With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula

  CHAPTER XV

  Round about Badajoz

  There was a business-like air about the jovial Jack Barwood on thesecond morning after the fall of Badajoz, a seriousness about thesmart young adjutant to which his friends were unaccustomed, afurrowing of his youthful brow, and an appearance of intentness anddetermination which would have aroused the friendly satire of oldcomrades. Dressed in the smart uniform of the gallant 60th Rifles,he marched briskly along one of the quieter streets, passing as hedid so a half-company of infantry escorting a batch of semi-drunkensoldiers, the gallant souls amongst Wellington's army who, now thatthe fighting was over, had lost all sense of discipline, and, achingno doubt for the many good things to which they had been strangersfor so long, had burst their way into private dwellings and hadbehaved like scoundrels instead of brave soldiers.

  Jack took the salute of a Portuguese guerrilla sentry marchingsedately to and fro before a huge door, and that too of a Spaniard,one also of the band under Tom's command.

  "Well?" he questioned in Portuguese, his accent none of the best."Any news? Any more callers?"

  "None, _senor_."

  "And the news?"

  "Good, _senor_; he lives. He will get well and strong to command us."

  There was a gleam of pleasure in the eyes of the two sentries as Jackspoke, while they watched him beat upon the door and enter.

  "A fine officer; one of the English!" exclaimed the Spaniard, whoseemed to be on the best of terms with the Portuguese guerrilla, astrange occurrence in those days. "If the worst were to come to theworst----"

  "Yes," responded the other, in a patois both could understand, "yes,he would command. But it would not be the same; the _Senor_ Tom isone man, the _Senor_ Jack another."

  Inside stood the faithful Andrews and Howeley, drawn stiffly toattention, saluting their officer. Jack's serious face brightened.

  "Well?" he demanded again, as if he were short of words.

  "Better, sir, beggin' pardon," came from Andrews, with his accustomedformula demanding pardon. "Surgeon's been and gone; says as Mr.Clifford's as hard as rocks, and if he wasn't he'd have been trampledand banged to pieces. Swears as he must have fust of all been blowedskyhigh, and then charged over by a thousand of the stormers.He's takin' notice of things, sir, is Mr. Clifford. Axing fer theregiment, and you. He'd have been out of bed if I hadn't preventedhim--and, my word, he were a handful!"

  "Ah!" ejaculated Jack, a grin rising on his solemn features. "Ahandful! Tom's that all the time. Wanted to get up, eh?"

  "Yes, sir," grunted the rifleman, still stiffly at attention. "'Notyou, sir,' I says; 'you're as weak as a kitten.' 'Rot!' he whispers,'cos he can't speak no higher. 'I've got work, Andrews.' 'So has weall,' I answers. 'Orders is orders, sir.' 'Eh?' he asks, sharp-like,as you know, sir. 'Orders that you're to stay abed, sir,' I says, nothalf-liking things. 'Orders be hanged,' he tries to shout, strugglingto get up, and then falling back on the pillow."

  "Like him," smiled Jack. "Anyway he's safe now, eh?"

  If it were a question of our hero's security from interference,then there was little doubt; for beside those two sentries paradingoutside the courtyard of the house in which he lay, there were adozen more at different points, with Andrews and Howeley to supervisethem. Nor were such precautions to be wondered at when the tale ofthe last few hours was told. Tom had not only passed through thedangers of a siege. True, he had escaped the ordeal at the breaches,and had been borne still breathing into the town. But there anotherdanger had suddenly assailed him; for no sooner was he laid in bed,and Jack had departed, than the watchful Andrews had discovered asneaking form clambering in by one of the windows. Had Andrews beenSeptimus John Clifford's head clerk he would then and there have madea discovery of vast importance, and one which we will at once hand onto the reader. For this sneaking intruder, bearing a stiletto in onehand, was none other than Jose de Esteros, Tom's cousin, now sunk tothe lowest depths of infamy, and forestalled just in the nick of timein the endeavour to carry out further villainy. He had made good hisescape, and, as a result, Tom's little command now watched over theirdamaged leader.

  The best of food, the most careful attention on the part of the armysurgeon, and the tenderest nursing at the hands of Andrews and otherswere already having their effect, and so, for a while, we may leaveour hero, satisfied that he will bob up again in the future andencounter more adventures in this memorable campaign.

  Let us then step outside the walls of Badajoz, walls conquered athuge sacrifice by the British, and after the most gallant fighting.For it will already have been gathered that this Peninsula campaignwas full of incidents, all of which the space at our disposalprevents our mentioning. In the circumstances it will be readilyunderstood that with troops operating here and there over a widestretch of country there were numerous affairs, some mere skirmishes,some approaching a big engagement, which, while they each and everyone undoubtedly helped on the end at which our leaders aimed, andare with equal certainty recorded in official histories, yet for thepurposes of this narrative are of small account.

  Beginning in 1808, as already recorded, this memorable campaign hadat first seen a succession of commanders sent by the vacillatingMinistry in England, and of these the great Wellington aloneremained, having proved his right to lead our armies. Those momentousmonths since the opening of the campaign had witnessed, as the readerwill remember, the dismissal of the French from Portugal and theadvance of our armies into Spain. The tragedy of Sir John Moore'sretreat over the border had followed; and we have seen Wellingtonforced backward in Portugal itself, till the enemy held the countryright down to the formidable heights of Torres Vedras. And then hadcome the turn of the tide. The vast masses of men controlled byNapoleon had been sent to the rightabout, and here, in the eventfulyear 1812, we find Portugal once more swept clean of the enemy, andthe important fortresses of Ciudad Rodrigo and of Badajoz in thehands of the British. The tide had turned, we say, and, like theenergetic and astute leader he was, the great Wellington at onceproceeded to follow up these successes, and to push on into the heartof Spain, with the one object of forcing the enemy finally to quitthe Peninsula.

  But no narrative of the events which had already happened wouldbe complete without mention of a force, subtle enough and slow tobe seen at first, which was now steadily aiding the efforts of oursoldiers. Despite the criminal neglect of our ambassador in Madrid,despite, too, the wicked opposition and folly of the Spanish Juntain particular, and in smaller measure of the Portuguese Junta, bothof which bodies had persistently opposed each and every aim of theBritish, our armies had fought and won. Often enough the gallant,thin red line had been basely left by the fleeing troops of Portugaland Spain to face the onslaught of Napoleon's trained battalions.And yet that thin red line of gallant souls had conquered. Theirpersistence, their cheerful bravery in the face of enormous odds, andtheir bull-dog, strenuous fighting had told its tale on the massesof the enemy. Scepticism as to their worth as soldiers, a scepticismnatural, perhaps, to troops highly trained, and till then victoriousin all directions, had been changed to hearty respect, if not toactual fear. That feeling of respect engendering fear and cautionalone was the subtle force now aiding our armies. Each man, whetherofficer or private, had the utmost confidence in his leaders andin his comrades; while the French, bearing the late prowess of theBritish in mind, wondered whether success were now as certain as theyhad imagined. Who knows? The persistent advance of our armies, theskill of our leaders, and the bull-dog courage of our men may wellhave had their effect upon the great Napoleon himself. Accustomedto see his arms successful in every venture, he found in the Britisha foe who knew no defeat, and who pressed him always. For thePortuguese this restless Emperor may have had some respect; for theSpanish he had only hatred, since their determination not to accepthis brother as their king, and their incessant rioting and attacksupon his soldiers had caused him trouble and anxiety. Now there werethe British to deal with. British opposition had wrested Portugalfrom the all-conquering
Emperor of France. She was now thrustingher way into the heart of Andalusia. That meant further strenuousfighting, and if past records were to be repeated, it meant furtherBritish victories, in spite of the mass of Napoleon's armies. Whoknows, then, we suggest, that this fear may have weighed with therestless Emperor of the French, with the ambitious and avariciouslittle corporal? To be balked in his wishes was with him ever, aswith all such men, galling in the extreme. Here, in the Peninsula,our coming and our intervention had resulted in tremendous effortson the part of Napoleon, efforts set aside by Wellington's armies.And now the tide had turned. What wonder if Napoleon, realizingthat here he was on the verge of a defeat, turned his eyes to otherconquests? Whatever the cause, Russia now attracted the attentionof the Emperor. He had ridden posthaste for Paris. France, groaningalready beneath the weight of taxation necessary to maintain suchhuge armies in the field, was being bled still further, both inmoney and men, to provide another army of conquest. Troops werealready massing on the borders of Russia, and soon was to arrive thatcalamity which will always hold a prominent place in the historiesof the world. For Napoleon was marching to defeat. The plains ofRussia were to see his armies swept almost out of existence, whilethe crops now ripening at the beginning of summer, a summer whichWellington in Spain had determined to make the greatest use of, wereto flare up before Napoleon's troops could lay their hungry hands onthem. Moscow, the city of promise, the magnet drawing the ambitiousand reckless Emperor to destruction, was to burn before his eyes,and thereafter snow and frost and desperate hunger were to fight hisarmies silently, while Cossacks in their thousands hung like a swarmof flies about the flanks, slaughtering the helpless.

  But we are forestalling events. Napoleon had left the Peninsula forother and, as he imagined no doubt, easier conquests, leaving hisgenerals in Spain the difficult task of driving out a British armywhich, with few exceptions, had proved itself absolutely invincible.

  Portugal was entirely in the hands of the British. Spain wasbeckoning strongly. Wellington, gathering his faithful and war-worntroops about him, was about to plunge into the heart of Andalusia,and, quitting the siege of fortresses, was eager to try conclusionswith the enemy in the open. But he was ever a careful man, and as apreliminary to invasion and attack upon the Duke of Ragusa he plannedthe destruction of the bridge erected at Almarez, spanning the Tagus,and protected by forts immensely strengthened by the French. Herewere known to be collected huge stores of ammunition, while thebridge itself served as a means of communication between one Frencharmy and another. With the crossing destroyed, Wellington might hopeto throw himself upon the enemy with good chance of success; for bykeeping the various forces of the enemy apart he might reasonablyexpect to beat them in detail, victory against the vast masses ofFrench when combined being out of the question. Thus Almarez and thebridge spanning the historic Tagus now attracted his attention, aswell as the formidable forts erected to protect the same.

  Let us describe in a few words the condition of the surroundingcountry. From Almarez itself to the city of Toledo the left bank ofthe River Tagus is hemmed in by a range of steep mountains. FromAlmarez again to the Portuguese frontier, roads in those days werealmost non-existent, and the crossing in any case most difficult;while farther east the bridges at Arzobispo and Talavera were coveredby the neighbouring high ground.

  The River Tagus itself separated the armies of Soult and of Marmont,and, seeing that Soult's pontoon train had been captured in Badajoz,there was left no other means of communication between the armiesthan the bridge of boats at Almarez, which the critical eye ofWellington had already selected for destruction. But, as we havehinted, there were difficulties in the way; for in view of theimportance of the place, and of the mass of stores of one sort oranother concentrated there, the French had made every preparationto protect the bridge. A fort had been erected on the north bank,another at the opposite end of the bridge, while the heightsimmediately adjacent on the latter side had been connected by a chainof works which a casual inspection would have said defied assault.Yet Wellington considered that Sir Rowland Hill, in command of aforce 6000 strong, would contrive to overcome all difficulties, andthat gallant officer promptly marched from the camp which the Britishhad now formed, for since the fall of Badajoz our forces had marchednorth to the Tagus, and had crossed the river. A small expeditionaryarm was therefore within striking distance of the all-importantcrossing at Almarez. Secrecy, as in the case of the descents onCiudad Rodrigo and Badajoz, was essential in this adventure, andSir Rowland, therefore, marched at night-time, secreting his wholeforce in the wood of Jarciejo during the day, this wood being inthe immediate neighbourhood of the enemy. Then his men were dividedinto three columns, and in the early hours, while darkness yet hidthe land, they set out upon an expedition destined to prove amongstthe most brilliant of any recorded during this long campaign in thePeninsula. For the plans of generals, like those of other morehumble individuals perhaps, are destined at times to be overthrown,and here was an example. That secrecy at which Sir Rowland Hillaimed was destroyed by a combination of circumstances, so that thegarrisons of the forts about to be attacked became aware of hisintentions. Yet the work was done, and done brilliantly, though onlyat a heavy sacrifice. The forts were taken, the bridge secured, whilethe losses of the enemy were very heavy. Then, expedition being anessential point, mines were laid, and the works, or a portion ofthem, destroyed. When Sir Rowland returned to Wellington's camp hewas able to report the success of the expedition, while Wellingtonhimself was now able seriously to consider the question of an attackupon the enemy in the open; for the first step toward that efforthad been taken. Easy communication between the enemy was destroyed,and now had come the opportunity to seek out and beat in detail thearmies of Napoleon.

  Forward, then, was the order, and 21st July, 1812, found Wellingtonand his army north of the Tagus, close to Salamanca and to theRivers Tormes and Huebra, having meanwhile cleared the interveningcountry and besieged the Salamanca forts. Marmont, with his Frenchbattalions, now lay before him; for they had crossed the riverbetween Huerta and Tormes, and were endeavouring to secure the roadto Ciudad Rodrigo. However, if Wellington, as a clever tactician, ashe undoubtedly was, had as his object the division of the enemy'sforces, with a view of beating them in detail, Marmont also was notunskilful. Remembering the comparative paucity of the British troops,and the fact that they had, as it were, burned their boats behindthem, he hoped to throw his troops between our regiments and thefortress of Ciudad Rodrigo, then garrisoned by British, thus not onlycutting communication between Wellington and the fortress, but alsodrawing a line of fire and steel between the British and Portugal, towhich country they would naturally retreat in case of defeat or inthe event of huge odds being concentrated against them.

  Thus, having brought our gallant fellows face to face with an equallygallant enemy in the open, and having reviewed the movements ofthis difficult and complex campaign, we can leave the two rivalarmies in position for battle, and can once more seek out TomClifford, commander of the composite force of Portuguese and Spanishguerrillas, which, amidst a host of irregular British allies--somegood, some indifferent, and some altogether useless and evendangerous--had already earned a name for energy and a patrioticspirit worthy of emulation amongst many chicken-hearted countrymen.Back, then, to Badajoz, let us retrace our steps, and, acceptingthe salutes of the Spanish and Portuguese sentries--smart fellowsboth--hammer on the door of the courtyard and enter, there to begreeted by the faithful Howeley and Andrews.

  Some weeks had passed since Tom had joined the forlorn hope, and hadbeen blown like a stone down the steep scarp of the breach effectedby our gunners. He sat in an armchair, his feet on a stool, JackBarwood discussing matters with him, and at the same time smoking apipe which he had secured in the dwelling.

  "Of course," Tom was saying in his business-like way, "orders areorders. But----"

  "They're a beastly nuisance for all that. Granted," was Jack'sinterruption. "Well?"

  "And, equal
ly of course, must be obeyed. 'Pon my word, Jack, youseem to be as keen as I am on this quest. What's it to do with you,anyway?"

  "Nothing; everything." Jack took a heavy pull at his pipe, chokedsuddenly, and then glared at the pipe as if it had done him amischief.

  "Awful country," he grumbled. "Decent food ungetable, decent bedsunknown. Tobacco--ugh! it'd sicken a Billingsgate porter! But thisbusiness interests me. Why? you ask. Here's why. Fair play is a thingI like; foul play gets up my dander. Of course I know the whole storynow. This cousin chap first took food and lodging from your fatherand pretended gratitude; then he managed to work things so as to haveyou impressed. There I owe him a grudge; for if he hadn't, whereshould I be, eh?"

  "Eh?" repeated Tom, a little puzzled.

  "That's just it," went on the ensign in an aggrieved tone of voice."Who'd have had the command of those French troopers? Who'd havebrought them through that mess? Who'd now be promoted to the commandof a regiment of guerrillas?"

  He might have been the most injured of individuals, to look at him.Jack rose to his feet and bashed the offending pipe heavily on atable. And then he grinned at Tom.

  "My uncle!" he exclaimed; "you are a flat! Yes, even if you are mysuperior, I can call you that. Took everything I said as if it weremeant seriously. Where should I have been, eh? Dead, Tom--dead as abullock. Shot outside that Portuguese church, and cut to mincemeat bythose rascals. But this business of yours interests me solely becauseyou happen to be a pal of mine, and in my opinion very much injured.This Jose is a scoundrel. What's more, I believe him to be at thebottom of all these troubles. He's that spy, sir, I declare! He'sthe very same scoundrel who crept in here with the idea of doing youa mortal mischief. There, think it out, and don't wonder if I am alittle interested in this curious and blackguardly mystery."

  Could this really be the case? Was Jose de Esteros not only therascal who had caused Tom's impressment, as we know, and Tom and hisfriends now knew, to be the case; but also, was he the treacherousruffian who had been feeding the enemy with news of Wellington'smovements, whose messenger our hero had displaced outside CiudadRodrigo? Could Tom's cousin be the selfsame villain who had abductedhis father and uncle, and who later on had endeavoured to creep intothis house in Badajoz and murder the gallant officer so nearly killedin the storming?

  "Humbug!" Tom declared, nursing the arm which he had worn in a slingsince receiving his injuries. "I grant that Jose was the cause of myimpressment. There I owe him a grudge, Jack."

  "Eh?" asked the adjutant, stoking his pipe with a finger and pullingat it vainly. "How?"

  "Been troubled with a certain Jack Barwood ever since," came theserious answer. And then Tom went off into roars of laughter, whileJack pretended indignation.

  "Granted that Jose was the cause of that portion," Tom continued. "Weknow he came to Oporto; there we lose sight of him. The spy comes onthe scene. Granted here, again, that he it was who abducted my fatherand uncle, for the note left was in the same handwriting as thatother we secured outside Ciudad Rodrigo; but that doesn't say thatJose was the spy, even if you argue that he has reasons for wishingto abduct my two relatives. Now, does it?"

  "But the handwriting? It's like his; you forget that."

  "I don't; I agree that, from what I can remember of it, there is asimilarity. But I'm not by any means sure; besides, Jose couldn't besuch a rascal."

  Jack's reply was as emphatic as many others. "Stuff and nonsense!"he blurted out. "A man who tries to get rid of a cousin with whom hehas lived all his life, as this fellow did, will take on any piece ofrascality. Look at his actions on arrival at Oporto, and think of hiscunning. My boy, this Jose's at the bottom of the whole matter, sokeep your eye open."

  How Tom was to keep his eye open his adjutant failed to explain, norwas there any further evidence to convict Jose of this added pieceof rascality. Tom was still in ignorance of the personality of thespy whom he had traced to Oporto, and thence to Badajoz. He knew thatthe man was responsible for the abduction of Septimus and Don Juan deEsteros. But was Jose the spy? Was the spy the man who had crept intothese quarters in Badajoz with the obvious intention of slaying Tom,and, if so, what was his object?

  "It's Jose all the time," declared Jack, cocksure of the fact.

  "Doubtful," repeated Tom, still refusing to believe his cousincapable of such villainy. "But leave it at that. The fellow's gone,and taken with him his two captives; the next thing to do is tofollow."

  "Wrong; the next move is to obey orders."

  Jack had become a very useful adjutant by now, and showed hispromptness by handing Tom the orders which lay upon the table. Ourhero almost ground his teeth as he read them; for there, in blackand white, were definite commands for the regiment to march for theTagus, and there join hands with Wellington's army. Never, in fact,had orders been worse received. Hitherto Tom had been the first towelcome them; now they came between him and private business.

  "But duty first," he told himself. "We'll march before the week'sout, for those are the instructions. Meanwhile we've at least heardsomething. Read the report again," he said, signing to his friend.

  Jack picked up a paper, and promptly obliged him. "Here we are,"he said. "Alfonso reports that following orders he has continuedto patrol the surroundings of the fortress. A covered carriage wasdriven out just before dusk last evening. It was stopped and found tobe empty. The driver stated he was going to a country place to fetchin an invalid. Later, when the carriage was well beyond our circle,it stopped beside a convoy of carts going from the fortress. Sharpquestioning of the man in charge brought the admission that men werehidden among the contents of the carts, two of whom were bound andgagged. They were placed in the carriage, which was instantly drivenaway down the road, and when our men arrived was out of hearing.Though they searched, it was in vain. The scoundrel had got away withhis captives."

  "And then?" asked Tom, listening without sign of emotion.

  "Close enquiries here discovered the fact that a carriage had beenhired to take a gentleman to Madrid. That's all."

  That indeed was all the information that our hero or his friends hadbeen able to come by. The strenuous efforts and the danger which Tomhad incurred in endeavouring to make an early entry into Badajoz hadresulted in nothing. The miscreant who gave information to the enemyhad slipped out with his captives, and there were our heroes none thenearer to success. They were farther off, in fact, for there, on thetable, were orders taking them north to the Tagus, while it seemedlikely enough that Tom's father and uncle had been hurried east toMadrid, where search for them, if ever the opportunity came, would belong and difficult.

  "Can't be helped. When orders allow, we'll make a rush for the city,"said Tom. "Meanwhile, it's off to the Tagus!"

  "To join the army again--hooray!" shouted Jack. "That means a biggeneral engagement; it means fighting, my boy! Perhaps it'll give usboth promotion."

  Hard knocks, wounds, and exposure were more likely to be theirportion. But what did these two young officers care? What would otherofficers of a similar age in these days care? Nothing. Rather theywere elated at the prospect of taking a share in a pitched battle,and had not so much as a qualm when at length they reached theneighbourhood of Salamanca. As for their men, confident now of theirability to fight, proud of what they had already done, they marchedto their allotted quarters in the camp with a tramp and a swing thatcommanded attention.

  "General Lord Wellington's compliments," began a staff officer,galloping up just as Tom had inspected his men, and had called uponJack to dismiss the parade. "Are you Lieutenant Clifford?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Then have the goodness to ride over to headquarters at once; hislordship desires to see you."

  "Hooray!" cried Jack, careless of decorum, hurrying up at the moment."That'll mean business, my boy. The general's got a special job forour guerrillas."

  And Wellington had. When Tom had been ushered into the tent whichhoused the leader of the British army he found that painstakingindividual sea
ted on a camp stool carefully measuring distances on amap stretched on a table before him. Tom stood stiffly at attention,and though the staff officer who ushered him twice called his name,there was no answer. Then suddenly a point of the compasses wasstruck into the map and an exclamation escaped the general.

  "If he moves there, we have him," he cried. "Then all depends on theSpaniards. Ah!" He shut the map hurriedly, and looked at Tom as ifhe thought him to be a suspicious person. Then, recognizing him, hesmiled.

  "The officer the French will not fight," he said cheerfully. "TheEnglishman they did their best to destroy in the breaches at Badajoz.You are recovered, sir?"

  "Perfectly," Tom hastened to assure him, fearful that a fanciedweakness might cause the general to choose another officer for anyspecial work he might have in prospect.

  "And will accept a special risk?"

  Tom drew himself up stiffly. With anyone else there would have beena note of injury in the answer; for had he shirked special risk inthe past? Ciudad Rodrigo was a telling answer to such a question. AndWellington realized the fact as soon as he had spoken.

  "I take it for granted that you are more than ready," he said. "Good!Then the mission I have is somewhat similar to that other. You sawme close this plan hurriedly? I did it unknowingly, impelled by thefear that you might be a stranger; for here is my story. Maps andplans jealously guarded by us have disappeared, my dispatch casehas been broken open. My officers have information that there is asmall gang of rascals who trade on our secrets. I want to bring thatgang to book, if it exists. Now, Mr. Clifford, once more I make nosuggestions, and give no orders. You will act as you think best.After to-morrow you are free to carry out whatever seems best to you.Remember, after to-morrow."

  That was all. Tom found himself outside the tent, still saluting.

  "A pretty job to unravel," he told himself. "And what's on to-morrow?"

  Yes, what was to happen when the day broke once more across thesmooth surface of the River Tormes?

  There was to be war, real war, war in the open, the like of which Tomhad never before witnessed.