With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula
by F. S. Brereton · English · Gutenberg #44055 · 540,402 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: With Wellington in Spain: A Story of the Peninsula
Author: F. S. Brereton
Illustrator: W. Rainey
Release date: October 27, 2013 [eBook #44055]
Most recently updated: October 23, 2024
Language: English
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*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WITH WELLINGTON IN SPAIN: A STORY OF THE PENINSULA ***
With Wellington in Spain
BY CAPTAIN BRERETON
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LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
[Illustration: TOM IS SUMMONED BY WELLINGTON]
With Wellington
in Spain
A Story of the Peninsula
BY
CAPTAIN F. S. BRERETON
Author of "The Great Airship," "Kidnapped by Moors,"
"A Boy of the Dominion," "The Hero of Panama," &c.
_ILLUSTRATED BY W. RAINEY, R.I._
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
1914
Contents
CHAP. Page
I. SEPTIMUS JOHN CLIFFORD & SON 9
II. UNDERHAND CONDUCT 25
III. ABOARD A BRITISH FRIGATE 46
IV. A NAVAL ENCOUNTER 67
V. PRISONERS 87
VI. NAPOLEON THE AMBITIOUS 105
VII. A TIGHT CORNER 124
VIII. TOM CHANGES QUARTERS 143
IX. HARD PRESSED 162
X. THE GREAT GENERAL 185
XI. ON ACTIVE SERVICE 202
XII. GUARDING THE BY-WAYS 222
XIII. CIUDAD RODRIGO 240
XIV. ONE OF THE FORLORN HOPE 263
XV. ROUND ABOUT BADAJOZ 281
XVI. THE BATTLE OF SALAMANCA 302
XVII. A CLUE AT LAST 321
XVIII. THE CONSPIRATORS' DEN 337
XIX. TOM THINKS FURIOUSLY 354
XX. A BRILLIANT CAPTURE 371
Illustrations
Page
TOM IS SUMMONED BY WELLINGTON _Frontispiece_ 300
"CRASH! WENT THE BROADSIDE" 72
THE PEASANTS BREAK IN THE CHURCH DOORS 112
"GRIPPING ONE OF THE LADDERS DRAGGED IT ASIDE WITH
ALL HIS FORCE" 169
"TO HIS AMAZEMENT THE MAN CLUTCHED HIM BY THE HAND" 225
TOM ESCAPES FROM CIUDAD RODRIGO 258
A CLEVER DISGUISE 324
THE FAT MAN THREATENS TOM 345
WITH WELLINGTON IN SPAIN
CHAPTER I
Septimus John Clifford & Son
No cooler spot could be imagined on the hottest midsummer day than
the picturesque forecourt of the premises occupied by Septimus John
Clifford & Son, wine merchants, importers and exporters.
Behind the forecourt, crowding the latter closely towards the edge of
the River Thames, some few hundred yards below the point where the
stream swept and swirled through the arches of the bridge, stretched
an irregular block of buildings, that portion farthest from the court
presenting a somewhat severe frontage to the river, its many floors,
its narrow windows, and its winches and hoists dangling outside
serving to show that it was there that Septimus John Clifford & Son
stored their goods from oversea. Huge doors leading by wide, shallow
steps to the basement hinted that it was through these easy portals
that the wines of France, of Spain, and of Portugal found access to
the vast vaults stretching away behind the muddy bank of the river.
The forecourt and its immediate background bore a very different
appearance, for the garden, encompassed by moss-grown walls, was
ablaze with flowers, while one huge mulberry tree reared its foliage
before the main entrance of the building, its leaves rustling against
the curious old dormer windows and strangely shaped balconies
which adorned the front. Beneath the grateful shade cast by that
mulberry tree lay Septimus John Clifford himself, at full length
in a capacious basketwork chair, oblivious of his surroundings,
careless even of the persistent flies that hovered about the gaudy
silk handkerchief with which he had covered his head. Mr. Septimus
was asleep. Clerks in the busy office within the huge bay window, not
five yards from him, turned the leaves of musty ledgers with pathetic
care lest they should awake the ruler of this establishment. The
office boy, an urchin with round, rosy cheeks, swelled to the point
of bursting, gathered up his feet upon the staves of his chair when
the head clerk admonished him for shuffling them, and cast an anxious
eye out through the wide-open window. Marlow, the clerk nearest to
that sleeping form, almost held his breath; for he was apt to grunt
and expand his lungs with a hiss that was exasperating.
"One hour, I think," observed Huggins, a white-haired clerk, who
seemed to be the head of the office, consulting a silver watch which
was as large as a good-sized turnip. "One hour precisely, I make it."
"And four minutes," ventured his assistant, a thin, lanky man,
white-haired like his comrade. "It is time to wake him."
"Yes, now; he would not forgive delay."
Huggins rose silently from the high stool on which he was seated and
crossed to the door on tiptoe. He descended the picturesque steps
leading from the main entrance to the place with as much care as
he would have employed had he been stepping over hot bricks, and
advanced to the side of his master, as if determined to leave him
asleep till the very last possible moment. For that was the spirit
which pervaded the establishment of Septimus John Clifford & Son. A
good master was served by loyal and grateful clerks, of whom none
were more loyal and thoughtful than Huggins, the stout, clean-shaven,
white-haired man who had spent thirty years of his peaceful life in
the office.
"Hem! Three o'clock," said Huggins, coming to a standstill and
casting his eyes first at the sleeping form of his master, then at
the waving foliage of the mulberry tree, and later out across the
river to the southern shore, then almost devoid of houses. For we
do not speak of London in this year of grace 1913, but of London in
1810, a city of huge proportions even then, but small and puny when
compared with the mass of buildings which now stretch far and wide.
Smoke stacks and chimneys belching forth huge billows of dark cloud
were not then such a feature of the giant capital. Green fields
and waving trees came close up to the opposite bank of the Thames,
while the few houses there were, the open country, and the stretch
of shimmering water, with its quaint river craft, made a picture
that was fascinating. From the shade and shelter of the forecourt
the view was perfectly enchanting, and for a little while held all
Huggins's attention, even though he looked out upon it every day of
his life. Then he hemmed again, and gently touched the sleeve of the
sleeper. Mr. Septimus stirred, then, hearing a cough beside him, sat
up briskly, drew the handkerchief from his head, and, folding it with
care, placed it in his pocket.
"Three o'clock, sir," said Huggins.
"No more?" asked Mr. Septimus.
"Five minutes past."
"Four," declared Mr. Septimus, consulting his own watch--one, too, of
vast proportions. "The post has come?"
Huggins nodded.
"From Spain?"
"There are four letters."
"And from Portugal?" asked Mr. Septimus eagerly.
"One only."
"Drat the war!" cried Mr. Septimus, sitting forward with energy.
"First this Bonaparte, Emperor of the French, disturbs all trade by
pouring his soldiers into the Peninsula, and then he keeps up the
disturbance by refusing to agree that he's beaten. He's beaten, ain't
he, Huggins?"
"If not quite, then nearly, sir," came the respectful answer. "But
they say that Wellington has cleared Portugal of the French. Stocks
of wines are coming through more freely."
The reminder seemed to hearten the master of this establishment;
his face assumed a cheerful expression. Not that it had appeared
seamed with care before, for Septimus was the personification of good
humour. He was a short, stout little man, bald headed and slightly
bandy legged. Round, inquisitive goggles sat on a broad nose that
spoke of good temper. A white muffler and stock, together with an
even whiter waistcoat, covered a frame which may be described as
decidedly ample, while shapely legs--shapely even though prone
to bandiness--were clad in snuff-coloured overalls, which fitted
like the proverbial glove, and set off a figure that was decidedly
attractive and gentlemanly.
He stretched out a hand and took the letters which his clerk had
brought for him. Then, selecting the one from Portugal, he opened it
with the blade of his penknife.
"From Dom Juan de Esteros," he said, extracting the sheet within the
envelope. "Ha! That is good news. The tide of war turns to Spain, and
wines are accumulating at Oporto. That is good, Huggins. Our clients
will be glad to hear that we can soon replenish their cellars.
Business will look up."
Huggins nodded, while his sallow features reddened a trifle; for
what concerned the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son concerned
him, not from the pecuniary point of view, seeing that he was paid a
steady salary whether business were good or bad, but because of his
sympathetic interest in the firm.
"We can do with it, sir," he said. "Things have been a little slow
in the office. There has been little work after three o'clock. The
clerks have been inclined to become sleepy."
"And no wonder," responded Septimus, looking up with a laugh. "Like
master, like man, Huggins. Can't blame 'em for sleeping after dinner
if I do. It's a bad habit, Huggins, a bad habit. All the same, I
believe it helps one wonderfully. Couldn't get through these hot
days if it weren't for the forty winks I snatch. But let's see.
Dom Juan--ah! he thinks the time has come for us to have a direct
representative in Oporto. Talks of indifferent health caused by the
anxieties of the war. Asks us to send someone."
"Ahem! Yes, sir," came from Huggins suggestively.
"To send someone," repeated Septimus. "A representative, Huggins. Eh?"
"Master Tom," came promptly from the clerk. "And son, sir--Clifford &
Son."
He laid special emphasis on the last two words, causing Mr. Septimus
to look up at him and discover the old servant's face glowing. As for
the owner of this successful business of wine merchants, we can only
say that he, too, looked enthusiastic.
"And son--yes, Huggins," he said. "How long is it since there was a
son?"
"Seventeen years three months and two days, sir," was the answer.
"Master Tom's age exactly."
"To the minute almost," laughed Septimus. "He's the one; he shall
represent the firm at Oporto."
By the interest and attention these two gave to the affair one would
have imagined that it was an entirely novel subject of discussion,
whereas, to be precise, this quaint pair had long since settled
the matter. For the "& Son" had become a feature of the business.
Two centuries earlier Clifford & Son had first hung their trade
sign outside those same premises, only in those days the house was
exceedingly small and unpretentious. Still, there had been a son
in the business, and thereafter, as the years passed, a succession
of sons, while Septimus John had become, as it were, part of the
stock-in-trade of this old house which boasted of the "& Son" always
attached to it. However, in latter days, there had come a time when
that old boast had almost failed them, for Mr. Septimus had succeeded
his father at the age of thirty, exactly and precisely one day
after the birth of his own boy. It was this same infant, christened
Septimus John Esteros Thomas Clifford, who was now under discussion.
"You'll send him, of course, sir," exclaimed Huggins.
"Of course. He'd have gone two years ago if it hadn't been for the
war. Drat the war, Huggins!" cried Septimus peevishly. "It has upset
all my plans and ruined business. Here's Master Tom kicking his heels
about the place and attempting to learn Spanish and Portuguese,
when he should be in Oporto learning the languages simply because
he couldn't help doing so, and at the same time attending to the
business. I did that. I went out when I was sixteen, and came home
for good at thirty. The son in this firm has been wanting ever since,
for always the father has managed here in London, while the son has
worked the business in Oporto. Tom shall go, and quickly too; I'll
see him. What's that?"
Both heads were raised promptly, while Mr. Septimus and his clerk
remained in their respective attitudes listening intently. From the
room behind the wide bay window where the office staff worked there
came not so much as a sound. Doubtless the white-haired junior clerk
and his helpers still pored over their ledgers, while the fat office
boy still sat with his legs curled around the supports of his stool.
But from a room overhead there came the sound of strife. A girl's
voice was heard, then came that of some young fellow, piercing and
high pitched and querulous. The noise of a blow followed, a dull,
heavy sound, which gave one the impression that a fist had descended
on someone's jaw. A thud telling of a tumble came to the ears of the
listeners almost immediately afterwards.
Mr. Septimus rose to his feet with agility and gathered up his
letters. There was a severe look on his face as he made towards the
steps leading into the house.
"Those two quarrelling," he said over his shoulder.
"Then it isn't Master Tom's doing," declared Huggins, with decision.
"That Master José's always at him. He's sly, he is; he's jealous of
his cousin."
"Then it'll be a good thing when they're separated. Ah! There again!"
cried Mr. Septimus, as the sound of other blows came to his ears,
as well as a scream of rage. "I'll go to them; this conduct is
disgraceful!"
He bounded up the steps at a speed that would have surprised those
who did not know him; for, as we have explained, the head of the firm
of wine merchants was distinctly stout, and his appearance belied
all suggestion of activity. But Septimus could move quickly when he
liked, while his business hours were characterized by bustle. He
stepped hurriedly across the hall and went up the wide oak staircase
two steps at a time. He was panting just a little when he reached the
door of the apartment wherein the scuffle was taking place and threw
it wide open. And there he stood for a little time, breathing deeply,
regarding the people in the room with wide-open eyes, which seemed to
fill the whole area of his spectacles and take in everything.
"Stop this instantly!" he commanded, seeing two lads struggling
together in the far corner. "I have never seen anything more
disgraceful."
The scene before him might well have drawn such words from the lips
of the head of such a decorous firm as Septimus John Clifford & Son;
for the room was in confusion. A heavy desk, occupying the centre,
that would have been upset but for its weight, had been jerked out of
position and now stood at an angle. A chair lay on its back, while
an inkpot of large dimensions lay against the near wall with a wide
puddle of ink about it, and the panelled wall itself was splashed in
all directions with the same dark fluid. A young girl some sixteen
years of age gripped one side of the desk, and stood there watching
the contest with staring eyes that were decidedly frightened. Two
lads occupied the centre of the picture, and as Septimus entered
they were locked together in a firm embrace, each one endeavouring
to belabour the other. But at the voice of command they broke away,
one of them, a youth of medium height, promptly turning from his
antagonist toward the door. The movement was the signal for the other
to strike out swiftly, sending his fist crashing against the other's
head, and following the cowardly movement by a kick which cut the
feet of his opponent from beneath him, and brought the lad with a
thud to the floor.
"That was a coward's blow!" declared Septimus hotly, advancing into
the room; "the kick was contemptible. Stand away in that corner,
José. I will thrash you severely if you attempt another movement."
He closed the door quietly behind him, placed a seat at the desk so
that he could see all three within the room, then slowly wiped and
adjusted his glasses.
"Please explain," he began icily, when finally his glasses were
adjusted. "I left you here at two o'clock. You had work sufficient to
last you till the evening. What is the meaning of this disgraceful
interruption? You, Tom, answer."
He looked closely at each of the lads in turn, and then fixed his
eyes upon the one who had been struck in such a cowardly manner by
the other. In doing so Septimus Clifford looked upon the counterpart
of himself. For before him was the son who was of so much importance
to the house of Clifford, the son who was to represent the firm in
Oporto--the one, in fact, whom the reader will already have observed
was particularly favoured by Huggins. Tom was of middle height, as
we have remarked, well built and solidly put together. In spite of
his ruffled hair and his flushed face there was something undoubtedly
attractive about the young fellow, so much so that Septimus could not
fail but note it.
"Looks me square in the face and eye," he muttered beneath his
breath. "That's the way with the Cliffords. Knows he's probably in
for a licking, and yet don't funk it. He's ready to receive what he's
earned, and ain't going to lie to lessen the punishment. Well?" he
asked severely, for Septimus was not the one to show favour.
But Tom made no answer. He stood squarely facing his father, his
character clearly shown upon a face that was decidedly pleasing if
not exactly handsome.
"Well?" demanded Septimus again, more curtly if anything.
"Ask him, sir," came the reply, while Tom jerked his head at the lad
over in the far corner where Septimus had ordered him.
"Then you," exclaimed the stout little man, turning to the second
youth, he who had delivered the cowardly blow and kick. "What have
you to answer?"
"He started it," came abruptly from the one questioned. "Tom called
me names and struck me."
"Ah!" exclaimed Septimus, regarding the youth coldly, till the latter
reddened beneath his scrutiny. "He started it, José, you say. Why?"
The youth addressed reddened even more at the question, while his
eyes shifted from the face of his interrogator to Tom's, and then
across to the girl's. Contrasting the two young fellows, Tom and
José, one could not compliment the latter; for he seemed to be the
very opposite of Tom. A year his senior, perhaps, he was lanky and
lean, while his arms and legs and body seemed to writhe and twist as
his eyes shifted from corner to corner. The chin disclosed weakness
of character and want of firmness, to which thin lips and watery
eyes added nothing. In short, José was anything but attractive.
"Why did Tom start this quarrel?" asked Septimus relentlessly, his
glasses turned on José all the while.
"I don't know," came the surly answer. "He's always quarrelling."
"Then you began the matter?" said Septimus, turning upon Tom the same
close scrutiny. "Why?"
"He didn't!" came abruptly from the girl, who was standing a few
paces from him. "José is not telling the truth. Even though he is my
brother, I can't remain quiet and know that he is blaming Tom for
what is really his own fault."
José's eyes gleamed as his sister spoke. His brows were knit together
and his thin lips pursed, as is the case with one in anger. At that
moment this unattractive youth looked as if he would willingly have
struck his own sister.
"She favours him," he cried angrily. "She's always on his side."
"Silence!" commanded Septimus sternly. "Now, Marguerite, tell me
about it."
"He started to tease me," declared the girl, nodding towards her
brother. "He splashed the letter I was writing with ink, and then
threw some over my needlework. Tom asked him to stop, and then called
him a bully. José threw the inkpot at him promptly."
"Ah!" came from the man seated in the centre. "And then?"
"Tom knocked him down twice; then they began to struggle together."
"It's a lie!" shouted José, beside himself with rage, his pale lips
trembling.
"Eh?" asked Tom curtly, advancing a pace towards him, and looking
threatening.
"Stop!" ordered Septimus, lifting a hand. "By rights I ought to leave
you two to settle the matter between you. I have no fears as to what
the result would be; for a man or youth who accuses his sister of
lying deserves a thrashing, while you, José, deserve it twice over.
You have lied yourself, and I myself saw you deliver a cowardly blow.
You will remain here and go on with your work; Tom will come below
with me. For the future try to be friendly to one another, at least
till you are parted."
"Parted?" asked Tom curiously, while a scowl showed on José's face.
"Yes, parted," repeated Septimus. "The time has come for you to go to
Oporto, Tom, there to act as representative of this business."
José's face was a study as he listened to the words and saw the
pride and enthusiasm with which Tom was so obviously filled. Even
Marguerite was regarding her cousin as if he were a hero, and,
indeed, that was the light in which she was wont to look at him. For
ever since he was a little fellow Tom had been Marguerite's special
protector, and often and often had he saved her from her brother's
ill treatment. José was, in fact, a bully. Sneaking and mean by
nature, he was the very opposite of his sister, and ever since the
two had been brought to the house he had been jealous of his cousin
Tom. That was the secret of their ill feeling from the beginning.
Provided José treated Marguerite fairly, Tom was prepared to live
on good terms with him. But always José regarded Tom as a fortunate
rival, as his future master; for was not Tom the son attached to the
firm? And now to hear that he was to go to Oporto, there to rule
the roast, filled José with envy and hatred. He could see Tom his
own master, with clerks to do his bidding, while he, José, the less
fortunate, was slaving at a humble desk in England. It roused his ire
when he recollected that were there no Tom he himself would fill his
place, and would one day be the head of the firm of Septimus John
Clifford & Son.
The scowl on José's face had deepened as Septimus spoke. Tom's happy
features incensed him to the point of bursting. A moment or so later,
when the door had closed between him and the other three, and while
their steps still resounded in the passage, José gave full vent to
his hatred and anger. He pranced up and down the room. He glared out
through the window as Tom appeared, and if looks could have killed,
that young fellow would have ceased to exist forthwith. Then José
flung himself petulantly on to a chair, buried his face in his hands,
and remained in that position for some few minutes, his restless
limbs writhing and twitching meanwhile.
Suddenly, however, he sat up and stared hard at the wall opposite.
"Why not?" he asked himself, as if apropos of nothing, while a
cunning leer bent his lips. "If there were no Tom, José would go to
Oporto. And who would carry out the work more fittingly? Tom shall
not go there. I swear that I will prevent him."
He was poring over a book half an hour later when Septimus entered
the room again with the intention of having a serious conversation
with him, and to all appearances José was a different individual. He
was sorry for the anger he had shown, sorry that he had insulted his
sister, and eager to be friendly with everyone. But, then, José was a
crafty individual. That night as he lay in bed within ten feet of our
hero he was concocting plans whereby to defeat the aims of Septimus,
and bring about the downfall of Tom, his cousin.
CHAPTER II
Underhand Conduct
Brisk action was a characteristic of Mr. Septimus Clifford, though
his portly frame gave one the impression that he might very well
be a sluggard. However, the bustle in those offices and warehouses
beside the river, the numerous clerks poring over ledgers and papers,
and the hands at work in the vaults amidst the huge butts of wine
told a tale there was no mistaking. Order and method pervaded the
establishment, and the master of the business was the creator of that
order and method. As we have said, too, he was a man of action.
"I'll send Tom off this day two weeks," he told the respectful
Huggins on the evening of that very day on which our hero was
introduced. "That will put a stop to all fighting, and no doubt
separation will wipe out old enmities, and in time to come the two,
Tom and José, will be capital friends. There's a boat sailing on
Friday fortnight."
"The _Mary Anne_," agreed Huggins. "Takes hardware from us, consigned
to the supply department of Wellington's army. There'll be no
difficulty in obtaining a passage."
"Then make all arrangements, please," said Mr. Septimus briskly.
"I'll have a chat with the lad, and tell him what we expect of him.
Send him to me."
The interview between father and son took place beneath the mulberry,
in the quaint and picturesque garden before the house in which the
firm transacted business, and there, seated in his basket chair,
Septimus discussed affairs with Tom.
"You'll make every effort to improve and perfect your Portuguese and
Spanish," he said, "and your French will be of the utmost use; for
once the Peninsula War is ended, and the French are driven out, it
will be one of your duties to arrange for wines to come from their
country. Of course, at Oporto you will place yourself in the hands
of your uncle, Dom Juan de Esteros, and will learn the business from
him. Put your back into it, boy, for Dom Juan will, I fear, not be
long with us. His health, always indifferent, has been much broken
by the anxieties of the past few years. And now you'd best get your
things together. Take a good stock of clothing, and perhaps a good
pistol is advisable, seeing that the country of Portugal is still in
a condition of disorder."
It may be imagined that the following two weeks were filled with
moments of interest for our hero. He was going abroad for the first
time in his life. He was about to make a start in the world, and that
world at this moment looked exceedingly rosy, so rosy that Tom's face
shone, his eyes flashed, he carried himself jauntily, and one and all
could see that he was full of good spirits to overflowing, and was
eagerly awaiting the voyage.
"That Master José'd give his boots to be in his place," reflected
Huggins one afternoon, as Tom went racing across the flower-decked
courtyard, and Marguerite after him. "It was a bad day, Emmott, for
this house when Mr. Septimus took him in and gave him a home. Not
that I say that of the young lady. She's different; she's like Master
Tom. We all love her."
"And dislike the brother--yes," agreed the junior clerk; "and I too
have a feeling that Master José bodes no good to his cousin. See his
face--he's watching the two going off down the river."
José was, in fact, lounging in the forecourt, one hand resting on
the boundary wall, while his lean, lanky body and thin limbs twisted
and writhed, as if to keep still were with him an impossibility. But
it was not those twisting limbs that repelled the two old clerks
watching him from the window--it was José's face. The brows were
drawn close together, the lips were half-parted, while there was an
intense look in the eyes which there was no fathoming.
"Bodes his cousin no good," Emmott ventured in low tones. "There's
no love lost between 'em. Not that Master Tom isn't ready to be
friendly. He is; for he's one of the easygoing sort. Still, he's a
stickler for what's proper, and he's stood by Miss Marguerite as if
he were her own brother. That José's scowling."
The lanky youth was actually doing that. No one could doubt the fact;
but nevertheless it was impossible to read the thoughts passing
through his brain. Could they have done so, both Huggins and Emmott
would have found ample reason for their feelings of uneasiness. For
José was scheming. Jealous of his cousin, as we have said already,
he had been envious of Tom almost from the day when Mr. Septimus had
brought his orphaned nephew and niece to his house. The children of
Mr. Septimus's sister, José and Marguerite, had been born in Oporto,
and had had the misfortune to lose first their mother and then their
father, brother of Dom Juan de Esteros. Thereafter they had lived
with Mr. Septimus as if they were his own children. And here was
José scheming to wreck his cousin's chances in the world, whereas
gratitude towards his Uncle Septimus should have made of him a fast
friend, and one ready to help Tom to the utmost.
"Going to Oporto, there to lord it over the office," he was muttering
between his teeth, as he watched Tom and Marguerite departing along
the river bank. "That leaves me here to slave over musty ledgers and
to learn the business from that old slowcoach Huggins. Suppose I'll
always be a clerk. One of these days Tom will come back as master,
and then he'll order me about."
It was a petty, childish manner in which to look at the matter, and
showed the narrow-minded view which José took of life. Contrary from
his cradle almost, he was mean in thought and act, and here was one
of his mean thoughts muttered beneath his breath, while his scowling
eyes followed the retreating figure of his cousin. José writhed his
way back into the house, and appeared again with a cap. Huggins,
watching from the office, saw him go away along the bank of the river
after the retreating figures of the other two.
"He's not up to any good, I'd lay," he told his fellow clerk, the
white-haired Emmott. "What's he following for, I'd like to know."
"Then let me go after him?" asked the other. "There's a message to be
taken along to the people who should have delivered goods to us this
morning, and I may just as well take it as George, the office boy."
The matter was arranged on the instant, and within five minutes
Emmott sauntered away in the wake of José. He followed him at a
discreet distance along the river bank, till José dived in amongst a
number of houses which clambered down to the water's edge. He caught
sight of him again beyond them, and half an hour later watched him in
converse with a ruffianly looking fellow whom he had accosted.
"Don't know the man," Emmott told himself. "Never saw him in my life
before, so far as I am aware. José seems to know him. He's--he's
giving him money."
Half-hidden behind the wall surrounding a warehouse, one of the
many erected there--for this was a busy part of the city, and huge
barges found deep water when the tide was up, and could load right
alongside the bank--Emmott watched as José passed something to the
hand of the man he was conversing with. The latter, a huge fellow,
dressed somewhat like a seaman, and bearded, might have been a sailor
from one of the many ships lying in the river, or he might have been
employed at one of the warehouses. He touched his forehead as José
put something into his hand, while the lad himself looked craftily
about him to make sure that no one was watching.
"What's he paying him for, that's what I'd like to know," Emmott
asked himself. "He's up to no good; but how can one say that his talk
with that rascal and the giving of money has anything to do with
Master Tom? Mr. Septimus would laugh at the very idea, and tell us to
mind our own business; but I for one shall keep my eyes on this José."
If the clerk imagined that he was thereby to catch José out in some
underhand act he was very much mistaken, for the young fellow was as
crafty as he was clever. More than that, though in his heart he hated
Tom, he was wise enough to know that scowls and bad temper would not
help him. From that very moment, indeed, he put on a smile whenever
Tom came near, was urbane and friendly with all, and appeared to be
genuinely sorry that his cousin was about to leave them.
"How'd you like to be a soldier, Tom?" he asked his cousin two
evenings later, when our hero's preparations for departure were
almost complete. "They're embarking troops this afternoon down the
river, all bound for Wellington's army."
It was information which was bound to tempt the light-hearted Tom.
For years, indeed, he had longed to be a soldier, and even now, when
his prospects with the firm of Septimus John Clifford & Son were so
apparently good, the old longing still assailed him. But if he could
not be a soldier in fact, Tom could vastly enjoy the sight of troops
embarking. He leaped at the opportunity, and that very afternoon saw
him making his way down the bank to the spot, some two miles distant,
where a sloop lay off in the river. Boats were passing to and from
her when Tom arrived upon the scene, and for two hours at least he
watched party on party of men embark, while his eyes feasted on
others drawn up in stiff lines on the bank. The bright uniforms, the
bustle, and the rattle of accoutrements and drums fascinated him. His
eyes were wide open with envy as he noticed that two at least of the
ensigns were no older than himself.
"And no stronger either," he told himself. "I'm as tall as they are,
and though they repeat orders splendidly, and don't seem afraid to
make their voices heard, I reckon I could do the same. What luck if
the French drove the English back and got as far as Oporto. Then I'd
see some of the fun. There's been terrific fighting in the Peninsula,
and folks say that there will be a heap more. Ah, there goes the
colonel's horse aboard! I never saw a horse embarked in my life
before."
Company after company of men descended to the boats and took their
places. Tom's eyes followed with almost childish eagerness the figure
of another youthful ensign. He was envious of his scarlet uniform, of
his belts and sword, and of the gaudy headdress he was wearing.
"If only I were a soldier," he sighed. "I'd enjoy a few years'
marching and fighting, and then settle down to the business. Ugh! An
office stool hardly compares with the life those fellows are leading."
He forgot the hardships inseparable from a soldier's life. Tom failed
to remember the reports he had read of the terrible plight of our men
and officers in the Peninsula. He knew nothing of wounds, terrible
wounds often enough, of disease which swept whole companies away,
or sent them back home helpless and useless for the reminder of
their lives. He saw only the glamour of a soldier's lot, the gallant
uniforms, the jolly comrades, the bustle and movement of the life.
So entranced was he, in fact, that he could have remained there
for hours an interested and envious spectator. But the evening was
drawing in, while only one company remained to be embarked. With a
sigh, therefore, Tom turned about and began to retrace his steps
along the bank in the direction of the premises of Septimus John
Clifford & Son.
"I'm a fool to let the wish to be a soldier upset my keenness for
office work," he reflected after a while. "There are lots of chaps
who would give their eyes for the opportunities I have. Yes, I'm a
fool. I must settle to the thing I've got, and--all the same I hope
there'll be some fighting round about Oporto."
"Hello, my sport!" he suddenly heard, as he was passing down a narrow
street between two of the many warehouses in that district. "Just
hold hard, and give us a pipe of 'bacca."
A huge individual came rolling towards him out of the darkness of a
passage cutting into the street, and was followed by a second man,
smaller than the first, but, if anything, more forbidding. Not that
Tom could see them clearly, for it was very dark in that narrow
street, the walls and roofs of the warehouses shutting the place in
completely.
"Hold hard, shipmate," the big man exclaimed again, rolling forward.
"A fill o' 'bacca ain't too much to ask from a man that follows the
sea."
He was close beside Tom by then, while his shorter companion was
immediately behind him. Even in that dark place one could see enough
of the couple to feel sure that they were anything but desirable, and
for a moment Tom considered the advisability of taking to his heels.
But then, reflecting that here in the neighbourhood of the docks and
quays there must be many seamen ashore on leave, and all perhaps
hilarious, he turned to the strangers and answered them pleasantly:
"Sorry I can't oblige," he said. "I haven't started smoking yet."
"What, my lively! ain't started smokin' yet?" came from the bigger
man. "Strike me, Bob, but here's a lubber as don't even chew, let
alone take hold of a pipe!"
There came a giggle from the smaller man, who sidled forward, and
coming from behind his companion, edged up to Tom's side.
"Don't smoke nor chew," he giggled in a queerly deep, gruff voice.
"Most like he's a young gent that has got out o' nights without his
mother knowing."
He dropped a parcel which he was carrying beneath one arm, and then
stooped at once to pick it up. A moment later he had sprung up behind
Tom, and with a quick movement had swung his parcel above our hero's
head. What followed took the young fellow so utterly by surprise that
he was completely dumbfounded; for a sack was drawn down over his
head and shoulders, and long before he could lift his arms the bigger
man had flung a coil of rope around him, pinning Tom's arms to his
side. But still he could fight, and, seized with desperation and with
anger, Tom lurched this way and that, kicking out in all directions,
hustling his captors from side to side till what appeared to them at
first a game began to annoy them. The bigger man clenched a huge fist
and drove hard at the centre of the sack with it.
"That's silenced him and made him quit foolin'," he grunted brutally,
for Tom dropped instantly and lay inert on the ground. "Jest get a
lift on to his toes, Bob; I'll take his head. We'll have him in
chokey afore he's shook the stars out of his eyes."
Without the smallest show of haste the two ruffians picked up
their burden and went off down the narrow alley leading from the
street. There was no need for them to fear interference, for police
hardly existed in those days, while respectable individuals did not
patronize the neighbourhood of the docks once night had fallen.
Business men, living as they did in the early years of the nineteenth
century above their premises, sat in the candlelight behind their
shutters once evening had come, and if they ventured forth at all,
took some sort of guard with them. It followed, therefore, that no
one even observed the two men strolling away with their burden. Even
had they been seen, the observer would in all likelihood have hurried
away in the opposite direction, for drunken sailors were inclined to
be more than rough. Robbery was not by any means unknown, while even
murder was now and again committed in the slums adjacent to the river.
In less than ten minutes from the moment when Tom had been so hardly
treated the two men came to a halt at a low doorway, the bigger of
the two beating upon it heavily.
"Open!" he shouted, as if there were no need for concealment, and he
had no reason to fear being overheard. "Open quick, or Sam here'll
want to know the reason why there's delay."
"Comin'," ejaculated his small companion in that same strangely deep
and wheezing voice, a voice which by rights should have belonged to
a man of double his proportions. "I can hear the lass a-comin', Sam.
Here she is. This is one more to add to the boys we're collecting."
At that moment, while the little man was in the act of stuffing some
hard black cuttings of tobacco into a short pipe, the door of the
house they had come to was opened noiselessly, and there appeared
a frowsy-headed woman bearing a smoking oil lamp. She stood aside
without a word and waited for the two men to carry in their burden.
The door closed, and the procession passed through a passage into
a large room, just within the doorway of which sat a man as big as
he who had been called Sam, armed with pistol and cutlass. Half a
dozen other men were in the place, breathing an atmosphere that was
almost stifling. A dangling lamp shed a feeble light on every hand,
while in one corner stood a bottle, in the neck of which was secured
a lighted candle, with the aid of which another armed individual was
laboriously spelling out the print on a piece of torn newspaper.
"What ho!" he cried, looking up, and disclosing a countenance which
was distinctly brutal. A towsled head of hair, which would appear
to have been innocent of receiving any attention for a long while,
covered forehead and ears and neck, and was inseparably joined to a
pair of side whiskers that might have been combed a year before. One
cheek was deeply seamed by a long, straggling scar, while the eye
above was covered by a patch of black material.
"What ho!" he cried again, leering at the newcomers, and drawing his
clay from between his teeth. "You've had luck to-night. I can see as
you've nobbled the one as you was after."
"And gets double pay," growled the man who sat at the door with
cutlass and pistol in his lap. "Pay from them as has need for lads
aboard, and pay from t'others as wants to get rid of a friend. You've
bagged the sum from the covey, Sam?"
Sam made no answer for the moment, but got rid of his burden by
the simple and easy method of dropping Tom's person heavily on the
floor. Standing over him, he proceeded to fill his pipe, and, having
completed the task to his liking, stretched across, snatched the
bottle in which the candle was fixed, and sucked the flame into the
bowl of his pipe. Then his eyes went slowly round the room, and,
passing the wretch at the door and the one against the far wall, he
let them fall upon the six individuals who also tenanted the room. He
counted them carefully, and then jerked his head in the direction of
our hero.
"Pull the sack off, Bob," he said, "and jest you two keep yer tongues
close in between yer teeth--hear that, Jem, and you too, Sandy? Tight
in between yer teeth. This here business has to be conducted with
caution and discretion; and if we does trade with others besides the
folks that pays for the men, why there ain't no need to cry it out
for everyone to hear--eh?"
The last exclamation was almost in the nature of a threat. Evidently
the individual with the patch over one eye, who boasted of the
towsled head of hair and the unkempt whiskers, was known as Sandy,
and Sam's words, and the scowl he directed at the man, had the
instant effect of causing him once more to busy himself with his
reading. The other, the man who sat fully armed at the door, and was
known as Jem, coloured under his tan, looked as fierce as Sam for a
moment, and then laughed uproariously.
"You do work yourself up, Sam," he laughed. "Who's there here to let
on what business we do? These?" pointing at the six other inmates
of the room. "Not much, me hearty. They'll be aboard come midnight,
and to-morrow they'll be that sick they'll have forgotten you and me
and everything almost. But you've drawn the stuff; been paid by that
young spark as hired you to work it?"
Sam answered him with a snort and with a violent shake of his head.
"Presently," he said, meanwhile watching as the rascal Bob removed
the sack from Tom's head. "All in good time. The young nobleman's
coming here to make sure as there's no mistake, and once the lad
there's aboard, the rest of it'll be paid. But it won't end there."
"Eh?" asked Jem quickly, while Sandy and Bob looked up keenly,
avarice and rascality written on their faces. "Don't end there,"
said Jem; "how's that?"
"Blood money ain't all we gets," lisped Sam, allowing a cruel smile
to cross his face. "I'll tell you why. I know the young spark as got
us to work this business. Well, when this lad's gone aboard, and is
away, I'll be axing for more of his gold. Supposing he can't pay,
then----"
A hideous grin wrinkled Sandy's face, throwing into greater
prominence the scar that seamed it. Bob dragged the sack from
Tom's head and then turned to smile at his leader. Jem brought a
massive fist down with a bang on the table, and once more burst into
uproarious laughter. It was obvious, in fact, to each one of these
rascals that Sam had at hand a ready means with which to force more
money from the man who had bribed him to capture our hero. Let us put
the matter clearly. José had met the ruffian Sam some time before,
and had discovered him to be one of those infamous crimps who earned
a rich living by snatching men from their employment ashore and
passing them over to ships' captains. The impressment of men in those
days was not illegal, and since crews were often enough hard to come
by, and these rascally crimps were more or less a necessary evil,
they flourished unmolested, and many a poor lad was suddenly torn
from his home to be smuggled aboard ship, and never heard of again
by his own people. Also many a private grudge was wiped out in this
manner. Tom was not the first youth by a great many who had been
suddenly spirited away at the bidding of, and with the aid of gold
paid by, a relative.
As for the others in the room, they were prisoners like Tom. Four
were young men of twenty-two or three, while the others were almost
middle-aged, and undoubtedly sailors. These two sat at the table,
smoking heavily and helping themselves to spirits contained in a
square jar set upon it. The other men sat despondently upon a form,
eyeing their captors resentfully, and yet in a manner which showed
clearly that all the fight was knocked out of them. Like the two at
the table they were becoming resigned to the position, and no doubt
would settle down in time and become good seamen.
"Just throw a pail of water over his head," Sam ordered, pointing
the stem of his pipe at Tom, who lay senseless where they had
dropped him, his face pale in the feeble light of the lamp, his hair
dishevelled, while a thin trickle of blood oozed from the corner of
his mouth. "Then pull his duds off and let him have a suit that'll
do for him aboard. Ah! He's coming round. Trust Sam to strike a blow
that won't do no harm and spoil trade for him. Sit him up, Bob, and
when he's feeling more hisself, give him a go of spirits and a smoke."
The whole affair was a horrible exhibition of the brutality and the
lawlessness of those times--times even now designated by some as
the good ones. The ruffians who plied this human traffic were as
utterly devoid of feeling as they well could be, and looked upon
each one of their captures, not as a fellow being, but as so much
value in gold, silver, and pence, so much profit in their business.
It is not to be wondered at, therefore, that Tom's forlorn appearance
had no effect upon them. The heartless and rascally Bob procured a
pail of water and tossed the contents over him, drenching the lad
from head to foot. He shook him violently, and when our hero feebly
opened his eyes, the wretch placed a pannikin of strong spirits to
his lips, dragged his head backwards--for he had placed his captive
in a sitting posture, his back resting against a form--and roughly
poured the contents into his mouth. The effect was magical. Tom sat
forward with a gasp, spluttering and choking. The colour rushed to
his cheeks, and in a twinkling he seemed to gather his wits and his
memory together. How he got into that room, who the people were, he
had no idea. But Bob's grinning face was within his reach, and he
was undoubtedly the rascal who had dealt with him so roughly but a
few seconds before. In any case Tom waited for no explanation. He
launched himself at Bob, struck him heavily with his fist, and then
closed with him.
"The young tiger," growled Sam, stretching out a huge hand and
catching him firmly by the shoulder. "Blest if he isn't the boy to
fight them Frenchies. Avast there, me hearty! Bob ain't used to
violent assaults."
Bob evidently was not accustomed to hard knocks himself, though he
might often enough have cause to give them to others while plying his
nauseous trade. In any case he was furious, and but for Sam, once the
latter had torn Tom away from him, the smaller man would have vented
his wrath by striking his almost fainting prisoner in the face.
"Avast there!" shouted Sam, keeping him off. "Ain't I axed you to
bring him round quick, seeing as how the pressgang'll be along in a
winking? Ain't we got to change his duds, and you there trying to
make things wuss? Get off for the togs! Sandy, jest mix another go o'
grog. It'll pull him round lively. Jem, I leaves him in your charge
while I goes into the other room to do a little business."
Let the reader imagine a pale-faced and frightened youth cringing in
the squalid den to which the rascal Sam made his way. There, beneath
the same smoky lamp which the woman had borne to the door, sat José,
writhing this way and that, his limbs never at rest for a moment,
his fingers twining, his eyes shifting to every quarter, his lips
twisting this way and that. José would have run from his own shadow
on that occasion. The enormity of the crime he was perpetrating
had frightened him intensely. Not that he thought of Tom; he was
considering himself entirely. What if the whole foul scheme were
discovered? What if Septimus were to learn of his action?
"Ho!" shouted Sam, bursting in upon him. "Come to see as all's well?"
José could not answer; his knees positively shook beneath him, while
his bloodless lips would not frame the words he wished to utter. He
lifted squirming, trembling fingers to his lips and mouthed at Sam.
And then, with a huge effort, he managed to blurt out a few words.
"You--you've done it?" he asked.
"In chokey nice enough, master. Jest come along and take a squint at
him. If he's the bird--and I don't doubt it--why, the trick's done,
the money's earned, or mighty near it."
He led the trembling youth to the door of the other room, now closed
upon the poor fellows placed there, and sliding a shutter to one side
bade José look in.
"Eh?" he growled in his ear. "The right bird? No mistake, my hearty?"
Yes, there was Tom, pale and worn and sorrowful-looking, and more
than a little dazed if the truth be spoken. José recognized him at
once, and in place of feeling compassion for his cousin let all
the old feelings of envy and resentment have full sway. The eyes
looking through the shutter scowled at poor Tom. José's pallid cheeks
suddenly reddened at the thought of an approaching triumph. He backed
away, stepped into the smaller room again, and sat down with a
swagger.
"He goes to-night?" he asked, with an attempt at firmness.
"To-night! Almost this blessed minute."
"And all his things are taken from him--clothes, letters, and
anything likely to let others identify him?"
"Everything, on my davy!" came the answer.
"Then here is the money--take it."
José handed over twenty sovereigns, and as if the act had sealed his
guilt promptly began to tremble and writhe again. It was with a grin
of triumph that Sam saw him off the doorstep.
"You'll take more golden coins from the same till as you took that
from," he gurgled, chinking the money in his pocket. "It ain't hard
to read that you stole it. Well, Sam'll have his eyes on you, and ef
you don't like to hand out the cash, why, he's always got a way by
which he'll make you."
An hour later there was the tramp of many feet in the street outside,
and a hoarse command was given. By then Tom was feeling more himself,
and indeed was disposed to show fight at any moment. But he was one
against many, and in spite of protests had been compelled to change
his clothing. Now the door was thrown open, and a dozen seamen
marched in, each armed with a cutlass. The impressed men were placed
in the centre of their guard, and were marched off down the river.
A little later they embarked in a big cutter, a sail was hoisted,
and presently they were bowling down stream at a pace which soon
left the neighbourhood of London Bridge behind it, and with it the
good-hearted Septimus, together with the sneaking nephew who had this
very night done him such a mischief.
In the early hours Tom was hustled up the high side of a huge vessel,
and was as promptly driven down a steep flight of steps into a dark
hole, almost as noisome and unpleasant as the one in which Sam and
his gang had first received him. The rattle of ropes and blocks upon
the deck reached his ears, and soon the vessel rolled and heaved
uneasily. They were off, leaving behind them some few distracted
people; for Tom's sudden disappearance caused a commotion. He had
disappeared as completely as if the earth had covered him. Nor was
that his father's only loss; the cash drawer in his private office
had been rifled, and some twenty-five pounds were missing.
"Master Tom steal! Never!" exclaimed Huggins, when all the facts were
before him.
Mr. Septimus, as may be imagined, was heartbroken. When days had gone
by, and more than a week had passed without even a word from our
hero, the head of the house of Septimus John Clifford & Son became
despondent.
"Dead!" he almost blubbered, as Huggins stood before him in the
forecourt.
"Not a bit, sir," came the brisk answer. "Alive and kicking. Emmott
and I have been looking into the matter. Master Tom's at sea; it
won't be long before we hear from him."
CHAPTER III
Aboard a British Frigate
"Below there! You can come along up on deck, me hearties!"
An age seemed to have passed since Tom and his six companions were
driven from the deck of the big ship to which they had been brought
by the pressgang, and though the former had slept for many hours--for
he had been exhausted after such a trying experience--yet the few
hours he had been awake had dragged on leaden wheels. Meanwhile
the rattle of blocks and ropes overhead had been replaced by the
gentle surge of water alongside, and by a thousand strange groanings
and squeakings common to all sailing vessels. Indeed, placed where
he was, with his head close to the foot of one of the masts, that
penetrated the deck of the ship and passed through the dark prison in
which he and his comrades were confined, Tom could by the vibrations
and the groanings of the latter tell exactly when the wind freshened
and the sails dragged more strongly. But now, when he had begun to
imagine that he would never again see the light of day, there was a
banging overhead, then a square of light appeared, with faces framed
in it, while a hoarse voice bellowed a command. Tom rose briskly to
his feet, and, seeing the ladder, ran up it.
"Here!" he reported, standing erect and cheerful. For Tom was, in
his youthful way, quite a philosopher. "What can't be cured must
be endured," was one of his maxims. "I'm impressed, by some error
I suppose, and soon will be able to get the matter set right; but
for the moment it's just as well to appear pleasant. Here, sir!" he
reported to a short, stumpy individual with a decided flavour of the
sea about him, and with a nautical appearance that would have passed
him as a sailor in any port in the world.
"And ready fer duty too, eh, me hearty?" asked this bluff fellow,
eyeing him critically, and taking Tom's measure very thoroughly.
Looking back at him our hero could not help but see that this sailor
had a grim expression. His face appeared to say: "Well, now, you
can work if you like. If you don't you'll be hammered." There was a
threat in his eyes, and a jaunty manner about him which told that he
was prepared for the most refractory conduct.
"Ready fer duty, eh?" he repeated gruffly.
"Yes, sir," responded Tom promptly.
"Then jest you don't sir me, young feller-me-lad, else I'll think
you're saucing. But I like yer looks--get up on deck with you. Mr.
Riley, above there," he hailed, throwing his head back and staring
up through an open hatch, "here's a lubber as is willing and ready
fer duty!"
Tom caught a glimpse of an individual dressed in white breeches and
stockings, and a blue tail coat with some gilt braid about it, and,
realizing that this must be an officer, promptly mounted the steps.
In a moment or two he was on deck, standing beneath an expanse of
white canvas, and upon boards which were as white as any tablecloth.
Bluejackets were moving barefoot about the deck, while right aft an
officer stood at the rail of the poop, a speaking-trumpet in one
hand, his eye fixed on a dozen active figures scrambling amongst the
rigging. Tom gave a gasp of pleasure as the sun's rays fell upon
him, braced himself erect, and then looked the officer in the face.
He was a young man of twenty-six, perhaps, with clean-shaven, keen
features, his skin tanned brown by exposure, and the corners of his
eyes wrinkled and puckered as is the case with many sailors. For the
rest, Mr. Riley was decidedly a pleasant, jovial-looking officer, and
won Tom's confidence at once.
"Well, my lad?" he asked pleasantly.
"Ready for duty, sir," reported Tom again, having nothing better to
say. "And hungry, sir," he added, feeling a decided sinking sensation.
That brought a smile to the lips of the officer. He looked our hero
up and down, just as the man down below had done, and then smiled
again.
"What trade before you joined?" he asked, referring to a notebook,
and producing a pencil with which to take notes.
"None, sir; I am the son of Mr. Septimus John Clifford, of London
Bridge, wine merchant. My impressment must be a mistake."
"All impressments are mistakes," came the curt answer. "You are ready
to serve His Majesty?"
"Yes, sir," answered Tom. "Ready for the moment. Later on, when I
am able to prove that a mistake has been made, no doubt I shall be
released. I'm ready for any duty, only I'd like a feed first."
"No trade; says he is the son of a wine merchant at London Bridge.
Obviously a gentleman," Mr. Riley entered in his notebook. "A likely
fellow, and cheerful. Will start duty at once, and willingly. Pass
the call there for the master messman."
He stood before Tom, his neat figure swaying as the ship lurched here
and there, his eyes now fixed on the swelling canvas, now on the
officer at the rail, and often, when Tom's attention was attracted
elsewhere, at that young fellow himself.
"Undoubtedly a gentleman," he told himself. "Of course in the case of
nearly every man who is impressed there is a complaint that the thing
is a mistake, that he ought never to have been impressed. In any case
the whole thing is disgraceful. Better pay and better conditions
would attract the right stamp of man to the navy. But we're here to
carry out regulations, not to frame them. I'll keep my eye on the
lad. Name again?" he asked, making Tom jump.
"Tom Clifford."
"That the full name?" asked the officer, beginning to make another
note.
"Septimus John Esteros Thomas Clifford," responded our hero, with a
grimace. "Rather a lot of 'em, sir, I'm afraid."
"Enough even for an admiral," laughed the officer. "Ah, here's the
messman! Waters, just take this young fellow with you and see that he
gets a good meal. Report here to me, Clifford, when you have eaten."
He swung round to stare down into the depths of the ship, for sounds
were coming from the prison in which Tom and his companions had
been confined. There was the noise of a scuffle, while a glance
below showed the burly, stumpy salt who had hailed the impressed men
swarming down into the depths. Some of the men were, in fact, loath
to come up. Unlike Tom, they were disposed to be sulky, and, lest
trouble should follow, three sailors were swarming down after the old
salt, one bearing a lantern.
"Below there!" called out Mr. Riley, anxious to avoid a struggle.
"You men must understand that you have been impressed into His
Majesty's Navy, and any disobedience of orders now, or violence, will
be treated as mutiny. Send them up, me lad!"
The lamp shining upon the face of the old salt who had led the way
below, and the fierce expression he wore quelled any thought of
mutiny there may have been, and within five minutes the other six men
brought aboard with Tom were ranged on the deck, pale and dishevelled
for the most part, sulky and anything but cheerful in appearance. Mr.
Riley gave them the same searching examination that he had bestowed
on Tom, and then entered their names and notes concerning each one in
his book.
"Take them down to the messman and see that they have a good meal,"
he commanded, when he had finished. "They'll feel better when they've
had it; and, mind this, my lads, a sulky face'll do nothing for you
aboard this frigate. It'll bring kicks and cuffs and short rations;
so look at the matter from the right point of view and take to the
life cheerfully."
He dispatched them with a pleasant smile, for this Mr. Riley was a
kind individual, and one well accustomed to dealing with men. He
had the wisdom to see that hunger may produce easily enough a fit
of sulkiness, and seeing that all the impressed men must be in want
of a meal, and were undoubtedly sulky, he sent them off for that
meal, hoping that with appetites satiated they would take to their
duties with the same readiness as our hero had shown. Nor was he
disappointed. When, half an hour later, the six men ascended to the
deck again, they looked far happier, and from that moment fell into
the ways of the ship with a cheerfulness that was commendable. As for
Tom, he was up before them, and scrambling over the deck as best he
could--for the breeze had freshened, and the big frigate was jumping
about in a lively manner--he drew himself up before the officer.
"Ready, sir!" he said, repeating the old expression.
"Feel seasick?" came the interrogation.
"Not a bit, sir. I've been to sea a few times with my father. We used
to hire a sloop and cruise along the coast in summertime."
"Then you're used to getting aloft?"
"A little, sir, but only aboard a sloop. These masts are terrific."
He cast his eyes aloft, and the officer likewise. There could be no
doubt that the masts did tower to a great height. But then this was
a large frigate, with seventy grinning guns behind her closed ports.
Tom knew that already, for the messman who had conducted him below,
and who was decidedly a pleasant, kindly individual, had given him
much information. The meal, too, had been partaken of on the lower
deck, where the space between it and that above was so cramped that
even Tom could not stand upright, while all along the sides, firmly
cabled to ring-bolts in the deck, were grinning cannon, sponge rods
and all the paraphernalia necessary for loading being hung on racks
close to them, and secured there firmly.
"You'd go aloft without feeling squeamish then?" asked Mr. Riley,
feeling a strange interest in our hero.
"I'd go, sir," came the ready answer. "Whether I'd exactly like it at
first is an altogether different matter."
"Then you'll soon have the opportunity of making the test. You'll be
in my watch, Clifford. Now come along up on the poop. Don't forget to
touch your cap as you come up; ah, wait though! We'll put you into
proper sailor rig first; I'll send you down to be fitted."
It was perhaps half an hour later when a smart-looking young sailor
obeyed the call of the boatswain and came aft to the poop. Dressed in
his new clothing, his hair brushed and his face and hands washed, Tom
looked a really smart young fellow, and Mr. Riley smiled his approval
when he saw him.
"Pass him up, boatswain," he called, and at the order the burly
individual shouted at our hero.
"Mind yer touch yer cap as you get above," he warned him, "just as
Mr. Riley had done." And, obedient to the order, Tom raised his hand
the moment his foot touched the poop or quarterdeck of the frigate.
"Come with me, Clifford," said Mr. Riley, leading the way. "I'm
taking you to the commander. Fair-play is a thing a sailor prizes,
and, as you complain that there has been some mistake about your
impressment, I reported the same to the commander. He will question
you himself."
They passed across a snow-white deck and entered a gallery, outside
which an armed sentry was stationed. The officer tapped at a door,
and passed in, followed by our hero. Tom found himself in a large
cabin, at the back of which two guns were situated, roped and
secured to deck rings as were those others he had seen in the 'tween
decks. An officer, dressed just like Mr. Riley, but evidently older,
sat at a table, with charts spread out before him. He looked up as
the two entered, and then went on writing.
"One of the new men, sir; impressed two nights ago; reports that he
was taken in error. You have the notes of his case before you."
Once more Tom found himself being inspected with that open gaze which
is the right of all officers. He returned the glance of his commander
respectfully and firmly.
"Age?" asked the officer jerkily.
"Nearly eighteen, sir.
"Tell me all about yourself, lad," came from the commander, and with
such kindness that Tom promptly responded. He gave the history of
the family in a few words, and stated how he was about to sail for
Oporto, there to learn the business of the firm and take charge when
proficient.
"Ah! Anyone with a grudge against you?" was asked quickly.
Tom wondered and racked his brains. He could think of no one, unless
it could be the grocer's young man, who was wont to pass along the
river bank every morning. Exactly two months before he had had an
altercation with that young fellow, who stood a trifle higher than
he did, and was at least a year older. He had shown rudeness when
passing Marguerite, and Tom had resented the rudeness. The fight
that followed had been of the fiercest, and the grocer's apprentice
had been handsomely beaten.
"No one, sir," he answered, "unless it could be the fellow I had a
row with some weeks ago," and then explained the occurrence.
"Pooh! Impossible," declared the commander. "Lads who get fighting
don't bear ill will. The letting of a little blood cures a young chap
of that entirely. You shook hands?"
"Yes, sir."
"Good. Then look elsewhere; someone perhaps was jealous of you,
thought you were a nuisance. Who were the other members of the firm
and the family?"
Tom told him, wondering all the while whether there were one amongst
them capable of getting him impressed so as to remove him. "José?" he
asked himself. "Impossible! He'd never be guilty of such ingratitude
to father, though I suppose, if I were out of the way, he would
succeed to the business one of these fine days."
Little by little the commander ferreted such thoughts out of our
hero, and ended by placing his finger on the name of José.
"Your cousin, you said," he exclaimed. "You were always good friends?"
Tom had to reply in the negative, and give the reasons.
"And he was next in succession to yourself, I think?"
"Yes, sir. But--but it's impossible! My father rescued him and his
sister from poverty."
"Nothing is impossible, my lad. This matter must be looked into.
There seems no doubt that you have been impressed in the hope of
removing you altogether. Or the matter may have been a mistake,
helped by the fact that you were in those parts at a time when you
should have been safely at home. For the moment you are in the
service of His Majesty, and although I could order that you be given
no duty, I've an idea that that would hardly meet with your wishes?"
"I'd rather work, sir," responded Tom eagerly. "I like ship life,
and the experience may be useful. If only you will give me the
opportunity of writing home, I will willingly act as one of the hands
aboard, and work in that way till I am released."
"That's the spirit, my lad," exclaimed the commander. "He's in your
watch, Mr. Riley, and I know you'll look after him. As to writing,
you can do that; Mr. Riley shall see to it. I also will write to your
father and to the authorities. We shall fall in with a boat homeward
bound shortly, and in a week perhaps your people will know what has
become of you. There, my lad, I like your spirit."
The commander shook hands with our hero, an uncommon honour, and then
sent him off with Mr. Riley. And that very night Tom sat down in the
latter's cabin to write his letter, telling his father exactly what
had happened.
Next morning, early daylight, the first streak of dawn in fact, found
him on deck, his feet naked, a deck brush in his hand. He joined the
gang of men engaged in washing down, and, if the truth be known,
thoroughly enjoyed the experience. Meanwhile the fine frigate was
pressing along under easy sail, a fresh wind abeam, ploughing her way
through a sunlit sea that might have belonged to the Mediterranean.
"We're jest cruising on and off watching for a Frenchie, me lad,"
explained one of his messmates, a jovial old salt who had seen many
an action at sea. "There's never no saying when a Frenchie may turn
up, and then we're bound to be at 'em. But they ain't so frequent
nowadays as they was. Yer see, Spain and Portugal being joined to
France, the French has simply to slip over the mountains, and that's
how they're sendin' men in to fill the ranks of their armies. Queer
thing, ain't it, that Boney should want them countries for his own?
He's always a-grabbin'. The earth won't find lands enough for him
by the way he's going on. But he'll get beaten handsome some day. I
ain't so sure as we won't do it for him. Know all about this here
campaign in the Peninsula, as Spain and Portugal's called?"
Tom modestly admitted that he knew something about the fighting.
"It's a long business," he said. "Boney put his own brother on the
throne of Spain, and of course the Spaniards wouldn't have him. At
the same time he had taken Portugal for himself. He's been the
terror of Europe these many years, and as he aims at subjugating
England also, why, we gladly agreed to go in and help the Portuguese
and Spaniards. As for the fighting, there's been such a heap of it
that it is quite bewildering."
"Aye, and it's easy to see as you're a gent as has been used to
better things than the lower deck," said the salt. "What're you here
for? Grabbin' something that wasn't yourn?"
He put out a hand to touch Tom's sleeve the instant after, for he saw
him flush with indignation. "I'm sorry, lad," he said. "It's plain as
it wasn't that."
However, the lower deck in those days was not peopled entirely by
kindly disposed individuals. Bluff and hearty and plucky men there
were in abundance, if their language was not always refined or their
habits too particular. But then, as now perhaps, the coming of a
young fellow of Tom's stamp amidst a rather rough crowd was apt to
draw attention to him, attention not always of the most pleasing. And
it so happened that there was one in the mess to which Tom had been
posted who seemed to resent his coming. Higgins was a bull-necked,
squint-eyed young fellow of some twenty years, and had been sent from
a prison to the navy, as had many another. He was possessed of a
thin, mean face, over which dangled one long forelock. For the rest,
it may be stated that he was accustomed as a general rule to say very
little, having discovered himself unpopular amongst the men; though,
to be sure, whenever there did happen to arrive aboard the ship a
youngster smaller than himself, Higgins was the first to attempt to
bully him. For some reason he had taken a violent dislike to Tom.
Possibly he was jealous of the attention he had gained, or of the way
in which he came to good terms with the men. Whatever the cause, he
was determined to browbeat him, and took this, the first opportunity.
"I dunno as you ain't right, Jim," he sang out coarsely, the instant
the other had spoken. "Why shouldn't he be here for grabbin'? There's
lots comes to the navy on that account, and why shouldn't he? I'll
lay he has, too."
"Then you're mistaken," said Tom firmly. "I was impressed; every fool
knows that."
"Oh, every fool knows it, do they?" was the sharp answer. "You ain't
calling me a fool?"
"Jest you put a stopper on yer tongue and belay," sang out the salt,
seeing all the elements of a quarrel in this discussion, and noticing
Tom's flushed cheeks, and the rising anger of Higgins. "'Sides, I
ain't Jim to you, me lad, and don't you ferget it. I'll take a rope's
end to you afore you're a minute older if you ain't careful."
But Higgins had allowed his temper to rise to the point where it was
uncontrollable. He had expected Tom to accept his remarks meekly, as
became a new hand, and, finding he had not done so, was determined
to pick a quarrel with him. There are always such cantankerous
individuals in the world, and it was Tom's fortune to hit up against
this one. He, too, was roused, for he resented the man's impertinence.
"I'll back as he's a jail bird," declared Higgins, thinking that by
making a firm stand in this altercation he would stimulate his own
popularity amongst the men. "He's a gent that's took the money out of
the till and then been collared. The easiest way to cover the thing
was to hand him over to a crimp. That's how he's here--I know him."
He had probably never set eyes on our hero before, and had he done so
would not have dared to address him in such a manner. But Tom was one
of the deck hands, one of themselves, and, moreover, a newly-joined
recruit, too often destined for a time to be the butt of his fellows.
Higgins counted on his giving way at once. Most recruits are
awe-stricken at first by the strangeness of their surroundings, and
perhaps by the roughness of their companions. Besides, bullying airs
and ways, backed most probably by other individuals, are apt to cause
a young fellow to choose the easier path and swallow his displeasure.
However, Tom was one of the obstinate sort. Fighting was nothing new
to him, and to show his readiness for a contest, and the fact that he
was by no means afraid of an encounter, he promptly began hostilities
by pitching the contents of a jug of water over Higgins.
"I'll ask you to understand that when I say a thing I mean it, and
that I tell a lie for no one," he said, rising from his seat and
undoing the neckerchief which he, like the others, wore about him.
"I don't know what the rules are aboard a king's ship; but this I do
know, I allow no man to suggest that I am a thief or a liar. Take
back what you've said or I'll trounce you."
There was a commotion in the 'tween decks by now. Men crowded about
the long narrow tables stretching from the side of the ship towards
the centre, and which was one of many. Like the rest, too, it was
constructed to lift up to the deck above and be attached there,
leaving the decks free for movement. Jim had meanwhile risen to his
feet, and now held his hand high for silence.
"Mates," he said, "there's trouble brewin' here. This new mate of
ours is a good 'un, and I'll not allow him to be stamped on. Higgins
here has just now called him a thief and a liar, and the young spark
has drenched him with water. If Higgins don't come down handsome with
a 'pology there's only one thing left."
"A set to, and right it'll be," burst in another of the men, one of
the seniors. "Fightin' don't do no great harm, and it's necessary
when one mate calls another names that tastes nasty. You, Higgins,
admit you called him a liar and a thief?"
"Of course," came the coarse answer. "I'm goin' ter thrash him."
"You are, are you?" came the grim reply from the old salt, while he
sized up the two young fellows swiftly, craning his head to one side
as if he were a bird. "I dunno so much; the new mate looks as if he
could use his hands lively. You ain't goin' to 'pologize?"
"Not likely! I'll hammer him till he'll be glad to admit that what
I've said's as true as gospel."
If he imagined that Tom would keep him waiting he was much mistaken,
for that young fellow had already rolled his sleeves to the elbow.
Indeed, as we have intimated, he was no novice. Not that he was by
nature quarrelsome; but those were rough days, and like many another
boy Tom had need now and again to defend his honour. He stood away
from the table, waiting while it and two or three next to it were
swung out of the way. Then, bending low so that his head would not
hit the deck above, he stepped to the centre of the circle which the
men immediately formed.
"Any sort of rules?" he asked coolly. "Anyone keepin' time?"
"Go as you please, mate," came Jim's answer. "A sailor don't ax fer
breathing time if he comes up alongside a Frenchie, and you don't
have no call for it either. It's the same fer both, and as fair and
square as may be. But it'll have to be straight work. We stops the
fight if there's foul hitting."
A fight in the 'tween decks was no unusual occurrence in those
days, and was a source of some interest to the men of the navy.
Hard fellows without an exception, they had been brought up in a
stern school which taught that a man must look to himself alone for
protection. But they could recognize spirit, and Tom took their fancy
wonderfully.
"He's game, he is," declared one of the men, as he doubled his arms
and pressed forward to watch the contest. "And he ain't no weakling.
You can see as he's not used to haulin' and suchlike, and ain't been
a tar over long. But I like his figure-head. It's clean and well-cut,
and he's a beam on him that carries weight, and'll lend strength to
a blow when he gets one home. He ain't no new 'un at the game, I'll
stake my Davy. That boy has been grappled on to a job like this many
a time."
The ten minutes which followed proved that Tom was something also
of a scientist; for he played with his antagonist. It was clear, in
fact, after five minutes that he would be the victor, though at first
he had some ugly rushes to stop and some hard hitting to protect
himself from. But science and generally good condition told, and
while at the end of some ten minutes, during which the two broke away
now and again to pant and glare at one another, only to begin once
more at the shouts of the crew, Higgins was almost in a condition of
exhaustion, Tom was still comparatively fresh. He stopped a furious
and last attempt on the part of Higgins to rush him up against the
side of the ship, and then, darting forward, struck the man full in
the mouth, sending him sprawling.
Higgins lay for a minute without movement, and then his hand went
back towards the knife which, sailor-like, he carried attached to his
belt and well behind him.
"Drop that!" shouted Jim. "Now, Higgins, you as was a-goin' ter whack
this young shaver, say as you 'pologize for callin' him names."
For a second there was defiance on what was still recognizable as
that young man's face. Then he nodded his head in assent. Tom at once
went towards him, his hand outstretched.
"Shake hands, and let's be friends," he said. "I dare say you didn't
understand how I'd take what you said. But where I come from a man
fights and fights again when another calls him thief or liar. There,
shake hands and let's be friends in the future."
There was a cheer at that, while the men gathered round our hero,
patting him on the back with such heartiness that his remaining
breath was almost driven from his body. Some of the more enthusiastic
even began to chair him, and had carried him as far as the deck
ladder, when the sudden shrill piping of whistles and the appearance
of an officer put a stop to the movement. It was Mr. Riley, a long
glass beneath one arm, his other hand on the rail of the ladder.
"My lads," he began, about to give an order, and then, suddenly
catching sight of Tom, ceased abruptly. Casting his eye over the
heads of the men, he soon picked out the somewhat miserable figure of
Higgins.
"Ah," he said, "a fight! My lads, strictly against orders. But I've
news for you--we've rounded up a Frenchman. Clear these decks."
He was gone in a twinkling, his coat tails swinging behind him. But
as he turned he contrived to smile at our hero.
"Licked that young man Higgins. That's good," he was saying as he
raced up the ladder. "Young Clifford has courage. Wonder how he'll
behave when shot and cannon balls come crashing amongst us; he's just
the boy for this service."
When Tom had washed his face and had clambered to the deck he saw a
large vessel some four miles away, bearing up towards the frigate,
while a smaller one sailed behind her.
"Ship o' the line, mate," said Jim, who was leader of the squad of
men of whom our hero was one, who had the working of one gun. "It'll
be tough business, and ef she wasn't so big I doubt as she'd sail up
so cocky towards us. But we'll give her what for; we're fair death on
Frenchies."
A magnificent sight the Frenchman made as the distance between the
two vessels decreased. Tom peeped at her through the wide-open port
and admired the enormous spread of white above her, the seething foam
at her forefoot, and the gleam of her broad decks that came into view
now and again as the ship heaved to the swell of the ocean. Then
a spout of white smoke burst from her fo'castle; a flash severed
it in twain and was followed after a distinct interval by a dull
reverberating report. The shot reached its mark almost at the same
moment. There was a crash within ten feet of Tom. The side of the
vessel at that point burst inward in a hundred splinters, and the
iron messenger struck the very next gun to his, slithered and crashed
across the 'tween decks, and finally brought up short against the
opposite side. It roused a cheer of excitement from the crew.
"That's shootin'!" cried Jim. "She's the sort for our money. In a
jiffy we'll be layin' into her. Just take a sight along the gun, Tom,
and larn now how to pitch a ball into a Frenchie."
CHAPTER IV
A Naval Encounter
In the ordinary way the immediate prospect of an encounter at sea
might be expected to rouse qualms in the breast of a novice, and we
cannot affirm that Tom would have been any exception to the rule
on this his first meeting aboard an English frigate with a French
man-of-war. But there was so much else to attract his attention.
Even in those days the wooden walls of our stout ships contained
sufficient to interest even a dullard, and to a lad of active brain,
as was our hero, there were things to watch and marvel at, while the
men themselves grouped in the 'tween decks were quite a study. They
stood about their guns stripped to the waist, joking and merry, the
master of each gun with his eye on the sights. Close at hand a lad
sat on a long narrow tub filled to the brim with powder.
"Powder monkeys we call 'em," said Jim in a hoarse whisper. "The
young villains! They're always up to some sort o' mischief, and when
it comes to fighting, blest if they wouldn't take on the whole of
Boney's fleet alone. They ain't the lads to squeak. If we fetch up
alongside the Frenchman, and there's a call for boarding parties,
them imps is amongst the first to answer."
"Stand ready!" the order came at this moment, and turning his head
Tom caught a glimpse of Mr. Riley, still with a long glass beneath
his arm, his sword belted to his side, and his shapely form bent so
as to allow him to peer through one of the ports. "Stand ready, men,"
he shouted. "Gun layers train your sights on the enemy and aim low.
Between wind and water is the mark, lads!"
The crew of the guns answered him with a cheer, and for a while gun
layers stretched over the weapons they commanded, sighting for the
enemy. Tom watched as Jim squinted along the sights, and then peered
out at the French ship of the line. She was bowling along before a
fresh breeze, heeling well over, so that half her deck showed. He
could see a mass of men on it, and others running to and fro, while
quite a number were clambering into the rigging.
"Shows she means to come right up close," said Jim in his gruff
way. "That'll suit us nicely. Hammer and tongs is the best sort of
fighting for us boys, and we don't get it too often. She's going to
run right in and when there's a broadside it'll be a close one, and
thunder won't be in it."
"Stand by to fire!" was heard through the 'tween decks, while an
instant later there came a roar from the deck above, a trembling
and shaking of the whole vessel which all could feel, and then the
rumble of wheels as the guns were run in, sponged out and reloaded.
By now the enemy had disappeared from sight behind a huge cloud of
smoke, which, however, was whisked away swiftly by the breeze. It
was a minute later, perhaps, when the French battleship was again
visible, that Mr. Riley gave the order to fire, and Tom was witness
of the result for the first time in his life. Jim touched the vent of
the gun with his portfire, and instantly a squirt of flame and smoke
shot upward. There was a huge commotion in the gun itself. Though
braced into position by numerous cables it started backward, drawing
them as tight as iron bars, while the wheels thudded heavily on their
runners. The commotion was accompanied by that of every other gun on
that deck in the broadside, while the ship herself shook from end
to end. The roar of the discharge was indescribable, and deafened
him, while the 'tween decks was instantly filled with volumes of
sulphurous smoke.
"Slack off! Haul her back, boys!" came in stentorian notes from Jim.
"Run her in quick. Now with the sponge rods, and we'll have a second
charge into her before the smoke's cleared."
Five minutes later Mr. Riley's voice was heard. "Stand by for another
broadside," he bellowed. "Double shot your guns next time--ah!"
The frigate quivered from end to end; she seemed to have been struck
by a cyclone. An iron hail beat on her sides, bursting them in in
many directions, while splinters of iron and wood flew across the
'tween decks, striking men down in many directions. In one brief
second the orderliness of the place was transformed to the most utter
disorder, as the enemy had answered the frigate's broadside with one
of her own. Tom looked about him wonderingly, dazed by the commotion
and astounded at what he saw. For by now the wind blowing in at the
open ports had cleared all the smoke away, and he could see all that
was happening in the 'tween decks. There lay the gun on his right a
wreck, turned on its side, its muzzle crushed out of sight, two of
its wheels broken and half-buried in the deck. What had before been
a square porthole was now an irregular, torn opening, through which
a vast expanse of sea could be watched. But it was the poor wretches
who had manned the gun who claimed his greatest attention. Five of
them lay mangled upon the deck, with pools of blood accumulating
about them and draining off towards the scuppers in trickles and
streams. On the port side, opposite where the gun had stood, three
men had been struck by the missile, and lay silent and motionless.
Elsewhere there were rents in the side of the frigate, and men lay
about in all postures, some moaning, others silent, nursing a wounded
arm or leg. This was war; this was the treatment meted out by one
nation to another.
But of loss of discipline there was none. If the 'tween decks was in
disorder there was order amongst the men, and no flinching. Already
the surgeon's mates and helpers were carrying the wounded away
towards the ladder leading to the cockpit, while at every gun stood
its crew, immovable and ready, waiting the word of the officer. As
for the enemy, the shapely lines of the French man-of-war had changed
wonderfully, for she was so near now that one could see distinctly.
The white deck, still careened towards the frigate, was seamed and
scarred and torn. One mast lay over her rail, the sails towing in
the water, and her sides were marked by shot holes, two of her ports
having been converted into one by an enormous rent that extended
between them.
A dull cheer resounded through the frigate; the men in the 'tween
decks took it up lustily, and then came again that commotion above.
The vessel shivered, shot and flame and smoke belched from the ports
on the upper deck, the roar being followed once again by the rumble
of gun wheels on their metal runners.
"Fire!" Mr. Riley stood halfway up the ladder leading to the upper
deck and waved his cocked hat at the crews under his own command.
Crash! went the broadside. Tom watched the powder at the vent squirt
upward in flame and smoke as on a previous occasion, and then sprang
to the cables as Jim's husky voice called to his own crew to draw the
gun in and reload.
[Illustration: "CRASH! WENT THE BROADSIDE"]
"Double shot; don't forget," bellowed Mr. Riley, and obedient to the
order the loaders thrust first one and then a second huge iron ball
into the gaping muzzles. In the middle of the operation there came
a resounding discharge from the enemy, while huge columns of smoke
hid her sides. But the shot failed to strike the frigate, for a few
seconds earlier the commander had put his helm up and had sheered
off towards the Frenchman. It was a clever manoeuvre, and made a
wonderful difference to the fight in progress. For the enemy had
received four successive broadsides now, and had returned only one
effective one, and that not so effective as it might have been had
the ships been nearer. Added to that, it was less than five minutes
later when the gunners on the port side got their sights aligned on
the enemy, and a simultaneous broadside was delivered by the guns of
the upper and 'tween decks. Then the commander swung his helm again
and made across the stern of the Frenchman.
"Stand ready," sang out Mr. Riley again, his eyes glued upon the
man-of-war. "Layers concentrate on the stern. In one minute, men; in
one minute we shall be there. Now! Fire!"
Running round in a circle after crossing in the wake of the
Frenchman, the frigate had gone about after emptying her complete
port broadside, and had then swept round in rear of the enemy.
It was a manoeuvre which, if not quickly carried out, might have
ended in disaster. But nothing occurred to disturb it, while the
Frenchman, impeded by his broken mast and the sail dragging in
the water--and slowed considerably thereby--was unable to counter
the movement by swinging also. It followed, therefore, that the
frigate had an enormous advantage, and, making the most of this,
crossed and recrossed the rear of the enemy, emptying first the
starboard broadside and then every gun on the port side. As for the
French battleship, her guns were useless. Not one of her broadsides
could be brought to bear, and though she sheered off to the south
a little, the commander was at once able to alter his own position
correspondingly.
"It's a victory," said Jim, with elation. "The man that laid the
gun that brought down that mast deserves to be made an admiral this
minute. It's saved lives aboard this ship, boys. It's won the battle."
"Shall we board her now?" asked Tom, who was densely ignorant of
naval matters.
"Board her! Not us!" cried Jim. "Where's the use? She carries two or
three men to every man jack of us, and would have all the chances
if we boarded, not that I say as we wouldn't do the business. But
we've the best of it like this. She's cut that mast adrift, but
it'll be hours before she can refit, and meanwhile we've the legs of
her. We've only to keep here, astern, plugging shot into her all the
while, and she's bound to give in before long. Of course she can't do
that yet awhile. That wouldn't be fighting, and I'm bound to say that
the Frenchies are good at the game, almost as good as we are. She'll
hold on and endeavour to best us; but she'll have to haul down her
colours before very long. Ah! What'd I say? Look at 'em!"
The flag of France flying aloft on the enemy was seen to flutter. It
dropped a foot or two and then came down with a run. Instantly a
hoarse bellow resounded through the frigate. Men gripped hands and
cheered, the shouts coming from every deck. Even the wounded, who had
not all been removed, sat up with an effort and cheered as best they
could.
"Silence, men," came from Mr. Riley at this moment, and turning they
saw him standing halfway up the ladder, bent so that the men could
see his face. "Stand to your guns all the while; don't draw charges
till you get the order. Jim there, from No. 4 gun, send me four of
your men to join the boarding party."
Tom noticed that the officer had been wounded, for he carried one arm
in a sling, and there were stains of blood on his breeches. He was
wondering how he had come by the wound, when Jim struck him heavily
on the back.
"Avast dreamin' there, me hearty," he shouted hoarsely, still elated
at what had happened. "Get off to the officer and go aboard the ship.
You'll see something to interest you."
Tom wanted no more coaxing; he dropped the cable on which he had been
hauling and went at a run towards the ladder, followed by the other
men. They kept close on the heels of Mr. Riley, and in a twinkling
were on the main deck. There the commander was now stationed, and
about him a group of officers and men.
"Ah, there you are, Mr. Riley!" he exclaimed. "We'll go aboard in the
cutter, taking three men from each deck. Step in, my lads."
Tom scrambled into the boat with the crew, and watched as it was
lowered away. He was filled with amazement, first that a boat of such
proportions as the cutter could support so many men when hung to her
davits, and then that she could be safely lowered with such a load to
the water. Meanwhile he noticed the high sides of the frigate, the
officer up on the quarterdeck, and the men of the watch away aloft in
the rigging. The frigate lay inert, her sails flapping, while, almost
a quarter of a mile away now, the French ship lay in the water,
slowly heaving up and down, with a peculiar and significant twist in
one of her masts.
"Struck by our broadsides as we passed and repassed," Mr. Riley told
him as they were lowered away, for the officer happened to be close
to our hero. "She had bad luck. It's rare that one brings down a mast
at the first discharge, and that of course proved her undoing; the
loss of the second makes her useless for fighting purposes. This has
been a gallant action and will give us no end of credit. Ah, there
goes a recall gun!"
A spout of flame and smoke belched from the frigate a little above
the heads of the men in the cutter, for the latter had now reached
the water, and turning his head Tom watched the ball discharged
strike the sea some two hundred yards ahead of the small sloop that
had been sailing in company of the battleship, and which had now
changed her course.
"She'll not disobey the order," reflected Mr. Riley. "Once we are
aboard the enemy the frigate could sink that vessel within ten
minutes. There go her sails aback; she'll swing round and come in
like a docile dog. Now, lad, clamber aboard when we reach the ship;
you come as one of my escort."
"You're wounded, sir," said Tom. "Let me fasten that sling for you
again; it's too long, and doesn't support the arm."
He undid the knot with the help of fingers and teeth and then
rearranged the sling. By the time he had finished they were under the
counter of the French battleship, to which a man at the stern and
bows of the cutter clung with a boathook. At once a midshipman sprang
at a dangling rope ladder and went swarming up with the agility of a
monkey, two of the crew following. Tom picked up a coil of rope and
without a question made a noose fast round the waist of the officer
who had already befriended him.
"I'll get aboard and help to haul you up, sir," he said. "You'd never
manage to clamber up that ladder with one arm wounded."
He waited for no orders, but, springing at the ladder, went
scrambling up, the end of the rope secured between his teeth. A
minute later Mr. Riley was being hoisted to the deck of the French
battleship. Then the commander followed, and after him more of the
crew, with two officers.
Tom found himself looking down upon a scene which was almost
indescribable; for the ship had been cruelly mauled by the broadsides
of the frigate. There were a dozen holes in her deck, where shot
had penetrated, while in many places the rails were driven in. A
dismounted gun lay in one of the scuppers, with part of her crew
crushed beneath it; and from end to end of the ship there were
signs of the awful havoc the iron tempest had created. Men lay in
all directions and in all postures. The damaged mast swung by the
starboard halyards and threatened to fall inboard at any moment,
while a huge stretch of crumpled and shot-holed canvas covered one
portion of the deck. To add to the scene of ruin, smoke and flames
were belching from a hatch towards the stern of the quarterdeck, and
some fifty sailors were endeavouring to quench the conflagration
with water cast from buckets. Almost opposite the spot where the
ladder dangled, and where the victors had come aboard, was a group of
officers, and in their centre one seated on a chair, pallid to the
lips and obviously wounded. The commander went towards him instantly
and took him by the hand.
"You are hurt?" he asked. "You have fought your ship gallantly, but
fortune was against you. Go to your quarters, please. I will take no
sword from an officer of such courage."
He put aside the sword that was offered him so feebly, and signed to
men of his crew to lift the injured officer. Then he shook hands with
the other Frenchmen present, many of whom shed tears as they replaced
their swords in their scabbards.
"Ah, monsieur," said one, who seemed to be the second in command, "it
was the fortune of war, but bad fortune for us. With that mast shot
away we were helpless, and then your broadsides poured into our stern
tore the lengths of the decks, and did terrible damage. Our poor
fellows were shot down in heaps. War, monsieur, is a terror."
None could fail to admit that who visited the French ship, for what
had been a well-found, trim vessel was now a shambles. It turned Tom
sick and faint when he looked about him, so that he was forced to
cling to the rail. But a moment later, when Mr. Riley called him, he
was able to pull himself together.
"We're to go aboard the sloop and see what she is," he called. "Help
to lower me into the cutter."
Half an hour later Tom clambered up the side of the smaller vessel,
and hauled his officer up after him. They found a French midshipman
in command of a crew of five, while beneath the hatches there were
three prisoners.
"Release them," Mr. Riley ordered; and, taking a couple of the French
crew with him, Tom saw the hatch lifted, and called to the men below
to come up. The smart uniform of an officer showed through the square
hatch at once, and in a moment or two a youth stood on the deck
before him, whom one would have said was British to the backbone.
"Ensign Jack Barwood, 60th Rifles, sir," he reported, drawing
himself up in front of Mr. Riley and saluting. "Going out to join my
regiment, this little sloop in which I had taken passage was held up
by a French man-of-war. Our men were taken off, that is, the crew.
I and two of my own men were left here as prisoners. We heard heavy
firing, and guessed there was an action. What has happened?"
Mr. Riley turned and pointed at the French prize won by the frigate.
"We beat her," he said, with pride in his tones. "You've had luck to
escape so early from a French prison. Where were you bound for?"
"In the first place, Oporto," came the answer. "Later, as a prisoner,
for Bayonne. Now, I suppose, we shall have to return to England?"
As it turned out, however, it was to Oporto that the little sloop
made.
"The frigate makes for home at once," Mr. Riley reported, when he had
rowed back to the ship, and had again come out to the sloop. "She
sails in company with her prize, and no doubt the homecoming will be
a fine triumph. I have orders to take this sloop to Oporto, there to
hand over this young fellow to the authorities."
He pointed to Tom and smiled, while the ensign, turning upon
our hero, surveyed him with amazement, and with some amount of
superciliousness if the truth be told.
"Pardon, sir," he said, "I don't understand."
"Of course not," came the smiling answer; "nor does he. Come here,
Tom."
Our hero, as may be imagined, was just as dumbfounded as the ensign;
for though Mr. Riley had been wonderfully kind to him from the
beginning, his manner had suddenly changed. He addressed him as if
he were an equal, not as if he were one of the crew.
"I'll explain," he smiled, seeing the bewilderment expressed by both
young fellows. "While the action was passing between us and the
man-of-war our lookouts reported a sail in the offing. She has come
up to us since, and turns out to be a smaller frigate than ourselves.
But the point is this--she left the Thames after us, and has
carried a brisk breeze with her all the way. She asked at once for
information concerning a young fellow brought aboard just before we
weighed, who had been impressed by a gang having quarters near London
Bridge. That, sir, is the young fellow."
He pointed at Tom, whom the ensign still regarded in amazement.
"The whole thing has been cleared up, of course," said Mr. Riley.
"There is no longer any doubt that this gentleman is the son of Mr.
Septimus John Clifford, wine merchant, of London Bridge."
"Eh?" suddenly interjected the ensign, staring hard at Tom.
"Clifford, of London Bridge. Well, I'm bothered! Why, Tom, don't you
know me?"
It must be confessed that our hero was somewhat taken aback. In this
young officer so much above himself, clad in the handsome uniform
of the 60th Rifles, he had not recognized an old friend. Indeed his
attention had been centred on his own officer. But now, when Jack
Barwood lifted his cap, Tom recognized him at once, and gave vent to
a shout of delight.
"Why, it's you!" he cried, gripping the hand extended. "Haven't seen
you since--now when did we meet last?"
"Time you licked that cub of a grocer's boy," laughed Jack, who
seemed to be just such another as our hero, and who was evidently a
jovial fellow. "He passed when we were with your cousin, and grinned
and sauced you. You were at him in a jiffy."
Mr. Riley laughed loudly when he heard what was passing. "Why, he's
been at one of our men aboard the frigate," he cried. "Hammered him
badly just before we fell in with the Frenchman. He's a tiger."
"He's a demon to fight, is Tom, sir," laughed Jack. "Ask him how we
became acquainted."
"Eh? How?" asked the officer curiously, and then pressed the question
when he saw that Tom had gone a crimson colour and was looking
sheepish. "Eh?" he repeated.
"He's pretending to have forgotten," shouted Jack, enjoying the
situation. "I'll tell the tale. It was at school one day. Tom was
chewing toffee, mine had disappeared from a pocket. I tackled him
with the theft, and we went hammer and tongs for one another. It was
a busy time for us for some ten minutes."
"Ah!" smiled Mr. Riley. "Who won?"
"Drawn battle," exclaimed Tom, somewhat sulkily.
"I had a licking," laughed Jack. "It was a certainty for him from the
beginning."
"Not surprised," came from the officer. "And the toffee?"
"Eh?" asked Jack.
"The toffee you accused him of stealing?" asked Mr. Riley. "You found
it later?"
"In another pocket--yes," admitted Jack, with a delightful grin.
"I deserved that hiding; it made us fast friends. So Tom's been
impressed."
"By the machinations of his cousin."
That caused Tom to lift his head and come nearer. He had wondered
time and again how that impressment had been brought about, whether
by accident or design, and had never been able to bring himself to
believe that José was responsible. Mr. Riley's words made him open
his ears.
"You are sure, sir?" he asked.
"The commander has letters from your father with positive proof.
However, things seemed to have happened fortunately. You are to be
taken to Oporto after all, and here you meet with an old friend.
Things couldn't have been better. Now I shall leave you both aboard
while I go to get together a crew. We'll set a course for Oporto when
I return, and ought to reach the place inside the week. Tom, you'll
no longer be a sailor before the mast. I have the commander's orders
to take you as a passenger, or, if you wish it, to appoint you an
officer for the time being. How's that?"
It was all delightful hearing; and when at length the sloop turned
her bows for Oporto, leaving the frigate to sail away with her
prize, and incidentally to carry Tom's letter to his father in
England, the party aboard the little vessel could not have been
merrier.
"You'll have to turn soldier yet," declared Jack to our hero,
standing so that the latter could inspect his uniform, and indeed the
young fellow cut such a neat figure that Tom was even more tempted
than formerly. For Jack was slimmer and shorter than he, while the
few months of training he had experienced had taught him to hold
himself erect. A jollier and more careless ensign never existed. It
can be said with truth that, had the fortunes of the troops in the
Peninsula depended on Jack's wisdom and military knowledge, disaster
would promptly have overtaken our arms. He was just one of those
jolly, inconsequential sort of fellows, always skylarking, always gay
and laughing, who go through the world as if serious subjects were
not in existence.
"Hooray for the life of a soldier!" he shouted, knowing Tom's ardent
wishes that way, and anxious to fill him with envy. "Who'd ever sit
on a stool and sweat over books in an office?"
"I'll lick you if you don't stop short," growled Tom sourly, and yet
laughing for all that; for who could take Jack seriously? "Who knows,
I may be a leader of troops before you have cut your wisdom teeth?
Who knows?"
Who could guess the future indeed? Not Tom. Not the jovial,
thoughtless Jack. Not even the wise Mr. Riley, with all his
experience of the sea and of the men who go upon it. It seemed that
Oporto would receive them in the course of a few days, and that
Jack and Tom would there part. But within twenty-four hours of that
conversation the scene was changed. Two vessels raised their peaks
from the offing, and, sailing nearer, declared themselves as French.
They overhauled the little sloop, in spite of a spread of canvas that
threatened to press her beneath the water. And that evening Tom and
his companions were prisoners.
"My uncle! What awful luck!" groaned Jack, in the depths of despair,
as is often the case with high-mettled people when reverses come
along. "No soldiering, Tom; no office for you. I'd prefer that to a
prison."
"It's the fortune of war," exclaimed Mr. Riley with resignation. "For
me it makes no great difference. The wound I received aboard the
frigate has not improved, and, even if I become a prisoner, I shall
receive proper treatment, which is impossible aboard this sloop. I'm
sorry for you two young fellows."
"Pooh, sir," smiled Tom, "we'll give 'em the slip! Seems to me I'm
not meant for Oporto yet awhile. We'll give 'em the slip, and then
I'll take on as a soldier."
"Slip? How?" asked Jack, somewhat staggered, for the idea had not
occurred to him.
"Depends; couldn't say now how we'll bring it about. But we'll manage
it some way. I speak Spanish and Portuguese and a little French. If
with those advantages we can't manage the business, well, we're only
fit for a prison."
"Hooray!" shouted the excited Jack; whereat one of the French
officers accosted them angrily. But Tom quickly appeased him.
"Where do we get landed, _Monsieur le Lieutenant_?" he asked politely.
"Ah, you speak our tongue! That is good," came the more pleasant
answer. "But where you land I cannot say; you will be sent with
troops to the north of Spain, and so to a prison."
It was not very cheering news, but Tom made the best of it.
"I don't put my nose into a French prison if I can help it!" he
declared, in that particular tone of voice to which Jack had grown
accustomed when they were chums at school.
"And he won't!" declared the latter. "I know Tom well--a pig-headed,
stubborn beggar from his cradle. Tom'll give 'em the slip, and we
with him. One thing seems all right in the meanwhile--there's grub
and drink in plenty. I never could stand starvation; I'd rather go to
prison."
But whatever thoughts they may have had as regards escaping were set
aside when they landed. Putting in at an obscure port, Tom and his
friends found a squadron of horsemen waiting to receive them, for the
ship had flown signals. The three friends, together with the two men
belonging to Jack's regiment, were given horses, while a trooper
took their reins, two other men riding close to each one of them. And
then they set off across a barren country, which, however fair it may
have been in other days, was burned black, stripped of all eatables,
while those villages which had not been swallowed by the flames were
wrecked and useless.
"You will be careful not to attempt an escape," said the officer
in command of the squadron, speaking to Tom, the only one of the
prisoners who could understand him. "I have given orders for the
troopers to shoot at the first attempt. We ride now to join our main
army, and through a country inhabited by people who would flay us
alive if they could catch us. Let that alone warn you not to attempt
escape. The Portuguese peasants are more dangerous than my soldiers."
He shouted to the head of the column, set his own horse in motion,
and led the way at a pace that threatened to be trying. It was
obvious, in fact, that he was anxious to reach the summit of the
hills near at hand, and not to be found in the open when night fell.
As for Tom and his friends, the outlook seemed hopeless; an attempt
at escape meant a bullet from their guard. And, even were they
successful, they were in a country where bands of peasants scoured
the valleys murdering all who were too weak to oppose them. It looked
indeed as if a French prison would shortly shelter them, and as if
there Jack's military career would come to a halt before it had
actually begun, while Tom's ambitions in that direction would be cut
in twain and end only in bitter disappointment.
CHAPTER V
Prisoners
If ever a band of prisoners could be described as jovial it was
the little band with whom Tom Clifford was travelling. For the
confinement at sea made a trip ashore most enchanting; then the quick
and unaccustomed movement, the efforts more than one of them were
forced to make continually to keep in their saddles, provoked an
amount of amusement which even infected their escort.
"I was as near off as anything that time," shouted the irrepressible
Jack, when his horse had shied at a rock and nearly thrown him. "Wish
one of these fellows would rope me to the saddle instead of leading
me as if I were a child."
"What does he say, monsieur?" asked the trooper riding near our hero,
and at once Tom explained.
"That would not be good for him," laughed the man. "If we have to
gallop at any time, and the horse fell, he would be left to be
butchered. I tell you, monsieur, these peasants are terrible. I do
not say that they are not justified, for our men have behaved cruelly
to them. But the peasants care nothing whether it be horse soldiers
or foot. If a man of ours falls into their hands he is butchered;
that would be your fate also if you were to lag behind."
Every now and again, as the small party made for the hills, groups of
men were seen hovering in the distance. And once, when the squadron
was riding through a narrow defile, rocks descended from above.
"Gallop!" commanded the officer, and striking their heels into the
flanks of the horses the soldiers soon passed through. When the dusk
of evening began to fall, shots rang out in the distance, and one of
the troopers was wounded.
"I see men gathering in front of us," suddenly exclaimed one of the
sergeants. "They fill the gap through which we must pass to gain the
road for the hill."
"Halt!" came from the commander. "Place the prisoners in the centre.
We will ride forward steadily till within shot of them, and then
we will charge. There is nothing else to be done. To retreat would
be to have the whole population of the country about us to-morrow;
monsieur," he said, as if by an afterthought; "you and your comrades
realize the danger?"
Tom nodded at once. "We see the position, _Monsieur le Capitaine_,"
he said. "You are a detached party away from the army."
"We are one of hundreds of squadrons told off to clear the country
during the retreat of our armies across the Tagus," came the answer.
"From to-day we march for Spain, and I hope we may never put foot in
Portugal again. It is not a pleasant duty, this burning of villages
and crops, but orders must be obeyed. We are detached, as you say,
and to join our friends we have to run the gauntlet. Monsieur and his
friends can have temporary liberty, and arms with which to fight, if
they will give their word of honour to respect me and my men, and
hand themselves over later on as captives to us."
"I will speak with my friends," replied Tom at once, overjoyed at
the proposal; for he could see easily that there was a strenuous
time before the little party, and in the event of a reverse to the
troopers the position of himself and his friends might be very
serious. Armed and ready they would be in a different position.
Rapidly, therefore, he explained the position to Mr. Riley.
"Agreed!" cried the latter eagerly. "Not that I'm much use either
way. It takes me all my time to stick to this animal, let alone use
a weapon; for I have only one useful arm. Tell him we agree. You
men,"--and he swung round on Andrews and Howeley, the two men of
the 60th accompanying them, "you men understand the position, no
doubt. We are fighting for the Portuguese, and against the French;
but here is a case where our friends will not know us. They will
kill us with the others before we can explain. It is a question of
self-preservation."
"Right, sir," answered Andrews cheerily. "We're game, and though
it'll be hard luck to have to become prisoners again, we see the
reason. We give our word."
"Good, then," exclaimed the officer of the party with relief, and at
once gave orders to his troopers to throw off the leading reins, and
to hand each of the prisoners a sabre. To Mr. Riley he presented a
pistol.
"For you, monsieur," he bowed. "If there is need, you will know how
to use it. Now, men," he commanded, "we will ride forward in column
of files, and when I shout, spread out into line. A charge should
carry us through them. Gallop right through the village and up the
road. Forward!"
Nowhere, perhaps, were there finer troopers to be found than those
in the French army invading the Peninsula. Napoleon had, in fact,
swamped the country with divisions of magnificent cavalry, with
numerous veterans in the ranks, and under leaders skilled in cavalry
work who had taken their squadrons into action many and many a
time, and had won victories. The preceding years of this eventful
campaign in the Peninsula had seen detached parties of French
horsemen penetrating far into country held by Wellington's troops,
or by Spanish or Portuguese irregulars; and while the former had
taught them many a lesson, and had, indeed, shown the French troops
that if they were brave, the lads from England were equal to them,
there is little doubt that, just as Wellington and our armies had
learned to despise the Portuguese irregulars, and those of Spain in
particular, the French held them even more in contempt. It was the
detached bands of guerrillas, however, that did them the greatest
injury. No wandering party of horsemen could bivouac without fear
of having sentries and outposts murdered in the night. Sudden and
ferocious attacks were frequent, and at this time, when the French
were retreating before our armies, and when without shadow of doubt
they had treated the Portuguese peasantry and townspeople with
horrible cruelty, a detached squadron such as the one Tom accompanied
was liable to annihilation unless handled with great skill. However,
this squadron in particular and its officer seemed to make light of
the difficulties before them. They were accustomed to the hatred of
the peasants, accustomed also to see them take to their heels when
they charged, and disappear in their mountains. It was, therefore,
with a cheer, in which Tom and his friends joined, that they jogged
forward in column of file, their sabres drawn and ready, their leader
a horse's length in advance of them.
Tom rose in his stirrups and surveyed the enemy. Even through the
gloom he could see that there must be two hundred at least gathered
at the entrance of the village through which the squadron must pass
to reach the road to the heights. Shots came from the mass every now
and again, while there were red flashes from the buildings. Shrill
cries of rage and hate reached his ears, and amongst the voices he
could distinguish those of women.
Phit! Phit! Bullets whizzed overhead, while the trooper next to him
suddenly gave vent to a growl of anger.
"Struck me in the arm, monsieur," he said, after a few moments. "I
would rather far receive a wound in proper battle than from these
wolves. But you will see; they will scatter as we charge. We shall
cut down a few of the laggards, burn the village, and thus light our
way to the mountains. Poof! The Portuguese are brutes, the Spaniards
are gentlemen beside them."
That was the way in which the French looked at the nations in the
Peninsula. Truth compels us to admit that they had reason for liking
the Spaniards; for not only were they able to play with them as if
they were children, utterly despising them as soldiers, but also they
obtained real help from them in their campaign, and though England
had sent troops to repel the invader, and to help the Spaniards
as well as the Portuguese to rid their country of oppression, yet
throughout the campaign the Spaniards in particular foiled the wishes
of Wellington and his generals in every direction. They withheld
supplies even from the wounded. They parted with nothing save at an
exorbitant price, and always there were traitors amongst them ready
to disclose our plans to the enemy. The Portuguese, too, were not
guiltless in this matter; but, on the whole, their irregulars did
some excellent work, and they at least made an attempt to help the
British to drive Napoleon and his armies out of the Peninsula.
"Canter!" the command rang out loudly as a wide splash of flame
came from the peasants, while bullets clipped the air, sang shrilly
overhead, and sometimes hit horses or accoutrements. Tom heard a
sharp metallic sound, and lost a stirrup, shot away by one of these
bullets; but he managed to secure it again, though he was no great
horseman.
"Form line on the left!" The command rang out, while answering howls
and shouts came from the village. "Charge!"
Tom could see the commander standing in his stirrups, his sword
raised overhead, his face turned towards his men. And that
exhilarating shout, the excitement in the air, the bullets and the
cries, sent his blood surging through him. Let us remember that Tom
was young, and possessed of excellent health and spirits, also that
soldiering was no new ambition with him. Fear for the future he
had none, but all the while he was wondering how the matter would
progress, and what would happen supposing the villagers held their
ground and refused to be driven from the village. The hammer of the
horses' hoofs, the jingle of bits and stirrups, and the sharp reports
of muskets sent a thrill through his frame from head to foot, and in
a moment he was leaning forward like the troopers, his sabre down
over his knee, all eagerness to reach the enemy. Nor was it long
before the squadron got to striking distance. The peasants held their
ground till the horses were fifty paces away, and then raced into the
houses. A storm of bullets came from windows and doorways, and then,
of a sudden, there was a clatter in front, and the commander of the
squadron disappeared from view entirely. By then Tom was within ten
paces of him; for the formation had brought him to the very centre.
"Halt!" he bellowed, seeing what had happened. "The road is blocked.
The peasants have dug a huge ditch, and the commander has gone into
it. Here--hold my horse!"
He flung the reins to a trooper riding at his knee, and slid to
the ground. A moment later he was down in the rough and deep ditch
which the peasants had made ready, and leaning over the unfortunate
commander of the squadron found that he was dead.
"_Il est mort!_" he shouted to the troopers, making his way back to
his horse at once.
"Monsieur, this is terrible!" cried the trooper who had held the
reins. "We are being shot down rapidly, and nothing is being done
to help us. The captain is dead and his lieutenant; I think the
sergeants are also hurt."
The engagement, so far as the squadron was concerned, had indeed come
to a curious and dangerous halt. The troopers sat bunched together,
some of the men reining their horses back as if about to flee. Yet
no order came. There was no one to give the word of command. It was
then that Tom showed the stuff of which he was made. It is true Mr.
Riley should perhaps have come to the fore, or Jack; but neither
could speak the language, while, in any case, it was the duty of one
of the troopers to conduct the action. However, when no one comes
forward, and men are being shot down rapidly, it is clear that he who
takes command on his shoulders, and acts wisely, is a blessing to his
comrades. Jack took the post without a thought. To sit still longer
was madness, and quite impossible.
"Wheel about," he shouted in French. "Ah, they have closed in on us!
We are caught between two fires. Forward, men, charge!"
He led them at the enemy at full gallop; but what could fifty men do
against some hundreds? It happened that this squadron of horse had
been watched by the peasants, and for two days past efforts had been
made to surround it. The wild inhabitants of this mountainous region,
burning with hatred of the invader, had been brought together, and
gradually, as the horsemen retreated from the coast and got into
difficult country, the net had been drawn about them. There were
perhaps five hundred peasants in rear of the party when Tom faced
them about and charged. A crashing discharge of musketry swept
the ranks of the troopers, dropping a dozen of the men from their
saddles, and then began a rush on the part of the enemy. It looked,
indeed, as if the remnant would be annihilated, and slashed to pieces
where they stood. Tom looked anxiously and swiftly about him, and
perceiving a building on the outskirts of the village, a little to
one side, he instantly decided to occupy it.
"Right wheel!" he shouted. "Now gallop to that building. If the door
is big enough, and we can open it, ride right in. Forward! Clear the
rabble coming towards us."
It happened that another section of the circle was approaching the
scene of the action from the direction of the building towards which
he and the troopers were now making, and these at once opened fire.
But Tom set heels to his horse, and in a minute he and the men
supporting him burst amongst the peasants, slashing at them to right
and left, riding them down, and scattering them in every direction.
It was exciting work while it lasted, and it had the effect of
allowing the party a little breathing time. They rode up to the door
of the building, to find it was a church, and in a twinkling the door
was open. Up the five steps leading to it rode Tom, and after him
came his comrades.
"Dismount," he commanded. "Draw your carbines and scatter about the
place, to make sure that no windows or doors are open. Two of you
stand guard over the horses."
It was pitch dark within the church; but a trooper quickly discovered
a torch, and then some candles stored away in a box.
"It won't do to keep them burning," said Tom, thinking rapidly. "The
light would help the enemy to shoot us; but we must have something
with which to inspect the place. Ah, I know--Andrews!"
"Yes, sir?"
The big rifleman was standing stiffly at attention before Tom, his
arm at the salute.
"Take the torch and this trooper with you. Go round; return when you
have inspected, and report."
The soldier saluted again with as much briskness as he would have
displayed had Tom been a regular officer, and went away with one of
the troopers whom Tom called.
"Howeley!" he shouted.
"Sir?"
Like Andrews, the man was drawn up with the rigidity of a bayonet.
"Collect all ammunition, place it in a central position, and dish it
out ten rounds at a time. Report the total amount."
"Yes, sir."
The fine fellow went off like a rocket to perform the task, while Tom
called to the troopers.
"My lads," he shouted, "let us be silent; I have sent a man to
inspect the place, and will post you all presently. Another will
collect the ammunition, and give it out ten rounds at a time. Don't
forget that we may be held up here for hours, and our lives will
depend on the amount of cartridges we have. Now, I want two of you
for another purpose."
Two men at once came forward. "We are ready, monsieur," one of them
said. "For the moment we and our comrades look to you as the leader.
Indeed you are a leader; but for your quickness and decision we
should be back there at the entrance to the village shot down beside
our comrades."
"Then collect all saddle bags," said Tom, "pile them in a corner,
and with them all water bottles. They are the most important. I'm
not afraid of starvation; for we have horses here, and one of them
slaughtered will provide us with ample food. It is the water that is
important; see to it, please."
It was perhaps some ten minutes later that the defences of the church
were ready. Tom busied himself posting men at all vulnerable spots,
and then clambered into the tower with Andrews. It was quite a modest
erection, some fifty feet in height, but sufficient to give a view
over the village. Lights could be seen in many directions, while
shouts echoed through the air. There was the tramp of feet also, and
a dull mass over at the entrance to the village.
"They're gloating over the poor chaps they shot and knocked out of
their saddles, sir," said Andrews. "It was sharp business; I was
never in a brisker, and I've done two years of the campaign already.
Came out in 1808, sir, and went home wounded. Beg pardon, sir, but
what might your corps be?"
"Corps? Corps?" exclaimed Tom, mystified for the moment. "Oh, I
follow! I'm not in the army, Andrews. I was on my way out to Oporto,
or, more correctly, I was going to sail for that place when I was
impressed and sent aboard a British frigate. We had that action with
the French man-of-war, and you were released. News had come out to
the frigate, meanwhile, that I ought never to have been impressed,
and so the captain sent me on in the sloop to Oporto. By rights I
ought to be seated at a desk adding up long, dry columns."
Andrews gave vent to a gruff expression. "Strike me!" he cried, as
if dumbfounded by the information; "and I and Howeley and all them
French boys took you for an orficer. Anyways, sir, beggin' your
pardon, you've done handsomely. It was a lucky thing for us that you
took the command, for Mr. Barwood ain't fit for it. He got knocked
out by the first bullet almost, and it was as much as he could do
to stick to his saddle till we reached here. Mr. Riley ain't no
better. If Howeley hadn't held him he'd have been left outside to be
murdered. This here's a tough little business."
It proved, in fact, a fortunate thing for all concerned that Tom
had taken the command. There are some who might express the opinion
that he should not have done so, that it displayed an uppish spirit.
Granted all that; but uppishness is just what is required in moments
of stress and danger. The lad who is modest at all times, and yet who
can come to the fore when circumstances urgently call for a leader,
is a lad of the right sort, a benefactor to his comrades. In this
case Tom had undoubtedly done the right thing, and, moreover, had
done it well.
"It was real smart," said Andrews respectfully. "Beggin' pardon
again, sir; there's many who would have been cornered. To go forward
was impossible, to retreat out of the question, seeing as there
were three hundred or more of the ruffians behind us. This was the
only course. It's queer to think that we, who are fighting for the
Portuguese against the French, should be boxed up here in danger of
having our throats slit by those who ought to be friends."
"It's the fortune of war, Andrews," declared Tom. "I'm sorry for the
wretches outside. By all accounts the French hate them intensely, for
the Portuguese have shown more spirit than have the Spanish. They
have contested the rights of the invaders from the beginning, and
as a result the French have burned their villages and treated them
badly. Indeed I believe they have behaved with the grossest cruelty.
As a result there are reprisals, and we are swept up in one of these,
and are likely to have a warm time of it before we are free."
"It's bound to be an ugly business," admitted Andrews. "I can hear
them coming now."
"Then we'll go to the men," said Tom. "I'll give them orders not to
fire till I tell them. Of course I shall make an attempt to win over
the peasants."
"Eh? How's that, sir?" asked Andrews. "What about their lingo?"
"You forget I was meant for Oporto. I and my family have had
associations with Portugal and Spain for a long while, and my cousins
are Spanish. I speak both languages, but not well, I fear. I always
hated lessons, and now wish to goodness I had been a little more
diligent. However, I can make myself understood easily, and will try
to win the peasants over."
They clambered down the long, rough ladder that led from the belfry,
and went amongst the men, Tom warning all of them to hold their fire
till he shouted. Meanwhile Howeley had reported to him that there
was ammunition sufficient to supply each man with forty-two rounds.
As for food and drink, to his dismay he was informed that there was
little of either; so that it looked as if the contest could not last
for long.
"We've just twenty-two men all told, counting yourself and the other
officers," reported Andrews, some minutes later, saluting Tom as
if he had no doubt as to his position. "Every window and door is
guarded, and from what I can see of the troopers they are ready for
any fighting. It's queer to think that we who were prisoners are in
command, and no difficulty about it."
There was little doubt that the situation was more or less unique,
and caused Mr. Riley the utmost amusement. He, poor fellow, had been
struck in the ribs somewhat heavily, and lay in a corner, with Jack
close beside him; but he smiled when our hero at length had time to
approach him.
"My lad, you've done right well; you're a dead loss to the navy," he
smiled. "I'm not surprised; after what I saw aboard the frigate I
felt you would do something. Jack and I haven't worried you since we
got here, as we saw you wanted freedom to think and arrange matters;
but we're glad now that you're able to spare a few minutes. What will
happen?"
Tom stayed with them for a quarter of an hour, and now that he felt
that he had done all that was possible in arranging the defence, he
employed his wits and energies in seeing to his comrades. In the
case of Mr. Riley, he, with the help of Andrews and Howeley, bound
his chest very firmly with a couple of girths taken from the horses,
first of all, however, placing a pad over the wound, which was little
more than a contusion. For Jack equally simple surgery sufficed, for
a bullet had penetrated his thigh, and, the bleeding having stopped,
all that was wanted was a dressing and a bandage, and fortunately
the troopers carried these with them. They had hardly made him
comfortable when the lookout man posted in the tower reported that a
mass of men were coming.
"Remember--not a shot, my friends," Tom called out to the troops,
"and take care not to show a light. I will see to these people and
try to win them over."
He scrambled up an ancient flight of stone steps and passed on to
a ledge over the doorway, which, no doubt, served the purpose of
a pulpit in fine weather. There was a dull roar of voices coming
towards him, while the space between himself and the village seemed
to be filled with figures. Ten minutes later a mob had drawn up in
front of the church. Tom stood to his full height and hailed them.
"My friends," he shouted in Portuguese. "We are English!"
A fearful yell answered him. Shrieks of anger floated up to his ears,
while a hurricane of shots swept in his direction. Amidst the dancing
torches that many of the people carried there flashed out splashes
of flame. The vibrating roar of voices which followed had in it an
awe-inspiring note. Tom might have been on the verge of a rocky coast
on which huge breakers were thundering in their fury. That note spoke
of hatred, of an approaching triumph, of a horrible gloating on the
part of the peasants. It told better than individual words could do
what were the intentions of the enemy, what would be the fate of the
besieged if they fell into their hands. Then, of a sudden, catching a
better view perhaps of the solitary figure above them, the mob became
silent.
"My friends," called Tom, his tones clear, not a whimper in his
voice, "you have made an error. There are five Englishmen amongst
this party, five friends of the Portuguese. Let someone come forward
to identify us."
There might have been a mob of wild beasts outside by the answer. The
crowd, thinking no doubt that one of the Frenchmen was attempting to
fool them, and rob them of a prey they now counted upon as their own,
shrieked aloud and came surging forward. More shots rang out, stones
were thrown; and then, with a loud crash, the leaders came against
the door of the church. Tom clambered down to his men, stern and
pale and determined.
"Post three of them up on the ledge," he told Andrews, who was a
valuable help to him. "Let others fire through the windows when I
shout. Don't fire till then."
He repeated the words in French, and then waited till there came a
stunning blow upon the door, a blow which shook it to the hinges and
threatened to throw it down. It was clear, in fact, that the mob
outside were longing to get at the troopers. Shouts and oaths could
be heard, while the clatter of firearms was incessant.
CHAPTER VI
Napoleon the Ambitious
Within the village church in which the French troopers and their
one-time English prisoners had taken refuge under Tom Clifford's
guidance there was a deathly silence while the mob outside shrieked
and shouted. Not one of the defenders but knew what fate awaited them
if once the enemy beat in the doors, and knowing that they listened
as blow after blow thundered upon the woodwork, shaking the doors
till they threatened to fall down.
"Andrews," shouted Tom, who had been listening acutely like the
rest, and wondering what action he ought to take, "light up one of
the torches and take a couple of men with you. We want something to
place behind the doors, for in a little while they will be beaten in.
Meanwhile I will try again to pacify the peasants."
It was a forlorn hope, and yet worth trying. Tom, therefore,
clambered up the steep flight of stone steps again, while Andrews
went off to do his bidding. Stepping past the three men who had
ascended to the ledge above the crowd our hero once more stood
to his full height and shouted to attract the attention of the
peasants. And once more his coming was the signal for an outburst of
shouts, shrieks, groans, and hisses which might well have appalled
a brave man. Muskets flashed in the semi-darkness, for night had
now come, while here and there torches flamed over the heads of the
people. Bullets spattered and broke against the stonework about
him, thudding heavily, even splashing him with portions of lead.
One enthusiast, in fact, as if driven frantic by the sight of his
person, made a vain attempt to clamber up the ledge, and, missing his
footing, fell back upon the crowd, his coming setting rise to oaths
and shouts of anger. Then there fell a sudden silence while a brawny
giant, a blacksmith no doubt, stepped from under the archway of the
door, a huge hammer over his shoulder, showing that it was he who had
been delivering those smashing blows on the door.
"People of Portugal," Tom called out loudly, "I have come again to
speak to you. You fight with friends, not with enemies."
The howl that followed would have scared even a veteran.
"Friends! You say friends!" shouted the blacksmith, stepping still
farther out from the arch, while a couple of torches near him
illuminated his person. "Who are you that you should try to fool us?
We know our business well enough. For days we have watched this troop
of horse, and for days we have vowed to kill every man of them, to
kill them slowly if we may. Who are you, speaking our tongue, who
dare to say that you are friends?"
Shouts of applause greeted the words. An excited individual near the
speaker levelled a pistol and fired point-blank at Tom, narrowly
missing his head. Then once more there was silence. The crowd, in
fact, seemed to have realized their own power now, and knew well that
the church was surrounded. Eager though they were to slaughter the
troopers, they did not grudge a few moments' delay.
"Who are you?" they shouted hoarsely.
"I am English," answered Tom at once, "and so are four others amongst
us. We were being carried as prisoners."
"A lie!" came fiercely from someone in the crowd. "If he and the four
beside were prisoners, why then were they armed? Why did they fight
us at the entrance to the village?"
The argument was greeted with roars of applause again, which silenced
all Tom's efforts. Then the blacksmith held his hammer aloft to
command silence, and, having obtained it, seized a torch and held it
high up toward our hero.
"Listen, friends and brothers," he called in hoarse tones. "There is
one above who speaks our tongue and tells us that he and four others
are English and therefore friends. Good! Let us say that this is no
lie. There are four, while we are four hundred. Let these four, with
the one who speaks to us, come out from the church. If their tale
is true they shall live and we will feed and house them. If they
lie----"
The sentence was broken by discordant shouts of glee at the
blacksmith's wit, shouts that boded ill for anyone foolhardy enough
to place himself in the hands of such people, so roused by events,
and mad for slaughter, that they were incapable of recognizing friend
from foe.
"Let the five come out to us," shouted the blacksmith, "leaving the
others to be dealt with as we will."
Tom waited for the noise which followed to die down, and then bent
over the crowd. "What you ask is impossible," he said firmly. "I and
my English friends will not desert the troopers. But we are ready
to hand ourselves over to a body of English troops when you bring
them to us. To you we will not trust ourselves, and I warn you that
efforts on your part will lead to the death of many. Now, be wise;
reflect on the consequences and leave us alone."
Had he wished to stir the rage of the peasants Tom could not have
done it more effectually. Screams of rage filled the air, while a
torrent of bullets sped toward him. He stepped back from the ledge,
clambered down the stairs, and seized a carbine and ammunition.
"My friends," he said in French, "those wolves outside ask for our
lives. We will sell them dearly. Let each man fire the moment the
attack begins, remembering to make each shot tell, for ammunition is
very scarce. Ah, is that you, Andrews?"
"Yes, sir," came the answer, while the rifleman drew himself up
stiffly in front of our hero, a lighted torch still in one hand.
"There are pews, which we might break up," he reported; "but they're
light, too light to be of use in a doorway. But one of the horses is
dead, sir. If we were to pull him along here he'd make an obstacle
they'd have difficulty in moving."
"A horse!" the novel idea startled Tom. And then, on consideration,
it appeared that nothing could be better. At once he sent Andrews off
with four of the men to drag the animal towards the door, while he
himself took the candle, and, striding over to the pews that filled
the floor of the church, closely inspected them. A scheme for saving
ammunition was growing in his brain; for it was clear that if the
enemy persisted in an attack the wherewithal to load the muskets
would soon be expended.
"The doors will be broken down in no time," he told himself; "then we
shall be separated from the peasants merely by the barrier we happen
to place in position--a horse on this occasion. What we want is
something long with which to keep them at a distance."
Calling two of the troopers, he urged them to break up half a dozen
of pews as swiftly as possible, keeping the long timbers intact.
"Use your sabres," he said, "and when you have the timbers
separated, point them at one end. I want a couple of dozen spears
with which to fend off these peasants. Ah, there goes the hammer
again!"
A terrific blow resounded upon the door, which was followed almost
immediately by a sharp report from the ledge above, and then by a
howl. The blacksmith had not lived to see the triumph that he had
anticipated. One of the French troopers had leaned over and shot
him with his carbine. But the shot made little difference. A dozen
infuriated peasants sprang forward to seize the hammer, while shots
came from all directions. Then, amidst the sounds, steps were heard
on the narrow staircase leading from the ledge.
"Monsieur," said the man, running up to Tom, "there are men bringing
masses of straw to pile against the door. My comrades have discovered
a gallery leading from the ledge, with steps at the far end. There is
a large room also, and much building material there. It seems that at
one time the church was larger. Will monsieur sanction the tossing of
stones on the heads of the enemy?"
Tom nodded promptly, his features lighting up. By the aid of the
flickering torch the trooper was able to see that the young fellow
who had so suddenly taken command of the party was actually smiling.
"_Ma foi!_" he exclaimed _sotto voce_, "but the Englishman cares
nothing for this trouble! He is the one to lead."
"I will come up as soon as I am able," said Tom. "Meanwhile, do as
best you can. Toss anything on their heads, but, above all, save
ammunition."
The man was gone in a moment, while blows again sounded on the door,
one more violent than any which had preceded it shattering the upper
hinges. The shouts of triumph which burst from the peasants were
followed by a couple or more dull thuds, as if heavy bodies had
been dropped on the heads of the attackers, and then by a chorus
of shrieks denoting hatred and execration. Meanwhile a stir in the
church told of men struggling at some task, and presently Andrews
appeared with his helpers, and behind them the carcass of a horse.
"He fell dead in a hollow leading to a doorway," explained Andrews in
short gasps, "and to bring him here we had to drag him up a couple
of high steps. Once on the main floor of the church the carcass slid
easily enough; but earlier--my word it was hard work! There! the
carcass fills the lower part of the doorway, and as the legs are in
this direction those brutes will have nothing to take a grip of. What
orders, sir?"
"Pull the pews out of their places and pile them one on another round
the doorway," answered Tom, who had been sketching out his plans in
the meanwhile. "You and Howeley and two of the troopers will take
post on them a little to one side, and will fire into the crowd
once the doors give way. The other men will be below you, and I am
supplying them with spears made from the timbers of some of the
pews. You and they together should be able to keep the enemy off."
It may be imagined that each man amongst the defenders appointed
to some task had laboured at it with all haste, and by now the men
Tom had instructed to break up pews had almost finished their work.
Indeed, within a few minutes, and just before the doors were burst
in and fell over the carcass of the horse with a clatter, they had
produced more than a dozen long pieces of strong timber, each one
roughly hacked to a point at one end; and being some fifteen feet in
length these improvised spears promised to be of great service. In a
few seconds, in fact, they were put to a useful if somewhat unkind
purpose; for the fall of the doors was the signal for a mad rush on
the part of the peasants. The three or four hundred or more outside,
howling about the entrance to the church, launched themselves
promptly at the black void, where but a few moments before the flames
from the torches had shown doors. A hundred struggled to lead the
attackers where there was room only for half a dozen, and as a result
they came surging on in a compact mass, which threatened to push
the carcass of the horse aside as if it were a mere nothing. Then
wiser counsels prevailed. Elbow room was given to those in advance,
and soon shots were whistling through the doorway, while men armed
with sabres, with pitchforks, with scythes and every class of weapon
dashed up the steps and hurled themselves at the opening. Thud!
thud! the stones came from the ledge above, striking the peasants
down. The muskets wielded by Andrews and his comrades swept away the
more dangerous of the enemy--those provided with firearms--while
the troopers handling the long spears fashioned from pew timbers
made effective use of their weird weapons. They thrust them at the
enemy, giving terrible wounds. They beat them over the head till many
dropped, and then advancing a pace or two, so that their weapons
projected through the doorway over the carcass of the horse, they
drove the peasants away from the entrance altogether.
[Illustration: THE PEASANTS BREAK IN THE CHURCH DOORS]
"Stop firing!" shouted Tom, seeing that the peasants were retreating.
"We have taught them a sharp lesson, and that is enough for the
moment. We don't want to rouse their anger further, and will try to
show them that all we want is to be left alone, but that if they
attack us we are fully able to give hard knocks in return. Anyone
hurt?"
He repeated the words in French, and was relieved to hear that not
one of the men had received so much as a scratch.
"Then we are well out of the first attack. Now we'll eat," he said.
"We shall have to go on short rations without a doubt, and since that
can't be helped we must make the most of it."
Leaving a man still in the belfry, and one of the troopers on the
ledge, he posted two others at the rear of the church. Then he
and Andrews, with the help of two of the troopers, collected all
the rations contained in the saddle bags, divided them into four
portions, and finally issued a share of one portion to each one of
the defenders. Thereafter they sat in the darkness eating the food,
while, there being no news of the enemy, who seemed to have retired
to the village, some of the men went to sleep, while others lit pipes
and smoked contentedly. Tom sat down beside Mr. Riley and Jack, and
devoured his own meal with an avidity which showed that excitement
rather increased his appetite than the reverse.
"Splendidly managed, lad!" declared Mr. Riley, when he had finished
the meal. "Not the eating of your rations, but the defence. Dear,
dear, what a loss to the service!"
"Which service, sir?" asked Jack swiftly, for though wounded, and
more or less incapable, the old spirit was still there. There was,
in fact, a cheeky grin of enquiry on his somewhat pallid features,
a pallor made even more evident by the flickering flame of a torch
burning near the trio.
"Eh?" asked Mr. Riley, taken aback. "Which service? _The_ service, I
said."
"Army?" grinned Jack exasperatingly.
"I'll hammer you, my lad, when once you're fit," laughed the naval
officer. "As if anyone could misunderstand me! I say that _the_
service has lost a budding Nelson--a Nelson, Jack; as good a man as
ever trod a deck. Tom's a loss to the service, now isn't he?"
"Army; yes, sir," grinned Jack, rolling his eyes at the naval officer.
"Joking apart, though," said Mr. Riley, ignoring the fun of the
ensign, "Tom'll be a loss in an office. Just imagine our friend
perched on a high stool battling with facts and figures, when
he's shown he's capable of battling with people. Tom, I call it
a downright sin. If you were my brother I'd say 'Go hang' to the
office."
"Hear, hear!" cried Jack. "If Tom'd just give it up for a time and
come along with us, why, I'd----"
"You?" interrupted Mr. Riley, with a smile of incredulity; for though
Jack was undoubtedly dashing and gallant enough, he lacked the
stamina and serious thought of one who leads.
"I," repeated the incorrigible ensign, "_I_--with a capital to it,
please--I'd make the dear boy a general before he knew what was
happening."
There was a roar of laughter at that, a roar which brought the
troopers to a sitting posture, their fingers on their carbines. And
then a smile was exchanged amongst them.
"_Parbleu!_ but these English are proper fellows," said one to his
comrade. "They come to us as prisoners, and we see at once that they
are good comrades. They fall into the same trap with us too, and,
having received arms, act as if they were French and not English.
Now, one of them having saved the lives of all here, and having
brought us to a nest which may be described as that of a hornet,
they laugh and joke and make merry. _Ma foi!_ but these English are
too good to fight with. It is the rascals of Spaniards we should
engage with."
"Hear 'em!" grunted the rifleman Howeley, stretched near his comrade
Andrews. "That 'ere Mr. Jack's a givin' lip to the naval orficer. Ten
ter one he's sayin' as how the British army's better nor the navy.
Equal, I says, all the time, though the army's my choice. Mate, who's
this Mr. Clifford? What's his corps? He's a smart 'un."
His mouth went agape when the worthy Andrews informed him that Tom
was merely a civilian, a class upon which Howeley had, in his own
particular lordly way, been rather apt to look down.
"Civilian!" he gasped. "Strike me! But----"
"He's led us grandly. He's dropped into the post of commander as
if he had been trained for it, as if it were his by right. I know
all that," declared Andrews. "Tell you, my lad, he'd make a proper
soldier."
Meanwhile Tom had faced the naval lieutenant eagerly.
"You think I'd do as an officer, sir?" he asked.
"Indeed I do," came the answer. "A regular could not have done better
than you have done. You'll be a loss----"
"To the army," burst in the irrepressible Jack, grinning widely.
"To either service," said Mr. Riley seriously.
"Then, sir, I shall ask to join the army," declared our hero. "I seem
to have been meant for it. This is the second time that my efforts
to reach an office have been foiled. I shall attempt to obtain a
commission; then I'll see what can be done to help Jack to capture
Boney and turn the French out of the Peninsula."
There was more laughter at that, laughter turned on the young ensign.
A little later Mr. Riley dragged a paper from his pocket and slowly
read a few lines to our hero.
"You'll be interested to hear what is happening," he said.
"Bonaparte, otherwise known as Napoleon, sometimes also as the
'Little Corporal', or as the 'Little Corsican', Emperor of the
French, now proposes to leave the Peninsula and march from Paris
_en route_ for Russia, which kingdom he wishes to conquer and add
to his realms. Napoleon is not, in fact, satisfied with the whole
of France, Italy, and other kingdoms. He desires to place the whole
of Europe under one king, that king to be himself; to have but one
capital for all, and that Paris; one code of laws, one currency, one
language perhaps. It is Russia that now attracts him. To-morrow--who
knows?--it will be England."
"But----" flashed out Jack, indignant at the very suggestion.
"Quite so," admitted Mr. Riley, stopping him with a smile; "but, as
Jack was about to announce, there is always the service."
"Eh?" asked the ensign, puzzled for the moment.
"_The_ service stands in his way. Nelson defeated his navy in 1805,
and thereby made invasion of England impossible. _The_ service,
please, Mr. Jack."
Jack was caught, and had the grace to admit it. "I grant you that
Trafalgar was a tremendous victory, sir," he said. "But there's the
army to be considered also."
"Right, lad," came the emphatic reply. "And well they have done too.
See what wonders Wellington and his men have accomplished in the
Peninsula."
"Tell us all about it, Mr. Riley," asked Tom. "I'm like hundreds of
others. I know that Napoleon desires to conquer all within his reach,
and is said to have designs on England. I know, too, that our troops
have been in this Peninsula since 1808, fighting the battles of the
Portuguese and Spanish, and with great success. But why should we not
have left them to it? I suppose we're afraid that Boney will become
altogether too strong unless we interfere. Isn't that it? I haven't
followed the various engagements, of which there have been numbers."
"Then here's for a yarn," began the naval lieutenant. "Those
peasants, poor fools, have left us alone for the time being, and
as my wound is too painful to let me sleep, and this Jack seems
to be eager for information, why, I'll tell you the tale, and
mighty fine hearing it makes. To begin with, we hark back to the
'Little Corsican', the artillery officer--a commoner, you must
understand--who, by dint of sheer force of character and military
and diplomatic genius, became Emperor of the French after that
awful Revolution. Let us understand the position thoroughly. You
have on the throne of France a man born in a lowly station. There
is no long list of kingly ancestors behind him. Louis Capet, late
King of France, was beheaded. The kingdom had become a republic,
where equality and fraternity were supposed to flourish, and where
the people were still shivering after the awful ordeals through
which they had passed, scarcely able to believe that the days of
the guillotine had really gone--those terrible days when no man, or
woman either, knew whether the next day or so would or would not see
himself or herself sent to sudden doom.
"At this moment Napoleon Bonaparte, a distinguished soldier, appeared
upon the scene, and we find him in the course of a little time
Emperor of the French, rich, all-powerful, and extremely ambitious.
That ambition which might, had he wished it, have turned towards
the path of peace, has been resolutely bent towards conquest. As I
have said, Napoleon seeks to subjugate Europe. He dreams of a world
power, with Paris as the centre and hub of that huge empire, and
himself ruler over millions of downtrodden people. Doubtless England
would have shared the same fate as other nations, and would have been
overrun by French troops and mercenaries, had it not been for our
navy. That is the arm, my lads, which has kept us free of invasion,
that still sweeps the seas, and keeps French transports from
venturing across to our tight little island."
"Then, if that is so," ventured Tom, "why not confine our efforts to
the sea? At Trafalgar we beat the French and Spanish fleets combined.
Why then should we now take the side of the Spaniards?"
"A fair question, and easily answered," smiled Mr. Riley. "Here is
the plain, unvarnished explanation. You may say, putting sentiment
and natural sympathy apart, that it is nothing to us that Napoleon
has thrust his brother on the Spanish throne, displacing the rightful
ruler; or if he subjugates Russia, putting a ruler of his own choice
on the throne there also. You may argue that that is no affair of
England's. But let us look at the certain results of such success
on his part. He conquers a kingdom, and straightway has all the
resources of that kingdom at his command. Its men are at his service,
its fleets also; his armies and his navy are greatly increased in
power thereby. Thus, first with one addition and then with another to
this world power he seeks, Napoleon arrives at a point where he can
destroy England in spite of her navy. There you find a reason for our
actions, and for the presence of our troops here in the Peninsula. We
fight to free the peoples here, thereby reducing Napoleon's power. We
seize this opportunity because the peoples of the Peninsula will have
none of Napoleon's ruling. The countries seethe with indignation,
there are riots everywhere. Let us but drive him and his troops out
of the Peninsula, and Napoleon himself meet with reverses elsewhere,
and all the downtrodden peoples he has already conquered will turn
upon him. There will be a great alliance against this despot, and
in the course of time, in spite of his gigantic armies and their
undoubtedly fine organization, we shall wrest his power from him,
perhaps even his kingdom."
That was exactly what England was striving for in those days. It may
almost be said that a parallel situation had arisen to that which
beset the people of England in the days of Good Queen Bess. Then
Spain was a world power; that is to say, she owned amongst other
possessions those American colonies that brought her so much wealth.
The Gulf of Mexico saw many of her ships; her vessels, of enormous
tonnage when compared with those of England at that time, sailed from
the coast of Mexico laden with jewels and gold and wealth wrung from
the natives, those Astec people who displayed such gentleness of
character, such civilized habits, alongside of a barbarous custom of
human sacrifice to which the world has seen no equal, not even in the
days of King Coffee in Ashantee. Wealth can buy power; it purchases
ships, and if there be the men to man them, then a wealthy nation can
endow itself with a fleet which may be the terror of its neighbours.
That was the position between Spain and England in those days. That
Armada was preparing. It aimed at the subjugation of England, and the
story is well enough known how Drake and his admirals set forth in
their tiny ships, manned by men who may be said to have been born
aboard them, and in spite of the size of the galleons of the Armada,
in spite of paucity of numbers and shortness of ammunition, contrived
to break up the huge fleet when almost within sight of our shores.
That was nearly a parallel situation. Now, instead of Spain, France
aimed at our invasion, its Emperor Napoleon being ambitious to add
England to the other nations he was bringing beneath his sway. Who
knows what might have happened had there been no sea to contend with
and no fleet? But we may fairly surmise that this country would have
given a good account of herself, for already her armies in Portugal
and Spain had chastised the French. Whatever the result under such
circumstances, there was that sea to contend with, and Nelson and his
admirals had so carefully watched it, and had fought so strenuously,
that the fleet of France had been annihilated at Trafalgar. Thus
the fear of invasion was gone for the moment. We had the future to
consider, and, thoughtful of our own security and of the danger
which would surely arise again so soon as Napoleon had brought
Europe beneath his sway, we sent our troops to the Peninsula, there
to oppose the man whose restless ambition kept the west in a state
of turmoil, whose decree held thousands and thousands of men under
arms when they might have been engaged in some peaceful occupation,
and whose constant succession of skirmishes and battles filled the
hospitals of Europe, sent thousands of maimed wretches back to their
homes, and crowded the cemeteries. That was the direct result of
Napoleon's ambitious policy, of his aggression, and let those who
hold him up as a hero think of the unhappy wretches who suffered
pain, and whose cries of anguish are now forgotten. Let them remember
the huge number of young men in the first blush of life who found a
grave on the many battlefields of Europe.
But that was the position before Napoleon set his eyes on the
Peninsula, determining to place his brother on the throne of Spain
and so bring the entire nation under his power. It was this latter
period which was of greatest interest to our hero, and he listened
eagerly while Mr. Riley told of the landing of our troops in
Portugal, of their hardships, and of the strenuous fighting they had
experienced.
CHAPTER VII
A Tight Corner
"Now for our troops and the Peninsula," said Mr. Riley, settling
himself in a corner of the old church and fixing his eyes for a few
moments on the flaming and smoking torch which illuminated that part.
"Those peasants seem to have decided to leave us alone for to-night,
so that we have the time between this and the morning to ourselves. I
imagine, too, that we may be congratulated; since it is easier for a
few to defend a given place when they have daylight to help them. Ah,
the sentry moves!"
In the dim light cast by the torch they saw the trooper whom Tom had
stationed at the open doors of the place slowly rise to his feet and
peer out. A minute later they watched as he levelled his musket. Then
he seemed to change his mind, for of a sudden he dropped the weapon
softly to the ground and gripped his sabre. And there he remained, in
a posture that showed preparedness, for all the world like a tiger
ready to spring. Nor was it long before he suddenly awoke to action;
for there came a sound from outside the door, and a dull murmur
echoed from the distance. Creeping silently towards him, Tom peered
through the doorway over his shoulder, and for a time saw nothing.
Then, in the distance, he thought he could distinguish a dark mass
between himself and the village, while nearer at hand there were two
figures.
"Going to try a surprise," he told himself. "They have sent two of
their most daring spirits ahead, and will follow immediately."
Promptly he crept away to warn the men, who by now were asleep
for the most part; and very quietly they mustered about the door,
while those on guard at the various danger spots about the building
retained their positions.
"Gather about the door and pick up your spears," he warned the men
in a whisper. "Leave the two who are creeping on to the sentry and
Andrews."
The stalwart rifleman had already taken his post beside the sentry,
armed just as he was with a sabre, and there, like cats waiting to
pounce, they crouched. Peering out again over the carcass of the
horse, Tom saw two heads appear, and then three more immediately
behind them. One of the peasants almost instantly leaped on to the
carcass, and was joined there within a second by a comrade. There was
a loud shout from one, as if to signal to the mass behind, and then
he and his fellow leaped into the church, while others appeared just
behind the carcass of the horse.
"On them!" shouted the gallant Andrews. "Cut them down! Back with
them!"
He threw himself at the attackers, and the trooper with him. For a
minute perhaps there was a fierce scuffle, and then the two retired,
as their work was accomplished. Both the daring spirits who had
invaded the church had paid the penalty of their rashness and lay
dead upon the floor. But the others were by no means disheartened. It
appeared that a dozen or more had crept forward, and with loud shouts
they now rushed at the opening.
"Keep them off with the spears. Don't fire unless you are compelled,"
Tom ordered loudly. "We've shown them that we are ready for them, and
the less fuss we make about the matter the more they will fear us in
the future. Ah, here they come!"
By now a surging crowd had arrived outside the church, and once more
the scene of a little time before was repeated. Muskets and ancient
firearms were discharged from every point, and in the most haphazard
fashion. Indeed it may be said that in this respect the attackers
were as dangerous to one another as to the defenders of the church.
A hundred frenzied creatures hurled themselves into the doorway,
and for a while it looked as if they would sweep all before them.
But those deadly spears, harmless though they looked on a casual
inspection, did the work expected of them. Men were tossed back with
jagged wounds in the chest. Others were felled with blows over the
head, while in many instances the attackers were pushed away by sheer
strength. Then, at a signal from Tom, four of the defenders joined
Andrews and the sentry, each armed with sabres, and fell furiously
upon the mob. Shrieks filled the air; the maddened peasants dropped
their weapons and endeavoured to grapple with the soldiers. They bit
at the men and fought like fiends. Then some turned, pressing away
from the door, but only to be thrust forward again by the weight
of those behind them. It was a startled cry from someone in the
background which at length caused the mob to retire; a sudden panic
seemed to seize them and in a little while they were racing pell mell
from the building.
"Now go back to your corners and sleep," said Tom. "We have taught
them another lesson, and next time they will not be quite so bold.
Let us have a look at these fellows."
He took the torch and leaned over the two men who had been cut down
by Andrews and the trooper. They were powerful fellows, armed with
billhooks and had their boots thickly wrapped with straw so as to
deaden the sound of their coming.
"Put them outside," he ordered, "and to-morrow, at the first streak
of dawn, we will send out a party to remove the other bodies. We
may be cooped up here for a week, and things would then become
unpleasant. That reminds me; there's the question of food and water.
Well, that must settle itself; we'll wait for morning."
There was nothing else to be done; therefore, having posted his
sentries, and cautioned them to be very watchful, Tom retired to the
corner in which he had left Mr. Riley and Jack.
"A nice little skirmish, Tom," said the former. "By the time you
join the army you'll have become a veteran. These little conflicts
are all good practice, for if I am not mistaken the peasants will
make tremendous efforts when the day comes. But sit down. I'm eager
to tell my tale before another disturbance comes. Where was I?
Oh, I remember! We were talking of the troops in the Peninsula.
You understand that Napoleon's armies were massed at this time
in both Portugal and Spain. Well, Wellington--then Sir Arthur
Wellesley--sailed from Cork in July, 1808, with some ten thousand
men, and landed near Oporto. An experienced general such as he was,
one, too, fresh from conquests in India, was not likely to let the
grass grow beneath his feet, and almost at once he had a nice little
skirmish with the French at Brilos and at Rolica, causing Laborde,
their commander, to withdraw.
"He would have pushed on at once without a doubt, but information
now reached him that General Anstruther had landed at Peniche, and,
it being important to join hands with him, he left Laborde for the
moment and marched to meet the new arrivals. Almost at once General
Sir Harry Burrard appeared upon the scene, with orders from the Home
authorities to take the chief command; for these authorities were
for ever changing their minds. You observe that they send Wellesley
to the Peninsula, a general with a great and recent reputation,
and replace him within a few days by a second general, who, however
skilled, had certainly not the experience of the brilliant officer
first selected. At this time the British force was encamped at
Vimeiro, and a fierce engagement followed, forced upon our troops
by the French, and arising at that point where Wellesley's own
particular command was located. He beat the French handsomely, after
a fierce engagement in which both sides fought most gallantly,
and having done so, and received the congratulations of Sir Harry
Burrard, Wellesley promptly found himself the third in command
instead of the second; for Sir Hugh Dalrymple now arrived to take
command of the invading force, thus displaying a further change of
policy on the part of the vacillating Ministry then in charge of our
affairs.
"And now we must switch off from the forces engaged in and about
Oporto," said Mr. Riley, hitching himself a little higher in his
corner and crossing his legs for greater comfort. "We come to the
doings of Sir John Moore, a commander who won the esteem of Napoleon
himself, and whose memory will be ever honoured amongst the French.
And just let me digress for a moment. It is perhaps a most suitable
opportunity, too, for bringing the matter forward, seeing that we
are here prisoners in a sense of the French, and yet, if I make no
mistake, in command of them."
He smiled quizzingly at Tom, and laughed aloud when the latter
coloured.
"I--I couldn't well help it, sir," stuttered our hero, as if ashamed
of his action. "You see, there we were in a hole, and----"
Mr. Riley's laughter cut short the speech.
"I was only poking fun, lad," he smiled. "We all bless you for your
gallant intervention. But let me mention this matter. It is an
opportune moment, I say. I was speaking of Sir John Moore, and the
honour the French had for him. Look at the position throughout. Lads,
we are fighting gentlemen, that is the consensus of opinion amongst
officers and in the ranks. The French have fought us right gallantly.
They at least are open enemies, but the Spaniards, for whose help
we are here, disgust us. There are times, I hear, when our troops
wish matters were different, and the Spaniards the real enemies, and
sometimes the Portuguese also, for they pretend friendship, while
everywhere there are traitors, everywhere men in authority amongst
them--nobles and others who form the Juntas or Parliaments which
govern the countries now--who oppose the men who have come to free
their countries in every possible way, who are mean and contemptible
in their dealings with them, whose policy changes from day to day and
who appear at times to act as if they wished the French to remain
victorious. There! I have had my growl. Napoleon is a great man, no
doubt, with dangerous ambitions, dangerous, that is to say, to the
nations surrounding France. The French officers and men, I repeat,
are gentlemen, with whom it is an honour to cross swords. Now let
me get to the subject of Sir John Moore and his unlucky army of
penetration."
"And the retreat, which has become famous," said Jack, becoming
serious for a moment.
"Quite so, and very rightly too; for the retreat which followed the
forward march of Sir John Moore's army was conducted in a manner that
has won the praise of all. He marched for Madrid on 18 October, with
some 30,000 infantry and 5000 cavalry, all wearing the red cockade
of Spain in their caps. And perhaps it will be well to tell you at
this point that the efforts of our troops elsewhere in the command
of Wellesley, or of the other generals whom the changing policy of
our British Ministers had sent to conduct affairs, had resulted in an
agreement with the French, whereby Portugal was evacuated by their
forces and all strong places in that country given up to our men.
"Having mentioned that, I can now explain that Sir John Moore's army
was to carry the war into Spain, and marching in the direction of
Madrid to combine with the Spaniards and attempt to oust the invading
armies of Napoleon. On 13 November we hear of him at Salamanca; and
now we have an illustration of the weak and vacillating action of
the Spanish Junta, combined with as equally blameworthy action on
the part of Mr. Frere, our ambassador in Spain. Where the greatest
pains should have been taken to supply Sir John Moore with accurate
information concerning the movements of the enemy, the utmost
carelessness seems to have been the order of the day. As a result,
Sir John was in the dangerous dilemma of not knowing whether the
circumstances warranted his pushing on towards Madrid, or whether he
ought at once to begin a retreat towards the coast or into Portugal.
It was not, in fact, till an evening in December, when already the
winter was upon him, that he had certain information that Napoleon
himself was massing all his troops, and that in cavalry alone he
outnumbered the British by 12,000. Such information set our troops
retreating rapidly by way of the Galician mountains, and hot in
pursuit marched 255,000 men, with 50,000 horses, while a force of
32,000 kept in rear and held the lines of communication.
"To describe the many incidents of that memorable march would require
a length of time, and since we ought already to be asleep, preparing
ourselves for trouble to-morrow, I will merely sketch the events
which followed. For 250 miles our troops were harassed by the enemy's
cavalry, and daily there were severe skirmishes between our rearguard
and the French. Recollect that it was winter, and that the line of
retreat passed amongst the mountains, where our columns trudged
through valleys and over passes covered deep in snow. It is not
difficult to realize the terrible work this entailed, how the cold
and exposure and constant need for exertion told on men and beasts.
One can readily perceive that baggage animals broke down under the
strain, and that presently the army found itself compelled to carry
its own provisions. Add to the difficulties of the cold and snow
and the mountainous route the fact that a horde of non-combatants
accompanied the army, servants, grooms, wives and children of the
soldiers, and one sees the possibilities of added difficulty and
misery. Soon men and women began to fall by the way, as had the
horses and mules. They lagged behind, wearied and utterly careless in
their misery of the consequences. Frozen and starved they lay down
by the way, and soon the snow hid them. And always a cloud of French
horsemen followed, seeking every opportunity to charge, and dashing
in amongst the stragglers and helpless. No wonder that the army
dwindled. No wonder that its numbers fell away till but a portion
remained. But still the retreat proceeded, and ever the gallant
rearguard held the French at bay.
"On the last day of 1808 Moore quitted Astorga in Léon. On the very
next, the first day of 1809, Napoleon entered the same place with
80,000 men, his advance guard of relentless cavalry being still in
touch with our men. There the great Bonaparte remained, leaving the
final work to the Duke of Dalmatia, and conceiving it certain that
the whole British army would be exterminated. Well they might have
been too, for here we have an example of what I have mentioned.
Along the line of retreat, when the Spanish authorities could have,
and should have, made full preparations to supply our troops and
followers with rations and all that they required, they did nothing
to help. Even food was not forthcoming, so that our desperate and
hungry men were forced to pillage the inhabitants.
"It is a sad tale, lads," said Mr. Riley after a pause, "but a
gallant tale also, for Sir John and his fine fellows at length
reached Corunna, with but 14,000 all told, but with their cannon,
their colours, and their trophies intact. In fact they came to the
coast covered with honour and renown, but starved and frost-bitten,
and minus many and many a comrade. And there more fighting was
necessary, for our fleet was not in sight. The battle of Corunna
which followed ended in victory for us, but cost the lives of many
gallant fellows, and of that of Sir John Moore amongst them. Then
our troops embarked, the fleet having arrived meanwhile, and as
they sailed away, there, above the citadel where Sir John and many
a gallant comrade was buried, flew the flag of France, not at the
summit of the post, but half-masted, in respect for one who had
proved an able and a courageous leader. That, my lads, was another
proof of the feelings of the enemy for us. If fight we must,
Frenchmen at least have that generosity of feeling which allows them
to pay honour to a brave enemy."
The naval lieutenant sat back once more in his corner, his eyes fixed
upon the flaming torch. Tom looked over at the sentry, standing alert
and without a movement just behind the carcass of the horse. And
straightway he wondered whether he would live to take part in such a
retreat as that of Sir John Moore, and whether, should he be involved
in such an affair, he would conduct himself as became a British
officer. Then Mr. Riley's voice once more broke the silence.
"We have heard of the opening events of this Peninsula War," he
said. "Napoleon's invasion of Spain, and his placing of his brother
Joseph on the throne without the wish or consent of the people, had
resulted in some passages of arms between the French and English
which must have opened the eyes of Bonaparte. But it did not deter
him. Following the embarkation of Sir John Moore's army, he ordered
the invasion of Portugal again, and in a little while Soult, a famous
French marshal, held that country right down to the River Douro.
"Once more I will sketch the events which followed. Wellesley, again
in chief command, marched against the enemy, forced the passage of
the Douro, in itself a most brilliant undertaking, and drove the
French back into Spain. Following Marshal Soult, Wellesley crossed
the frontier in June, 1809, with but 20,000 British troops, though he
had some 57,000 Spanish and Portuguese soldiers to aid him, the great
majority being merely irregulars. These latter were under various
commanders, of whom I can call to memory at the moment Cuesta, the
Spanish commander-in-chief, a useless person; Romana, Blake, and
Beresford.
"At this moment the French were disposed as follows: Victor, with
some 20,000 men, was on the Tagus. Sebastiani was in La Mancha with
a force not quite so strong. Thousands were collected about Madrid,
in Galicia, Léon, and Old Castille also, while there was a division
of cavalry and 40,000 infantry stationed in Aragon and Catalonia.
Their very numbers give you an idea of the almost impossible task
imposed upon our forces. Wellesley, in fact, having entered Spain and
approached Talavera, found himself opposed to Marshal Victor, who had
King Joseph in rear, with Marshal Sebastiani's corps to aid him.
"We now arrive at the first battle of importance in the Peninsula
campaign. Talavera is a name which will be borne upon the colours
of many a regiment with lasting honour, for the fight was a fierce
and desperate one, and our victory was won only after great losses.
The battle itself was preceded by two engagements at least of some
importance, in one of which 10,000 Spanish troops distinguished
themselves by fleeing before they had come to grips with the enemy.
"Following Talavera, the smallness of our numbers and the utter
failure of the Spanish Junta to help with supplies and material
caused Sir Arthur Wellesley to retire over the Tagus into Portugal
once more, where he went into winter quarters. But the movement had
the consequences one would have anticipated. The French determined
upon another invasion of Portugal, when they hoped to drive the
British from the country, and in 1810 they came in three columns,
under the supreme command of Marshal Massena, with Junot, Ney, and
Regnier as column commanders. Lord Wellington--for he had now been
granted that title as a reward for his conspicuous services--retired
in good order to the heights of Busaco, where a terrific conflict
followed, the British troops successfully resisting the onslaught
of the French columns. Then, finding his flank turned, Wellington
retired to the lines of Torres Vedras, lines which he had been
secretly fortifying, where he might, should the French come down
upon him in overwhelming numbers, mass his men and still hold on to
a portion of Portugal. There, in fact, he remained defying the enemy
and covering Lisbon effectually.
"Thus ended the year 1810, an eventful year in the history of this
Peninsula War, for it saw at its termination a thin line of British
red opposed to masses of French troops who now held, not Spain alone,
but even Portugal, right down to the heights of Torres Vedras,
behind which Wellington and his men remained defiant, clinging to
that promontory on which is situated Lisbon. In fact they were
clinging tenaciously to the country, their fortunes seemingly rather
worse than they had been, though a huge advantage had been gained,
inasmuch as Napoleon and his hosts had learned that a few British
troops skilfully handled were easily a match for them. Nor was it
likely that we would give up the conflict. The year 1811, the year in
which we now are, began brilliantly. You may say that you are in the
midst of renewed exertions on the part of that brilliant general who
leads us; while before us there is an immense work to be done. Lads,
we have to regain Portugal before we think of ousting the French
from Spain, which will be a gigantic undertaking, with fighting in
abundance."
Jack and Tom pricked up their ears at the news. Indeed we may say
that the former had till now been filled with that vague fear which
comes to the heart of many and many a soldier who is sent to join his
regiment at war. He wonders whether his own arrival will coincide
with the defeat of the enemy, whether he will arrive too late to take
part in the stirring events to which he had looked forward.
"Then there'll be a chance," blurted out Jack, sitting up, and giving
a sharp cry of pain, for in his eagerness he had forgotten his wound.
"For you to teach Tom, and help him to become a general! Yes,"
laughed the naval officer, "heaps!"
"And you think, sir, that I shall be able to get a commission?" asked
our hero, with some amount of misgiving.
"I believe that if you manage to bring us out of this hole, and
still evade a French prison, you will be offered one promptly,"
came the gratifying reply. "But let me complete my task. We enter
upon this year of grace 1811. Let us look towards Badajoz, on the
River Guadiana, south of the Tagus. Soult advanced in this direction
to open up communications with Massena, who was massed with his
regiments on the Tagus. Wellington also advanced, and, leaving the
strong, fortified lines of Torres Vedras, crossed the Guadiana,
leaving Beresford with some 7000 British troops, and a large number
of Portuguese, to invest Badajoz. Crossing the Tagus, Wellington now
marched north towards Ciudad Rodrigo, whence Massena had taken his
troops, and established himself between the Rivers Agueda and Coa,
and within striking distance of Almeida, where was a force of the
enemy. Massena advanced against him, and our troops at once took
position on the heights of Fuentes d'Onoro, where a terrific battle
was fought, resulting in a victory for us. The French abandoned
Almeida, while Massena was recalled.
"Now we turn south again to Badajoz, for the French had retired
to Salamanca, that is, the troops lately engaged with Wellington.
Soult had been reinforced, and was well on his way to relieve the
place invested by Beresford, and, as a consequence, the latter
was forced to raise the siege, and though he could have retired
he preferred to choose a ground for fighting and give battle. He
took post at Albuera, knowing that Wellington was hastening to his
help, his troops consisting of those 7000 British, and of Spaniards
and Portuguese, the former commanded by Blake, whose arrogance and
jealousy hindered the commander not a little. It disgusts one to
have to record that many of these allies proved worse than useless
when in face of the enemy, and that but for the sturdy backbone of
British the battle would have been lost. It was, I am told, a most
confused affair, made glorious by the tenacity and bull-dog courage
of our men in face of terrible odds, and with the knowledge that
those who should have aided them, and been in the forefront, were
often skulking in the rear. The losses on both sides were huge, but
the battle ended in Soult retiring, while Beresford gathered together
his almost shattered forces as best he could, Blake, who should have
helped, even refusing him bearers for his wounded. Thereafter the
siege of Badajoz was once more entered upon, while one must mention
a brilliant little land cutting-out expedition, where, at Arroyo de
Molinos, General Roland Hill broke up a force of the enemy under
Girard, capturing men, guns, and baggage.
"Barossa, too, is worthy of more than passing mention, for the battle
was hardly fought by our men. You must understand that troops had
been dispatched to Cadiz, where the Spaniards grudgingly gave them
entry, and these sailed later on for Algeciras, where they effected
a landing. Then, with some 12,000 Spaniards, under La Pena, 4000
of our men marched against Marshal Victor's forces. Here again we
have the same tale of Spanish treachery, jealousy, and cowardice.
That movement ended in the British troops being left almost entirely
alone to withstand the onslaught of the French legions. Yet, in
spite of that, Barossa, where our troops were, saw Victor's ranks
shattered, and added one more to the many victories gained by our
gallant fellows in the Peninsula.
"And now I come to the end of my tale. Owing to the junction of the
enemy under Soult, and those divisions in the north, Wellington
abandoned the siege of Badajoz, and advanced to the Tagus. Thence he
crossed in the direction of Ciudad Rodrigo, and once more took up a
position between the Coa and the Agueda, discovering the countryside
utterly swept by the French. The latest dispatches from the Peninsula
have told of burned villages, of ruined homesteads, of starving and
infuriated peasants. Detached parties of horse have ridden through
the country, sweeping it clean as the French retired, and no doubt
these fine fellows with whom we occupy this church have formed one
of those parties. Bear in mind that they have merely obeyed orders.
Because their countrymen have dealt severely with the Portuguese they
may not have done so; and, in any case, recollect that war is a cruel
game, and brings greater misery, perhaps, on non-combatants than upon
those whose profession it is to fight. There! Out with the torch.
Let's go to sleep. Who knows? to-morrow will make a second Wellington
of our friend Tom, or will see us--er----"
Jack put on a nervous grin. Tom's handsome face assumed a stern
expression. He felt that it was not the time for joking, and, what
was more, he felt that failure here would be a disgrace after the
many brilliant battles of which Mr. Riley had been telling.
"We'll pull out in the end, sir," he said with assurance. "What we've
done already shall be done again. To-morrow--or is it to-day, for it
is past midnight?--shall see these Portuguese fellows scuttling."
The day, when it came, might bring about such a happy result. But
then it might not. On the face of it, matters were desperate, for
here were a mere handful opposed to crowds--crowds, too, incensed and
filled with a dull and defiant hatred, which made success on their
part a certain death warrant for the defenders of the village church.
CHAPTER VIII
Tom changes Quarters
Heavy drops of thunder rain, pattering upon the roof above and upon
the stone flags that surrounded the front of the church, awakened
Tom Clifford at early dawn on the morning after he had led the
French troopers to their defensive post. Not that the rumbling
thunder outside nor the patter of the raindrops awakened him to a
sense of his position. For our hero had been sunk in a deep sleep,
which nothing had disturbed up till this moment. Now, however, the
disturbance gave rise in his half-slumbering brain to a train of
thought which was half-delicious, half the reverse. For Tom was back
again in his home, beneath the shadow of that grand mulberry tree,
with Father Thames flowing past the forecourt silently, swiftly,
incessantly, as if ever engaged upon a purpose. Yes, he was beneath
the hospitable and safe roof of Septimus John Clifford & Son, Wine
Merchants, with Marguerite as his chum and close attendant, with
the ever-faithful Huggins, his father's senior clerk, to smile
indulgently upon him, and Septimus John Clifford himself to praise
his efforts to acquire Portuguese and Spanish and French.
"Heigho!" he yawned loudly, stretching his arms wide apart. "Beastly
stuff this Portuguese and French and Spanish," he babbled, still
half-asleep. "Let's go out on the river, Marguerite."
Then a shadow crossed the horizon of this pleasant half-waking dream.
A youth slipped into the arena at the far corner, a youth of olive
complexion, whose thin limbs writhed and twisted incongruously,
whose fingers twitched and plucked at moving lips, and whose very
appearance bespoke indecision, a wavering courage, meanness, and all
that that implies. It was José, Tom's cousin, and his image drew a
growl from our hero.
"Always interfering and getting in the way," he grunted peevishly. "I
have to watch him like a cat for fear he will illtreat his sister.
Was there ever such a fellow?"
The train of pleasant thought was switched off at once, and Tom
dreamed the scenes through which he had passed. His seizure by those
rascals, his impressment, and what had followed. Then a second figure
thrust itself into the arena, and swept across his sluggish brain.
It was that of a short man, of middle age, prone to stoutness; clean
shaven, with features which attracted because of the obvious power
they displayed, features set off by a pair of wonderfully steady
and penetrating eyes that spoke of firmness of purpose, of ambition
soaring to the heights, and--yes--of a relentless spirit which strove
at the attainment of any and every object at whatever cost. It was
Napoleon, Napoleon Bonaparte, the one-time Corporal, the Little
Corsican, he who had attained to the throne of France, and now,
spurred on by a restless ambition, sought to see himself emperor of
all countries, ruler of Spain through his brother, now known as King
Joseph, King of Portugal, and even the Lord of England. A crashing
detonation brought Tom to his feet with a start, wide-eyed, and very
much awake.
"What's that?" he demanded, scarcely able to believe even now that he
had been dreaming. Still, the presence of the trooper standing sentry
at the door, and his obvious freedom from anxiety, reassured him. Ah,
there was another detonation, and then a long-drawn-out rumble!
"A summer storm, monsieur," said the trooper. "It will be a fine day
yet, and the storm will clear the air. It gets light rapidly, and in
a little while we shall be able to see the pigs who have attacked us."
But Tom was thinking of something else beside the Portuguese peasants
who sought to kill the little band of troopers, together with himself
and his English companions. His thoughts suddenly turned to the
urgent need of supplies. Water was wanted; it was running to waste
outside.
"Andrews!" he shouted, and at the order the stalwart rifleman
stumbled forward, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, Howeley being
close behind him. In the dim light of the coming day they drew
themselves erect as if by force of habit, and saluted, Howeley
taking time by his comrade.
"Sir!" they answered in one voice.
"We want water. Hunt round to find some roof gutter and a tub, if
there is such a thing. Get us a store somehow; it means life or death
to us. I'll see to other matters."
He saw the two set off at once, and then clambered up the steep
flight of stone steps that led to the ledge above the broken door
of the church. Standing upright there, he looked out towards the
village, and found that he could already see the nearer houses. But
a mist was rising, which, together with the heavy rain that was
falling, made seeing rather difficult. Then, turning sharply to the
left, he entered the room which the trooper had reported on the
previous evening. The man lay at the entrance, with a comrade beside
him, both sunk in deep sleep. But at Tom's coming they rose swiftly.
"It was too dark to explore last night," said one of them, "but
monsieur can see now that this is not only a church. There is a large
building attached to it, perhaps the house occupied by the pastor.
But it is empty, I think, for we have heard no sounds from it."
"Then we will investigate," answered Tom. "Stay here, one of you,
while you," and he indicated the man who had spoken, "bring your
carbine and come with me. It is already light enough to see where we
are going."
Crossing the floor of the room, Tom found it lumbered with masses of
stone and with builders' tools. It was clear, in fact, that some sort
of work was in progress. There was an arched doorway at the far end
that gave admission to a hall, or meeting place, from which steps led
to rooms above, all scantily furnished.
"The pastor's house without a doubt," said Tom. "Next thing is to see
what's underneath. A larder crammed with food would be more to my
liking than any amount of furniture. Here's the stairway. It's dark;
mind how we go."
Very carefully and silently they descended the stairs, and soon found
themselves in a flagged passage. Doors opened upon it, and, pushing
them wide in turn, Tom discovered living-rooms fully furnished,
though the articles within were covered with sheets.
"A regular spring cleaning," he said to the trooper, with a grin that
set the Gallic warrior smiling widely. "It's clear that the pastor
has gone away while workmen have possession of the house. But--my
uncle!--that's a larder, and here's the kitchen."
No one but those who have experienced it know the delight a soldier
on service finds in the discovery of dainties. Rations are apt to
pall after a while, and men long for the trifles which are commonly
to be found upon the tables of those who lead a more peaceful
existence. And here was a find. The careful housewife of the pastor,
his housekeeper, or whoever saw to his material wants, had set by a
store at the sight of which Tom's mouth watered.
"My uncle!" he exclaimed again, running his eye along a row of
preserves neatly bottled, and surveying a dozen hams hanging to hooks
in a ceiling beam. "But--" and at the word his jovial face fell
and lengthened till it was like a fiddle. "But they ain't ours to
take--eh?"
The trooper grinned widely. He was an old soldier, and though he may
have had his scruples, a limited diet for the past few weeks, and a
gnawing at his stomach now, swept all scruples aside.
"Monsieur then prefers to starve with plenty beneath his nose?" he
asked politely, drawing himself up and shouldering his carbine, so
that the muzzle struck the low ceiling violently. "_Parbleu!_ There
is reason why we should eat these good things, monsieur. But for the
pigs who hem us in, and for their hatred of us, we could step outside
and buy what is required. That is so, monsieur?"
"Exactly," came the crisp answer, while Tom still surveyed the good
things hungrily.
"But we cannot set out for the market. These pigs send bullets at us
instead of food. That being so, _vraiment, monsieur_, surely here
comes in a law of nature. To live one must eat. Here, then, is the
wherewithal to obey that law."
The rascal grounded his weapon with a resonant bang, and put his nose
within an inch of one of the hams.
"Ready cooked--meant to be eaten," he gasped. "Monsieur will----"
Tom's courage and scruples broke down under such subtle temptation.
Besides, here it was a case of necessity. He took the ham from its
hook, caught up a bag of dried biscuit, and then gave an inquisitive
kick to a huge barrel, getting back a dull, telling sound.
"Full to the bung, _monsieur_--the wine of the country. Something
with which to slake our thirst, and so enable us to defeat the enemy."
"Send for two of the troopers at once," said Tom. "Let them remove
the contents of the larder to the room above. But, wait. Let us
complete our investigations."
When they had at length been over the whole of the premises they had
come to the conclusion that the house had at one time been a clergy
house, and had harboured many people; for at the far end of the
passage they found a door admitting to still more rooms, and then
to an enormous yard, about which was a high wall. A pair of huge
doors led from this beneath an archway, supporting a portion of what
proved to be stables, in which were a couple of nags, while the eager
trooper discovered stores of hay and corn in a loft adjoining.
"And a water trough and pump in the yard," cried Tom, delighted at
such a find. "There you are, water in plenty," he added, working the
pump and sending a gushing torrent pouring from the ancient spout.
The discovery they had made was, indeed, of the greatest moment;
but it brought this in its train: it compelled the leader of the
defenders to make up his mind whether to vacate quarters which had,
so far, proved an excellent refuge, or whether to hold to them,
trusting to procure provisions and water from the clergy house so
closely adjacent. It was characteristic of Tom, perhaps, that before
the trooper had time to ask the question, he had come to a decision.
"Listen,"
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