CHAPTER X
The Great General
Marching from the building which had given them shelter, Tom andhis companions struck directly for the road that led away from thehills, Andrews, in advance, standing in his stirrups so as to obtaina better view of his surroundings. Jack watched operations from themattress placed in the cart, on which he had been placed, a mostunwilling prisoner, while the jovial naval lieutenant sat up, hisback propped against the side of the cart, and surveyed mattersgenerally from the standpoint of a man who is well satisfied with allthat is happening.
"Couldn't be better, couldn't," he observed to the disconsolate Jack;"and hark ye, me lad, for all your grousing I know that you feel thesame. Tom's done magnificently; few would have done as well."
It was just what might have been expected of the amiable, ifhot-tempered, Jack that he should acquiesce warmly.
"Grandly," he agreed. "Of course one wonders what one would have doneoneself under the circumstances, and it's wretchedly unlucky beingwinged, and having to look on like a child."
"Better than being chopped to pieces at any rate," came the swiftanswer. "Besides, we're not out of the wood yet. We've to get awayfrom these mountains, and there's still that narrow valley throughwhich we galloped on our way to the place where the real attack wasmade. I shall be surprised if we get through without meeting withmore of the peasants."
There was always that hazard, and as Tom looked about him, riding atthe tail of the procession, he was bound to admit that matters stilllooked gloomy.
"There's no way out of the place but by the road," he said toHoweley, who rode beside him. "Of course we could abandon the horsesand take to the hills, but then----"
"Wounded and stores, sir," came the respectful interruption."Couldn't be done, sir."
"Out of the question, I agree--so on we have to go. To turn the otherway would take us back to the village, and then there wouldn't be anyreaching the church or other fort as we have done. No, on we have togo. Those peasants are following, and I see scattered groups aboutus."
The wretched Portuguese who had attacked the troop of horse hadindeed taken many precautions to prevent their prey escaping them.Not that the idea had occurred to them that Tom and his men wouldhave the audacity to leave a place that provided a fairly safe haven,and which in any case gave such shelter that more than once attackon the part of the peasants had failed. But, for fear of one ofthe troopers venturing to ride away for help, they had posted bandsof their comrades round about the church, placing a number on theroad, and causing others to march to that narrow part that shut inthe wider portion of the valley, and through which fugitives mustpass. For half an hour Andrews led the cavalcade forward at a smartpace. He turned on reaching the road, and then pushed along it, thetroopers clattering behind him, and riding on either side of thecarts. Suddenly his hand went up, bringing the procession to a halt,while Tom galloped up to join him.
"A hundred of the enemy in front, sir," the rifleman reported. "Theyseem to be blocking the road with a cart, and are stationed behindit."
"While men are racing after us from the village," observed our hero."Looks ugly, Andrews."
"A hole, sir; but we've been in one as deep and deeper."
"True," agreed Tom; "and we'll climb out of this. Let me have a lookat them for a while. We'll move along again at a trot till just outof musket shot. By then I'll have made up my mind how to treat them."
He rode on beside the rifleman, his eyes fixed upon the enemy infront. Shouts came from the latter, while a number could be seenstanding behind a cart which had been upset across the narrow road.At this precise point, in fact, the rugged hills on either side,hills for which Portugal is notorious, converged abruptly, formingas it were a doorway to that end of the valley. The rocky walls ranalong within thirty feet of one another for perhaps a hundred yards,and then suddenly broke away again, making the entrance to anothervalley. Not that one could see the latter, for there was a sharp bendin the cleft between the hills. But Tom remembered the surroundings.
"Ugly place," he told Andrews. "Looks as if the two hills were joinedat one time, and then were broken apart. Once through, we have a widevalley to cross, and then another place such as this, but shorterand wider. So if we manage this job we'll do the other. Now forskirmishers."
He swung round on the troop, and with a sign drew all the men towardhim. Then selecting eight men, whom he had noticed to be more activethan their fellows, he spoke quickly to them, so that they and theircomrades could hear.
"Listen, friends," he said. "Behind us the villagers are comingup as fast as their legs can carry them. In front there is thisobstruction. Do as I order, and you will see that we shall quicklyclear the peasants out. You eight men will divide, and four will goto either side. We are hardly within musket shot yet, so that I shallapproach closer. When I signal, hand your reins to your comrades,take your carbines, and make off on to the hill. Clamber up and alongtill you outflank those fellows opposite; then shoot them down. Wewill do the same from the front. Understand?"
"_Oui, monsieur_," came in a chorus.
"Then on we go."
Tom led them forward at a foot pace, till bullets began to strikethe road at his feet, and the distance was so short between thecombatants that he could see the enemy easily. He came to a suddenhalt and waved his hand. Then, without waiting to watch the trooperstold off for special duty, he called to the man driving the storecart to come forward.
"Dismount," he ordered abruptly. "Now turn the cart and horse round.Good! Back the cart steadily towards the enemy. My lads, half a dozenof you will ride after the cart, shooting from behind its shelter.Better still, let three dismount. There will still be enough men leftto lead the horses, or you can hitch the reins to the second cart.Yes, that will be better. Let the whole six dismount; then, with thecart to shelter you, you will be able to do something with thesepeople."
A couple of minutes before, a casual glance at the troopers formingthe escort to the two carts would have shown doubt on many of thesun-burnt faces; for the difficulty which confronted the fugitivesboth before and behind was great. That in front seemed almostinsuperable, and, seeing it, more than one of the men wonderedwhether, after all, this was to be the end of their adventure, ifhere the peasants would hem them in and slaughter them. But Tom'sbrisk orders and the novelty of his suggestions set them smiling.
"_Peste!_ But this Englishman has brains," grunted one of them,swinging himself swiftly out of his saddle. "These Portuguesepeasants are pudding-headed beside him. One moment ago and I thoughtthat the end was near, that I and Strasbourg would see one another nomore. Now the path is easier for us--you will see these demons run."
But that had yet to be proved. Massed behind the upturned cart, andalready pouring shot at the troopers, the band of peasants hootedand shouted in triumph. They hardly seemed to notice the eighttroopers who broke from the ranks of the little procession; for atthat moment the store cart was swung round, and the process of slowlybacking it towards the enemy began. That operation attracted theirwhole attention, and soon bullets were thudding against the barrelof wine, tearing a way into the midst of the hams loaded on thecart, or smashing the jars of preserves which the excellent padre'shousekeeper had set aside for him. Some went to either side--for thepeasants were not first-class shots--while others pelted underneath,passing between the legs of the horse, splashing against the road,and sending little spurts of dust into the eyes of the troopers. Thelatter made excellent use of the cover. Two were bent double beneaththe cart, and already their carbines were cracking sharply. A thirdlay on the stores, his head shielded by a wooden box which wasfilled with sugar, while the remainder walked on either side of thehorse, leaning outward and firing whenever an opportunity occurred.
Tom called the remaining troopers about him, and bade them make readyfor a charge.
"Once our fellows get on the hill above and outflank them we'llgallop forward," he said. "Ride at the upturned cart. Swing when youget near, and pass in behi
nd. Once we have those rascals moving we'llkeep them on the run. So chase them right through to the valley, andthere halt till we come up. Ah! Our boys are getting to work. Therego their carbines."
The attack was not one that could be made hurriedly, for a horsecannot be backed at a fast pace, and then the ground to be covered bythe men sent to outflank the enemy was steep and difficult. Indeed,had the peasants but posted a few of their own men on either handthey could have at once put a stop to such a movement. But it hadnever crossed their minds that Tom and his men would force thisnatural gateway. They imagined that they would come to a halt, andthat presently, on the arrival of their comrades from the village,the troopers and their English friends would be cut down to a man.That, in fact, was what would have happened had they delayed. Butthe flanking party scrambled rapidly into position, while the storecart advanced steadily and persistently, the shots from the trooperssheltering behind it causing havoc amongst the Portuguese. Tomallowed five minutes to elapse, and then, waving a sabre overhead,led Andrews and Howeley and the two or three troopers still remainingagainst the barricade. Cramming his heels into the flanks of hishorse, he sent him down the road at breakneck speed. Swinging pastthe cart where the troopers were sheltering, he dashed at theobstruction behind which the peasants stood, and, swinging again,burst in on the far side. Andrews and Howeley followed with greatdash, while the French troopers were not a yard behind them. Andthen began a furious struggle. Men slashed desperately at them withscythes, others attempted to unhorse the riders, while a few dived inwith the intention of killing the animals. But those swinging sabresbeat them off. Already the bullets of the attackers had had someeffect, particularly the galling shots of the flanking party. For amoment the issue hung in the balance. Then the men who had fired frombehind the cart came up at a run, and instantly the peasants bolted,the three troopers and Howeley galloping after them and keeping themon the run. Perhaps two minutes later the blare of a trumpet washeard in front, and then the clatter of drums. While Tom stared atthe retreating peasants, and at the forms of his own men, some twentyor thirty gaily uniformed lancers rode into view, blocking the farend of the pass. The long lances were lifted from their rests as Tomlooked. The pennons fluttered, and then down came the points. Asecond later an officer rode to the front of these lancers.
"Ah!" gasped Andrews, gaping at them.
"_Ma foi!_" growled one of the Frenchmen at Tom's elbow.
"English--hooray, they're our boys!" came in high-pitched tones fromthe cart in which Jack and the naval officer were accommodated, andwhich had been driven up to the scene of the conflict. Upright onthe mattress on which he should have been lying stood Jack, wobblingbadly, shrieking his delight at the top of his voice. As for Mr.Riley, perspiration covered his forehead and streamed down his face.He held out a hand as they came nearer, signalled to Tom, and grippedhis with a feeling there was no misunderstanding.
"Gallantly done, lad!" he cried. "You've pulled us out of the wood.The coming of the lancers has nothing to do with the matter, thoughit'll help to make things comfortable. Boys, three cheers for Mr.Clifford!"
They gave them with a heartiness there was no denying. French andEnglish joined in the shouts till the rocky walls echoed back thecheers a hundred times. And then all became of a sudden quiet andsober. For those thirty lancers were followed by a hundred perhaps,bringing the fleeing peasants to a sudden halt and causing some ofthem to attempt the feat of clambering away on either hand. A minutelater the ranks of the lancers opened, and through the open filescame a number of horsemen. Tom found himself watching their approachwith something akin to fear, for mounted on a magnificent horse whichled the procession was a tall officer of high rank without doubt,who rode through the muttering and beaten peasants as if they didnot exist. A stern, clean-shaven face was turned in Tom's direction,while the pair of deep-set eyes that flanked a wonderfully hookednose peered out from beneath a cocked hat at the little band whichour hero had led so successfully.
It was Wellington without a doubt, the general who had led ourtroops so brilliantly in the Peninsula, who had seen fighting inmany a place, and had won in far-off India a reputation there was nodenying. It was the great Lord Wellington, and with him his chief ofthe staff, aides-de-camp, and other officers, a glittering throng,gold-braided and medalled, all silently observing Tom and his littleparty. As for the latter, our hero was almost too astounded even tothink, while his followers, conscious of the rank of those who lookedat them, and indeed, of the presence of Wellington himself, fell injust behind our hero, shouldered their weapons, and drew themselvesup as became good soldiers. Yes, British and French, at war with oneanother in the Peninsula, but friends in this particular part of it,drew themselves up proudly, as men who had no cause to feel ashamed.Slowly a smile swept across the face of the general.
"I see," he said, so that all could hear. "We have here a littleadventure worth hearing. Who is in command of this party?"
Mr. Riley pushed his way to the front, having clambered from the cartwith difficulty. Saluting the general, he pointed to Tom.
"That gentleman, sir, is in command," he said steadily.
"And these?" asked the general instantly, indicating the Frenchtroopers, with a smile.
"We were their prisoners till a few moments ago. We were taken atsea, landed in this neighbourhood, and taken off by a troop ofcavalry. The peasants attacked us suddenly, the officers were shotdown, and Mr. Clifford at once took command. I wish to report thathe has behaved splendidly. He and the riflemen have been the lifeand soul of our party. But the troopers behaved most handsomely, andobeyed orders as if they were our men. It is a good story, sir."
"And one we will hear," came the instant answer. "Er, Lieutenant----"
"Riley, sir."
"Ah, Lieutenant, I'm pleased to meet you. We shall camp in thisvalley, and you will give me the pleasure of dining with me to-nightand of bringing your comrades. Mr. Clifford, I think you said."
The naval officer beckoned our hero forward and introduced himformally. Then he took the general to Jack's side, making him knownalso. As for Andrews and Howeley, they were beaming in a moment, forWellington did them the honour of shaking their hands, while smilesbroke across the countenances of the French troopers when he haltedbefore them.
"You have an interpreter?" he asked Mr. Riley.
"Mr. Clifford, sir."
"Then repeat what I say, if you please, Mr. Clifford. Tell them Iam delighted to hear that they have fought side by side instead ofagainst us, and that they shall be well treated and their conductreported to their own commanders. Tell them that."
Tom promptly interpreted the words, causing the Frenchmen to flushwith pride.
"And now for these wretched peasants," began Wellington, turningto the spot where some fifty of the latter cowered, wondering whatwas to be done with them. "I presume it is much the same tale as wehave had before? Reprisals attempted because of the brutality of theFrench. Hundreds of these poor fools against a handful of armed men.A sudden attack and a narrow escape. Well, we'll sign to them to beoff. There's no interpreter with us just now."
"Pardon, sir," burst in Mr. Riley. "Mr. Clifford speaks the language."
"What? Let me hear him."
Blunt and abrupt in speech, there was something kind nevertheless inthe tones of the general, and at once Tom went to the Portuguese andtold them they might depart. When he returned he found Wellingtonlooking at him with strange intensity.
"You are a civilian, sir," he asked, "and speak French andPortuguese?"
"Badly, sir, I'm afraid," smiled our hero. "Also I can get along withSpanish."
"Ah! And make yourself as well understood as in the other twolanguages?"
"Better, perhaps, sir. My relatives are Spanish."
"And you are a civilian and wish to remain one?"
The eyes looking Tom up and down so closely gleamed. Did they twinkleever so little? Did this general, whose name was famous throughoutmany countries, guess at the martial spirit that
filled Tom's breast?If he did, no one could do more than guess the fact, for the featuresnever altered. The eyes merely twinkled, and that ever so little.
"A pity," said the general. "You would have made a----"
Flesh and blood could not endure such temptation. Here was theopportunity of his life, and Tom took it with open hands.
"I'm meant for a stool in Oporto, sir," he said. "But I'd give a heapto earn a commission."
"Come to dinner to-night," was the answer he received, whileWellington swung his horse round and rode on through the ranksof the French troopers. But he did not forget our hero, for thatvery evening, after dinner was over, and the remains of thesomewhat frugal meal in which he was wont to indulge had beenremoved, Wellington called for candles with which to illuminate theheadquarters tent, and then bade Mr. Riley tell the story of theadventure. Then he swung round on Tom and eyed him again in a mannerthat made the young man's heart sink to the depths of his boots.What wonder that the lad who had so bravely led the troopers shouldtremble under the gaze of Wellington. For this famous general wasno ordinary man. The clean-shaven, sharply-cut features showed adetermination that was extraordinary and which of itself attractedattention. His short, jerky sentences, however kindly meant, had away of alarming his juniors, while the severity of his features,his exalted rank, the tremendous responsibilities resting on theshoulders of this man, made him almost awe inspiring. Tom had nothingto be ashamed of. Officers of senior rank out there in the Peninsula,and elsewhere, both before and after this historic conflict, trembledunder the gaze of the brilliant tactician. Then why not Tom? But asmile crossing the face of the general reassured him.
"So you were meant for a stool in Oporto and found yourself aprisoner," began the general, putting down the glass from which hehad just taken a sip of wine, "and seem to have fallen naturally intothe life of a soldier. Let me add, too, you have done wonderfullywell. That I can gather even without the tale which Lieutenant Rileyhas given me. You have shown discretion and sharpness, sir. Thearmy needs officers with discretion, and, I am proud to say, hasthem. She needs, too, officers who are linguists. More than all shewants officers able to speak one or more of the languages essentialto this campaign, and who have in addition the capacity to commandmen. Mr. Clifford, my greatest difficulty in this campaign is that ofobtaining reliable information. Will you help me?"
Help a general! Help Wellington, the great duke who had defeated theFrench now on so many occasions! The bare suggestion made Tom flush.But the gallant officer addressing him was serious enough.
"Come," he said. "I want an officer for special service. He shallbe posted to my staff, and his special work will be to gather anescort of the natives of Portugal or of Spain about him. He willseek for information as to the movements of the enemy. He willmake sudden raids where necessary, and if occasion suggests it heshall even enter the camps of the French and gather full tidings.It is a dangerous task. It may mean wounds or death. The danger ofimprisonment is very great. Also, if the duties be carried out withdiscretion and boldness, it means honour and promotion. Mr. Clifford,I am happy to offer you a commission as an ensign, unattached atpresent, to date from the day when you were taken by the French. Mynext dispatch home shall make mention of your name and of my wishes.To-morrow evening general orders shall confirm this offer, whilethe following evening shall see you promoted to lieutenant for thisrecent action. Afterwards you will carry out the instructions whichshall be handed to you. Will you accept?"
Would he accept! Would Tom take the very thing for which he hadlonged, and become one of the king's officers! He jumped at theoffer. His delight robbed him of the power of speech, so that hecould only mumble his thanks. He retired, in fact, from the presenceof the famous general with his head and brain in a whirl.
"Hearty congratulations," cried Lieutenant Riley, smacking him on theback as soon as they reached their own quarters. "We'll tell Jacknow. Pity the pain in his leg sent him away from the general's beforethis happened. Ha! we've news, Jack."
The ensign had retired early from the dinner, the excitement andmovement of the last two days having set up inflammation in hiswound, though in the case of the naval officer it seemed to haveactually done his injury good. Jack lay on a camp bed provided by thesurgeon, blinking in the light of a candle.
"Eh?" he asked, glancing sleepily at them.
"Look out for squalls, my boy."
"Why? Don't understand, sir."
"You soon will," laughed Mr. Riley. "Tom's an awful martinet, andhe's your senior."
It was all true enough, though our hero found difficulty inunderstanding the matter. For the very next evening found anannouncement in General Orders. There was a short, flatteringreference to Lieutenant Riley and Jack. And then the followingwords: "The commander-in-chief has pleasure in recommending that Mr.Clifford be granted a commission in His Majesty's forces, for hisaction when in temporary command of the French troopers attacked byPortuguese peasants. Ensign Clifford is posted to the headquartersstaff."
The following evening found a second announcement. "Ensign Clifford,headquarters staff, is recommended for promotion for gallantry in arecent action."
"My uncle!" exclaimed Jack, when he read the orders, "you'll be afull-blown general, Tom, before I'm a captain. Don't forget me,that's all. I'd look awfully fine in the uniform of a staff officer."
"A general? Why not?" Tom asked himself as he rolled himself in ablanket. "I'm young, young for the rank of lieutenant. I'm in themidst of a glorious campaign. And owing to the fact that I can speakPortuguese, French, and Spanish I'm to be engaged on special service.Why not a general one of these days?"
He forgot to look on the other side. Forgot, with the usualimpetuosity and carelessness of youth, to reckon the risks to be runin achieving such honours. But then Tom did not realize what wasbefore him. To begin with, he reckoned without Jose de Esteros, hismost unloving cousin, whom he imagined still in England.