
"It is too bad, O'Grady," Major O'Connor said, "but you knowTerence was always conspic
uous for his want of respect towards hiselders."
"He was that same, O'Connor. I did me best for the boy, but thereare some on whom education and example are clean thrown away."
"You are looking pale, cousin Terence," Mary said.
"Am I? My leg is hurting me a bit. Ireland is a great country, butits by-roads are not the best in the world, and this jolting shakesme up a bit."
"How stupid I was not to think of it!" she said and, rising in herseat, told Cassidy to drive at a walk.
They were now only half a mile from the house.
"You will hardly know the old place again, Terence," his fathersaid.
"And a very good thing too, father, for a more tumble-down oldshanty I never was in."
"It was the abode of our race, Terence."
"Well, then, it says mighty little for our race, father."
"Ah! But it did not fall into the state you saw it in till myfather died, a year after I got my commission."
"I won't blame them, then; but, at any rate, I am glad I am cominghome to a house and not to a ruin.
"Ah, that is more like a home!" he said, as a turn of the roadbrought them in sight of the building. "You have done wonders,Mary. That is a house fit for any Irish gentleman to live in."
"It has been altered so that it can be added to, Terence; but, atany rate, it is comfortable. As it was before, it made one feelrheumatic to look at it."
On arriving at the house, Terence refused all assistance.
"I am going to be independent, as far as I can," he said and,slipping down from the seat into the bottom of the chaise, he wasable to put his foot on to the ground and, by the aid of hiscrutches, to get out and enter the house unaided.
"That is the old parlour, I think," he said, glancing into one ofthe rooms.
"Yes. It is your father's snuggery, now. There is scarcely anyalteration there, and he can mess about as he likes with his gunsand fishing tackle and swords.
"This is the dining room, now."
And she led the way along a wide passage to the new part of thehouse, where a bright fire was blazing in a handsome andwell-furnished room. An invalid's chair had been placed by thefire, and opposite it was a large, cosy armchair.
"That is for your use, Major O'Grady," she said. "Now, Terence, youare to lay yourself up in that chair. I will bring a small table toyour side, and put your dinner there."
"I will lie down until the dinner is ready, Mary. But I amperfectly capable of sitting at the table. I did so the last weekbefore leaving the ship."
"You shall do that tomorrow. You may say what you like, but I cansee that you are very tired and, for today, you will take it easy.I am going to be your nurse, and I can assure you that you willhave to obey orders. You have been in independent command quitelong enough."
"It is of no use, Terence; you must do as you are told," his fathersaid. "The only way to get on with this young woman is to let herhave her own way. I have given up opposing her, long ago; and youwill have to do the same."
Terence did not find it unpleasant to be nursed and looked after,and even to obey peremptory orders.
A month later, Mary came into the room quietly, one afternoon, whenhe was sitting and looking into the fire; as his father and O'Gradyhad driven over to Killnally. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he didnot hear her enter.
Thinking that he was asleep, she paused at the door. A moment latershe heard a deep sigh. She came forward at once.
"What are you sighing about, Terence? Your leg is not hurting you,is it?"
"No, dear, it has pretty well given up hurting me."
"What were you sighing about, then?"
He was silent for a minute, and then said:
"Well you see, one cannot help sighing a little at the thought thatone is laid up, a useless man, when one is scarce twenty-one."
"You have done your work, Terence. You have made a name foryourself, when others are just leaving college and thinking ofchoosing a profession. You have done more, in five years, than mostmen achieve in all their lifetime.
"This is the first time I have heard you grumble. I know it ishard, but what has specially upset you, today?"
"I suppose I am a little out of sorts," he said. "I was thinking,perhaps, how different it might have been, if it hadn't been forthat unlucky shell."
"You mean that you might have gone on to Burgos, and fallen in theassault there; or shared in that dreadful retreat to the frontieragain."
"No. I was not thinking of Spain, nor even of the army. I wasthinking of here."
"But you said, over and over again, Terence, that you will be ableto ride, and drive, and get about like other people, in time."
"Yes, dear. In many respects it will be the same, but not in onerespect."
Then he broke off.
"I am an ungrateful brute. I have everything to make me happy--acomfortable home, a good father, and a dear little sister to nurseme."
"What did I tell you, sir," she said, after a pause, "when I saidgoodbye to you at Coimbra? That I would rather be your cousin. Youwere quite hurt, and I said that you were a silly boy, and wouldunderstand better, some day."
"I have understood, since," he said, "and was glad that you werenot my sister; but now, you see, things have altogether changed,and I must be content with sistership."
The girl looked in the fire, and then said, in a low voice:
"Why, Terence?"
"You know why," he said. "I have had no one to think of but you,for the last four years. Your letters were the great pleasures ofmy life. I thought over and over again of those last words ofyours, and I had some hope that, when I came back, I might say toyou:
"'Dear Mary, I am grateful, indeed, that you are my cousin, and notmy sister. A sister is a very dear relation, but there is onedearer still.'
"Don't be afraid, dear; I am not going to say so now. Of course,that is over, and I hope that I shall come, in time, to be contentto think of you as a sister."
"You are very foolish, Terence," she said, almost with a laugh, "asfoolish as you were at Coimbra. Do you think that I should havesaid what I did, then, if I had not meant it? Did you not save me,at the risk of your life, from what would have been worse thandeath? Have you not been my hero, ever since? Have you not been thecentre of our thoughts here, the great topic of our conversation?Have not your father and I been as proud as peacocks, when we readof your rapid promotion, and the notices of your gallant conduct?And do you think that it would make any difference to me, if youhad come back with both your legs and arms shot off?
"No, dear. I am just as dissatisfied with the relationship youpropose as I was three years ago, and it must be either cousinor--" and she stopped.
She was standing up beside him, now.
"Or wife," he said, taking up her hand. "Is it possible you meanwife?"
Her face was a sufficient answer, and he drew her down to him.
"You silly boy!" she said, five minutes afterwards. "Of course, Ithought of it all along. I never made any secret of it to yourfather. I told him that our escape was like a fairy tale, and thatit must have the same ending: 'and they married, and lived happyever after.' He would never have let me have my way with the house,had I not confided in him. He said that I could spend my money as Ipleased, on myself, but that not one penny should be laid out onhis house; and I was obliged to tell him.
"I am afraid I blushed furiously, as I did so, but I had to say:
"'Don't you see, Uncle?'--of course, I always called him uncle,from the first, though he is only a cousin--'I have quite made upmy mind that it will be my house, some day; and the money may justas well be laid out on it now, to make it comfortable; instead ofwaiting till that time comes.'"
"What did my father say?"
"Oh, he said all sorts of nonsense, just the sort of thing that youIrishmen always do say! That he had hoped, perhaps, it might be so,from the moment he got your letter; and that the moment he saw mehe felt sure that it would be so, for it must be, if you had anyeyes in your he
ad."
When Major O'Connor came home he was greatly pleased, but he tookthe news as a matter of course.
"Faith," he said, "I would have disinherited the boy, if he hadbeen such a fool as not to appreciate you, Mary."
O'Grady was loud in his congratulations.
"It is just like your luck, Terence," he said. "Luck is everything.Here am I, a battered hero, who has lost an arm and a foot in theservice of me country, and divil a girl has thrown herself upon meneck. Here are you, a mere gossoon, fifteen years my junior in theservice, mentioned a score of times in despatches, promoted over myhead; and now you have won one of the prettiest creatures inIreland and, what is a good deal more to the point, though you maynot think of it at present, with a handsome fortune of her own. Infaith, there is no understanding the ways of Providence."
A week afterwards the whole party went up to Dublin, as Terence andO'Grady had to go before a medical board. A fortnight later anotice appeared, in the Gazette, that Lieutenant Colonel TerenceO'Connor had retired from the service, on half pay, with the rankof colonel.
The marriage did not take place for another six months, by whichtime Terence had thrown away his crutches and had taken to anartificial leg--so well constructed that, were it not for a certainstiffness in his walk, his loss would not have been suspected by acasual observer. For three months previous to the event, a numberof men had been employed in building a small but pretty house, somequarter of a mile from the mansion, intended for the occupation ofMajors O'Connor and O'Grady.
"It will be better, in every way, Terence," his father insisted,when his son and Mary remonstrated against their thus proposing toleave them. "O'Grady and I have been comrades for twenty years, andwe shall feel more at home, in bachelor quarters, than here. I canrun in three or four times a day, if I like, and I expect I shallbe as much here as over there; whereas if I lived here, I shouldoften be feeling myself in the way, though I know that you wouldnever say so. It is better for young people to be together and,maybe some day, the house will be none too large for you."
The house was finished by the time the wedding took place, and thetwo officers moved into it. The wedding was attended by all thetenants, and half the country round; and it was agreed that thebride's jewels were the most magnificent that had ever been seen inthat part of Ireland, though some objected that diamonds, alone,would have been more suitable for the occasion than the emeralds.
Terence, on his return, had heard from his father that his Uncle,Tim M'Manus, had called very soon after the major had returned tohis old home. He had been very friendly, and had been evidentlymollified by Terence's name appearing in general orders; but hisopinion that he would end his career by a rope had been in no wayshaken. He had, however, continued to pay occasional visits; andthe rapid rise of the scapegrace, and his frequent mention indespatches, were evidently a source of much gratification to him;and it was not long after his return that his uncle again cameover.
"We will let bygones be bygones, Terence," he said, as he shookhands with him. "You have turned out a credit to your mother'sname, and I am proud of you; and I hold my head high when I sayColonel Terence O'Connor, who was always playing mischief with theFrench, is my great nephew, and the good M'Manus blood shines outclearly in him."
There was no one who played a more conspicuous part at the weddingthan Uncle Tim. At his own request, he proposed the health of thebride and bridegroom.
"I take no small credit to myself," he said, "that Colonel TerenceO'Connor is the hero of this occasion. Never was there a boy whosedestiny was so marked as his, and it is many a time I predictedthat it was not either by flood, or fire, or quietly in his bedthat he would die. If, when the regiment was ordered abroad, I hadoffered him a home, I firmly believe that my prediction would beverified before now; but I closed my doors to him, and theconsequence was that he expended his devilment upon the French; andit is a deal better for him that it is only a leg that he has lost,which is a much less serious matter than having his neck undulystretched. Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I can say with pridethat I have had no small share in this matter, and it is glad I amthat, when I go, I can leave my money behind me, feeling that itwon't all go to the dogs before I have been twelve months in mygrave."
Another old friend was present at the wedding. Bull had made a slowrecovery, and had been some time before he regained his strength.When he was gazetted out of the service, he secured a step in rank,and retired as a major. In after years he made frequent visits toTerence; to whom, as he always declared, he owed it that, insteadof being turned adrift on a nominal pension, he was now able tolive in comfort and ease.
When, four months later, Tim M'Manus was thrown out of his trapwhen driving home late at night, and broke his neck, it was foundthat he had left the whole of his property to Terence and, as therents of his estate amounted to 600 pounds a year, no inconsiderableproportion of which had, for many years past, been accumulating, thelegacy placed Terence in a leading position among the gentry of Mayo.
For very many years the house was one of the most popular in thecounty. It had been found necessary to make additions to it, and ithad now attained the dignity of a mansion. The three officersfollowed, with the most intense interest, the bulletins anddespatches from the war and, on the day when the allies enteredParis, the services of Tim Doolan, who had been invalided home ayear after the return of his master, and had been discharged asunfit for further service, were called into requisition, for thefirst time since his return, to assist his master back to thehouse.
O'Grady, however, explained most earnestly to Mary O'Connor, thenext day, that it was not the whisky at all, at all, but his woodenleg that had got out of order, and would not carry him straight.
Dick Ryan went through the war unscathed and, after Waterloo,retired from the service with the rank of lieutenant colonel;married, and settled at Athlone; and the closest intimacy, and veryfrequent intercourse, were maintained between him and his comradesof the Mayo Fusiliers.
Terence, in time, quite ceased to feel the loss of his leg; and wasable to join in all field sports, becoming in time master of thehounds, and one of the most popular sportsmen in the county. Hiswife always declared that his wound was the most fortunate thingthat ever happened to him for, had it not been for that, he wouldmost likely have fallen in some of the later battles in thePeninsula.
"It is a good thing to have luck," she said, "and Terence hadplenty of it. But it does not do to tempt fortune too far. Thepitcher that goes too often to the well gets broken, in the end."
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