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.